Matthew not only had no answer, but he was also aware that he wasn’t just damp from the rain. He was sweating under his arms. He shifted in his chair, feeling like a cod on a hook. Had the woman made the rounds of New York inquiring about him? He didn’t know whether to feel flattered by her attention or flattened by such crushing insights. She had to have gone around town discovering his habits! Damn it, he ought to put on a face of effrontery, rise from his chair, and stalk out of here.
But instead he kept his expression mild, his eyes calm, and he stayed where he was.
“So do you now have an opinion of me?” she asked, in a buttery voice.
“I think…you enjoy the process of discovery,” he replied, and that was all.
“How true,” came her answer. Then they sat staring at each other as darkness grew in the room, a sudden shower pelted the window, the shadows moved, and sunlight streamed down again through the paned glass.
“I am a businesswoman,” Mrs. Herrald said. “I’m sure Nathaniel…I mean to say…Magistrate Powers told you?”
“He told me you were in business, yes. But not what kind of business, or why you might be interested in me.”
“It’s because of your responsibility. That’s why I’m interested. Your youth, even your lack of youth. Your mind. Your pursuits. Even your history with Magistrate Woodward.”
Matthew couldn’t suppress a start. Now this maddening woman was really treading too near a grave. “Magistrate Powers told you about that, as well? To what extent?” He remembered his manners. “If I may ask?”
“Of course. He told me the whole story. Why would he not, if I asked? It was a difficult time for you, yes? But you certainly kept to your convictions, even though it caused grief to both yourself and to your…shall I call him your mentor? I’m sure you had a strong allegiance to him, since he secured you from the orphanage. Did you consider what you were doing a betrayal?”
“I considered what I was doing,” Matthew said evenly, though he wished to grit his teeth, “as a search for justice.”
“And you assumed that in this case you knew more than the experienced and highly competent Magistrate Woodward?”
Matthew looked at his hands and worked his knuckles. He could feel Mrs. Herrald carefully watching him, perhaps looking for a sign of weakness or a flaw in what had been until now a well-maintained veneer. He concentrated on breathing steadily and quietly, and in showing not a whit of emotion. Then he was ready. He looked up and squarely met her cool gaze.
“I believed that I was right,” he said, “based on not only the existing evidence but the lack of evidence. In my experience—a rather limited experience, as you so correctly point out—sometimes the questions easily answered are not the right questions. Sometimes the questions easily answered are meant to lead one into darkness. Therefore, to get my light—as it were—I look to the questions that no one else might ask. The unpopular questions. The uncivil, impolite questions. I harp on them and I pound on them, and often my strategy is to drive into the ground those who refuse to answer what I wish to know. I grant that I don’t have many friends and I grant that I have perhaps retreated too much into myself, but—” He stopped, because he realized he’d walked right into the little devious snare of self-revelation that Mrs. Herrald had set out for him. She made me angry, he thought. She broke my control, and now I am spilled.
“Go on,” she urged, still in a quiet voice. “You were speaking of impolite questions.”
“Yes, impolite.” Matthew had to take a few seconds to gather his wits. “In Fount Royal, with Magistrate Woodward…everything was moving so quickly. Moving toward a burning at the stake. I didn’t…I didn’t feel some…many…of the more difficult questions had been answered. And yes, he was my mentor. My friend, as well. But…I couldn’t let those unanswered questions lie there. I couldn’t. Not with those townspeople so eager to take her life.”
“Her life?”
“Rachel Howarth was her name. The accused woman.”
Mrs. Herrald nodded and looked out the window toward the forest of masts for a time. Then she asked, “What was the first thing you did this morning?”
“Well…I ate breakfast with the Stokelys. I live above their pottery—”
“After that,” she interrupted.
He frowned, puzzled. “I…walked to work.”
“Is that completely true? Or did you go somewhere before that?”
He realized what she was getting at. “I walked down Smith Street to where Mr. Deverick’s body was found.”
“Why?”
“I wished to see it in daylight. To see if there might be anything in the dirt that…may have been left. A button, for instance, from the killer’s coat. Anything, I suppose.”
“And you found what?”
“Nothing. Sand had already been spread to blot up the blood, and the dirt raked. I suppose that was on the high constable’s order, getting things back to normal.”
“Hardly normal,” she said. “Two murders within the space of as many weeks? Who do you think the high constable should be looking for?”
Before Matthew could think about it, he spoke what had been on his mind since awakening this morning: “A gentleman executioner.”
“Hm,” she said, but offered no more. Then she cleared her throat, angled her head, and looked at him as if clearly for the first time. “I presume you’ve never heard of the Herrald Agency?”
“No, madam, I haven’t.”
“Founded by my husband. My late husband. In London, in 1685. He was a lawyer of some renown in his younger years, and later gave his aid to many individuals who required it. Legal aid and advice, yes, but the Herrald Agency specializes in…” She gave him the hint of a smile. “As you put it so astutely, the process of discovery.”
“Oh,” Matthew said, though he had no clue what she was talking about.
