sandy pate with a handkerchief. 'Oh dear God... we're doomed now, aren't we?'
'Steady yourself, ' Matthew instructed. 'This was done by a human hand, not a spectral one.'
'A human hand? Are you out of your mind? Only Satan himself could have done this!' He pushed the handkerchief to his nose to filter the blood smell. 'It's the same as was done to the reverend and Daniel Howarth! Exactly the same!'
'Which should tell you the same man committed all three murders. In this case, though, I think there was a falling out of compatriots.'
'What are you running off at the lips about now?' Bidwell's sickness had receded and anger was beginning to flood into its mold. 'Look at that on the door! That's a message from the damned Devil! Good Christ, my town will be dust and maggots before sunset! Oh!' It was a wounded, terrible cry, and his eyes appeared near bursting out. 'If the witch is not alone... then who might the other witches and warlocks be?'
'Shut up that yammering and listen to me!' Matthew advanced upon Bidwell until they stood face to sweating face. 'You'll do yourself and Fount Royal no good to fall to pieces! If your town needs anything now, it's a true leader, not a bullier or a weeper!'
'How... how dare you...'
'Put aside your bruised dignity, sir. Just stand there and listen. I am as confounded about this as you, because I thought Linch—Lancaster—was alone in his crimes. Obviously—and stupidly—I was wrong. Lancaster and his killer were working together to paint Rachel as a witch and destroy your town.'
'Boy, your love for that witch will put you burning at her side!' Bidwell shouted, his face bright red and the veins pulsing at his temples. He looked to be courting an explosion that would blow off the top of his head. 'If you wish to go to Hell with her, I can arrange it!'
'This was written on the door, ' Matthew said coldly, 'by a human hand determined to finish Fount Royal at one fell swoop. The same hand that cut Lancaster's throat and—when he was dead or dying—used the ratcatcher's own five-bladed device to strike him repeatedly, thereby giving the impression of a beast's claws. That device was also used to inflict similar wounds on Reverend Grove and Daniel Howarth.'
'Yes, yes, yes! It's all as you say, isn't it? Everything is as you say!'
'Most everything, ' Matthew answered.
'Well, you didn't even see those other bodies, so how can you know? And what nonsense is this about some kind of five-bladed device?'
'You've never seen it? Then again, I doubt you would have. Seth Hazelton forged it for the use—he thought —of killing rats. Actually, it was probably planned for its current use all along.'
'You're mad! Absolutely roaring mad!'
'I am neither mad, ' Matthew said, 'nor roaring, as you are. To prove my sanity, I will ask Mr. Smythe to go to your house and explain to you Lancaster's true identity as he explained it to me. I think you'll find it worth your while.'
'Really?' Bidwell sneered. 'If that's the case, you'd best go find him! When my carriage passed their camp, the actors were packing their wagons!'
Now a true spear of terror pierced Matthew's heart. 'What?'
'That's right! They were in a fever to do it, too, and now I know why! I'm sure there's nothing like finding a Satan-mauled corpse and a bloody message from Hell to put one in mind for a merry play!'
'No! They can't leave yet!' Matthew was out the door faster even than Green's pistol-ball exit. Straightaway his progress was blocked by the seven or eight persons who stood just outside, including Green himself. Then he had to negotiate a half-dozen more citizens who dawdled between the house and Industry Street. He saw Goode sitting in the driver's seat of Bidwell's carriage, but the horses faced west and getting them turned east would take too long. He set off toward the maskers' camp, running so fast he lost his left shoe and had to forfeit precious time putting it back on.
Matthew let loose a breath of relief when he reached the campsite and saw that, though the actors were indeed packing their trunks, costumes, featherboxes, and all the rest of their theatrical belongings, none of the horses had yet been hitched to a wagon. There was activity aplenty, however, and it was obvious to Matthew that Smythe's tale of what was discovered had put the fear of Hell's wrath into these people.
