I was not expecting Boston. First it seemed as if we had driven to the gates of hell itself, for the offal, dead beasts, garbage, and sewage at the edge of what Mr. Roberts had described as the “neck.” Past these huddled ramshackle buildings, far worse than the log ones the Haskens had taken me to in the woods, but farther on, actual houses, small and humble, perched amidst well-kept gardens. Then we rounded a brushy, tree-covered knoll and turned to see the full of it. A city set on a hill, almost as if described in the Bible, with open windows and doors, and the sounds of life everywhere. The air was raw and damp and a mist softened the edges of the buildings. I saw spread before us a city of brick and mortar, cobbled streets bustling with carriages, smart whiskies pulled by a single stallion, and old farm wagons, the whole presence of human life being lived in a freedom and abandon I only dared remember from long ago.
When we arrived at the Mercantile, I huddled in a corner with Mistress Roberts and produced the pocket. Since Patience had abandoned both her legacy and me with such aplomb, it would be her things I sold first. I took the rings. Four were gold, I was certain, one containing a ruby the size of my smallest fingernail. Three more rings were silver or a whitened metal that might have been pale gold, for I knew of such and these showed no sign of tarnish for their years smothered in moldering linen. They were ornamented and, I thought, costly, too. I kept the pocket in my hands so that I could return the coins I got to it and stitch it shut after taking out what I needed for passage.
We were shown into a small room behind another small room, which had been gotten to through a narrow stairway. The place was stale and had no need of curtains on the windows for no light had come through that glass either way for what looked like a century, so thick was the grime. Mr. Roberts appeared to know the wizened fellow before us, but his appearance was so evil it drew me back to think Roberts had dealings with a man who might have been the most scurrilous pirate I had yet encountered. His name was Peterson Cole, and that name was on the board out front, yet I had expected a gentleman of some bearing to be at this trade, not the weasely bind-staff before us. Still, the two talked and shared a drink of brandy, pouring sherry for Mistress and me. I had not tasted the stuff before, and was not fond of it. I did manage to take polite sips, wishing I did not have to touch the cup with my lips, for I doubted it had been any cleaner when it was poured than had the windowpanes.
His shipments accounted, Mr. Roberts took some payment in stacks of gold coin. He eyed each piece as if expecting one to be a fraud, but each bore a nick on the edge, proof of the softness of pure gold. Then he introduced me without history, telling the man I wished to sell some jewelry I had inherited. I laid the rings before him. Mr. Cole squinted at the rings, then at me. He looked at them one at a time, and held the ruby up to the dim light from his window. “I’ll give you seven shillings apiece, child. Take it. It’s a bargain since two of these are obviously fake.”
I straightened my shoulders and addressed Mr. Cole. “Sir, I am neither a fool nor a child. Any backstreet publican would do better than seven shillings. Good day.” I stood.
Both men stood in response. “Now, don’t be hasty,” Cole said. “Maybe the light is poor. A Massachusetts gold crown apiece for the gold ones. That makes two pounds and six. What say now, Miss?”
I was tempted to say, “I say you are a fraud and a scorpion,” but I kept my tongue.
Mr. Roberts’s face held some distant chill and a brooding in his eyes, and he turned to me, saying, “I doubt any other transaction house would offer so little. If my charge here will allow, we shall seek another opinion in another exchanger’s shop. I have to stop in Mistick this day, too, and the light is waning.” An uneasy silence grew like a stench in the air while the two men eyed each other.
“A businessman must make a profit,” Cole said. “Perhaps I’ll look at them again.”
The rings lay before me, all but vibrating with the lives lost in getting them to this place, glittering with the touch of my mother’s hands as they lay there on the man’s soiled writing-table leather. I said, “Five British gold guineas apiece for the gold rings, and four British gold sovereigns each for the two silver ones without the jewel. Ten British sovereigns or pounds—but they must be in the king’s gold not the colonies’—for the jeweled one, for that is a ruby and the metal is gold. They are not fake.”
Cole said, “I won’t do business with a woman. Not even a woman but a child.” He gave me a look that seemed to be bold rage and chilling avarice all at once.
Mr. Roberts’s mouth dropped open. He said, “Well, she learns quickly, eh, good fellow?” His face grew just as steely and his eyes never left Cole’s face.
At last Cole sneered, rolled his eyes, and capitulated. He turned to a cupboard at his back, opened a drawer, and pulled out three leathern bags. He counted out the coins I had asked for three of the rings. As I did not move, he turned to me and said, “Take it or leave it. The other is a fake and I won’t buy it for more than a shilling.”
I picked up the coins with one hand and the ruby ring with the other.
He let out a startled, “Hup!”