Too Soon for Flowers (34 page)

“Who?” Hannah asked, mystified by the proceedings. Behind her they heard a clomping as Will came back down, and approached them for a final word.

“Mr. Pelham, we suspect,” Longfellow told her. It
would, of course, be safer if all of them were to know. “We think he was here on the night of Phoebe’s death—and that he may have had a hand in it.”

“Mr. Pelham?” Hannah whispered in amazement, while Will, for once, said nothing.

“Where,” asked Charlotte, looking about her empty study, “are the others?”

“Lem is in a room above,” said Hannah, “but Miss Longfellow has gone.”

“Gone!” cried Longfellow. “Will she never listen? She has gone to my house, no doubt.”

“Yes, sir,” said Hannah, “with Mr. Pelham.”

“What!” Charlotte whispered, her eyes widening, but Longfellow’s thoughts had raced well ahead of her own. “Cicero is there,” he reminded her. “Still, we will go along.”

He turned on his heel, forming in his mind what he would say when he confronted Diana. Mrs. Willett, too, hurried forward, and Orpheus soon leaped at her side. Halfway through the rosebushes on the downward track, Charlotte gasped.

“Richard! Cicero is
not
there—he went off to fish as I left, and I doubt he’s had time to return!”

Before he could answer, Longfellow’s attention was captured by a figure coming through the stable door of the great stone barn behind his house. Edmund Montagu carried his saddlebags over one shoulder, his face grave. Seeing the couple approaching on the garden path, he altered his course and strode rapidly toward them.

“Well met,” Longfellow called out. “Come along, Edmund. Diana has left Mrs. Willett’s house for mine, accompanied by Mr. Pelham.”

“Pelham!”

“We think there may be danger—” Mrs. Willett began, but Montagu had already begun to speak.

“There is a good chance, Richard, that Pelham is not
entirely in his senses. He may suffer from poisoning—from his treatment for the Great Pox.”

“We’ve already guessed as much—at least, of his affliction.”

“How could you—?”

“Ask Mrs. Willett—but later, I think. What else have you?”

“Tucker prescribed a compound full of mercury—a very great deal of it—enough to have brought on death eventually, and lesser symptoms long before—”

“He may be again taken by the
syphilis
, as well.”

“Quite possibly.”

“And yet, the mercury itself might drive him—”

Frustrated by this intrusion of Science, Mrs. Willett made up her mind to run ahead, just as a shriek came from the house.

“Diana!” her brother called out, while Orpheus began to bark. Captain Montagu spared no energy on speech; instead, he dropped the bags and ran into the house, his boots ringing across the floor as he raced from kitchen to front hail with the others close behind. On the stairs, they heard a scream of protest come from the open door of Dr. Tucker’s former room. Reaching it first, Edmund Montagu drew his sword halfway out of its scabbard, his pinched face hard as cold steel, his lips white with rage.

“Unhand her, sir!” Longfellow demanded. Even behind Montagu’s dangerously poised form, he could see his sister held against her will.

David Pelham did as he was told while he watched the three intruders press in at the door.

“Diana,” said Charlotte, making her way to the young woman’s side, “are you hurt?”

“I
am furious,”
Miss Longfellow retorted breathlessly, “for this
monster has tried to force me—”

“—only to do what you have long desired, and even
begged for,” David Pelham replied quickly, moving toward her again.

While the others remained speechless, Orpheus let out a sharp growl. No one stopped the old dog, whose advance on stiff legs soon made Pelham cower. At that, Orpheus sat with a grumble, awaiting a further move.

“Miss Longfellow
did
invite me here,” the chastened man insisted, his complexion reddened with excitement. “She can hardly deny it now!”

“To help by carrying my hatbox—but it was quite against my wishes, after I had retired, that the fiend came back!” Diana declared. “And I hope I never set eyes on him again!”

“That,” concluded her brother; “would be an excellent thing, for we have an idea Mr. Pelham might tell us a great deal about himself that will hardly be to his advantage—or to yours, Diana.”

David Pelham stood taller as he scanned the company. “I demand to know, sir, what you mean by that,” he challenged.

“I refer to your care by Dr. Tucker,” Montagu replied, “for the Pox.”

“The smallpox?” Diana asked, surprised at an obvious miss. “But we all know of that, Edmund!”

