orderly fields of corn and beans, but some farms had also withered. There stood a bare stone chimney, its structure burned to black ruin around it. At the edge of another village-this one with a score of houses, a stable, blacksmith’s shop, and white-painted tavern-a sign announced Welcome to New Town and a little army of children came running out to tag along with the riders, asking them questions about where they were from and where they were going until the road curved again into the forest and the children stopped following.
The air was still heavy and wet, tendrils of fog caught in the heights of the tallest trees. Occasionally deer halted in the woods to watch the riders go by or ran across the track before them. Matthew noted that some of the stags had antlers so big it was amazing the animals could stay upright. Greathouse and Matthew urged their horses into a gallop when the road was good enough, trying to make as much time as possible. About four hours into the journey, near a roadsign that had painted upon it Inian’s Ferry 8 miles, they met a family travelling by wagon on their way to New York. Greathouse spoke to the father and learned that Westerwicke was twelve miles away, on the other side of the ferry that crossed the Raritan River.
They pressed on. As they approached the river, the forest gave way to more farms and industries such as a sawmill, lumberyard, cooper’s shop, and, at the edge of a huge apple orchard, a brewery. Houses stood clustered together. Wooden frames were going up for other buildings. The influence of the river, and of river traffic moving inland, was steadily constructing a town. Matthew and Greathouse came to the ferry crossing at the Raritan and had to wait twenty minutes for the next boat, but they were intrigued to see four silent Indians in colorful beads and other tribal regalia come off the barge and begin to head northeast at a pace that would have left the palefaces gasping for breath within a hundred yards.
At last, as the hazy daylight began to further weaken, a sign announced the town of Westerwicke. The pike became Westerwicke’s main street, with houses of wood and brick standing on both sides. Beyond the dwellings were well-groomed farmfields and orchards. Horses and cattle shared fenced pastures and sheep grazed on a distant hillside. Westerwicke had two churches, two taverns, and a small business district where residents paused their errands or conversations to watch the strangers pass. Greathouse pulled his horse up in front of one of the taverns, its sign depicting an offered hand and the legend The Constant Friend, and called to a young man who had just come out. Directions to the Publick Hospital indicated that their journey would end in another half-mile at a road branching off to the right.
It was with great relief to Matthew’s tailbone when that final half-mile was history. The branch road took them through a grove of trees to three buildings. The first, constructed of wood and painted white, stood near a well and was about the size of a normal house. Before it was a horse trough and hitching-post, and a lighted lantern hung on a nail beside the front door. The second structure, connected to the first by a well-worn pathway, was much larger and made of rough stones with a steeply angled roof from which protruded two chimneys. Some of the windows were shuttered. Matthew thought that this was where the patients must be housed, yet the building looked as if it might have been meant for an original purpose of serving as a grain warehouse or even a meeting- hall. He wondered if a village had preceded Westerwicke, had perished due to fever or some other misfortune and this was all that remained of it except possibly some ruins in the forest.
The third building was fifteen or twenty yards beyond the stone structure. It was a little larger than the first and also painted white. He noted that two of its windows were also shuttered. A flowering garden complete with statuary and benches tucked amid the foliage stood nearby. Another road led back to what appeared to be a stable and several other small outbuildings. All in all, this was certainly not the place of misery and confusion that Matthew had imagined they would find. Birds were singing their late-afternoon songs in the trees, the light was fading to blue, and the atmosphere of the hospital and its grounds were far more restful than the squalid scenes of madness Matthew had read about London’s asylums in the Gazette. Still, he did see bars on some of the unshuttered windows of the stone building, and now a few white faces peered through and hands came out to grasp the bars but the inspection of the visitors was made in silence.
Greathouse dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching-post. As Matthew did the same, the front door of the stone building opened and a man in gray clothes emerged. He paused to do something at the door-lock it behind him, Matthew guessed-and then he gave a start as he saw the new arrivals. He lifted his hand in greeting and came walking rapidly toward them.
“Hello!” Greathouse called. “Are you Dr. Ramsendell?”
The man continued right up to them. When he got within an arm’s-length of Matthew he abruptly stopped and said with a crooked grin and a mangled voice, “I’m Jacob. Have you come to take me home?”
Matthew reckoned that the man was only five or six years elder than himself, though it was hard to tell for his face was deeply lined with hardship. His temple on the right side was crushed inward. An old jagged scar began at his right cheek and sliced up across a concave patch on his scalp where the hair no longer grew. His eyes were bright and glassy and there was something both hideous and pitiful about his fixed grin.
“I’m Jacob,” he said again, in exactly the same way it had already been spoken. “Have you come to take me home?”
“No.” Greathouse’s voice was firm but careful. “We’ve come to see Dr. Ramsendell.”
Jacob’s grin never faltered. He reached up and touched the scar on Matthew’s forehead before Matthew could think to step back. “Are you mad like me?” he asked.
“Jacob! Give them some room, please.” The door to the first building had opened and another man came out, followed by a second, both of them wearing dark breeches and white shirts. Instantly Jacob retreated two paces but kept staring at Matthew. The man who’d spoken was tall and slim with a thatch of reddish-brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He also wore a tan-colored waistcoat. He said, “I heard my name called. What may I do for you gentlemen?”
“I think this one’s mad.” Jacob pointed at Matthew. “Somebody broke his head.”
Greathouse continued on his verbal path with only a quick sidelong check to make sure Jacob, who was obviously a resident here, did not move any closer. “I’m Hudson Greathouse and this is Matthew Corbett. We represent the Herrald Agency. We’ve come from New York to-”
“Excellent!” said the bearded man with an expression of joy. He glanced at his companion, who was shorter and stockier, had gray hair, and wore spectacles perched on a hooked nose. “I told you they’d come! Oh ye of little faith!”
“I stand corrected and reproved,” the second man answered, speaking to Greathouse and Matthew. “Also much impressed by your speed in this matter, gentlemen.”
“I was in New York today,” Jacob offered. “I flew on a bird.”
“Pardon my bad manners.” The bearded man held out his hand first to Greathouse and then to Matthew. “I am Dr. Ramsendell and this is Dr. Curtis Hulzen. Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I can’t thank you enough. I know you’ve had a long trip. May I invite you into the office for a cup of tea?”
Greathouse showed him the envelope. “I’d like to know about this.”
“Ah. Yes, the letter. I left it at the Dock House Inn yesterday. Come, let’s talk in the office.” Ramsendell motioned them toward the door. Matthew was acutely aware of Jacob walking almost on his heels.
“I was on a bird,” Jacob said, to no one in particular. “It was fat and shiny and took people in its stomach.”
“Jacob?” Ramsendell paused at the door. He spoke kindly to the afflicted man, rather as one would speak to a wayward child. “The gentlemen, Dr. Hulzen, and I have some important business to discuss. I’d like for you to complete your task.”
“I have bad dreams,” said Jacob.
“Yes, I know you do. Go along now. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can have your supper.”
“You’re going to talk about the Queen.”
“That’s correct, we are. Go on, now. The laundry won’t fold itself.”
Jacob seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, and then he gave a nod and a grunt and turned away, walking past the stone structure in the direction of the road that led to the outbuildings.
“Three years ago he was foreman at the sawmill by the river,” Ramsendell explained quietly as Matthew and Greathouse watched Jacob leave. “Had a wife and two children. One careless accident-not his doing, by the way- and his injury reduced him to a second childhood. He does make improvement and he takes responsibility for small jobs, but he can never live out there again.”
Out there. Matthew thought he’d spoken that as if the world beyond was the frightful place instead of this asylum.
