Part 51 (1/2)
She lowered her ringless hands and obeyed.
”Do you see that young man over there?” Trevor motioned toward Matthew.
”Yes.” Mrs. Swanscott leaned closer to her son and whispered, ”Speaking of accidents.”
”His name is Matthew Corbett. He's a friend of mine, Mother. Now, as I said I'm going to be very busy here for a while. Very much...tied up. I won't be able to see you as often as I'd like. I may not be here again.” He caught the ripple of dismay on her face. ”I mean, for...who knows how long?”
”You're a very busy and successful lawyer,” she said. ”Every penny worth it.”
”Matthew is going to come and see you, from time to time. He'll sit with you and listen if you want to talk, or talk if you'd like to listen, or read to you if you'd like that.” He gave her hands a squeeze. ”I want you to know,” he went on, ”that when Matthew is sitting beside you, I also am there. When he is reading to you, so I am, and when you speak to him I hear. Can you understand that?”
”I think you're a little brain-addled after that long trip.” She pulled a hand free and gently touched his cheek. ”But if it makes you happy, and you're so busy, then yes. Your father and I certainly won't mind if a friend of yours comes to the house from time to time. Will he want to stay for dinner?”
Matthew heard, and replied, ”Yes, madam. I would.”
”He's not a freeloader, is he?” This question was directed to Trevor in a whisper.
”No, he's quite respectable.”
”Good. Well, he would be, wouldn't he? If he's a friend of yours?” She stroked his cheek, as Matthew thought perhaps she had when he was a small, smart, and industrious boy and she saw all the possibilities ahead. ”It is late, isn't it?” she asked.
”Late, Mother?”
”Late for me. I'm such an old dotty. But you...you have everything wonderful ahead of you. Your life, and Margaret. And children of your own, don't forget that. What you might become, Trevor. The man you shall grow to be. You know, your father's still a boy in so many ways. I think he shall never fully grow up. How can it be, that you and he are so alike?”
”I don't know,” came the answer. ”I only know I loved...I love Father, and I love you. And I shall always love the both of you, and hold you the highest in my heart.”
”Oh!” She playfully cuffed his chin. ”That's what all sons say, until they have sons of their own.”
Trevor lowered his head for a moment. Matthew knew then why he could get away with hiding behind the mask of Andrew Kippering who hid behind the Masker, because when Trevor looked up at his mother again he was smiling as if he had no care under G.o.d's heaven. He kissed her cheek, and she said, ”I think I'd better go to bed. I'm so tired from all this.”
All this was not explained, but Trevor helped her into bed as the two doctors watched. When Trevor got her situated and the covers pulled up, she smiled at him and held his hand. ”Promise me,” she said.
”Promise you what?”
”Promise me...you'll go to the kitchen and ask Priscilla to make you some chicken soup before you leave.”
”Oh, I can't leave without a bowl of Priscilla's chicken soup, can I?”
”Perish the thought,” said Mrs. Swanscott, in a voice that was beginning to drift. ”When I wake up,” she said, ”everything...will be so much brighter. Don't you think?”
”Yes, Mother. Much brighter.”
”One can only hope,” Matthew heard her say, in nearly a whisper. Then she sighed, let go of Trevor's hand, and just that quickly she was gone.
Ramsendell and Hulzen came to the bedside, but only to check her breathing and make sure her chamberpot was within easy reach. Ramsendell rubbed the back of his neck. ”A long way to go, but at least now we know in which direction.”
Trevor was on his feet. ”Will she ever recover? I mean...back to how she was?”
”Debatable. I really don't know. We shall have to begin slowly, of course. First of all, to let her understand where she is and who we are. Then we'll approach the loss of Mr. Swanscott, but only when we're sure she can accept it. That may be a long and difficult task for all of us. But I think it's a very good idea for Mr. Corbett to return and spend time with her. That's something I'm sure she'll look forward to and see as a...well...as a visit from you, since you put it so eloquently.”
Trevor nodded. He had turned his face away from the bed, and regarded the doorway with grim resignation. At last he said, ”All right. I'm ready.” Before he left he kissed his sleeping mother on the forehead, and then he preceded Matthew from the room.
