back into a queue and tied with a black ribbon, Greathouse might have been a schoolmaster discoursing on geometrics. Yet his voice had a military quality about it; that is, Matthew thought, his voice had a patina of confidence and an edge of urgency that might be suited to battlefield command. Certainly his physical size and quickness spoke of an active life, as did the jagged scar through his left eyebrow and his familiarity with the rapier. Greathouse also bore one telltale sign of a man who had wielded a sword in earnest: the forearm of his right hand, his sword arm, swelled larger than the left.
He appeared to be a man who pretended to be more rough-hewn than he was, Matthew decided. Sometimes Greathouse started to reach for the napkin to dab his mouth and seemed to remind himself not to; or sometimes he did it anyway, while speaking. A man with an education in manners who played his role with a more common touch. Matthew wondered if he might be an aristocrat, raised amid wealth, who for one reason or another felt more comfortable in the light of a lesser candle. Matthew guessed his age in the mid-to-late forties, probably just a bit younger than Mrs. Herrald.
And he could surely go on, once he got started. “Did you know,” he said, “that we’re near the place this island got its name? Some of the first settlers brought kegs of brandy in for the Indians and everyone wound up soused at a ceremonial feast. When the settlers later asked the name of the island, the Indians made it up on the spot: Manahacktantenk. In their lingo it meant ‘the place where everybody got drunk.’”
He lifted his ale mug high. “To Manahacktantenk,” he said, and drank it down.
Toward the end of their dinner, with darkness fully fallen and rain still tapping on the windows, Mrs. Herrald said, “Matthew, I wish to ask your opinion on something. Excuse me.” She rose from her chair, as did the two gentlemen, and she left them for a moment at the table. When she returned, she had with her to Matthew’s great surprise an item with which he was most familiar.
She seated herself again and put down upon the table a copy-smudged, one of the imperfect dogs that had gotten loose, but still legible-of the Bedbug. “I was most interested in this broadsheet. I was wondering if you knew the printer.”
“I do. His name is Marmaduke Grigsby. In fact, I helped him lay down the type and work the press.”
“A man of many occupations, it seems,” said Greathouse, eating another portion of his famous stew.
“Just helping a friend, that’s all. But what of it?”
“I was wondering how many he prints, and when he’s printing the next sheet. Do you know?”
“I believe we printed three-hundred copies of that one.” And every six-hundred back-and-fronts recalled by the muscles of his shoulder in levering that damned press down upon the typeface form and holding each one at pressure for fifteen seconds. “I understand Mr. Grigsby wants to print the next sheet within a few days, if possible.”
“Even though we’re still negotiating for an office, I think we should consider asking your friend to run a notice for us. Something quiet, of course. Just that the Herrald Agency is opening soon, and that we specialize in finding…” She paused. “What is lost,” she decided. “And finding answers to delicate questions.”
“I’d like to see the response to that,” Greathouse said, as he pressed the napkin to each corner of his mouth with a huge hand. “Farmer Jones wishes to know the answer to why his daughter Lovey comes to dinner with hay in her hair.”
“To start, one must begin,” Mrs. Herrald answered, with a slight shrug. “Isn’t that true?” She’d directed the question to Matthew.
“It is,” he agreed, “but I do wonder why you’ve chosen this place, at this time. I understand much valuable cargo passes through New York, and many wealthy people with items of value. But, after all, New York isn’t London. I can verify that the criminal element here is not exactly overpowering the judicial system.” He realized he was echoing the statement of High Constable Lillehorne. “Why, exactly, have you chosen New York?”
Mrs. Herrald stared into his eyes, and by the steady candlelight Matthew thought there was a serenity and certainty of purpose about her that was almost unsettling, being from a woman. He wondered if those who sat in the presence of Queen Anne felt such an emanation of cool willpower as he felt now from Katherine Herrald. He had to sit back in his chair a bit, for the force of it was almost like a fist against his chest.
