Part 30 (2/2)
”I'm glad we're of a single mind on the subject.”
”I don't plan on being married to anyone, anytime soon.”
”And before I marry I plan on making a living from my art.”
An impoverished spinster for life, Matthew thought. ”But your teaching is important to you also, isn't it?”
”It is. I think I have value as a teacher, and I do like children. But art is my true calling.”
More like a yodel at midnight, he thought, but he kept a straight face. ”Listen, I a.s.sure you I'll put your grandfather on the straight road about this. He's been hounding me about moving into the dairyhouse, and now I know why.”
Berry stood up. Her height almost put her eye-to-eye with Matthew. ”Don't be so rash, Mr. Corbett,” she said silkily. ”If Grandda puts all his eggs in your basket, he won't be trying to foist me off on a succession of boring imbeciles whose idea of a plum future is an easy chair and an easy maid. So if you were to play along, it would be to my favor.”
”Really? And what favor would I get out of it? A dirt floor and a dungeon?”
”I'm not saying you would have to...as you put it...squire me around very long. A month, possibly. If that. Just long enough for me to impress my will upon my grandfather.” She blinked and thought better of that last statement. ”I mean, impress to my grandfather how important my freedom is. And the fact that I can find my own young man, in my own time.”
”A month?” That word left a sour taste in Matthew's mouth. ”I'd be just as comfortable in the gaol. At least the cells have windows.”
”Think about it, at least. Will you? I'd be in your debt.”
Matthew didn't wish to give it a moment's further thought, but here was the point of the pickle: if he did consent to stay in the dairyhouse and at least pretend to serve as Berry's squire or guardian or whatever the blazing h.e.l.l Grigsby intended, he could keep that item about Magistrate Powers from turning up in a future Earwig. One month? He could stand it. Maybe.
”I'll think about it,” he agreed.
”Thank you. Well, I believe I'm done for the morning.” Berry knelt down and began to put away her crayons. ”May I walk back with you?” It was obvious now that she was warming to him, as this business of the New York groom had been overcome.
”I'm not going all the way back to Grigsby's, but you're welcome to accompany me.” So saying, he cast an uneasy eye along the fifty feet of rotten pier and fervently hoped Berry's bad luck would not sink them both.
They made it over, though not without Matthew thinking more than once that the next step would take him into the river. Berry gave a laugh when they reached solid ground, as if what was for Matthew an ordeal was for her an adventure. He had the impression that her problem might not be bad luck, but unfortunate choices. Still, she did have a nice laugh.
On their walk back along Queen Street, Berry asked if Matthew had ever been to London and he said regrettably not, but that he hoped to go before long. She then proceeded for the next while to entertain him with descriptions of some of the sights and streets of London that were clearly remembered by the eye of the artist, so richly were they fas.h.i.+oned. He found it interesting that Berry described several book stores she used to visit, and one book seller in particular who sold coffee and chocolate at a counter right in the shop. After her telling of it, Matthew felt he could smell the fresh paper of the books and the wafting aroma of the hot black coffee on a rainy London afternoon.
They were nearly back to Grigsby's house when, with Berry talking about her life in the Great City and Matthew listening as if walking the cobblestones at her side, there came the sound of horse hooves and jingling traces behind them. A high-pitched bell was rung, and they stepped aside as a double-horse carriage approached. As it slowed, Matthew saw in the seats behind the driver Joplin Pollard and Mrs. Deverick, he jaunty in a beige suit, waistcoat, and tricorn and she again grim in black gown and hat, her face pallid beneath white powder. The leather top of the carriage had been put up to throw shade over the pa.s.sengers.
”Ah! Corbett!” said the lawyer. ”Mrs. Deverick and I were just on our way to the printmaster's house. We've been trying to find you.”
”Oh?”
”We made a stop at Stokely's house. He told us you'd left with Grigsby after that ghastly mishap yesterday. Not much left of the pottery, is there? And who might this be?”
”This is Miss Beryl...Berry Grigsby. Marmaduke's granddaughter. Berry, this is Mr. Joplin Pollard and...the widow Deverick.”
”Charmed, my dear.” Pollard touched the rolled rim of his tricorn, and Berry gave a nod in return. The lady in black swept her gaze across Berry's clothes and then looked at her with narrowed eyes, as one might regard a strangely colored lizard. ”May we steal Mr. Corbett away from you for a little discussion?” Pollard didn't wait for Berry's response, but clicked open the carriage's door. ”Climb up, Corbett.”
