Matthew unfolded it. It was a drawing, in charcoal pencil, of a good-sized building. Some time had been spent in attending to the details. Present were bricks, windows, and a bell steeple.
'It appears, ' Bidwell said, 'the foul bastard... intended to build his next schoolhouse of a less flammable material.'
'I see.' Matthew gazed at the drawing—a sad sight, really—and then refolded the paper and returned it to the box.
Bidwell put the gemstones back into the bag. He removed from the box the pencils, the writing tablet, the eraser, and the drawing of the new schoolhouse.
'I own the spring, of course, ' Bidwell said. 'I own the water and the mud. By the rights of ownership—and the hell I have gone through—I also claim for myself these gems and jewelry, which came from that mud. Agreed?'
'It makes no matter to me, ' Matthew answered. 'Do with them as you please.'
'I shall.' Bidwell placed the little bag into the box, beside the coins, the brooch, the ring, and the crucifix and chain. He closed the lid.
Then he pushed the box toward Matthew. 'It pleases me... for you to take this to the person who has suffered far more hell than I.'
Matthew couldn't fathom what he'd just heard. 'Pardon me?'
'You heard correctly. Take them to—' He interrupted himself as he snapped the first charcoal pencil between his hands. '—her. It is the very least I can do, and certainly it can't bring back her husband or those months spent in the gaol.' In spite of his good intentions, he couldn't help but regard the box with a wanton eye. 'Go ahead. Take it'—the second pencil was picked up and broken— 'before I regain my senses.'
'Why don't you take it to her yourself! It would mean much more.'
'It would mean much less, ' he corrected. 'She hates me. I've tried to speak to her, tried to explain my position... but she turns away every time. Therefore you take the box.' Snap, died the third pencil. 'Tell her you found it.'
Realizing that indeed Bidwell must be half-crazed with humanity to let such wealth slip through his fingers, Matthew picked up the box and held it to his chest. 'I will take it to her directly. Do you know where she is?'
'I saw her an hour ago, ' Winston said. 'She was drawing water.' Matthew nodded; he had an idea where she might be found.
'We must put ourselves back in business here.' Bidwell picked up the drawing that Johnstone had done—the bad man's dream of an Oxford of his own—and began to methodically teat it to pieces. 'Put ourselves back in order, and consign this disgraceful... insane... blot on my town to the trash heap. I can do nothing more for the woman than what I've done today. And neither can you. Therefore, I must ask: how much longer shall you grace us with your presence?'
'As a matter of fact, I have decided it's time to get on with my own life. I might leave in the morning, at first light.'
'I'll have Green take you to Charles Town in a wagon. Will you be ready by six?'
'I shall be, ' Matthew said. 'But I'd prefer you give me a horse, a saddle and tack, and some food, and I'll get myself to Charles Town. I am not an invalid, and therefore I refuse to be carted about like one.'
'Give you a horse?' Bidwell glowered at him. 'Horses cost money, aren't you aware of that? And saddles don't grow on trees, either!'
'You might wish for saddle-trees, sir!' Matthew fired back at him. 'As that might be the only crop your farmers can grow here!'
'You don't concern yourself with our crops, thank you! I'll have you know I'm bringing in a botanist—the finest money can buy—to set our growing affairs straight! So stick that in your damned theory hole and—'
'Excuse me, gentlemen!' Winston said calmly, and the wranglers fell quiet. 'I shall be glad to pay for a horse and saddle for Mr. Corbett, though I think it unwise of you, Matthew, to travel unaccompanied. But I wish to offer my best regards and hope that you find much success in the future.'
'Write him a love letter while you're at it!' Bidwell steamed.
'My thanks, sir, ' Matthew said. 'As for travelling alone, I feel confident I won't be in any danger.' The demise of Shawcombe and Jack One Eye, he suspected, had made the backroads of the entire Southern colonies at least safer than Manhattan's harbor. 'Oh. While I am thinking of it: Mr. Bidwell, there is one final rope that remains unknotted in this situation.'
'You mean Dr. Shields?' Bidwell crumpled the torn pieces of Johnstone's drawing in his fist. 'I haven't decided what to do with him yet. And don't rush me!'
'No, not Dr. Shields. The burning of the schoolhouse, and who was responsible for the other fires as well.'
'What?' Winston blanched.
'Well, it wasn't Johnstone, obviously, ' Matthew explained. 'Even someone so preoccupied with his own affairs as Mr. Bidwell can understand that. And, in time, I'm sure Mr. Bidwell might begin to wonder, as well he should.'
'You're right!' Bidwell agreed, his eyes narrowing. 'What son of a bitch tried to burn down my town?'
'Early this morning I had a thought about this burning business, and I went to Lancaster's house. The place is still a wreck, as you're aware. Has anyone else been through it?'
'No one would go within a hundred yards of that damn murder house!'
'I thought not, though I did appreciate the fact that the corpse has been disposed of. Anyway, I decided to search a little more thoroughly... and I discovered a very strange bucket in the debris. Evidently it was something Johnstone didn't bother himself with, since it simply appears to be a regular bucket. Perhaps he thought it was full of rat bait or some such.'
'Well, then? What was in it?'
'I'm not sure. It appears to be tar. It has a brimstone smell. I decided to leave it where I found it... as I didn't know if it might be flammable, or explode, or what might occur if it were jostled too severely.'
'Tar? A brimstone smell?' Alarmed, Bidwell looked at Winston. 'By God. I don't like the sound of that!'
'I'm sure it's worth going there to get, ' Matthew continued. 'Or Mr. Winston might want to go and look at it, and then... I don't know, bury it or something. Would you be able to tell what it was if you saw it, Mr. Winston?'
'Possibly, ' Winston answered, his voice tight. 'But I'll tell you right now... as you describe it, the stuff sounds like... possibly... infernal fire, Mr. Bidwell?'
'Infernal fire? My God!' Now Bidwell did hammer his desk. 'So that's who was burning the houses! But where was he getting the stuff from?'
'He was a very capable man, ' Matthew said. 'Perhaps he had sulphur for his rat baits or candles or something. Perhaps he cooked some tar and mixed it himself. I have a feeling Lancaster was trying to hurry the process of emptying the town without telling his accomplice. Who knows why?' Matthew shrugged. 'There is no honor among thieves, and even less among murderers.'
'I'll be damned!' Bidwell looked as if he'd taken a punch to his ponderous gut. 'Was there no end to their treacheries, even against each other?'
'It does appear a dangerous bucket, Mr. Winston, ' Matthew said. 'Very dangerous indeed. If it were up to me, I wouldn't dare bring it back to the mansion for fear of explosion. You might just want to bring a small sample to show Mr. Bidwell. Then by all means bury it and forget where you turned the shovel.'
'Excellent advice.' Winston gave a slight bow of his head. 'I shall attend to it this afternoon. And I am very gratified, sir, that you did not leave this particular rope unknotted.'
'Mr. Winston is a useful man, ' Matthew said to Bidwell. 'You should be pleased to have him in your employ.'
Bidwell puffed his cheeks and blew out. 'Whew! Don't I know it!'
As Matthew turned away and started out with the treasure box, the master of Fount Royal had to ask one last question: 'Matthew?' he said. 'Uh... is there any way... any possible way at all... that... the fortune might be recovered?'
Matthew made a display of thought. 'As it has flowed along a river to the center of the earth, ' he said, 'I would think it extremely unlikely. But how long can you hold your breath?'