“Now you’ve asked for it.” Greathouse stood up. “Want a glass of wine?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll help myself, then. Don’t mind me.” He clomped off toward the rear of the house.
Mrs. Herrald said, her eyes still fixed on his, “Matthew, New York is the town.”
“Yes, madam, I know it’s the town.”
“Not just any town,” she corrected. “The town. I’ve kept up with the colonies. With the other towns in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and down through Virginia and Carolina. I’ve educated myself on the reports that find their way from this new world to the old one. The census figures. The harbor logbooks. The credits and payments that bear international stamps and are fussed over by all the Queen’s men. I do have friends in places both high and low, Matthew, and they tell me what I already know: this is the town.”
“Pardon,” Matthew said, feeling he must be thick-headed, “but I’m not following you.”
“The future,” she replied patiently, “is here. In New York. Now please don’t misunderstand. Boston will become a great city, as will Philadelphia. Even New Rochelle, most likely, and Orangeburg too. But I look at New York, and I see an uncommon city that will not be matched by any town on the coast. Boston is growing by leaps and bounds, yes, but the weather there is more inclement and the Puritans still run the place. Philadelphia has its potential as a world port, but the Free Society of Traders went bankrupt there twenty years ago, so the jury is still out. The Dutch set up a very organized system of international trade in New York, and we English took that over when we took the colony. I think the Dutch were relieved, really. Now they can make money as business partners and not have to spend it on maintaining a colony.”
“I see,” Matthew said, though he was waiting for her point.
She gave it to him. “New York is the future business center of perhaps the entire English endeavor. It’s not much to look at now, no, though it has its certain…charms. But I believe that in ten years, twenty years, or thirty… however long it takes…this town will be a city that may even dare to rival London.”
“Rival London?” Matthew almost laughed at that one, but he kept a straight face. “I agree that the town has potential, but New York has a long way to go before it rivals London. Half the streets are still dirt!”
“I didn’t say it would happen soon. London was born at the dawn of time, if you listen to the balladeers on Golding Lane. But New York will find its time, and I believe there will be fortunes to be made and lost here, even with half the streets dirt.”
Matthew nodded pensively. “I’m glad you have such belief in the town’s future. So that’s why you wish to open the office?”
“Not only that. If I have done my research and come to this belief, others also have.”
“Others?”
Mrs. Herrald didn’t answer for a moment. She picked up her fork and used it to slowly stir the remaining liquid in the bowl before her, as if she were probing for the bottom of a swamp.
She said, “You can be sure, Matthew, that the criminal element of not only England but also greater Europe is looking in this direction, and has already seen the potential. Whatever it might be: kidnapping, forgery, public and private theft, murder for hire. Domination of the mind and spirit, thereby to gain illicit profit. I could give you a list of the names of individual criminals who will most likely be lured here at some time or another, but it’s not those petty thugs who concern me. It’s the society that thrives underground, that pulls the marionette strings. The very powerful and very deadly group of men-and women-who even now are sitting at dinner just as we are, but they hold carving knives over a map of the new world and their appetites are ravenous.”
She ceased her stirring and again locked her gaze with his. “You say that currently the criminal element is not overpowering the judicial system. That’s today. There are going to be many tomorrows in the life of this colony and this city, Matthew. If we don’t prepare for the future, it will be taken from us by those who do.” She lifted her arched eyebrows. “Please don’t be blind to the fact that there’s already an element of…shall we say…evil at work here? The ‘Masker,’ as Mr. Grigsby calls him. There have been several murders in Boston and Philadelphia that are still unsolved and unlikely to be as more time goes past. Oh, it’s already here, Matthew. And it will thrive unless the enforcement of law is strong and organized. Which it currently is not.”
Greathouse came back in with a wineglass full to the brim. “Have I missed the sermon?”
“I was just getting to the ‘amen,’” Mrs. Herrald answered. “I hope I haven’t frightened our junior associate too very much.”
