Part 27 (1/2)

”It's t.i.tled t.i.tled a farm,” said the inventor, ”but Mrs. Lovejoy-a very generous, charming woman, by the way-takes care of elderly people there.” a farm,” said the inventor, ”but Mrs. Lovejoy-a very generous, charming woman, by the way-takes care of elderly people there.”

”Elderly people.” Stop that! Matthew told himself.

”That's right. It's a place where how shall I put this elderly people in need of care are brought by their families, who can no longer keep them.”

”You mean they're ill?”

”Possibly that. Possibly they are hard to handle. To control. Like children can be. Hard to feed, or to um well, many things. She's told me all about it.”

”Is this a Quaker inst.i.tution?”

”I think she receives some money from the town, if that's what you mean. But she originated the concept. She believes it will become more popular an idea as time goes on.”

”Quite a concept,” Matthew said quietly. He regarded the pistols again. His mild expression masked the jolting memory he'd had of Greathouse reading off Slaughter's aliases from the article of possession that first day at the Westerwicke hospital: Count Edward Bowdewine, Lord John Finch and Earl Anthony Lovejoy Count Edward Bowdewine, Lord John Finch and Earl Anthony Lovejoy.

Lovejoy.

Quite a coincidence, as well.

”Listen,” Quisenhunt said, scratching the back of his neck. ”You're telling me that one of the thief traps I sold to Mrs. Lovejoy wound up in the possession of this Slaughter criminal?”

”I am. It was number six.”

”That's very odd. I sold them to her well, it's written in my ledger upstairs but I'm sure it was long before the highwaymen were caught. And I've seen her many times since then, but she's never mentioned being robbed, or the box being stolen.”

”Yes,” Matthew agreed. ”Odd.”

”How can that be explained, then?”

Matthew thought the question over. Turned it this way and that. And at last he posed his own question: ”Do you know where I might buy a suit?”

Twenty-Seven.

”My dear dear Mr. Shayne!” said the woman who rose from her chair at his entrance into the room. ”So very good to meet you.” She came forward slowly and gracefully, offering her hand, and as Matthew took it and gave it the obligatory kiss he wondered if she was thinking of how she ought to kill him. Mr. Shayne!” said the woman who rose from her chair at his entrance into the room. ”So very good to meet you.” She came forward slowly and gracefully, offering her hand, and as Matthew took it and gave it the obligatory kiss he wondered if she was thinking of how she ought to kill him.

But she was smiling warmly enough. ”Sit down, won't you?” She motioned toward the chair on the other side of the black-lacquered desk. ”Opal?” This was directed to the young girl who'd shown him in. ”Take Mr. Shayne's hat and cloak, please. And bring him what would you like, sir? Tea? Coffee? A gla.s.s of brandy?”

”Tea would be fine. Very strong, if you please.” He turned to glance at the serving-girl, who he imagined shot a look at his crotch. Matthew removed his newly-bought charcoal-gray cloak and dark green tricorn and gave them to the girl, who-and this was no imagining-rubbed her hip along his own as she turned to leave. Matthew thought she'd had much practice at this sort of thing, because she'd covered the maneuver with his cloak and it was over and done so quickly nothing was left but the tingle.

”Sit down, sit down!” said Mrs. Lovejoy, motioning toward his chair. She was still smiling, still warm, and perhaps she didn't want to kill him after all. Perhaps she knew nothing of any monster named Tyranthus Slaughter; perhaps there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for Slaughter's possession of the sixth thief trap that Oliver Quisenhunt had made and sold to her.

Perhaps, perhaps; but Matthew still intended to pa.s.s today as a young lawyer named Micah Shayne, and he intended to make it stick. Shayne Shayne after the name Faith Lindsay had given him, after the name Faith Lindsay had given him, Micah Micah after the first name of a very kind and energetic tailor on Spruce Street. The tailor had taken a look at the gold coin Matthew had offered and set to work altering a dark green suit left over in the shop when the young merchant it was going to had lost a substantial sum betting on dog-versus-rat fights out in the woods north of town. A little bringing in here and letting out there, and this dog was ready to fight. after the first name of a very kind and energetic tailor on Spruce Street. The tailor had taken a look at the gold coin Matthew had offered and set to work altering a dark green suit left over in the shop when the young merchant it was going to had lost a substantial sum betting on dog-versus-rat fights out in the woods north of town. A little bringing in here and letting out there, and this dog was ready to fight.

Two more days had pa.s.sed since Matthew's visit to the inventor's house. A shave and a hot bath had done wonders. Also, his bruises had faded to mere murmurs of themselves, though they would still enter themselves into any conversation, and of course the plaster would remain below his left eye for awhile longer. Last night, in his room at Mrs. Angwire's boarding house on Fifth Street, he had unwound the leather from his palms and feet and found everything sufficently healed. His thoughts went to Greathouse's condition; he hoped the great one had been so fortunate. But now he had to think only about tomorrow, and his meeting with Gemini Lovejoy.

Thus this cool, sunny morning he had secured a horse from the Fourth Street stable, ridden along a pleasant pastoral route with its gentle wooded hills, its rich farmfields, its wide pastures and meticulous stone walls, and just past the Speed The Plow tavern turned his mount onto a well-kept road toward the northwest. Soon enough he saw straddling the road a huge wrought-iron arch, painted white, with the word Paradise Paradise in blue letters above his head as he pa.s.sed beneath. He had obviously arrived at someone's idea of Heaven. in blue letters above his head as he pa.s.sed beneath. He had obviously arrived at someone's idea of Heaven.