Outside, the wagon was waiting. Wearing a riding suit the color of cream with a bright red vest and a cream-hued tricorn accented by a red feather, Gardner Lillehorne was standing next to his horse at the hitching-post. Matthew's horse Dante was also tied at the post. Up on the wagon, the driver and a constable named Uriah Blount were ready to receive the prisoner. Lillehorne had the manacles and chains in hand. They jangled with heavy finality as Lillehorne walked to meet Trevor Kirby.
”May I ask that Mr. Kirby not be manacled?” Matthew asked when Trevor thrust his wrists out.
The small black eyes flashed. ”And why not, sir? Because your heart is bleeding?”
”No, because I think it's unnecessary. Mr. Kirby has vowed to cause no trouble. We should take him at his word.”
”Oh, is that why he was manacled on the trip here, sir? Because we took him at his word?”
”Do me the favor,” Matthew said flatly.
Lillehorne grunted and started to close the ponderous cuffs around Trevor's wrists, but then he scowled and stepped back with them still undone. ”I have already done you the favor, as you put it, by allowing this highly unofficial visit to be made. The prisoner will get in the wagon. Mr. Blount, give him aid, please. And keep your pistol ready at all times.”
”Yes sir.”
”Thank you, Matthew,” Trevor said before he climbed up to be guarded all the way back to New York. ”Thank you also for agreeing to come see her. Let me ask this: do you think she'll be safe?”
”I think so. There would be no profit in harming her, and no lesson to be made out of her for the underlings. So yes, I do think she'll be safe.”
”Let's go, gentlemen.” Lillehorne mounted his horse. ”Or shall we all shuffle to the nearest tavern and weep in our beers?”
On the ride, as they followed the Philadelphia Pike, Matthew urged Dante up next to Lillehorne's horse. They were proceeding at a walk. ”I do appreciate the favors,” he said. ”Both of them.”
”Spare me.”
”I just wanted you to know that it meant a great deal to Trevor to see his-”
”What is this Trevor business? Are you his best friend? Don't you recollect that he killed three men, mangled the legs of a third, and might have killed a fourth?”
”I recollect that he turned himself in to you and saved my life. Best friend, perhaps not, but friend yes.”
”You were knocked about up at that d.a.m.ned estate one too many times,” Lillehorne said sourly.
Matthew held his tongue. Gardner Lillehorne had returned to his usual form. Of course it was understandable, since Lillehorne was in one muddy mire of a mess. The gaol was full, the cold room had been turned into a makes.h.i.+ft gaol, and the judicial fabric of New York was straining under the pull of so many criminals they could hardly be housed, much less fed. The entire scene was a merry disaster, with boys throwing slop buckets and p.i.s.sing at whoever came near the bars. Two prisoners who seemed determined to p.i.s.s and holler their way out of the cells were Bromfield and Carver, who'd been caught on their way to pick up Dippen Nack. The two hunters had run smack into Lillehorne, Kirby, and the constables, and Kirby had recognized Bromfield as the man who'd been with Pollard. A chase had ensued, with Bromfield's horse throwing him into a briar patch and Carver being stopped by a pistol ball past his ear.
Add to the festivities the complications-and mysteries-of the files and papers that had been found in Chapel's office, and little wonder Lillehorne's temper had become a tinderbox. The prosecutors of Charles Town, Philadelphia, and Boston as well as a dozen other smaller localities had to be notified due to the staggering number of forged deeds and bills of sale, plans for arson, extortion, kidnapping, doc.u.ment theft, and even the counterfeiting of money that had either been already hatched or in their initial stages, using the services of those boys-and young men-who had previously pa.s.sed through the criminal university and been placed in those towns waiting for a signal to act. It was a law officer's delirium, to have to deal with thirty or more acts of crime in the planning stages all up and down the Atlantic coast while holding on to twenty-five sharkers some in need of medical attention. And some, like Chapel and Pollard, bound up in beds at the King Street hospital. So Matthew could pardon Lillehorne's foul disposition, as the situation truly was dire.
But, as Matthew considered, it was just his job to catch the criminals. It was Lillehorne's job to hold on to them.
”Gardner,” Matthew said as their horses walked side-by-side, ”I have an idea about that central constable's station I was talking about. You remember, at the meeting with Lord Cornbury? If this constable's station was built, it could be combined with a new gaol. A modern facility, with...say...twenty cells. With a kitchen also, so meals could be made on the premises. You know, there might be a small medical facility there as well, so wounded prisoners would not be taken away to-”
”Silence!” the man snapped. ”What did you call me?”