“We now have two offices in London, one in Edinburgh, one soon to open in Amsterdam, and we plan—I plan—to consider opening an office in New York. We have a dozen agents all with varying specialties in problem solving. Most of them have backgrounds in law enforcement, though several have been recruited from the opposite camp. As cities grow, it seems, so grows our business. Needless to say, I believe New York—as well as Boston and Philadelphia—will soon make the transition from town to city. Therefore I wish to find a central location for—”
“Pardon me, please,” said Matthew, and he leaned forward in his chair with a perplexed expression. “Forgive the interruption, but what exactly do you mean by ‘problem solving’?”
“I shall answer with an example. In April the young son of a very influential banking family misplaced one of his mother’s diamond bracelets by giving it to his fiancee, a rather disreputable Dutch actress. The mother wanted it back, but it seemed that the fiancee had suddenly and completely vanished after the opening night. Furthermore, she was the female companion of a criminal figure whose very name turned the London law hawks into frightened pigeons. So it was brought to us to find and return the bracelet, and also to make certain that our criminal acquaintance—who had known nothing about his companion’s dalliances—did not do to her with an axe what he had done to two previous ladies, because the young son still wished to marry her. The problem was solved, but unfortunately bride and groom had a falling-out over dinner plates for the home and besides, theater season was about to open in the Netherlands.”
“By problems,” Matthew said, “you mean…personal difficulties?”
“Missing documents, forged letters, theft of money or property, questions of sincerity and loyalty as applied to either business or marriage, missing persons, reconstruction of accidents, courier for valuable items or bodyguard for important persons, discovery of any question that might be asked as to the truth or falsity of any given situation. All those, and more.” Mrs. Herrald paused to give him time to take all this in. “In addition,” she continued, “we are often asked by law enforcement officials to explore the more dangerous t
erritory of the professional criminal and the criminal organizations, of which there is no lack and which are likely—given human corruption and the greed for both power and money—to grow beyond all current recognition. I might also point out that the investigation of murder is one of our specialties, and we have a sterling record of success. Do you have any questions?”
Matthew was speechless. He’d had no idea anything such as this existed. It made the thoughts of law school fly out of his head like old, slow geese. “I…well…what do you want with me?”
“Now don’t be thick!” she scolded, but with good nature. “And also don’t be modest. You are highly regarded by Nathaniel Powers, or you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“But…is this an interview for employment?”
“It’s an interview to determine whether you’re interested or not. Are you?”
“Yes,” Matthew said, almost at once. “Certainly I am. But what exactly would I be doing?”
“Discovery,” said Mrs. Herrald. “Problem solving. Thinking quickly, in dangerous situations. Taking your life in your hands sometimes, to be truthful. Or trusting your life to the hands of someone else. Picking up a question like a…like a chess piece, and determining how it fits in the game. If you’re interested in doing that, in being the first member of the Herrald Agency in America and being paid very well for it, then you will do what I next require of you.”
Matthew listened, but said nothing.
Mrs. Herrald opened the black leather case at her side and brought out a white envelope. “Do you know the DeKonty estate?”
“I do.” It was about eight miles from town along Manhattan Island. Matthew and Magistrate Powers had been there a little over a year ago to attend a party for the town’s legal staff hosted by August DeKonty, who had owned both a stone quarry and one of the largest lumbermills in the colony.
“You’re aware that Mr. DeKonty passed away in March? And that his widow and daughter have moved to Boston?”
“I am.”
“Also are you aware that the new owner of the estate is a Mr. Hudson Greathouse, a business consultant who has just recently taken occupancy?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“He’s a very private individual. You will meet him today, and give him this letter.” She handed it to Matthew. The first thing he did was turn it over and look at the red wax seal embossed with the letter H. “You are not to open it. If the seal is broken, I personally take a sizeable loss of both money and reputation and you may return to your position with Nathaniel Powers.”
“May I ask what’s in it?”
“Amendments to the deed that need a signature. There was some difficulty over the DeKonty landholdings, and this is a clarification procedure. Therefore you will take this letter to Mr. Greathouse, stand by in his presence as he signs it, and bring it back to me by seven o’clock this evening. Oh…here.” She reached into the case and brought out another object, which she gave him without hesitation. “Wind it now. The mantel clock reads twelve minutes before two.”
In Matthew’s hand was a gleaming silver watch. He opened the lid and gazed down upon the beautiful white dial, the black numerals and hands. If the mantel clock was correct—and he was sure the finicky Mr. Vincent wound it by the hour—then the watch was also correct. Still, Matthew took hold of the winding stem and very carefully and slowly turned it several times until the spring gave resistance.
“Can you secure a horse?” Mrs. Herrald asked.
Matthew nodded, still giving all his attention to the silver watch. Had there ever been silver that shone so brightly, or a dial so white, or Roman numerals shaped as if by the etching-pen of an emperor?
“I am here,” she said. “Look at me.”
He did.
“A horse. You can ride?”
