A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,65

happen now that you have,” she finished, a new concern in her voice.

“What will happen, do you mean, to our good villagers? That remains to be seen. But if you, too, have felt as if you were kept in the dark, then just how did you learn of this criminal scheme?”

Charlotte started at the beginning, telling them— though she was thoroughly sick of doing so—of her recent visit to Boar Island. She saw the two men grasp the arms of their chairs while she briefly mentioned falling through the ice. They remained speechless as she went on to describe her visit with Mrs. Knowles, and her observations of Magdalene's circumstances.

The discovery of the silver spoon beneath the landing seemed the culmination of her story. But she assured them a little breathlessly that this was not all. She'd learned that it belonged to Rachel Dudley, who'd lost several others—though every one had now, mysteriously, come back to her. She'd also been told that women from Bracebridge to Concord had found silver or pewter objects missing within the last few months. Each, however, had been discouraged by her husband from accusing anyone of a crime.

“Small wonder!” Longfellow finally exclaimed. “For I don't doubt their husbands were responsible! Never was much ‘lost’ or taken, I presume—and what was gone would soon have come back to the household in newly struck shillings, each remarkably close to the real thing. This one I suppose, like many others, is mixed with pewter—tin, a little copper, more lead—debased enough in value to earn each of those who participate in the scheme some small profit.”

“But how did you know?” she asked, examining the shilling she held between her fingers more closely. “It seems to me no different from any other.”

Holding the coin so that it caught the strong sunlight, she saw the familiar profile of the late king, large pouches under the eye and chin, a laurel wreath resting atop long curls. She read around the curved edge, “GEORGIVS II DEI GRATIA.”

“This may help,” said Longfellow, offering her a pocket lens he'd taken from a table; she presumed he and the captain had already scrutinized the coin together. She re-examined the front of the object, then looked at its back. Coming out to the edges were the usual four emblems, surmounted by crowns, and a date—1758. Between these ran a series of letters: M-B-F-ET-H-REX-F-D-B-ET L-D-S-R-I-A-T-ET-E.

“Do you suspect anything yet?” asked Longfellow.

“No. But I've wondered for years,” she admitted, “exactly what these mean.”

“The letters? Ask Edmund to reel it off for you. He's been at court far more than I.”

“The letters,” said Captain Montagu, “stand in place of Latin words. The translation is, ‘King of Britain, France, and Ireland, defender of the Faith, Duke of Brunswick and Luneburg, Arch-Treasurer and Elector of the Holy Roman Empire.’ Their four emblems make a cross, you see, with a sunburst at the center.”

“A remarkably close match to the genuine article,” said Longfellow. “And one showing an excellent hand. But to the carefully observant eye, the whole is not entirely successful. You'll note that this coin does seem to have been milled, for there are diagonal cuts all around the edges. In the course of wear and handling, such indentations naturally become tarnished, and fill with minute amounts of oil and other debris. The edges above them, like the faces, are more exposed to abrasion, and so they should be shinier than what lies below. However, you'll see that on this coin, which must have been intentionally soiled, the inner marks are still bright in many places. This indicates that they've been newly minted— yet the date is several years old, and for good reason. The year of 1758was the last in which a large run of shillings was made.”

“Then how—?”

“I believe this shilling was created in a mold with at least one set of faces. And I suppose the ‘mill marks’ were added by hand. Look closely and you'll see they're somewhat irregular. There, I think, is where the nub, which once attached the piece to a pouring chamber, has been filed off.”

“But how did you come to look for these things?”

“As soon as I picked this up from the snow, early on the day of the ice harvest, I thought it strange no one nearby would claim it, though one of them must have dropped it from a pocket.”

“Who was there?”

“Flint and Tinder, Jonah Bigelow, and young Ned.”

“I see.” Charlotte felt her heart beat faster. “But Edmund, this hasn't come to