”If you're going in that direction,” Matthew said, ”might you give Miss Grigsby a ride home? It's just-”
”A private discussion,” Mrs. Deverick interrupted, staring straight ahead.
Matthew felt a bit of heat in his cheeks, but when he looked at Berry she just shrugged and gave him a glimpse of the gap between her front teeth when she smiled. ”It's all right, Matthew. I think I'd rather walk. Will you join us for lunch?”
”I have some errands, but I'll see you later.”
”Fine. I'm sure Grandda will appreciate that. Good day, sir,” she said to Pollard, and to Mrs. Deverick, ”Good day, widow.” Then Berry walked on along the harbor street, carrying her valise and sketchpad, and Pollard said to Matthew, ”Come, come! We have some business.”
Thirty.
With Matthew seated across from his two carriage companions, his clothes bag on the floor at his feet and the horses clip-clopping south along the harbor, Mrs. Deverick looked pointedly at him and asked, ”Have you sworn off shaving, young man?”
”Forgive the stubble. One of my errands today is to Mr. Reynaud.”
”I hear he does a good job,” said Pollard. ”Though I wouldn't let a slave with a razor anywhere near me.”
”Mr. Reynaud is a free man,” Matthew reminded him. ”He's been free for nearly five years, I understand.”
”You're a braver man than me, then. I'd be afraid he'd choose the moment of my shaving to forget he's living in civilization and revert back to savagery. So. I-and Mrs. Deverick also, of course-regret to hear of your recent inconvenience. Where are you living?”
”In Grigsby's dairyhouse.” From the corner of his eye he saw Mrs. Deverick put a black-gloved hand to her mouth. ”For the time being. A month, maybe.”
”A dairyhouse.” A quick smile flickered around the edges of Pollard's mouth. ”I a.s.sume you'll have all the milk you can drink?”
”It used to be a dairyhouse. Now it's-” He decided to stop playing at civilities. ”There was business you wished to discuss?” He turned his gaze upon the woman. ”Privately?”
”Oh, yes.” Pollard reached into his coat and brought out an envelope. ”Your questions to Mrs. Deverick. She wishes to respond to them, in my presence.”
Matthew kept his focus on the widow. ”Madam, do you need a lawyer to answer some simple questions?”
”I think it's best,” Pollard offered. ”After all, protecting my client is what I'm paid to do.”
”In this instance, protection against what? Me?”
”Mr. Corbett, we're all striving for clarity in this situation, are we not? I would be present if Mrs. Deverick were to answer questions like these before High Constable Lillehorne, or any magistrate. Surely I ought to be present if a clerk-no matter how intriguing or intelligent he appears to my client-asks them. And forgive me, Mrs. Deverick, but I have to repeat my objections that this entire arrangement is farcical. What can this fellow learn that trained professionals can't-”
”Objection noted,” said Mrs. Deverick. ”Now shut your wine keg and sit back. You'll earn your fee with silence as well as with prattling.” She took the envelope from his hand as he settled back with a soft hissing noise, his brown eyes glinting with both defeat and disdain. ”I decided not to put anything in writing,” she told Matthew as she pulled the letter free. ”On the advice of my lawyer. Particularly concerning my thoughts on...” She paused for a few seconds, as if willing herself to speak the following names. ”Dr. Julius G.o.dwin and Mr. Eben Ausley.”
”Very well,” Matthew said. ”Nothing in writing, then.”
”I'll answer your questions in the order they were asked. First, having to do with any discussion Mr. Deverick might have had with me concerning business matters: the answer to that is none. As I have previously stated to you, Pennford kept his business affairs strictly to himself. I was required to run the household, raise the sons, and comport myself as a wife ought to. I never asked about business. It was not my realm. Next question: having to do with any recent trips Pennford made, either for business or pleasure.”
Matthew was listening, though he had the suspicion this was not going to get him anywhere. The horses clopped on, and Matthew began to think of how good a hot bath was going to feel.
”As recent, I a.s.sume you mean within the last six months,” Mrs. Deverick continued. ”The answer to that, also, is none. Pennford did not care to travel, as he had digestive problems.”
”No need for that detail, madam,” Pollard spoke up.
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