A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,80
else might have been learned that morning.
“I've been prying, of course,” Diana told her with no sign of regret. “I should think Edmund would be proud of me; but for now, I've decided not to tell him anything about it. Though there isn't much, really.”
Charlotte replied by telling her of the conversation she'd had with Hannah. Diana approved, but added that she could see little wrong with the making of coins on Boar Island. After all, if Parliament in London could do it, what was wrong with a similar plan being undertaken in Massachusetts? The secrecy of the thing in the village, though, the part of keeping the scheme from wives especially, did seem to her quite wrong indeed.
“Has Lem learned his lesson?” she finally inquired.
“I haven't asked him about that—or a few other things,” said Charlotte. “I took pity on him after Mattie's scolding. But we all supposed he deserved it.”
“I should think so!” said Diana, as she flipped an auburn curl from her face. “It's a good thing he seems to have found someone else to take care of him one day. You can't be expected to do it forever! Did you know Magdalene can do most things to run a house, by the way?”
“I thought she must have done what was needed on the island, beyond the heaviest work.”
“She can sew and cook. Cicero was surprised at the extent of her help this morning. They prepared a stew, and put a pudding into a bag to boil, while I supervised. And then I played Richard's pianoforte for her, thinking she would be astonished—but it was I who was surprised! She plays well. No doubt that's because she's had time to practice on the island, where there is a harpsichord—and she's not had the trouble of living in society, as one does in Boston.”
“Probably,” Charlotte said kindly, well aware of the limitations of Diana's own musical skills.
“We also built this fire together, after all of you left us with no help but Cicero this morning! On the other hand, she shows little knowledge of fashion. It seems she's never even seen an umbrella—”
“Diana, do you still think Magdalene may be dangerous, in some way?”
“Dangerous? Oh, no, I think not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I wonder. You suppose, then, she's no more than a little backward, in social things?”
“She doesn't talk much, that is sure. But then, perhaps she hasn't been allowed to,” Diana decided shrewdly. “What little she said of Mrs. Knowles makes the woman sound like a tyrant, with no interest in anyone but herself!”
Before she could go on, her brother entered, clearly in high spirits.
“I've spoken with Reed. He tells me he'll explain all that he's withheld from us as soon as we've had our dinner. He's gone in to have his talk with Magdalene, supposing she's calm enough to understand what has happened. Dinner, by the way, is nearly ready.”
“Then I'll go in and help Cicero,” said Charlotte, sorry to have found that Longfellow had nothing more to offer her.
Soon she stood before a polished table in the small papered room not far from the clattering kitchen. Outside the west windows, ice crystals still flew by, but the sky over the village seemed blue and peaceful. She wondered, as she set out a cloth, then silver, china, and linen napkins, whether the death of Catherine Knowles had been an accident after all. She suddenly wished to think so. For a moment, she concluded that it was, to see if something within her would object strongly.
There would be plenty of time after dinner, she told herself, to reconsider the other, more dreadful alternative.
Chapter 28
THE MEAL WAS a hurried one, as everyone seemed impatient to hear more of the disposition of Mrs. Knowles's fortune. All, at least, but Magdalene, who ate quietly, her eyes cast down.
What, Charlotte asked herself, had Reed said to her during the previous hour? Whatever it had been, it had caused a return of her previous melancholy. Diana, too, noticed. She sent Charlotte significant glances over the stew and corn bread.
When Cicero brought in the boiled pudding, it was admired, then hurriedly dispatched. The study's clock struck two. Magdalene, at the advice of her attorney, went back to her room, to be spared hearing what he would tell the others, some of it of a delicate nature. At Longfellow's request, Cicero took Lem off to help him stoke the glasshouse stove. The rest retired to the front parlor still brightened by the sun,