“The Great Pox,” the captain replied as he stared into Pelham’s face, daring a denial.

“How,” Pelham demanded, looking to Miss Longfellow while an aggressive hope lingered in his eyes, “do you come by this affrontery?”

“We have Tucker’s journals,” Montagu returned. “I have also spoken with Mrs. Mary Morris of Boston, as well as to her young servant, who believes you and Phoebe Morris were lovers—even while Tucker’s journal shows he treated you for
syphilis!”

All eyes turned to Diana, whose face clearly displayed her horror.

“It is a thing,” Longfellow interjected, “that would surely have closed my sister’s door to you, and which would have lost you the admiration of most of Boston’s society, as well—”

“Did Tucker’s journal say
exactly
that it was for this I received his assistance?” Pelham asked slowly and distinctly, gazing at Edmund Montagu. The captain’s eyes flickered briefly. “I thought not,” Pelham said, relaxing. “One, because it is not true; and two, because Tucker hid much about his activities from the world, having been stung for helping others before. It is also something that cannot be proved, you know … and I maintain that he treated me only for an eczema of the skin, which has long since disappeared. So you see, even though some may believe your little coterie, others will not—if you should broadcast what you suspect! Of course, there are also legal and moral prohibitions against slander. As for my being in this particular situation, I certainly wonder that you gentlemen are shocked, for anyone who knows of the coquetry of Miss Diana Longfellow—and there are a good many of us!—will no doubt believe I was given at least some encouragement!”

“Mr. Pelham,” said Charlotte softly, when no one else replied, “I don’t believe this is the first time you have invaded a woman’s bedchamber. You do know, I’m sure, that Will Sloan has returned?”

“I saw him only this morning, madam. And I can tell you he said nothing to me about any such thing—” David Pelham halted suddenly.

“As your late visit? Or what she said of you, to him? Will told us Phoebe vowed she could never marry … just before she attempted to take her life, by swallowing a large quantity of valerian.”

“Hah!” Pelham laughed derisively. “I know the herb, and there is no chance—” He paused as he watched her take something from her pocket.

“Did you notice,” she continued, “that Phoebe’s pillow was wet with her tears?”

“It was—” Pelham glared, on his guard once more. “It was my impression,” he began again, “when I spoke with Phoebe, that she had argued with young Sloan, and that he had threatened her. For I did go in to see Miss Morris, at
her
invitation. Why not? We were old friends, and who else here would show her any kindness, once they knew her shameful story? Being unable to sleep, and seeing her candle across the way, I went to have a word; then, she asked me to climb through the window and talk to her more softly, so that we would not wake the others in the house—”

“At what time?” Charlotte asked sharply.

“One o’clock—two—how does it matter? The point is, Mrs. Willett, that the buckle in your hand, which you stole from my chamber this morning, gives you no advantage after all!”

His burst of laughter at their new confusion alerted Orpheus, and the dog growled once more, frustrating Pelham in a further effort to gain the door.

“And yet,” said Charlotte, “it might still be possible for some to suspect you of murder, Mr. Pelham.”

“Really?” Pelham replied haughtily. “Then sue me, madam! Sue me, and see what happens to your dear Miss Longfellow! As soon as I return to Boston, I shall let them all hear how I was not the first man Miss Longfellow invited into her room, for did you not visit her alone yourself, Captain, on at least one occasion? If you’ll recall, her brother invited you to take her upstairs on the afternoon we met! And have you not heard the lady argue that women should be left to follow their own wills, and satisfy their own desires, as men do? We have even discussed running away together, to the Continent! Have we not, dearest?”

Revolted, with her former confidence now destroyed by intense regret, Diana Longfellow looked helplessly to
Edmund Montagu, who could see a kernel of truth in what his rival had to say. But the look he returned expressed only his sympathy, and indeed his love.

Seeing Diana’s relief, David Pelham lost his composure entirely.

“Now, I know how it is!” he exclaimed in a strangled voice. “She bids one approach, only to refuse him when she has lured in yet another! You must imagine the two of you will laugh at me, Captain, while you take what I have long desired! But will you have it, in the end? No—not while I can stop you! Your name, and the lady’s, will soon be dragged through the gutter, and for good cause!”

