Part 8 (2/2)
”My supper's getting cold,” Matthew said, daring the lash.
”Oh, you think you're so smart, don't you?” Ausley drew on the pipe and expelled smoke from his nostrils. ”So d.a.m.ned clever. But you're not near as clever as you take yourself to be, boy.”
”Do you require a response from me, sir, or do you wish me to be silent?”
”Silent. Just stand there and listen. You're thinking that because you're off to be the ward of a magistrate you can cause some trouble for me, isn't that right? Maybe you think I've done some things that ought to be called to his attention?”
”Sir?” Matthew said. ”Might I suggest a book on logic for your bedtime reading?”
”Logic? What's that got to do with anything?”
”You've told me to be silent, but then posed questions that require an answer.”
”Shut your mouth, you little b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” Ausley rose to his feet on a surge of anger. ”Just mark well what I say! My commission gives me absolute authority to run this inst.i.tution as I see fit! Which includes the administering of order and punishments, as I see fit!” Ausley, realizing he was on the edge of losing all control, settled back into his chair and glared at Matthew through a blue haze of pipesmoke. ”No one can prove I have been remiss in that duty, or overzealous in my methods,” he said tersely. ”For a very simple reason: I have not been so. Any and all actions I have taken here have been to benefit my charges. Do you agree with that, or do you disagree?”
”I presume you wish me to speak now?”
”I do.”
”I have a small qualm with the method of your punishments, though I would consider some of them to have been delivered with a sickening sense of joy,” Matthew said. ”My objections concern your methods after the dormitory lamps have been put out.”
”And what methods are you referring to? My private counseling of wayward, stubborn boys whose att.i.tudes are disruptive? My willingness to take in hand these boys and guide them in the proper direction? Is that your reference?”
”I think you understand my reference very clearly, sir.”
Ausley gave a short, hard laugh. ”You don't know anything. Have you witnessed with your own eyes any impropriety? No. Oh, you've heard things, of course. Because all of you despise me. That's why. You despise me, because I'm your master and wild dogs cannot bear the collar. And now, because you fancy yourself so d.a.m.ned clever, you think to cause me some trouble by way of that black-robed magpie. But I shall tell you why you will not.”
Matthew waited while Ausley pushed more tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, tamped it down, and relit it with deliberately slow motions.
”Your objections,” Ausley said acidly, ”would be very difficult to prove. As I've said, my commission gives me absolute authority. I know I've delivered some harsh punishments; too harsh perhaps. That is why you might wish to slander me. And the other boys?
Well... I like this position, young man, and I plan on staying here for many years to come. Just because you're leaving does not mean the others-your friends, the ones among whom you've grown up-will be departing anytime soon. Your actions might have an effect on their comfort.” He drew on the pipe, tilted his head upward, and spewed smoke toward the ceiling. ”There are so many young ones here,” he said. ”Much younger than you. And do you realize how many more the hospitals and churches are trying to place with us? Hardly a day goes by when I don't receive an enquiry concerning our available beds. I am forced to turn so many young ones away. So, you see, there will always be a fresh supply.” He offered Matthew a cold smile. ”May I give you some advice?”
Matthew said nothing. ”Consider yourself fortunate,” Ausley continued. ”Consider that your education concerning the real world has been furthered. Be of excellent service to the magistrate, be of good cheer and good will, and live a long and happy life.” He held up a thick finger to warrant Matthew's full attention. ”And never-never-plot a war you have no hope of winning. Am I understood?”
Matthew hesitated; his mind was working over the planes and angles of this problem, diagramming and dissecting it, turning it this way and that, shaking it in search of a loose nail that might be further loosened, stretching it like a chain to inspect the links, and hoping to find one rust-gnawed and able to be broken.
”Am I understood?” Ausley repeated, with some force.
Matthew was left with one response. At least for the moment. He said, ”Yes, sir,” in his calmest voice.
”Very good. You may go back to your supper.”
Matthew left the headmaster's office and returned to his food; it was, indeed, cold and quite tasteless. That night he said goodbye to his friends, he climbed into his bunk in the dormitory, but he found sleep elusive. What should have been an occasion of rejoicing was instead a time for reflection and more than a little regret. At first light, he was dressed and waiting. Soon afterward, the bell at the front gate rang and a staff member came to escort him to Magistrate Woodward in the courtyard.
