Part 9 (2/2)
”Wait! Corbett! Wait, I said!” shouted Mr. Vincent as he came out from behind his desk, but Matthew carried a watch now and time waited for no man.
Ten.
Matthew set off on a middle-sized, brown-and-white paint mare named Suvie that he'd secured on previous business trips from Mr. Winekoop's stable. She was a plodder, but she was easily managed and had never been known-at least according to the amiable, pipe-smoking Winekoop-to throw a rider. So, with Suvie under him, his hands in the reins, boots in the stirrups, and wax-sealed envelope tucked in an inner coat pocket and fastened down with a b.u.t.ton, he rode along the Broad Way to the north, mindful of pedestrians, wagons, wandering mendicants, merchants hawking their wares from little pull-carts, dogs chasing cats chasing chickens, slop and the essence of chamberpot thrown into the street, and other sundry obstacles to be avoided.
He wished he'd thought to bring a hat, because here came another brief shower that wet him and then pa.s.sed on in favor of the sun. He decided to keep going past the pottery shop, though, for he wanted to keep to a strict time-schedule.
It had been almost two-thirty when he'd left the stable. There'd been an important task he'd needed to accomplish at City Hall, and also to ask Magistrate Powers for permission to make this journey though the afternoon was free and he'd known the magistrate would give his blessing. The magistrate, however, had not been in the office and so Matthew had left a note, completed his task, and then hurried back down the stairs where he'd run into High Constable Lillehorne and Chief Prosecutor Bynes on their way up.
”Ho there, Matthew!” said Bynes, a large-bellied and jovial man with a florid face and trimmed gray beard. ”Where to in such a hurry?”
”h.e.l.lo, sir. I'm sorry, I do have an appointment.”
”A moment, then.” Bynes reached out and put a ham-sized grip on Matthew's shoulder. Lillehorne tried to squeeze past them but was unable to advance. ”Two things. I meant to speak to you earlier about your suggestions at the meeting. They were very interesting and could be useful, and I'm sure the high constable intends to properly study them. Isn't that right, Gardner?”
”Yes sir,” Lillehorne said, his voice suddenly bright. ”I intend to study them at great length.”
”Grand!” That was the chief prosecutor's highest and all-purpose praise. Then his face darkened and a voice that could call down thunder and cataclysm in the courtroom became almost fatherly. ”And last night. You happened upon that tragic scene. Gardner painted the whole picture for me, and I've looked in upon the body. Those marks around the eyes...very disturbing, are they not?”
”Yes sir, they are.”
”I understand that our rather eccentric printmaster mentioned that term again when he was unlawfully present in the cold room. Yes?”
”Term, sir?” Matthew knew exactly what he meant, but he wouldn't speak it. Besides, he wasn't sure it had been ”unlawful” for Grigsby to be present. Unless they were rewriting the town code at night when everyone slept.
”You do know.” Bynes applied just a little more pressure to Matthew's shoulder. ”We-all of us-are in this together, Matthew. We are all professionals. Craftsmen, in our own way. Make no mistake, we shall bring this murderer to justice. Unfortunately, no good is done when Marmaduke Grigsby starts declaring...you know...that term for all to see in his sheet. It causes an unease, which breeds fear, which breeds panic, which breeds citizens uncertain of the protective power of their legal officials. Not good. Yes?”
”Yes. I mean...no. I suppose.”
”Now I think it's fine for Grigsby to run his little paper. Talk about the s.h.i.+ps coming in, the cargoes, the energy of New York, the social scene and...yes, of course, even the minor squabblings in the streets which any town of merit must endure.” Bynes paused, his cool blue eyes ready to strike lightning to go along with a storm-dealing throat. ”But Grigsby cannot be-and will not be-allowed to make this murderer into more than simply a lunatic who most probably has now fled town.”
”Pardon, sir,” Matthew said, ”but I think that's what was advanced after Dr. G.o.dwin's murder. Obviously it wasn't true.”
”We don't know that it isn't true now. I'm not saying Grigsby shouldn't run a small bit about the incident. I'd have to be a fool not to know that the whole town's talking about it, but we must control public opinion, Matthew. For the good of the people. If Grigsby makes a big splash about it, how will that help anything? Yes?”
Matthew had no idea whether he ought to agree or disagree. But he said, ”I do know of one thing that would greatly aid the good of the people, sir. To actively investigate the murder and find this person before he-”
”Shhhhh.” A thick finger went to Bynes' lips. ”We are investigating, you can be sure of that, and we shall find this lunatic if he is insane enough to remain in New York.”
Something about that music sounded off-key, but Matthew let it go. He turned his attention to the high constable. ”A question for you, sir. Have you been able to question Reverend Wade and Dr. Vanderbrocken?”
”I have, if you really need to know.”
”May I ask what was their explanation of such a quick disappearance?”
Lillehorne cast a glance at Bynes that said Oh the fools I have to suffer. Then, to Matthew with a hint of disdain, ”The good reverend was on his way to attend to church business. The good doctor was on his way to see a sick patient. They obviously were on the south side of the street and heard Phillip Covey's shout, just as you heard it from the north side. Each apologized for not remaining there to wait for a constable, but they had their separate destinations.”
”Their separate destinations,” Matthew repeated.
”That's what I said. Are you in need of an ear-horn?”
”Pardon, but did you ask exactly what church business and who was the patient?”
”No, because I'm respectful to those two gentlemen and their explanations have satisfied me. Any further probing would be disrespectful and possibly sinful in the case of Reverend Wade. Really, Corbett!” He tried again to get past Bynes. ”Shall we go, sir?”
Bynes released Matthew's shoulder. He flicked an imaginary something off Matthew's left lapel. ”Speak to your friend, won't you? Both as a friend to him and a friend to me? Yes?” He smiled broadly. ”Grand!”