“I can, yes madam.” If he couldn’t handle a horse by now, with all the travelling through the colony he and Magistrate Powers had done, then he would have to settle for the most broken-down donkey at Tobias Winekoop’s stable.
“Direct your expenses to my bill here. Now listen to me with care, Matthew: I am offering you this opportunity to show me how reliable you are. There is a financial value to the content of that envelope, though you personally could not benefit from it. Some, however, with the right resources in unfit places might. Any such item carries a risk. Do you understand?” She waited until he’d given a nod. “Bear in mind the serious nature of being a courier. Do not dawdle, do not leave the main road, do not stop to help any damsel or dandy in distress because that is the oldest trick in the book for highway robbers.”
“Robbers?” Matthew felt his heartbeat quicken and his stomach give a lurch. He’d not considered the fact that a deed with a monetary value might attract highwaymen—or highwayladies, as the case might be.
“Do you carry a pistol? A sword?”
“No,” Matthew answered, feeling a little stunned. “I don’t know how to use either one.”
“We’ll have to rectify that, if you succeed this afternoon. Well, it’s probably for the best though. If you’re not an expert with a pistol or sword, you have no business killing yourself by trying to use one. Just be aware of your surroundings and, as I say, don’t stop.”
Matthew realized he must have had a look of terrible distress on his face, because Mrs. Herrald’s voice softened. “I’m a worrier by nature. I see a plot in every plan. Do know that if you’re robbed, it’s only a copy yet it bears an extremely valuable signature and seal from the royal office of land transfers. The original can be recopied, of course, though it would take months to get the signature and seal redone. But don’t throw your life away on my account. Are you ready to go?”
He didn’t reply, for his tongue was not in working order.
Mrs. Herrald said, “If you have misgivings, you may return the envelope. I’ll give you money for dinner and a glass of wine at the tavern of your choice, and we shall write this meeting off as an exercise in verbiage. What do you wish?”
“Do I have to give back the watch?” Matthew managed to ask.
“Yes, and polish it, too.”
He stood up, watch in one hand and dangerous envelope in the other. “I’ll go.”
Mrs. Herrald remained seated. “Seven o’clock,” she said firmly.
Matthew wondered what would happen if his body wasn’t found until eight. But he pulled himself tall, got his legs moving, and left the parlor.
“Wait! Corbett! Wait, I said!” shouted Mr. Vincent as he came out from behind his desk, but Matthew carried a watch now and time waited for no man.
ten
MATTHEW SET OFF on a middle-sized, brown-and-white paint mare named Suvie that he’d secured on previous business trips from Mr. Winekoop’s stable. She was a plodder, but she was easily managed and had never been known—at least according to the amiable, pipe-smoking Winekoop—to throw a rider. So, with Suvie under him, his hands in the reins, boots in the stirrups, and wax-sealed envelope tucked in an inner coat pocket and fastened down with a button, he rode along the Broad Way to the north, mindful of pedestrians, wagons, wandering mendicants, merchants hawking their wares from little pull-carts, dogs chasing cats chasing chickens, slop and the essence of chamberpot thrown into the street, and other sundry obstacles to be avoided.
He wished he’d thought to bring a hat, because here came another brief shower that wet him and then passed on in favor of the sun. He decided to keep going past the pottery shop, though, for he wanted to keep to a strict time-schedule.
It had been almost two-thirty when he’d left the stable. There’d been an important task he’d needed to accomplish at City Hall, and also to ask Magistrate Powers for permission to make this journey though the afternoon was free and he’d known the magistrate would give his blessing. The magistrate, however, had not been in the office and so Matthew had left a note, completed his task, and then hurried back down the stairs where he’d run into High Constable Lillehorne and Chief Prosecutor Bynes on their way up. r />
“Ho there, Matthew!” said Bynes, a large-bellied and jovial man with a florid face and trimmed gray beard. “Where to in such a hurry?”
“Hello, sir. I’m sorry, I do have an appointment.”
“A moment, then.” Bynes reached out and put a ham-sized grip on Matthew’s shoulder. Lillehorne tried to squeeze past them but was unable to advance. “Two things. I meant to speak to you earlier about your suggestions at the meeting. They were very interesting and could be useful, and I’m sure the high constable intends to properly study them. Isn’t that right, Gardner?”
“Yes sir,” Lillehorne said, his voice suddenly bright. “I intend to study them at great length.”
“Grand!” That was the chief prosecutor’s highest and all-purpose praise. Then his face darkened and a voice that could call down thunder and cataclysm in the courtroom became almost fatherly. “And last night. You happened upon that tragic scene. Gardner painted the whole picture for me, and I’ve looked in upon the body. Those marks around the eyes…very disturbing, are they not?”
“Yes sir, they are.”
“I understand that our rather eccentric printmaster mentioned that term again when he was unlawfully present in the cold room. Yes?”
“Term, sir?” Matthew knew exactly what he meant, but he wouldn’t speak it. Besides, he wasn’t sure it had been “unlawful” for Grigsby to be present. Unless they were rewriting the town code at night when everyone slept.