Part 46 (1/2)

Matthew's curiosity had ignited from a flame to a bonfire and he yearned to ask Paine exactly what he was talking about, but something of the moment seemed almost sacred in its self-revelation, in its picture of a proud man giving up his pride to the overwhelming desire for confession and-perhaps-sanctuary from past misdeeds. Therefore he felt it small of himself to speak and break this spell of soul-broaching.

Paine walked to the window and looked out over the lantern-spangled town. On Industry Street, two fires some distance apart marked the camps of Exodus Jerusalem and the newly arrived maskers. Through the warm night wafted the faint sound of laughter and the trilling of a recorder from Van Gundy's tavern. ”My compliments, ” Paine said, his face still averted. ”I presume my wound left a trail. Is that what you followed?”

Dr. s.h.i.+elds at last freed the ebony flesh under the sixth blister cup. He put the implement into his bag, followed by the sa.s.safras root. Then, slowly and methodically, he began to close the bag by its b.u.t.tons and loops.

”Are you not going to answer me?” Paine asked. ”Or is this a torture by silence?”

”I think, ” the doctor said with grit in his voice, ”that the time has come for you to depart.”

”Depart? What game are you playing at?”

”No game. I a.s.sure you... no game.” s.h.i.+elds pressed a finger to one of the six horrid black swellings that protruded from Woodward's back. ”Ah, yes. Quite firm now. We have drawn the stagnant blood upward from the organs, you see?” He glanced at Matthew, then away. ”This procedure has a cleansing effect, and we should see some improvement in the magistrate's condition by morning.”

”And if not?” Matthew had to ask.

”If not... then there is the next step.”

”Which is?”

”Again applying the cups, ” s.h.i.+elds said, ”and then bleeding the blisters.” Matthew instantly regretted his inquiry. The thought of those swellings being burst by a lancet was almost too much to consider.

s.h.i.+elds lowered the magistrate's gown. ”You should endeavor to sleep on your stomach tonight, Isaac. I know your position is less than comfortable, but I'm afraid it's necessary.”

”I shall endure it, ” Woodward rasped, drifting even now toward sleep again.

”Good. I'll have Mrs. Nettles send a servant with a cold compress for your fever. In the morning we shall-”

”s.h.i.+elds, what do you want of me?” Paine interrupted, this time daring to face the other man. Moisture glistened on Paine's forehead and cheeks.

The doctor lifted his eyebrows. ”I've already told you, sir. I wish you to depart.”

”Are you going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life?”

s.h.i.+elds did not answer, but stared fixedly through his spectacle lenses at his antagonist. So d.a.m.ning was this wordless accusation that Paine was forced at length to drop his gaze to the floorboards. Then, abruptly, Paine turned toward the door and slinked out in the manner of the wolf he had proclaimed himself to be-yet, however, a wolf whose tail had been shorn off by an unexpected blade.

In the wake of Paine's departure, Dr. s.h.i.+elds let free a breath he'd been h.o.a.rding. ”Well, ” he said, and behind the lenses his magnified eyes appeared stunned by the rapid turn of events. He blinked slowly several times, as if clearing his mind as well as his vision. ”What was I saying? Oh... in the morning we shall administer a colonic and apply fresh plasters. Then we shall proceed as necessary.” He took a handkerchief from inside his jacket and mopped his brow. ”Is it hot in here to you?”

”No, sir, ” Matthew said. ”The temperature seems very regular.” He now saw his opportunity. ”May I ask what your exchange with Mr. Paine concerned?”

”I will have Mrs. Nettles look in on the magistrate from time to time tonight, ” the doctor said. ”You might keep yourself aware, also. I will be ready to come if any emergency presents itself.” He placed a rea.s.suring hand on Woodward's shoulder. ”I'm going to leave now, Isaac, just rest and be of good spirits. Tomorrow we might have you up and walking for some exercise.” From the magistrate there was no reply, because he had already fallen asleep.

”Good night, ” s.h.i.+elds said to Matthew and, taking his bag with him, he left the bedchamber.

Matthew was after him like a shot. ”One moment, sir!” he called in the hallway, but to be such a small-framed man Dr. s.h.i.+elds suddenly had the stride of a racehorse. Just before the doctor reached the stairs, Matthew said, ”If you refuse to tell me, I shall find out on my own.”

This statement caused an immediate reaction. Dr. s.h.i.+elds halted in his tracks, spun around with furious speed, and advanced on Matthew as if to strike the clerk a blow. By the Mars-orange glow of the hallway's lantern, s.h.i.+elds's face was a h.e.l.lish, sweating rictus with bared and clenched teeth, his eyes drawn into narrow slits that made him appear a stranger to the man Matthew had seen only seconds before. To compound this transformation, s.h.i.+elds gripped the front of Matthew's s.h.i.+rt with one hand and forced his back solidly and painfully into the wall.

”You listen!” s.h.i.+elds hissed. His hand tightened, twisting the fabric it clenched. ”You do not-I repeat, do not-have the right to interfere in my business. What transpired between Paine and myself tonight will remain just that: between him and me. No one else. Certainly not you. Do you understand me, boy?” s.h.i.+elds gave Matthew a violent shake to underscore his vehemence. 'Answer!”

In spite of the fact that he towered over the doctor, Matthew was stricken with fright. ”Yes, sir, ” Matthew said. ”I do understand.”