”I presume we shall be feeling the first touch of winter soon,” said Mrs. Lovejoy, having seated herself across from him.

”I'm sure,” said Matthew.

”I do enjoy the autumn. The crispness of the air makes one feel so fresh, so alive alive, after the doldrums of summer.”

”Absolutely alive.” He had seen her gaze drift over the bruises and the plaster.

”You have a letter for me, then?”

”Yes, madam, I do.” Matthew retrieved the envelope from an inner pocket of his coat. On the envelope, Quisenhunt had written To My Dear Gemini Lovejoy, Concerning Mr. Micah Shayne To My Dear Gemini Lovejoy, Concerning Mr. Micah Shayne. It never hurt to have a proper introduction. Matthew gave her the envelope. Mrs. Lovejoy opened it with one quick snap from a bra.s.s blade on her tabletop and, as the lady read the letter, Matthew attempted to also read the lady.

She was probably in her mid-forties, and very handsome in the way of a lioness. Matthew of course had never seen a lioness but he had read descriptions of them. Mrs. Lovejoy fit the bill. The proud crown of tawny hair that was pulled back from her face and arranged in a display of curls about her shoulders was probably more appropriate for the male lion, but there it was nonetheless. The gray was not so outspoken yet, though it had begun to announce itself at the temples. She was not a small woman, nor was she oversized; she had big bones, and she made no attempt to hide them by wearing a gown with voluminous folds and frills. She was dressed simply, in a very beautiful indigo-dyed gown with a puff of tasteful cream-colored ruffle at the throat and cuffs, and on her feet were sensible black shoes decorated with black ribbons.

Matthew watched her read. She was devouring every word, and had one hand up to rest her chin upon. He could envision her, like a lioness, reclining on her throne of rocks on some African hillside, and peering into the ruddy distance for the dust trail of a weaker beast. He'd already noted that her eyes were clear green, wide-set and slightly almond-shaped, and that her jaw was square and firm and her forehead high as would befit a regal cat. Her nose was long and sharp-tipped, her mouth large enough to gnaw a bone or two. Dear G.o.d, he thought, he was thinking with Hudson Greathouse's brain. As yet Matthew hadn't gotten a close look at her teeth, and wasn't sure he wanted to. She blinked slowly, taking her time. He saw she wore no rings, but on both wrists were filigreed gold bracelets.

With the help of one of the coins Slaughter had left him after the Lindsay ma.s.sacre, Matthew had made sure he would himself stand up to scrutiny. The new suit, the new cloak, the new tricorn all were necessary for the deception. The investigation investigation, as it were. On his feet were a pair of black boots that his tailor friend had found for him from a shoemaker friend, at a reasonable price. The moccasins had had their day; when Matthew had taken them off they'd been nearly ready to fall apart.

”Mr. Shayne,” the woman suddenly said, as if just to repeat the name. She didn't divert her attention from the letter. ”How is my friend Oliver?”

”He's fine. Did you know that Priscilla will be having her baby in four months?”

”Yes, I did. I saw her at the market oh that was late August.” She put the letter aside with a brief and unrevealing smile. ”Here's our refreshment.”

Opal the hip-grazing crotch-glancer had returned, bringing a silver tray that bore his cup of tea. He accepted it and the linen napkin that was also offered. In the exchange of tea and napkin he caught Opal staring right at him, her pink lips slightly parted, and he wondered who really was the lioness in the room. She was wearing a gray muslinet gown and a shapeless gray mob cap that did nothing for a woman's charm and perhaps was meant so. Under the cap Opal's hair was jet-black and the eyes that stared so piercingly into Matthew's were a bright blue almost crackling with their heated appraisal. She was the proverbial mere slip of a girl, slim and wiry and standing maybe two inches more than sixty even in clunky black heels. Matthew saw small metal rings stuck through her lower lip and her right nostril. She scared the h.e.l.l out of him.

”Thank you, Opal,” said Mrs. Lovejoy, who was returning the letter to its envelope. ”I won't need you here any longer. Go to the laundry house and help there.”

”Yes, mum.” Opal gave a quick curtsey to both of them and took the tray back through the doorway again.

”Always something to be done,” the woman explained. ”The was.h.i.+ng, the cooking, the general maintenance. But it's my life now, Mr. Shayne. My calling.”

”And an admirable calling it is, according to Oliver.” He winced inwardly, and cautioned himself that it was better not to be so very d.a.m.ned eager.

”Sometimes admirable, sometimes just difficult.” She tilted her head slightly, as if to examine him from a different angle. ”I want you to understand that Paradise is very expensive. My guests guests-I always refer to them as my guests, for that's how much I respect them-require the best in food, care and consideration. But before I quote you a one year's fee, which would be our least expensive arrangement, let me ask you to tell me the particulars of your situation.”

Matthew paused for a drink of tea, and then he forged ahead. ”I am opening a law office after the first of the year. My wife and I will be-”

”In Philadelphia?” she asked. ”Your office?”

”Yes. My wife and I will be moving down from New York. We have one son and another child on the way.”

”Congratulations.”

”Thank you.” He brought up a frown. ”The problem is my grandfather. He's quite aged. Seventy-two years. Come December,” he chose to add, just for the sake of texture. He felt he was drawing a picture, as much as Berry ever did. ”My grandmother has been dead these last few years, my father pa.s.sed away on the voyage over, and my mother well, my mother met a new gentleman in New York, they married and returned to England.”

”This world world,” she said, with no expression.