'Mr. Brightman!' Matthew called, seeing the man helping another thespian lift a trunk onto a wagon. He rushed over. 'It's urgent I speak with Mt. Smythe!'
'I'm sorry, Mr. Corbett. David is not to be spoken with.' Brightman looked past Matthew. 'Franklin! Help Charles fold up that tent!'
'I must, ' Matthew insisted.
'That's impossible, sir.' Brightman stalked off toward another area of the camp, and Matthew walked at his side. 'If you'll pardon me, I have much work to do. We plan on leaving as soon as we're packed.'
'You needn't leave. None of your troupe is in danger.'
'Mr. Corbett, when we discovered your... um... situation with the witch from a source in Charles Town, I myself was reluctant—extremely reluctant—to come here. But to be perfectly honest we had nowhere else to go. Mr. Bidwell is a very generous friend, therefore I was talked into making the trip.' Brightman stopped walking and turned to face Matthew. 'I regret my decision, young man. When David told me what had happened... and what he saw in that house... I immediately gave the order to break camp. I am not going to risk the lives of my troupe for any amount that Mr. Bidwell might put on our table. End of pronouncement.' He began walking once more and boomed, 'Thomas! Make sure all the boots are in that box!'
'Mr. Brightman, please!' Matthew caught up with him again. 'I understand your decision to leave, but... please... it is absolutely urgent that I speak to Mr. Smythe. I need for him to tell Mr. Bidwell about—'
'Young man, ' Brightman said with an exasperated air as he halted abruptly. 'I am trying to be as pleasant as possible under the circumstances. We must—I repeat must—get on the road within the hour. We'll not reach Charles Town before dark, but I wish to get there before midnight.'
'Would it not be better to stay the night here, and leave in the morning?' Matthew asked. 'I can assure you that—'
'I think neither you nor Mr. Bidwell can assure us of anything. Including the assurance that we'll all be alive in the morning. No. I thought you had only one witch here, and that was bad enough; but to have an unknown number, and the rest of them lurking about ready and eager to commit murder for their master... no, I can't risk such a thing.'
'All right, then, ' Matthew said. 'But can't I request that Mr. Smythe speak to Mr. Bidwell? It would only take a few minutes and it would—'
'David cannot speak to anyone, young man, ' Brightman said firmly. 'Did you hear me? I said can not.'
'Well, where is he? If I can have a moment with him—'
'You are not listening to me, Mr. Corbett.' Brightman took a step toward him and grasped his shoulder with one of those viselike hands. 'David is in one of the wagons. Even if I allowed you to see him, it would do no good. I am being truthful when I say that David cannot speak. After he told me what he'd seen—and particularly about the writing—he broke into a fit of shivering and weeping and thereafter was silent. What you don't know about David is that he is a very sensitive young man. Precariously sensitive, I might say.'
Brightman paused, staring intently into Matthew's eyes. 'He has had some nervous difficulties in the past. For that reason, he lost his positions with both the Saturn Cross Company and James Prue's Players. His father is an old friend of mine, and so when he asked me to take his son on as a favor—and watch over him—I agreed. I think the sight of that murdered man has sent him to the edge of... well, it's best not to say. He has been given a cup of rum and a pair of day-blinders. Therefore I certainly will not let you see him, as he must rest and be quiet for any hope of a prompt recovery.'
'Can't I... just... for one...'
'No, ' Brightman said, his voice like the tolling of a bass-tuned bell. He released his grip on Matthew's shoulder. 'I'm sorry, but whatever it is you want with David cannot be granted. Now: it was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope all goes well with this witchcraft situation. I hope you sleep with a Bible in your bed and a candle by your hand tonight. Perhaps also a pistol under your pillow. Good luck to you, and goodbye.' He stood with his arms crossed, waiting for Matthew to move away from the camp.
Matthew had to give it one more try. 'Sir, I'm begging you. A woman's life lies in the balance.'
'What woman?'
