Lillehorne.
“Did you know Ausley very well?”
“No, not well.”
McCaggers crossed to the large black chest and pulled open a drawer. In it, Matthew saw, was a bundle wrapped in brown paper. Also in the drawer was a cheap brown cloth wallet, a pencil wrapped with string, a set of keys, a small pewter liquor flask, and what appeared to be a vial half-full of oily amber-colored liquid.
“I was wondering,” McCaggers said, “if you’d ever heard Ausley speak of his next-of-kin.”
Ah, Matthew thought. Here they were, then. The last possessions of Eben Ausley as he was carved out of the earth to reap his reward. His clothes wrapped in the paper. The vial had to be the sickening cloves cologne. The keys to the locks of the orphanage. The pencil to record Ausley’s gambling losses, meals, comings-and-goings, and whatever else lay in his mind’s brackish swamp.
“I haven’t, no,” Matthew answered. He felt a little itch at the back of his brain.
“I presume someone will come along, eventually. The second-in-charge at the almshouse, perhaps. Or I’ll just put all this in a box and store it away.” McCaggers closed the drawer. “Did he never talk about a family?”
Matthew shook his head. And then he realized what was making his brain itch. “Pardon me, but would you open that again?”
McCaggers did, and stepped aside as Matthew approached.
It only took a few seconds, actually. Hardly an inspection to see what was missing. “Ausley’s notebook,” Matthew said. “Where is it?”
“I’m sorry? Where is what?”
“Ausley always carried a small black notebook with gold ornamentation on the cover. I don’t see it here.” He looked into the coroner’s face. “Might it be wrapped up with the clothes?”
“Positively not. Zed is meticulous in his removal of items from the clothing.”
Far be it from Matthew to question Zed’s meticulosity. In fact, he had the keen sensation of being watched and when he glanced up at the roof hatch he saw the slave standing there staring down at him with an expression one might afford a tadpole in a teacup.
Matthew looked at the objects in the drawer again, but he didn’t really see them for his eyes were clouded. “The notebook isn’t here,” he said quietly, mostly to himself.
“If it isn’t here,” McCaggers offered, “it wasn’t on the body.” He pushed the drawer shut once more, and then walked to the weapons rack and chose another two pistols. He took them to a small round table where Matthew saw a box of lead balls, a powderhorn, and a number of flints arranged in readiness for the next assault on Elsie. “Would you care to take a shot?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I do appreciate your time, though.” Matthew was already moving toward the door. He’d noted several holes in the wall beyond Elsie and two broken windowpanes. It amazed him that some gentleman or lady hadn’t gotten a sting in the wig by now.
“Good day, then. Please feel free to come up from time to time, as I enjoy your company.”
Coming from the eccentric-some would say half-mad-coroner, that was high praise indeed, Matthew thought. But now it was time to bite the lead ball and see if he could get out of this building without unpleasantries in the form of a diminutive high constable or a blowhard chief prosecutor. He left the attic, closed the door behind him, and descended toward the cruel and common earth.
Nineteen
Before Matthew could proceed with his intent to have lunch at the Gallop and settle into what would hopefully be a quiet afternoon, even as some in the town were organizing protests against the forthcoming Clear Streets Decree, he had a mission to complete.
He’d been considering what he was to tell John Five about the reverend’s journey last night, and still-as one step after another took him nearer to Master Ross’ blacksmithery-he was unsure. It wouldn’t do to wait for John Five to come to him. As Matthew had been asked in all good faith to perform this duty, he felt obligated to report on his findings with proper speed, but yet…had he really made any findings? Of course he’d seen Wade sob in front of Madam Blossom’s house, but what did it mean? Sometimes, Matthew knew, there was a vast gulf between what was seen and what there was to be understood, and therein lay his problem.
He entered the sullen heat of the smith’s shop, found John Five at his usual labor, and invited him outside to speak. The ritual of asking a few minutes from Master Ross was repeated, and shortly Matthew and John Five were standing together at about the same spot they’d been on Tuesday morning.
“So,” John Five began, when Matthew was hesitant in speaking. “You followed him?”
“I did.”
“Busy night, that was. A terrible night, for Ausley.”
“It was,” Matthew agreed.
They were silent for a moment. Pedestrians passed on the sidewalk, a wagon carrying sacks of grain trundled by, and two children ran along rolling a stick-and-hoop.
“Are you gonna tell me, or not?” John asked.
Matthew decided to say, “Not.”
John frowned. “And why not?”
“I did discover his destination. But I’m not sure it was his usual destination. I don’t feel ready to tell you where it was, or what I witnessed there.”
“Did you not understand how serious this thing is?”
“Oh, I did and do understand. That’s exactly why I need more time.”
“More time?” John Five thought about that. “You’re sayin’ you’re gonna follow him again?”
“Yes,” Matthew said. “I want to see if he goes to the same place. If he does…I may wish to speak to him first. Then, according to how things progress, he may tell either you or Constance himself.”
John ran a hand through his hair, his expression perplexed. “It must be bad.”
“Right now, it’s neither good nor bad. My observations are unsupported, and thus I have to refrain from saying any more.” Matthew realized John Five was waiting for something else-anything he might grasp upon as a spar of hope-and so Matthew said, “There’s likely going to be a Clear Streets Decree tonight. The taverns will be closing early and there’ll be more constables on the streets. I doubt if Reverend Wade will be making his late-night walks until the decree is lifted, and when that will be I have no idea.”
“He might not walk,” John said, “but his trouble won’t go away so easy.”
“I think you’re absolutely right in that regard. For the time being, though, there’s nothing either of us can do.”
“All right,” John Five said in a dispirited voice. “I don’t like it, but I guess it’ll have to be.”
Matthew agreed that it would, wished his friend a good day, and promptly walked farther along the street to Tobias Winekoop’s stable where he secured Suvie for the next morning at six-thirty. His Saturday training session with Hudson Greathouse was looming ever more darkly in his mind, but at least he knew what to expect.
Now there was one more errand he wished to conduct before lunch and this one had been prompted by Widow Sherwyn’s gossip of Golden Hill. Among the fine houses there was the red brick mansion belonging to the Deverick family. Matthew doubted that Lillehorne had spent much time-if any-interviewing Deverick’s widow Esther and son Robert about the elder man’s business affairs. Even if they were near neighbors, the Lillehornes and Devericks were not cut from the same cloth. It seemed to Matthew that if a connection was to be found between Dr. Godwin, Deverick, and now-of all unlikely persons-Ausley, such a link might be discovered in the business realm. He realized he might indeed be far off the mark, as how in the world could an orphanage headmaster with a gambling fetish be involved with a wealthy goods broker who had clawed his way up from the bitter streets of London? And furthermore, then, how was an eminent and much-admired physician involved with both of them?
He intended to at least, as McCaggers might have said, take a shot at it. He started off northward toward the area known as Golden Hill, which was a row of palatial houses and gardens east of the Broad Way the length of Golden Hill Street between Crown and Fair.
As Matthew approached this avenue of opulence he sidestepped a farmer’s wagon bringing hogs to market and looked up toward the heights where the rich folk lived. Golden Hill Street might be made of plain hard-packed
