He had realized that the real Queen of Bedlam was a town on an island between two rivers.
In this town of soon to be more than five thousand persons there was a governor who wore a dress, a reverend who loved a prostitute, a printmaster who could crack walnuts on his forehead, a high constable who had killed a boy, a magistrate who was once a tennis champion, a laundress who collected secrets, and a coroner who collected bones. There was a barber who owned a squirrel named Sassafras, a tailor who could identify a dead man from a suit’s watch pocket, and a black giantess who would put aside her gittern just long enough to kill you.
If a town, like a ship, could be given feminine attributes, then this Queen of Bedlam sat regal on her throne and kept her secrets in a golden cup. This Queen of Bedlam might smile at tears, or weep at laughter. This Queen of Bedlam saw all the swirl of humanity, all its joys and tragedies, its wisdom and madness. This Queen of Bedlam threw dice, and drank hearty, and sometimes played rough.
But here she was, in her gown of night with the lamps ashine like yellow diamonds. Here she was, silent in her thoughts and loud in her desires.
Here she was, on the new world’s edge.
Matthew walked on.
His house was now a home. The dairyhouse did still have a dirt floor, true, but a very nice dark red rug covered most of it. There was a small writing desk, a shelf of a few books with room for more, his comfortable bed, and a fine though much-battered brown leather chair Grigsby had procured for him. On the walls were pegs to hang his clothes, and below an oval mirror a wash-stand to hold his water basin and grooming items. Other than that, there wasn’t much room for a mouse to chase its tail, but thankfully there were no rodents nor…dread the thought…roaches.
But of course there was the new window.
When the shutters were open as now, Matthew could look out through the glass panes and see the harbor and a slice of moonlit river, as well as a piece of Breuckelen green by day. Grigsby was giving the brickmason, carpenter, and glazier free mentions in the Earwig, and Matthew had insisted on shouldering some of the cost with a portion of his first salary earned from solving the Swanscott problem.
It wasn’t exactly a mansion, but it was his home. For now, at least. He was too busy to go house-hunting, and really he couldn’t afford anything else. The window to the world made all the difference. The next step was the addition of a fireplace, if just one suited for a gnome, as a comfortable summerhouse did not necessarily make an inviting winterhouse.
Matthew had upon entering already touched a match to the two candles on the wash-stand, next to the door. Now he lit a second match and touched the candle on his writing desk and the one that sat on the windowsill, for he’d noted the candle burning in the kitchen window beyond.
He took off his coat, hung it on a peg, loosened his cravat, and sat down in his leather chair next to the window. He had removed the white ribbon and was about to open the gift from Mrs. Herrald when there came a knock to the door.
“One moment!” It took him three seconds to get there. Matthew put aside the box, opened the door, and stood face-to-face with Berry.
She carried a lantern and wore a loose-fitting green gown that said she’d been getting ready for bed. Copper highlights in her brushed red tresses caught the light, her face was scrubbed and fresh, her bright blue eyes sparkling. The scrapes, bruises, and cuts-save for two deeper than the others under a plaster on her forehead-had faded, just as his had, under the benevolent care of time. The children at the Garden Street school, where she’d begun teaching as an aide to Headmaster Brown at the first of September, had eagerly wanted to know what kind of tree she’d fallen out of.
She hadn’t spoken to Matthew for a week after the incident. Then, only a few words the second week. But Matthew understood that a girl stumbling around the woods for five hours with horse muck on her face might hold something of a grudge for the person who got her so mucked up, though in truth she’d washed the manure off in a pond a mile or so from Chapel’s gate. The Dutch-speaking farmer Van Hullig had certainly learned the meaning of the word Help.
“Hello,” Matthew said brightly.
“’lo,” she answered. “I saw your candle.” She lifted her other hand to give him a pitcher.
“Thank you.” He accepted it. Matthew had taken to getting a pitcher of water from the nearest well at night, and sometimes Berry had already drawn it and had it ready as she did tonight.
“We missed you at dinner.”
“Ah. Well, a friend of mine. Effrem Owles. You know Effrem, don’t you?”
“He was the one who stepped-”
“-on the cat, yes. Unfortunate incident. He asked me to dinner. I went directly from the office.”
“The office. That sounds so official.”
“It should. You know. Office. Official. Anyway, we wound up playing chess and…you know how time gets away when you’re drawing. That’s how it is.”
“I see.”
“Yes.” Matthew nodded, not knowing quite where to let his eyes rest.
Berry nodded also. Then she said, “A very lovely night.” A slight frown passed over her face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m-”
“I just thought you looked-”
“-all right, perfectly-”
“-a little troubled about-”
“-all right.”
“-something,” she said. “Are you?”
“Me? Troubled about something? No. Absolutely not. As you say, it’s a very lovely night.”
“Well,” she said.
“That’s where this came from,” he said, holding up the pitcher and giving a grin that he knew must be the stupidest expression to ever slide across the face of a human being.
“Matthew!” She cuffed him on the shoulder. Not the wounded one, because she remembered.
“Listen,” they both said together.
“Go ahead,” Matthew offered.
“No, you.”
“The lady should go first.”
“All right, then.” Berry set her chin; something was coming. “As you have agreed to be my…shall I say… guardian and have so far done a…fair job of it, I’d like to ask you a question.” She paused and Matthew waited. She chewed on her lower lip and then she looked him square in the eyes and said, “There’s going to be a social a week from Friday. I was wondering, just thinking really, if you might like to go. As my guardian, I mean.”
“A social? Uh…a week from Friday, did you say?”
“Grandda’s printing the posters. It’s going to be at Sally Almond’s.”
“Ah. Sally Almond’s. A week from Friday.” He also chewed on his lower lip, aware that Berry was watching him carefully. “I…I really don’t dance, you know.”
“I didn’t say it was a dance. I said it was a social. Just meeting some people. I think there’s going to be music. But dancing? I don’t know.” She cocked her head slightly. “Why don’t you dance?”
“I’ve never learned.”
“It’s not all that difficult. You just do what everyone else is doing.”
“Yes, but tell that to my feet.” He sighed. “I really can’t go, Berry. Not a week from Friday. In fact, I think I…may have to take a trip on Friday morning and I won’t be back until Saturday.”
“A trip? To where?”
“I think it’s probably time I went to see Mrs. Swanscott again.”
“I understand, but on that particular Friday?”
“It might be the only time I can get there for a while.” He cast his eyes down, realized she might see the untruth in that gesture, and quickly looked up at her again. “Really.”
“Really?”
“A lot of work coming in,” Matthew said.