As the magistrate's carriage pulled away, Matthew glanced back at the Home and saw Ausley standing at the window, watching. Matthew felt the tip of a blade poised at his throat. He looked away from the window, staring instead at his hands clenched together in his lap.
”You seem downcast, young man,” the magistrate said. ”Are you troubled by something?”
”Yes, sir, I am,” Matthew had to admit. He thought of Ausley at the window, the carriage wheels turning to take him far away from the almshouse, the boys who were left behind, the terrible punishments that Ausley could bring down upon them. For now, Ausley held the power. I plan on staying here for many years to come, the headmaster had said. In that case, Matthew knew where to find him.
”Is this a matter you wish to talk about?” Woodward asked. ”No sir. It's my problem, and mine alone. I will I will find a way to solve it. I will.” find a way to solve it. I will.”
”What?”
Matthew looked into the magistrate's face. Woodward no longer wore his wig and tricorn, his appearance much aged since that day he'd driven Matthew away from the almshouse. A light rain was falling through the thick-branched trees, steam hanging above the muddy track they were following. Ahead of them was the wagon Paine drove.
”Did you say something, Matthew?” the magistrate asked. I will I will, he thought it had been.
It took Matthew a few seconds to adjust to the present from his recollections of the past. ”I must have been thinking aloud,” he said, and then he was quiet.
In time, the fortress walls of Fount Royal emerged from the mist ahead. The watchman on his tower began to ring the bell, the gate was unlocked and opened, and they had returned to the witch's town.
Seven.
It was dark-clouded and cool, the sun a mere specter on the eastern horizon. From the window of his room, which faced away from Fount Royal, Matthew could see Bidwell's stable, the slaves' clapboard houses beside it, the guard tower, and the thick pine forest that stretched toward the swamp beyond. It was a dismal view. His bones ached from the continual damp, and because of a single mosquito that had gotten past the barrier of his bed-netting, his sleep had been less than restful. But the day had come, and his antic.i.p.ation had risen to a keen edge.
He lit a candle, as the morning was so caliginous, and shaved using the straight razor, soap, and bowl of water that had been left in the hallway outside. Then he dressed in black trousers, white stockings, and a cream-colored s.h.i.+rt from the limited wardrobe Bidwell had provided him. He was blowing out the candle when a knock sounded at his door. ”Breakfast is a'table, sir,” said Mrs. Nettles.
”I'm ready.” He opened the door and faced the formidable, square-chinned woman in black. She carried a lantern, the yellow light and shadows of which made her stern visage almost fearsome. ”Is the magistrate up?”
”Already downstairs,” she said. Her oiled brown hair was combed back from her forehead so severely that Matthew thought it looked painful. ”They're waitin' for you before grace is said.”
”Very well.” He closed the door and followed her along the hallway. Her weight made the boards squeal. Before they reached the staircase, the woman suddenly stopped so fast Matthew almost collided into her. She turned toward him, and lifted the lantern up to view his face.
”What is it?” he asked.
”May I speak freely, sir?” Her voice was hushed. ”And trust you na' to repeat what I might say?”
Matthew tried to gauge her expression, but the light was too much in his eyes. He nodded.
”This is a dangerous day,” she said, all but whispering. ”You and the magistrate are in grave danger.”
”Of what nature?”
”Danger of bein' consumed by lies and blasphemies. You seem an able-minded young man, but you nae understand this town and what's transpirin' here. In time you might, if your mind is na' poisoned.”
”Poisoned by whom? The witch, do you mean?”
”The witch.” witch.” It was said with more than a hint of bitterness. ”Nay, I'm na' speakin' of Rachel Howarth. Whatever you hear of her-however you perceive her-she is na' your enemy. She's a victim, young man. If anythin', she needs your he'p.” It was said with more than a hint of bitterness. ”Nay, I'm na' speakin' of Rachel Howarth. Whatever you hear of her-however you perceive her-she is na' your enemy. She's a victim, young man. If anythin', she needs your he'p.”
”How so?”
”They're ready to hang her,” Mrs. Nettles whispered. ”They'd hang her this morn, if they could. But she does na' deserve the rope. What she needs is a champion of truth. Somebody to prove her innocent, when ever'body else is again' her.”
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