Part 59 (2/2)
”Was he successful?”
”No, sir.”
”Ah. That poor soul. I feel for him, Matthew.” Woodward leaned his head back on his pillow. ”He has done his best... and the Devil has done his worst.”
”Yes, sir, I agree.”
Woodward turned his face so he had a good view of his clerk. ”I know we have not been in agreement... on very much of late. I regret that any harsh words were spoken.”
”As do I.”
”I know also... how you must be feeling. The despondence and despair. Because you still believe her to be innocent. Am I correct?”
”You are, sir.”
”Is there nothing... I can say or do to change your mind?”
Matthew offered him a slight smile. ”Is there nothing I can say or do to change yours?”
”No, ” Woodward said firmly. ”And I suspect that... we might never come to common ground on this.” He sighed, his expression pained. ”You will disagree, of course... but I appeal to you... to lay aside your obvious emotion and consider the facts as I did. I made my decree... based on those facts, and those facts alone. Not based on the accused's physical beauty... or her prowess at twisting words... or her misused intelligence. The facts, Matthew. I had no choice... but to p.r.o.nounce her guilty, and to sentence her to such a death. Can you not understand?”
Matthew didn't reply, but instead stared at his folded hands.
”No one ever told me, ” Woodward said softly, ”that... being a judge would be easy. In fact... I was promised... by my own mentor that it would be an iron cloak... once put on, impossible to remove. I have found it doubly true. But... I have tried to be fair, and I have tried to be correct. What more can I do?”
”Nothing more, ” Matthew said.
”Ah. Then perhaps... we might return to common ground after all. You will understand these things so much better... after you wear the iron cloak yourself.”
”I don't believe I ever shall, ” came Matthew's answer, before he could guard his speech.
”You say that now... but it is your youth and despair speaking. Your affronted sense of... what is right and wrong. You are looking at the dark side of the moon, Matthew. The execution of a prisoner... is never a happy occasion, no matter the crime.” He closed his eyes, his strength draining away. ”But what joy... what relief... when you are able to discover the truth... and set an innocent person free. That alone... justifies the iron cloak. You will see... all in G.o.d's time.”
A tap at the door announced a visitor. Matthew said, ”Who is it?”
The door opened. Dr. s.h.i.+elds stood on the threshold, holding his medical bag. Matthew had noted that since the murder of Nicholas Paine, the doctor's countenance had remained gaunt and hollow-eyed, much as Matthew had found him at the infirmary. In truth, the doctor appeared to Matthew to be laboring under an iron cloak of his own, as s.h.i.+elds's moist face was milk-pale, his eyes watery and red-rimmed beneath the magnifying lenses of his spectacles. ”Pardon my intrusion, ” he said. ”I've brought the magistrate's afternoon dose.”
”Come in, doctor, come in!” Woodward pulled himself up to a sitting position, eager for a taste of that healing tonic.
Matthew got up from his chair and moved away so Dr. s.h.i.+elds might administer the dose. The doctor had already this morning been cautioned again-as yesterday-not to mention the events transpiring in Fount Royal, which he had the good sense not to do even if he hadn't been cautioned. He agreed with Matthew that, though the magistrate appealed to be gaining strength, it was yet wise not to pressure his health with the disastrous news.
When the dose had been swallowed and Woodward settled again to await the oncoming of precious sleep, Matthew followed Dr. s.h.i.+elds out into the hallway and closed the magistrate's door.
”Tell me, ” Matthew said in a guarded tone. ”Your best and honest opinion: When will the magistrate be able to travel?”
”He does improve daily.” s.h.i.+elds's spectacles had slipped down his beak, and he pushed them up again. ”I am very pleased with his response to the tonic. If all goes well... I would say two weeks.”
”What do you mean, 'if all goes well'? He's out of danger, isn't he?”
”His condition was very serious. Life-threatening, as you well know. To say he's out of danger is an oversimplification.”
”I thought you were so pleased with his response to the tonic.”
”I am, ” s.h.i.+elds said forcefully. ”But I must tell you something about that tonic. I created it myself from what I had at hand. I purposefully strengthened it as much as I dared, to encourage the body to increase its blood flow and thereby-”
”Yes, yes, ” Matthew interrupted. ”I know all that about the stagnant blood. What of the tonic?”
”It is... how shall I say this... an extreme experiment. I've never before administered that exact mixture, in so powerful a dosage.”
Matthew had an inkling now of what the doctor was getting at. He said, ”Go on.”
”The tonic was mixed strong enough to make him feel better. To lessen his pain. To... reawaken his natural healing processes.”
”In other words, ” Matthew said, ”it's a powerful narcotic that gives him the illusion of well-being?”
”The word powerful is... uh... an understatement, I fear. The correct term might be Herculean.”
”Then without this tonic he would regress to the state he was in before?”
”I can't say. I do know for certain that his fever is much reduced and his breathing greatly freed. The condition of his throat has also improved. So: I have done what you required of me, young man. I have brought the magistrate back from death's door... at the penalty of his being dependent on the tonic.”
”Which means, ” Matthew said grimly, ”that the magistrate is also dependent on the tonic's maker. Just in case I might wish to pursue you in the future for the murder of Nicholas Paine.”
s.h.i.+elds flinched at this, and pressed a finger to his mouth to request that Matthew regulate his volume. ”No, you're wrong, ” he said. ”I swear it. That had nothing to do with my mixing the tonic. As I said, I used what was at hand, in a strength I judged sufficient for the task. And as for Paine... if you'd please not mention him again to me? In fact, I demand you do not.”
Matthew had seen what might have been a blade-twist of agony in the doctor's eyes, a fleeting thing that had been pushed down as quickly as it had appeared. ”All right, then, ” he said. ”What's to be done?”
”I am planning, after the execution, to begin watering the dosage. There will still be three cups a day, but one of them will be half strength. Then, if all goes well, we shall cut a second cup to half strength. Isaac is a strong man, with a strong const.i.tution. I am hopeful his body will continue to improve by its own processes.”
”You're not going back to the lancet and blister cups, are you?”
”No, we have crossed those bridges.”
”What about taking him to Charles Town? Could he stand the trip?”
”Possibly. Possibly not. I can't say.”
”Nothing more can be done for him?”
”Nothing, ” s.h.i.+elds said. ”It is up to him... and to G.o.d. But he does feel better and he does breathe easier. He can communicate, and he is comfortable. These days... with the medicines I have on hand... I would say that is a miracle of sorts.”
”Yes, ” Matthew said. ”I agree, of course. I... didn't wish to sound ungrateful for what you've done. I believe that under the circ.u.mstances you've performed with admirable skill.”
”Thank you, sir. Perhaps in this case there was more luck involved than skill... but I have done my best.”
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