”You'd better, or by G.o.d you'll wish you had!” s.h.i.+elds held Matthew pressed up against the wall for a few seconds longer- an eternity to Matthew-and then the doctor's hand left his s.h.i.+rt. Without a further word, s.h.i.+elds walked away and descended the stairs.

Matthew was left severely confused and no less severely scared. The doctor might have been a brother to Will Shawcombe, for all that rough treatment. As he straightened his s.h.i.+rt and tried to steady his nerves, Matthew realized something truly treacherous was going on between s.h.i.+elds and Paine; indeed, the violence induced from s.h.i.+elds spoke volumes about the doctor's mental state. What had all that been, about wounds and weapons and Paine's deceased wife? I presume my wound left a trail, Paine had said. Is that what you followed?

Whatever the problem was, it had to do with Paine's past- which seemed more infamous now than ever. But Matthew was faced with so many puzzles to untangle concerning Rachel's plight-and such a short time to untangle them-that this new situation seemed more of a sideshow than a compelling attraction. He didn't believe the strife between the two men had anything to do with Rachel, whereas, for instance, Gwinett Linch's voice singing in the darkness of the Hamilton house while Satan laid an ultimatum at the feet of Violet Adams most certainly did.

Therefore, though he might fervently desire to know more about the relations.h.i.+p he'd witnessed tonight, he felt pressed by time to keep his focus on proving Rachel's innocence and let old griefs fall by the wayside. For now, at least.

He looked in once more on the magistrate and waited for the servant girl to come with the cold compress. Matthew thanked her, bade her go, and himself applied the compress-a water-soaked cotton cloth, to be accurate-to the sleeping man's face and on the back of his neck where the fever seemed most heated. Afterward, Matthew went downstairs and found Mrs. Nettles closing the shutters for the night. He asked if he might have a pot of tea and some biscuits, and was soon thereafter in possession of a tray with both. He took the moment to inquire of Mrs. Nettles what she knew about the ratcatcher, but she could supply nothing other than the facts that Linch kept to himself, and though he was sorely needed he was something of a pariah because of the nature of his craft. Matthew also asked-in a most casual way-if Mrs. Nettles had ever detected a tension between Dr. s.h.i.+elds and Nicholas Paine, or knew of anything that might be a cause of trouble in their dealings with each other.

Mrs. Nettles answered that she knew of no trouble, but that she was aware of a certain chill emanating from the good doctor regarding Mr. Paine. By contrast, she said, Dr. s.h.i.+elds acted warmly toward Mr. Winston and Mr. Bidwell, but it was apparent to her that the doctor would rather not share the same room in which Mr. Paine was present. It was nothing so dramatic that anyone else might notice, but in her opinion Dr. s.h.i.+elds had a marked distaste for the man.

”Thank you, ” Matthew said. ”Oh... one more thing. Who arrived first in Fount Royal? Mr. Paine or the doctor?”

”Mr. Paine did, ” she replied. ”It was... oh, more'n a month or two a'fore Dr. s.h.i.+elds came.” She knew there must be a valid reason for these questions. ”Does this concern Rachel Howarth?”

”No, I don't believe so. It's only an observation I needed verified.”

”Oh, I swan it's more'n that!” She offered him a sly smile. ”You canna' leave a thread undone, can ya?”

”I might find employment as a weaver of rugs, if that's what you mean.”

”Ha!” She gave a rough bark of a laugh. ”Yes, I 'spect you might!” However, her smile vanished and her countenance darkened until she had reached her customary grim composure. ”It's all up for Madam Howarth then, is that the basket?”

”The lid has not yet been closed, ” Matthew said.

”Meanin' what?”

”Meaning that the execution flame has not yet been lighted... and that I have some reading to do. Excuse me and good night.” Matthew took his tray of tea and biscuits upstairs to his room, where he poured himself a cup and sat down next to the open window, his lantern burning on its sill. For the third time he took the doc.u.ments from their protective box and began reading through them, starting at the beginning.

By now he might have recited the testimony by heart. Still he felt-or, rather, ardently hoped-that something in the thicket of words might leap out at him like a directional signpost, signaling the next step in his exploration. He drank from his cup of tea and chewed on a biscuit. Bidwell had taken his own repast at Van Gundy's tavern, as Matthew had discovered from Dr. s.h.i.+elds, who had earlier seen Bidwell hoisting a tankard with Winston and several other men in a general air of merry celebration.

He finished-for the third time-Jeremiah Buckner's account and paused to rub his eyes. He felt in need of a tankard himself, yet strong drink would weaken his resolve and blur his sight. Oh, for a night of pure sleep untouched by the thought of Rachel afire on the stake!

Or even a night untouched by the thought of Rachel. Period.

He recalled what the magistrate had said: Helping her. Finding the truth. Being of service. Whatever and however you choose to phrase it... Rachel Howarth is your nightbird, Matthew. Perhaps the magistrate was right, but not in the sinister way he had meant it.

Matthew closed his eyes for a moment to rest them. Then he opened them, drank some more tea to fortify himself, and continued his reading. Now he was venturing into the testimony of Elias Garrick, and the man's recollection of the night he had awakened and- Wait, he thought. That was odd.

He read again over the section he had just digested. That night I was feelin' poorly, and I waked up to go outside and spew what was makin' me ill. It was silent. Every thin' was silent, like the whole world was afeared to breathe.

Matthew sat up from his slouched position in the chair. He reached out and pulled the lantern nearer. Then he turned back through the pages until he found the beginning of Jeremiah Buckner's testimony.

And there it was.