gleam, in the way that light had leaped off the rapier blade Greathouse had swung at him. He realized he was sitting across the table from a girl who relished a good tangle.
“Be nice, be nice,” Grigsby muttered in his wine.
“I can assure you, sir,” said Berry, and there came a little glimpse of the gap as she gave a fleeting smile, “that I have neither self-pity nor powers of magic. I’m simply telling you what I know to be true. All my life I have been plagued by-or caused others to be plagued by-incidents of bad luck. How many to count? Ten, twenty, thirty? One is enough, believe me. Fires, coach accidents, broken bones, near drownings, and in the case of the preacher a sure drowning…all the above and more. I take the incident today as part of my spread of ‘fairy dust,’ as you so eloquently put it. By the way, you still have a lot of fairy dust in your hair.”
“Unfortunately I have not been able to bathe today. I regret the inconvenience to your sensibilities.”
“Children,” Grigsby said, “I’m glad we’re all getting along so well, but it might do to consider the hard earth of reality for a moment. Where are you going to sleep tonight, Matthew?”
A good question, but Matthew shrugged to mask his uncertainty. “I’m sure I’ll find a place. A boarding house, I suppose. Or maybe Mr. Sudbury would let me sleep in the back for just the one night.”
“The time to clear streets is getting near. It wouldn’t do to be walking from house to house after eight-thirty. Unless, of course, you wanted to sleep in the gaol.” Grigsby drank down the rest of his wine and pushed his glass aside. “Listen, Matthew, I have an idea.”
Matthew listened, though he was wary of Grigsby’s ideas. Berry also seemed to be giving her grandfather her full attention as he worked himself up to speak.
“I’d offer my house, but with Beryl…uh…Berry there now, I think you’d find it somewhat restrictive. I do suggest a second option, though. The Dutch dairy, beside my house.”
The brick outbuilding where Grigsby kept printing supplies and press parts. Matthew knew that as a former “cool house” where milk and other perishables had once been stored, it would certainly be a nice change of temperature from his garret, but there was at least one problem. “Doesn’t it have a dirt floor?”
“Nothing a throw rug couldn’t fix,” said Grigsby.
“Last call, gentlemen! Last call!” shouted Mr. Sudbury, with a pull on the bell that hung over the bar. “Closing in ten minutes!”
“I don’t know.” Matthew avoided looking at Berry, though he could feel her eyes on him. “It would be awfully small, wouldn’t it?”
“How much room do you need? Berry and I could clear some space for you, and I have a cot you might use. As you say, just for one night. Or however long you wish, as my guest.”
Ah, Matthew thought. Here’s the catch. Putting him in close proximity to Berry, so that he might be talked into beginning his duties as a supervisor. “No windows in the place,” he said. “I’m used to a view.”
“What are you going to look out at, in the dark? Come, Matthew! It’s just serving as a storeroom now. Plenty of space for a cot, and I could probably find a small writing desk for you as well, if you’d need that. A lantern to brighten the place, and it’s home for a night.”
Matthew drank some more wine and considered it. He was terribly tired, and didn’t care where he slept tonight as long as it was clean. “No mice, are there?”
“None. It’s as secure as a fort. Lock on the door and the key’s in my bureau.”
He nodded and then cast a swift glance at Berry. “What do you say about it?”
“I say, do as you please. Unless you fear another stroke of my bad luck.”
“What, doesn’t it ever run out?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“I don’t believe in bad luck.”
“But surely, sir,” she said with false sweetness, “you believe in good luck? Why should you not believe that a person might be born under a dark cloud?”
“I think your dark cloud is self-made,” Matthew answered, and again he saw the warning glint in her eyes. He kept going nevertheless. “But perhaps it’s not attention you’re seeking after all. Perhaps it’s a dark cloud to hide under.”
“To hide under?” Her mouth gave a slight twist. “What might I be hiding from?”
“The issue at hand,” interjected Grigsby, which was fine for Matthew because he didn’t wish to fence with the girl any further, “is not dark clouds but where to spend a dark night. What say you, Matthew?”
“I don’t say.” If Berry had indeed been born under a dark cloud, she had the knack of raining all over other people as well. Matthew realized he’d finished his third glass of wine yet he thirsted for a little more numbheadedness.
“Well, Berry and I ought to be going. Come, granddaughter.” Grigsby and the girl stood up from the table, and she walked on out of the tavern without a backward glance. “Forgive her, Matthew. She’s on edge. You understand. That with the ship and all. Can you blame her?”
“Her luck may be questionable, but her bad manners are unfortunately not.”
“I do think she feels she had something to do with the disaster. Her mere presence, I suppose. But don’t concern yourself, she’ll warm up to you very soon.”
Matthew frowned. “Why should I care if she warms up to me or not?”
“Just a neighborly comment, that’s all. Now listen, I meant what I said about the lodgings. Would that suit you?”
“I haven’t decided, but thank you anyway.”
“If you do decide in the positive, I’ll leave a lantern for you next to the door and on the door a cord with the key. All right?”
Matthew was going to reply with a shrug, for Berry’s petulance was catching, but instead he sighed and said, “All right. I’m going to have another drink first.”
“Mind the decree,” Grigsby cautioned, and then he also left the Trot.
Matthew asked Sudbury for another half-glass of wine and drank it while he set up a chess problem on one of the boards and played it out. Sudbury announced closing time, as it was eight o’clock, and finally Matthew picked up his bag of dusty belongings, thanked Sudbury for his kind hospitality, and left the man a shilling from his donation cup. He was the last customer out, and heard the door being bolted behind him.
It was a warm and pleasant night. Matthew turned right onto Crown Street and then took the corner south onto Smith Street. He was planning on walking a circle, to turn left onto Wall Street and then back up Queen Street along the waterfront to Grigsby’s house. He needed some air and some time to think. A bit of wooziness softened his vision, but he was all right, mostly. The street-corner lamps were lit, stars sparkled in the sky, and far to the east, over the Atlantic, a distant thunderstorm flickered. Matthew passed a few people rushing to get indoors before the decree began at eight-thirty, but he kept his pace unhurried as he walked along Wall Street. His mind was not on Brutus the bull nor the destruction of the pottery, but instead on the mysterious lady at the asylum.
A trip to Philadelphia was indeed in his future, but if Primm would offer up no information, then how was the Queen of Bedlam to be identified? By stopping every citizen of that town on the streets and describing the woman? Greathouse was right; it was an impossible task. But then, how?
That girl was maddening. Bad luck and a dark cloud. Ridiculous.
Back to the problem of identifying the woman. He felt now as if he’d overplayed his hand with Greathouse. You being the chief investigator on this, Greathouse had said. Did the man mean for Matthew to go to Philadelphia alone, and this basically his first case for the agency? That was a fine initiation, wasn’t it?
And the girl needed a lesson in manners, too. But there was something else in her eyes behind that flash of anger, Matthew thought. Perhaps it’s a dark cloud to hide under. Was there more truth to that than he’d realized?
He came to the corner of Wall Street and stopped in the glow of the lamp there to check his watch. Almost quarter after eight. He still had time, for Grigsby’s house was just two blocks north up the harbor street. He took a moment to rewind the watch and then started off again, his mind moving between the mad lady and the maddening girl.
Once more lightning flashed, far at sea. The dark shapes of ships stood on his right, their spars and masts towering overhead. The commingled smells of tar, pine, and dockwater drifted to him. He was about midway between Wall Street and King Street, his mind fixed now on the demands of a six-day journey to Philadelphia-three
