Part 53 (1/2)
Matthew opened the door and found that the woman had brought a silver tray on which rested a single, beautifully blown gla.s.s goblet filled with amber liquid.
”What's this?”
”Mr. Bidwell asked that I open a verra old bottle of rum. He said ta tell you that you deserved a taste of such, after such a foul taste as ye had just recently.” She looked at him questioningly. ”Bein' a servant, I did nae ask what he meant.”
”He's being kind. Thank you.” Matthew took the goblet and smelled its contents. From the heady aroma, the liquor promised to send him to the same peaceful Elysium that the magistrate currently inhabited. Though it was quite early for drinking so numbing a friend, Matthew decided to allow himself at least two good swallows.
”I ha' another direction from Mr. Bidwell, ” Mrs. Nettles said. ”He asks that you take dinner in your room, the kitchen, or at Van Gundy's this eve. He asks me to inform you that your bill at Van Gundy's would be his pleasure.”
Matthew realized it was Bidwell's way of telling him he was not invited to the maskers' dinner. Bidwell had no more use for the services of either the magistrate or Matthew, thus out of sight and out of mind. Matthew also suspected that Bidwell was a little wary of allowing him to roam loose at a gathering. ”I'll eat at the tavern, ” he said.
”Yes sir. May I get you any thin' else?”
”No.” As soon as he said it, he reversed his course. ”Uh... yes.” The unthinkable thing had entered his mind once more, as if bound to determine how strong was his fortress wall between common sense and insanity. ”Would you come in for a moment, please?” She entered and he shut the door.
He drank his first swallow of the rum, which lit a conflagration down his throat. Then he walked to the window and stood looking over the slave quarters in the direction of the tidewater swamp.
”I ha' things ta tend, ” Mrs. Nettles said.
”Yes. Forgive me for drifting, but... what I need to ask you is...” He paused again, knowing that in the next few seconds he would be walking a thin and highly dangerous rope. ”First of all, ” he decided to say, ”I pa.s.sed by the field this morning. Where the execution will take place. I saw the stake... the firemound... everything in preparation.”
”Yes sir, ” she answered, with no emotion whatsoever.
”I know that Rachel Howarth is innocent.” Matthew looked directly into Mrs. Nettles's dark, flesh-hooded eyes. ”Do you hear me? I know it. I also know who is responsible for the two murders and Rachel's predicament... but I am absolutely unable to prove any of it.”
”Are you free to name this person?”
”No. And please understand that my decision is not because I don't trust you, but because telling you would only compound your agony in this situation, as it has mine. Also, there are... circ.u.mstances I don't fathom, therefore it's best to speak no names.”
”As you wish, sir, ” she said, but it was spoken with a broad hint of aggravation.
”Rachel will burn on Monday morning. There is no doubt about that. Unless some extraordinary event occurs between now and then to overturn the magistrate's decree, or some revealing proof comes to light. You may be a.s.sured I will continue to shake the bushes for such proof.”
”That is all well and good, sir, but what does this ha' to do with me?”
”For you I have a question, ” he said. He took his second swallow of rum, and then waited for his eyes to cease watering. Now he had come to the end of the rope, and beyond it lay... what?
He took a deep breath and exhaled it. ”Do you know anything of the Florida country?”
Mrs. Nettles gave no visible reaction. ”The Florida country, ” she repeated.
”That's right. You may be aware that it's Spanish territory? Perhaps two hundred miles from-”
”I do know your meanin'. And yes, for sure I know them Spaniards are down there. I keep up with my currents.”
Matthew gazed out the window again, toward the swamp and the sea. ”Do you also then know, or have you heard, that the Spanish offer sanctuary to escaped English criminals and English-owned slaves?”
Mrs. Nettles was a moment in replying. ”Yes sir, I've heard. From Mr. Bidwell, talkin' at table one eve with Mr. Winston and Mr. Johnstone. A young slave by the name of Morganthus Crispin took flight last year. He and his woman. Mr. Bidwell believed they was goin' to the Florida country.”
”Did Mr. Bidwell try to recapture the slaves?”
”He did. Solomon Stiles and two or three others went.”
”Were they successful?”
”Successful, ” she said, ”in findin' the corpses. What was left of 'em. Mr. Bidwell told John Goode somethin' had et 'em, jus' tore 'em up terrible. Likely a burr, is what he said.”
”Mr. Bidwell told this to John Goode?” Matthew lifted his eyebrows. ”Why? To discourage any of the other slaves from running?”
”Yes sir, I 'spect so.”
”Were the corpses brought back? Did you see them?”
”No sir, neither one. They left 'em out there, since there wasn't a value to 'em na' more.”
”A value.” Matthew said, and grunted. ”But tell me this, then: was it possible that the slaves were indeed not killed? Was it possible they were never found, and Bidwell had to invent such a story?”
”I wouldn't know, sir. Of that Mr. Bidwell would nae confide in me.”
Matthew nodded. He took a third drink. ”Rachel is going to die for crimes she did not commit, because she fits someone's twisted need. And I can't save her. As much as I wish to... as much as I know she is innocent... I I can't.” Before he could think about it, a fourth swallow of rum had burned down his hatch. ”Do you remember saying to me that she needed a champion?” can't.” Before he could think about it, a fourth swallow of rum had burned down his hatch. ”Do you remember saying to me that she needed a champion?”
”I do.”
”Well... she needs one now more than ever. Tell me this: have any other slaves but Crispin and his wife fled south? Have any tried to reach the Florida country, been caught and returned?”
Her mouth slowly opened. ”My Lord, ” she said softly. ”You... want to know what the land's like 'tween here and there, don't ye?”
”I said nothing about that. I simply asked if any other-”
”What you asked and what you meant, ” Mrs. Nettles said, ”are two different horses. I'm gettin' your drift, sir, and I can't believe what I'm hearin'.”
”Exactly what are you hearing, then?”
”You know. That you'd be willin' ta take her out of that gaol and down ta th' Florida country.”
”I said nothing of the sort! And please keep your voice lowered!”
”Did you have to speak it?” she asked pointedly. ”All these questions, like ta run out my ears!” She advanced a step toward him, looking in her severe black dress like a dark-painted wall in motion. ”Listen to me, young man, and I trust ye listen well. For your further warrant, it is my understandin' that the Florida country lies near a hundred and fifty miles from Fount Royal, nae two hundred... but you would nae make five miles a'fore you 'n Madam Howarth both were either et by wild animals or scalped by wild Indians!”
”You forget that the magistrate and I arrived here on foot. We walked considerably more than five miles, through mud and in a pouring rain.”
”Yes sir, ” she said, ”and look at the magistrate now. Laid low, he is, 'cause of that walk. If you don't believe that had somethin' to do with at least wearin' him out, you're sadly mistook!” Matthew might have become angered, but Mrs. Nettles was only voicing what he already knew to be true.
”The likes of this I've never heard!” She crossed her arms over her ma.s.sive bosom in a scolding posture, the silver tray gripped in her right hand. ”This is a d.a.m.n dangerous land! I've seen grown men-men with a mite more meat on their bones than you-chopped ta their knees by it! What would you do, then? Jus' parade her from the gaol, mount y'selves two horses and ride out th' gate? Ohhhhh, I think nae!”
Matthew finished the gla.s.s of rum and hardly felt the fire. ”And even if ye did fetch her out, ” the woman continued, ”and did by some G.o.d-awe miracle get her down ta th' Florida country, what then? You think it's a matter of givin' her over ta th' Spanish and then comin' back? No, again you're sadly mistook! There would be no comin' back. Ever. You'd be livin' the rest of your life out with them conquista-... them con-... them squid-eaters!”