As Matthew guided Suvie up the Broad Way hill past the pottery shop toward the lush green forest beyond, he was thinking about the phrase separate destinations. That was odd, because he distinctly remembered Reverend Wade saying to Dr. Vanderbrocken We have to leave him.
Was he mistaken, or didn't that sentence imply the reverend and doctor were travelling together toward a common destination?
The doctor's bag had been on the ground. It appeared he'd been wearing a nights.h.i.+rt under his cloak, which also had an implication of emergency. If the two men had been travelling together, why had they not just said so to Lillehorne?
Of course, there were many slips between Lillehorne's cup and his lips, so it was certainly possible he'd misunderstood they weren't together or his questions had come out bungled. But still, it was very odd.
How serious was it, for a man of G.o.d to tell a lie?
Matthew had to shake these questions out of his brain. What did it matter, anyway? He didn't believe for an instant that either the reverend or doctor had had anything to do with the murders. As Lillehorne had said, they were coincidentally on the south side of the street when they heard Covey shouting.
We have to leave him.
Something didn't fit, Matthew thought. He hated when that happened, because it meant he was going to have to go speak to Reverend Wade and Dr. Vanderbrocken himself, just for the sake of clarity, when he returned to town.
The last few houses on the edge of New York slipped past. On either side were farmfields and orchards, stone boundary walls, and cattle in their pastures. He rode past the large old windmill atop Common Hill, and then he was truly on the Boston Post Road as it curved along the huge green deep of Collect Pond on the left and thick woodland on the right sloping all the way down to the river.
The rain showers had thankfully settled the dust on the Post Road. The road itself was not nearly as rugged as that miserable path from Charles Town to Fount Royal, but certainly could still bring a civil engineer to his knees. Matthew considered that one of the most grueling jobs in the colony had to be driving a coach between New York and Boston, and feeling those b.u.mps and gullies nearly knock the wheels off under you. But then again, it was a road well-travelled by local farmers and occupants of the larger estates further north and of course as a route not only to Boston but also to East Chester and New Roch.e.l.le.
It was a hilly route, with large stretches of wilderness between cultivated farmland. Here too, as in the Carolina colony, the ma.s.sive trees in places overhung the road with gnarled branches that had been old in the days of Henry Hudson. Deer occasionally jumped in the undergrowth at the sight of Matthew and Suvie. Dark flights of insects whirled over swamp ponds and clear streams gurgled over smooth-worn stones. There was also, as in Carolina, the feeling that one was always being watched by Indian eyes, yet for a white man to see an Indian who didn't wish to be sighted was a near impossibility. The clouds bellied, a shower fell, the clouds broke apart, and the bright sun shone down through ten-thousand green leaves above Matthew's head.
He kept Suvie at a walk, intending to pick her up into a trot a little further along. He judged it would take about a half-hour from this point to reach the more narrow road, marked by a pile of white stones, that turned to the left off the Post Road and wound to a number of estates either once or currently held by Dutch residents. Then he could work Suvie into speed and possibly cover the remaining four miles in about forty minutes. It interested Matthew why someone would choose to live out here in the wilderness so far from town, but as he understood it these particular people owned businesses-like Mr. DeKonty's stone quarry and lumbermill-that demanded both s.p.a.ce and resources. He understood there was a vineyard out here somewhere and a winery starting up, but he hadn't yet seen it. These were hardy, fearless people who seemed to have no problem with Indians showing up for tea, but never let it be said that New York would ever grow without fearless people.
Rays of sunlight streamed through the forest, but now lower to the ground. Ahead the road curved to the right beyond the thicket of trees. The noise of birdsong was loud and rea.s.suring though from the western distance came a faint low rumble of thunder. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of green cliffs rising up below a blue haze. He hated to be caught out in a real rainstorm, not just these pa.s.sing summer drizzle-fits, but even if he became soaked at least the envelope was well-protected.
Now the road curved to the left and climbed a hillock. At the top it descended and went right again, a capricious trickster. He guided Suvie around the bend and saw the oak branches inter-locking over the road ahead like the arbored ceiling of a green cathedral.
The road stretched out straight and flat. This would be a good place to urge Suvie into a trot, he decided, but no sooner had this thought come to mind than three quail burst from the thicket to his right, flying past him like arrows, and following with a crash of breaking underbrush came a big chestnut horse with a white-starred face.
The muscular animal was being ridden by a man wearing a black tricorn with a raven's-feather tucked in the scarlet band, a white ruffled s.h.i.+rt, dark blue coat, and white breeches. Unfortunately, Matthew saw, he was no ordinary equestrian out for an afternoon's jaunt, for he wore a dark blue kerchief across the lower half of his face and bore a pistol whose barrel looked equally as long as Matthew's forearm. The business-hole in that barrel was trained on Matthew, whose first rather frantic idea of digging his heels into Suvie's sides and riding like a scalded-a.s.s demon flew away as quickly as a scared quail.
”Hold your horse,” the highwayman directed, as Suvie gave a shudder of alarm and started to sidestep. Matthew did as he was told and pressed his knees in, at the same time giving as smooth a pull on the reins as he could manage. Suvie whinnied and snorted but complied with her rider. The highwayman approached, the pistol resting across his lap. Matthew's heart was pounding so hard he knew his ears must be twitching.
”Keep the reins and step down,” came the next command. When Matthew didn't immediately obey-being somewhat frozen solid at this sudden attack-the highwayman placed the pistol's barrel against Matthew's right knee. ”I won't kill you, young man,” he said, his voice low and husky though not altogether ungentlemanly, ”but I shall blow your knee off if you fail to do as I say. This being a well-travelled road, I'm sure a wagon will come along in three or four hours.”
Matthew climbed down off Suvie, still holding the reins.
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