“I would suggest, sir,” Captain Montagu replied coldly, “that we leave this lady in peace, and settle our affair as gentlemen.”

“What! A duel, Captain?” Pelham appeared to take delight in the idea. “I had not thought of that; but yes, indeed! I would be glad to oblige you, if you care to die for such a poor thing as a whore’s honor—and a Boston one at that! But not,” he added slyly, “with swords. Oh, no. As long as you have asked, I will exercise
my
right, and I choose pistols. Do you know, there is a lovely brace kept by Diana’s brother just below. I don’t imagine he will mind lending them, only for a little while.”

“Richard, no!” Charlotte cried. But Diana’s hand caught at her wrist and held it.

“How many more will this beast torture, Charlotte, before someone puts an end to it?”

“But Diana, only think—!”

“I realize,” Edmund Montagu interrupted, “that you mean to help, Mrs. Willett. But it is a thing beyond stopping.”

“Beyond reason, Edmund?” she threw back.

It occurred to the captain that he’d not seen Mrs. Willett as adamant, or as frightened, before. The observation was a painful one, but it did not deter him.

“Perhaps,” he answered her, “even beyond that. But I agree with Miss Longfellow that this is the only way to achieve a desirable end.”

“Unless it achieves your own!”

“A challenge has been made and accepted,” Montagu replied as he looked away from her entreating eyes. “It is up to each man to appoint a second; they will decide the rest. Richard, will you stand for me?”

Longfellow slowly nodded.

“And who for me?” Pelham wondered aloud. “I will ask my landlord, for Pratt looks honorable enough. I’ll go back to my room and send him to you. Tomorrow, at dawn? I believe that is the usual thing. In secrecy, of course, or we will have the law down on our heads. Now, I must take my leave. I have letters to write, and a terrible thirst.”

The uninvited guest advanced suddenly, elbowing his way through the others. Then, with a laugh of defiance he bounded down the stairs, leaving a jumble of emotions behind.

THAT EVENING, CHARLOTTE
sat alone on the stone bench inside the entry to Richard Longfellow’s glass house. She hardly noticed the scents of growth and good earth coming from beyond, which she had earlier hoped would give her comfort.

Jonathan Pratt had earlier come to Longfellow’s door to declare himself David Pelham’s second, a thing he seemed unable to avoid. But, as he rightly reasoned, if a duel had been agreed upon, someone had to support the other man. Over port, Pratt, Longfellow, and Captain Montagu had discussed the details.

Later, the rest of the household learned that the site chosen was a sandy flat parallel to the Musketaquid, a mile north of the village and away from any road. Its lush grass made it a popular picnic destination, protected on both
sides by hummocks overgrown with trees. It would also serve well, they had decided, as a place to quietly court Death, at dawn.

Charlotte looked up through the overhead glass at a sprinkle of rain that had begun to make a small, appealing sound. Then she was startled by another, as she heard someone approach. To her relief, his own lantern soon revealed Captain Montagu, who opened the glass door and came to sit beside her.

“I could not go, Mrs. Willett,” he began, “without offering my apologies for what passed between us this afternoon. I wish it could have been otherwise.”

“So do I,” she assured him, examining his face in the faint light.

“Yet it is, I think, my duty.”

“And if you are killed?” asked Charlotte softly.

“A soldier’s fate is to be shot eventually, Mrs. Willett. As the third son of an earl, I will hardly be missed at home—which is why many in my position take on the honor of protecting the King’s possessions.”

“But, Edmund, if you fight this man for your honor, you must appeal to his own—and of what value is that? David Pelham seems to be a man to whom the idea means little—and it is even unclear if
sense
can now be said to dictate his actions.”

“I understand you, but I am afraid that is not enough to save him. I know I am right—yet I deeply regret exposing you to the worry you obviously feel—for which I sincerely thank you, Charlotte. You may take some comfort in knowing that I have stood the test before, and do not suppose I will suffer overmuch.”

“How?” she asked, curious despite the revulsion she felt.

“Sabers. The man had disparaged my cousin’s honor.”

“Was he killed?”

“No … only wounded. It was enough.”

“Then, perhaps … ?”

“That would hardly meet our purpose, would it? No, this time I will hope to bring about my opponent’s end—as I expect he will attempt my own.”