“Hester also mentioned that your father and Simon Gant had been involved in smuggling.”
Molly stared back at him, defiant. “That’s right. Our mother didn’t like it at all. They fought all the time. When he went off to war it was … well, it was a blessing.”
“I understand. But I wonder, did your father or Gant ever bring their smuggled goods into your home?”
A single line creased her forehead. “I don’t know.”
“Did your father ever mention what sorts of things he was smuggling?”
“Don’t answer that.”
Ethan turned. Hester Osborne stood in the doorway, bearing a small canvas sack. Ethan could see that it held a loaf of bread and some vegetables.
“Good day, Miss Osborne,” he said.
She glared at him before stepping past him and kneeling beside her sister.
“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding so concerned one might have thought Ethan had brutalized the girl.
“Yes, I’m fine. He’s been asking more questions about Father.”
The older sister looked back at him over her shoulder, her expression still stern. “Yes, I gathered as much.” She stood and faced Ethan. “I think you should state your business, Mister Kaille. And then you should go.”
“All right. I came to ask if either of you knew anything about a parcel filled with pearls that your father and Simon Gant might have stolen some years ago, before they left to fight the French.”
“Mama talked about pearls.”
“Hush, Molly!”
The younger woman flinched.
“What did she say about them?” Ethan asked.
“What is your interest in this?” Hester asked him. “Do you want these pearls for yourself? Or is there some reward that you hope to claim as your own?”
“If you must know, neither.” Corporal Fowler would have been disappointed to hear Ethan say this, but it was the truth.
Hester’s laugh, however, was harsh, disbelieving.
“I’m trying to find out what happened to your father and the ship he was on,” Ethan said. “That’s what I’ve been hired to do. I believe that the pearls have something to do with his death, and I believe that Gant and Sephira Pryce’s men are out there right now, searching for them.” He looked at Molly before meeting Hester’s gaze again. “And I’m afraid that eventually their search is going to bring them here.”
Molly gave a little gasp. Hester laid a hand on her shoulder, but didn’t look away from Ethan.
“You’re trying to scare us,” she said.
“Perhaps,” Ethan admitted. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
They stood in silence for several moments. A dog barked in the distance and a gust of wind rattled the open door and stirred the loose strands of hair that had fallen over Hester’s brow.
“I remember Mother speaking of pearls,” the older woman said at last. “It was during another of their fights. I don’t recall anything specific. But I do think that Father had them in the house, at least for a short time. Mother got very angry with him whenever he brought any of his … she called it his ‘sinner’s bounty.’” She grimaced at the memory. “Anyway, she grew angry whenever he brought it home.”
Ethan looked around the small room. “Was there a particular place where he kept his goods?”
This time, both women laughed.
“Did I say something funny?”
“This was in our old house, Mister Kaille,” Hester told him. “Molly and I moved to this room after Mother died. Father had debts and once Mother was gone, we couldn’t pay them off and keep the house. So we sold it and moved here.”
“And where was the old house?”
“In New Boston, on Green Lane. Our mother is buried there.”
Ethan felt himself sag. Of course. He should have anticipated this. Sephira wasn’t half a step behind him; she was days ahead.
“Near West Church?” he asked, unable to keep the weariness from his voice.
“Not too far from it. Why?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Can you tell me the number?”
“Twenty-eight. But the house burned to the ground two years ago. It’s since been rebuilt, but anything that might have been ours has likely been lost.”
He should have expected that, too. “I see.” He turned to leave. “Thank you both for your time. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
He descended the stairs in a daze, feeling as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. This was why Mariz had been in New Boston, and Gant as well. Ethan doubted that either of them had found the pearls there-otherwise, why would Sephira’s men have been at the shack on Hull Street, and why would Gant have beaten Dunc? But he also doubted that he would find anything at the site of the old Osborne house. Both Gant and Mariz would have searched there.
He had wandered down a blind alley, and he had no idea where to go next.
He made his way out to Fish Street, and began the long walk back to the South End, his thoughts roiled and chaotic. Already it was the second day of October; it had been three days since he had gone out to the Graystone and two since his conversation with Thomas Hutchinson, and still he knew little more than he had when he began his inquiry. Each time he thought he was close to finding Gant, or at least being able to tell the customs agents how they might find him, something happened to throw him off the path. At this rate, not only would he lose the offered reward to Sephira, as he did too many other rewards he tried to collect, but he would doom every conjurer in Boston to the hangman’s gallows.
And yet, even as he contemplated the unthinkable, the kernel of an idea began to form in his head. It carried risks, and not just for himself. But as far as he could tell, it was the best option he had left. As he crossed over Mill Creek, he turned toward upper Cornhill rather than heading toward his room.
Nearing Dock Square, though, Ethan halted in his tracks. There were regulars posted at the corners of Union and Cornhill Streets, all of them dressed in full uniform, the red seeming to glow even in the dull light of an overcast day. Their muskets were fixed with bayonets, and though they stood at ease, speaking among themselves or chuckling at a comrade’s joke, their mere presence chilled Ethan’s blood. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see them. They hadn’t occupied the city so that they could hide from view. This was what the king and Parliament and General Gage had had in mind. Still, knowing this and actually seeing armed soldiers in the streets were two different things.
He continued past the men, but began to look for others. And doing so, he saw them everywhere. They stood at other corners, they walked the streets in small groups and patrolled near the waterfront. There were dozens of them outside Faneuil Hall and the Town House, where Kannice had told him they were to be garrisoned.
Ethan tried to tell himself that he had nothing to fear from them. He had never allied himself with Adams, Otis, and the others. But he didn’t like that the men were there.
He buried his hands in his pockets, lowered his head, and walked, trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the soldiers he passed. And with his shoulders hunched, he made his way to Diver’s room.
His friend lived on Pudding Lane-which was now called Devonshire, though Ethan still thought of it by its old name-in a room much like Ethan’s own. It sat above a bakery, and the woman who owned the property had taken a shine to Diver. She was old enough to be his grandmother, and doted on him as if she were. She gave him loaves of bread almost daily, and occasionally left more expensive treats for him. It was one more way in which Diver was the most fortunate wastrel Ethan had ever known.
The building itself was newer and sturdier than Henry’s cooperage. The old building had been completely destroyed by the great Cornhill fire of 1760 and rebuilt of brick, as mandated by city law. Diver’s room was located at the back of the building. It was simple and small, but warmer in the cold months and cooler during the summer than Ethan’s. Still, they paid about the same in rent.