Speaks the Nightbird

'It's been . . . oh, about forty minutes since our meeting,' Matthew went on. 'I believe he used the time to either remove what was originally in that sack and replace it with the clothes, or he found another similar sack for the purpose.'

Bidwell inhaled a pinch of snuff and then blinked his watering eyes. 'You never quit, do you?'

'Believe what you like, sir, but I know there was something far more substantial than clothing in the sack I uncovered. Hazelton knew I'd tell the tale, and he knew there might be some suspicion about what he would hide and then kill to protect. So he bandaged himself, got in his wagon, and brought the counterfeit sack here before anyone could go there and make inquiries about it.'

'Your theory.' Bidwell snorted snuff up his nose again, then closed the box with a snap. 'I'm afraid it won't do to save you from the lash and the cage. The magistrate's made his decree, and Mrs. Nettles and I have witnessed it.'

'A witness I may be,' Mrs. Nettles said with frost in her voice, 'but I tell you, sir, that Hazelton's a strange bird. And I happ'n to know he treated Sophie like a three-legged horse 'fore she died, so why should he now treat her mem'ry the better? Most like he kept her clothes and ornaments to sell 'em after a space a' time.'

'Thank you, Mrs. Nettles,' said Bidwell sarcastically. 'It seems the 'theory tree' is one plant that's taken firm root in Fount Royal!'

'Whatever the truth of this matter is,' the magistrate observed, 'what cannot be altered is the fact that Matthew will spend three nights in the gaol and take the lashes. The blacksmith's private property will not be intruded upon again. But in reference to your statement, Mr. Bidwell, that you would've insisted on five strikes of the whip, let me remind you that the proceedings against Rachel Howarth must be delayed until Matthew has paid his penance and recovered from it.'

Bidwell stood like a statue for a few seconds, his mouth half-open. Woodward continued in a calm tone, anticipating another storm from the master of Fount Royal, and bracing himself for it. 'You see, I require a clerk to take notation when I interview the witnesses. I must have in writing the answers to my questions, and Matthew has developed a code that I can easily read. If I have no clerk, there is no point in scheduling the interviews. Therefore, the time he spends in your gaol and the time spent in recuperation from being lashed must be taken into account.'

'By God, man!' Bidwell blustered. 'What're you telling me? That you won't get to questioning the witnesses tomorrow?'

'I would say five days at the least.'

'Damn it all, Woodward! This town will wither up and blow away before you get to work, won't it?'

'My clerk,' the magistrate said, 'is indispensable to the process of justice. He cannot take notation from a cage, and I dare say he won't be up to the task of concentration with fresh whip burns on his back.'

'Well, why can't he take notation from a cage?' Bidwell's thick brows lifted. 'There are three witnesses on the list I've given you. Why can you not set up your office in the gaol and have the witnesses brought there to testify? As I understand the law, they would be required to speak in the presence of the accused anyway, am I correct?'

'Yes, you are.'

'All right, then! They can speak in the gaol as well as in the meetinghouse! Your clerk can be given a table and scribing materials and he can do the work while he carries out his sentence!' Bidwell's eyes had a feverish gleam. 'What say you to that?'

Woodward looked at Matthew. 'It is a possibility. Certainly it would speed the process. Are you agreeable?'

Matthew thought about it. He could feel Mrs. Nettles watching him. 'I'd need more light in there,' he said.

Bidwell waved an impatient hand. 'I'll get you every lantern and candle in Fount Royal, if that's what you require! Winston has quills, ink, and foolscap aplenty!'

Matthew rubbed his chin and continued to contemplate. He rather enjoyed having Bidwell lapping at his feet like a powdered spaniel.

'I might point out one thing to you,' Bidwell said quietly. His voice had some grit in it again, proving he was nobody's cur. 'Mr. Green owns three whips. One is a bullwhip, the second is a cat-o'-nine, and the third is a leather braid. The magistrate may have decreed the punishment, but as master—governor, if you will—of Fount Royal it is my right to choose the implement.' He paused to let Matthew fully appreciate the situation. 'Now ordinarily in a violation of this nature I would ask Mr. Green to use the bullwhip.' Bidwell gave the merest hint of a cunning smile. 'But if you are employed in, shall we say, a noble task to benefit the citizens of my town whilst imprisoned, I should be gratified to recommend the braid.'

Matthew's contemplation came to an end. 'You make a persuasive argument,' he said. 'I'd be happy to be of service to the citizens.'

'Excellent!' Bidwell almost clapped his hands together with joy. He didn't notice that Mrs. Nettles abruptly turned and walked out of the room. 'We should notify the first witness, then. Who shall it be, Magistrate?'

Woodward reached into a pocket and brought out the piece of paper upon which were quilled three names. Bidwell had given him the list on his request when they'd returned from the gaol. 'I'll see the eldest first, Jeremiah Buckner. Then Elias Garrick. Lastly the little girl, Violet Adams. I regret she must be questioned in the gaol, but there is no recourse.'

'I'll have a servant go inform them all directly,' Bidwell offered. 'I presume, since your clerk is going to the gaol at six o'clock, that we may have Mr. Buckner appear before you at seven?'

'Yes, if Matthew's table and scribing materials are present and I have a comfortable place to preside.'

'You shall have it. Well, now our horses are getting somewhere, are they not?' Bidwell's smile would have paled the glow from his chandelier.

'The poppets,' Woodward said. He remained cool and composed, unwilling to share Bidwell's ebullience. 'Who has them?'

'Nicholas Paine. Don't worry, they're in safekeeping.'

'I should like to see those and speak to Mr. Paine concerning them after the first three witnesses.'

'I'll arrange it. Anything else?'

'Yes, there is.' Woodward glanced quickly at Matthew and then returned his gaze to Bidwell. 'I would request that you not be present during the interviews.'

The man's buoyant mood instantly sagged. 'And why not? I have a right to be there!'

'That, sir, is debatable. I believe your presence might have some undue influence on the witnesses, and certainly on Madam Howarth when she gives her testimony. Therefore, in fairness to all, I wish no spectators in my court. I understand that Mr. Green must be present, as he has the keys to the gaol, but he may sit at the entrance until he is required to lock the gaol again at the end of the hearing.'

Bidwell grunted. 'You'll want Mr. Green closer at hand the first time the witch throws her slopbowl at you!'

'It will be explained to her that if she disrupts the proceedings in any way, she shall be bound and—as much as I detest to do so—gagged. Her opportunity to respond to the charges will come when the witnesses have been heard.'

Bidwell started to protest once more, but he decided to let it go in favor of moving the witch nearer the stake. 'Regardless what you think of me and my motives,' he said, 'I am a fair-minded man. I will go reside in Charles Town for a week, if that's what you need to hold your court!'

'That won't be necessary, but I do appreciate your cooperation.'

'Mrs. Nettles!' Bidwell hollered. 'Where did that woman get off to?'

'I think she went to the kitchen,' Matthew said.

'I'll have a servant go inform the witnesses.' Bidwell started out of the parlor. 'It will be a happy day when this ordeal is over, I can assure you that!' He walked toward the kitchen, intent to have Mrs. Nettles choose a servant to carry out the necessary errands.

When Bidwell had gone, the magistrate ran a hand across his forehead and regarded Matthew with a stony stare. 'What ever possessed you to invade a man's privacy in such a fashion? Didn't you stop to consider the consequences?'

'No, sir, I didn't. I know I should have, but . . . my curiosity was stronger than my good sense.'