know the type I mean?”
Matthew nodded. He very well knew that type, by the name of Exodus Jerusalem.
“William Wade is a decent man,” John said. “If he’s in some kind of trouble, it’s not of his own makin’.”
“Trouble?” Matthew frowned. “Why do you put it that way?”
“Somethin’s chewin’ him up,” came the grim response. “Constance says he can hardly sleep at night anymore. She says she hears him get up from his bed and walk in his room. Just pacin’ the boards, back and forth. Wait…here’s your food.”
The barmaid had entered again, carrying a tray on which sat a brown bowl. She put it down in front of Matthew, gave him a wooden fork and spoon, and said, “Coin or credit?”
“On my bill, Rose,” John Five said, and she shrugged as if such things mattered not a whit and exited the room, leaving Matthew with the distinct impression that this Thorn Bush’s Rose was indeed a prickly specimen.
In the bowl was a muddy-looking stew that contained elements impossible to identify. Matthew stirred the stuff around with his spoon but was unable to determine if it was mutton pie, beef brains, boiled potatoes, turnips, some combination of everything, or a cook’s surprise. He was hungry enough to try it, though, and found with a small sip that whatever it was it was smoky and peppery and really very good. So score minus for presentation, but double plus for taste. He started in on it with relish, indicating by a nod for John to continue.
“Pacin’ his room, as I said,” John went on. “One night Constance thought she heard him cry out in a bad dream. Then another night…she just plain heard him give a sob that near broke her heart.”
“I assume she’s asked him what the trouble might be?”
“She’s not exactly used that word, but she has asked. The one time he’d talk about it at all, he said everythin’ was goin’ to be fine, soon enough.”
“‘Soon enough’? That was his statement?”
John nodded. “Accordin’ to Constance, I mean. She told me he sat her down, took both her hands, looked her in the eyes, and said he knew he’d been actin’ peculiar, but she wasn’t to worry. He said it was his problem, and he had to solve it his own way. He asked her to trust him.”
Matthew took a drink of his port. “But obviously she feels this ‘problem’ hasn’t gotten any better? That he’s still worried to the point of distraction?”
“And he’s still goin’ out late at night, too. Take what happened on Tuesday night.”
Matthew stopped eating. “Deverick’s murder?”
“No, not that. On Tuesday night, near eleven o’clock, there came a knock at the reverend’s door. He told Constance to stay in her room, and he went to see who was callin’ at such an hour. She heard him talkin’ to somebody, then he got his street clothes on and told her not to worry but that he had to go out. And she said his eyes were scared, Matthew. She said it was a terrible thing, to see such fear on her father’s face.” John drank down the rest of his port and looked as if he wished he had another full glass. “When he left the house…Constance went to a window and looked out, east along Maiden Lane. She saw the reverend walkin’ with someone else carryin’ a lantern. A man, she thought. It was a man’s voice she’d heard at the door. An old man, she thought it might be. But up ahead, waitin’ with a lamp at the corner of Maiden Lane and Smith Street, was a woman.”
“A woman,” Matthew repeated. “She was sure of that?”
“She could see the woman’s gown and bonnet, but she couldn’t make out the face.”
“Hm,” Matthew said, for it was all he could think to say. He was putting together in his mind what might have happened that night. Reverend Wade and his daughter lived in a small house on Maiden Lane between Nassau and Smith streets. Artemis Vanderbrocken had knocked on the door to summon the reverend, who’d hurriedly dressed and left the house. Wade had been walking south on Smith Street in the company of Vanderbrocken and the unknown woman when behind them came the shout from Phillip Covey. Or perhaps not behind them, but nearly beside them. Perhaps they were just passing when Covey began his cry of alarm, and that was why they’d been so quick on the spot.
Interesting, Matthew thought. What had happened to the woman?
“After Reverend Wade had gone,” John continued, “it wasn’t long before Constance heard commotion goin’ on and a bell ringin’. That was at the murder scene, I suppose. She was afraid to go out. She got on her knees and prayed that her father was all right, but she couldn’t get back to sleep. He came home maybe an hour or so later and went straight to his room.”
“Did she ask where he’d been?”
“No. She wants him to tell her in his own time, and she does trust him, Matthew.”
“I see. So Constance has no idea you’re meeting with me?”
“No idea,” John said.
“May I ask then, why are you here with me? Isn’t this a betrayal of her trust for her father?”
John didn’t answer. He cast his eyes down. “I love Constance, Matthew. With all my heart. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want her to know the bad things of life. The ugly things. If I can shield her from those things-or delay her from bein’ hurt, even by her own father-I’m goin’ to do my best. If he’s mixed up in somethin’ he shouldn’t be, I want to know first before Constance does. So maybe I can soften it for her. And maybe…I can help Reverend Wade get free of whatever it is, if I only can find out.” He nodded, his eyes still lowered and dark in their sockets. “If that’s betrayin’ a trust, to save a girl’s heart from bein’ broke and her soul from bein’ scarred…I’ll do it gladly, many times over.”
Matthew now had the full picture. “You don’t wish to follow Reverend Wade yourself, in case you might be seen, so you want me to follow him.”
“I do.” John looked up, hopefully. “I can pay a little money, if that would suit you.”
Matthew finished his wine but did not respond. He was thinking that if he did follow the reverend he might well discover where he and Vanderbrocken were going and why they’d lied about heading toward different destinations the night of Deverick’s murder.
“What say?” John prodded.
Matthew cleared his throat. “Do you know if the reverend went out last night?”
“Constance said he stayed home. That’s the thing, see. He’s not stayed home these last three weeks two nights in a row. Even when it’s rained, he’s gone out. That’s why she thinks he’ll be goin’ out tonight, most likely between nine-thirty and ten.”
“But she can’t be positive of the night, or of the time?”
“No, I guess not.”
Matthew didn’t have to consider very long before he said, “All right. I’ll try for tonight, between nine-thirty and ten. If I have to, I’ll wait until ten-thirty, but after that I’m going home.” He knew he’d stay until eleven or so, but he didn’t wish to sound too eager.
“Thank you, Matthew. God bless you for helping with this thing. Do you want some money?”
“No. I’ll do it to show I don’t hold a grudge.” And also, Matthew thought, to clear up his own questions about Wade and Vanderbrocken. But the woman was a new piece to the puzzle. First of all, who was she? Secondly, why had she waited at the corner of Maiden Lane and Smith Street instead of approaching the house with Dr. Vanderbrocken?
The barmaid returned with more wine, but Matthew had what he needed and was ready to go. On the way to the front where John would sign his bill of credit they went again through the gambling room, which with the passage of half-an-hour had become even more smoke-filled, crowded, and boisterous. The prostitutes in gaudy gowns and dyed wigs, their faces all but obscured by white powder, red rouge, and dark eyeshadow, roamed amid the tables seeking stacks of coins, the men who owned them being only obstacles to a purpose. Matthew didn’t see Pollard or Kippering in the room any longer, but they might have been there and just moved to a different table.
Matthew and John Five were about halfway through the room when their progress was impeded by two heavily made-up dollies who seemed to appear through the smoke alongside the dice table intent on physical ambush. One was an elder the size of Hiram Stokely and the other was a thin wraith who might have been thirteen years old. Their grins, showing black and crooked teeth, were frightening to behold. John Five held off the big- bellied one with a forearm. When the child reached for Matthew he sidestepped, got around two men who were standing in the way, and then he took a blow to the stomach when he saw Eben Ausley sitting at a card table to his left, within dice-throwing distance.
