“I just…saw him, that’s all. In the taverns.”
“I’d presume,” said Pollard, “that on some nights he lost and on some nights he won. If you do the math, you might find he came out even or a little ahead.”
“He was repulsive.” Mrs. Deverick returned the letter to the envelope. “And Godwin was sickening. So there are your answers, Mr. Corbett.” She held the envelope out to him. “Helpful in some way, I hope.”
Not really, he wanted to say, but then again he had to put his mind to what the woman had told him and sift through the information as if it were fine sand. He took the envelope and settled against his seatback, the horses’ rhythm causing the carriage to rock back and forth.
“My opinion, if I’m allowed to give one,” said Pollard, who paused to make sure his nose wasn’t clipped before he went on, “is that this Masker person has left town. I think the decree has had its effect, as much as we regret having to lose income to suit Lord Cornbury’s grievances against the taverns. I mean, if I were the Masker, why should I wish to dawdle at the scene of the crimes?”
“Possibly because your work might not be done?” Matthew asked, looking sharply at him.
“My work? And what work might that be, sir?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you hear that, madam?” Pollard’s voice was almost gleeful. “Your investigator doesn’t know. Corbett, I’ll give you some free advice, and pay heed to it. Return to your role as clerk and give up this amusing attempt to play at high constable. You’ll be ever so much the better for-”
“One moment,” Matthew interrupted. “Repeat that, please.”
“Repeat what?”
“You said, ‘I’ll give you some free advice, and-’”
“I have no idea what you’re going on about now.”
“‘Pay heed to it,’ is what you said,” Mrs. Deverick spoke up. She looked quizzically at Matthew.
“Yes. Would you repeat that phrase, Mr. Pollard?”
Pollard grinned and frowned and grinned. “Has your brain gotten too much sun?”
Matthew watched him carefully. I have marked a page, the Masker’s muffled voice had said last night. Pay heed to it. “Just speak it. Won’t you?”
“I’ve said it once, why should I say it again? Because you demand it?”
“Because I’m asking.”
“For the mercy of Christ!” scowled the widow. “Say it, Pollard!”
“All right then, what do I care if a lunatic demands that I speak a phrase I hardly even recall saying? Pay heed to it, pay heed to it, pay heed to it! Does that send you into a rapture?”
Matthew had been listening for something-anything-that might remind him of the voice from last night, but he heard nothing recognizable in tone or cadence. Still, the voice being so muffled, probably disguised behind a cravat pulled up over the mouth…it was hard to tell whether Pollard was shamming or not. Inconclusive, he thought, but he still kept a watchful eye trained on the man.
“I suppose I’ll get out here,” Matthew said, as the carriage reached Hanover Square. Micah Reynaud’s shop was only two blocks away, across from the Jewish synagogue on Mill Street. With a command from Mrs. Deverick to her driver, the carriage was at the curb. Matthew retrieved his bag, clicked open the door, and stepped out.
“Do get a shave, Corbett,” Pollard said. “A bath might go well for you, also.”
“Thank you, sir.” Matthew paused on the last carriage step before easing down onto the paving stones. He wanted to try one last time with the lady. “Mrs. Deverick, can you think of any trip your late husband might have taken? Not in recent memory, perhaps, but within the last few years?”
“This interview is over,” came Pollard’s cutting voice. “Mr. Deverick’s trips have no bearing whatsoever on-”
“I’m trying to find a motive,” Matthew persisted. “A clue. Anything. Please, Mrs. Deverick. Any information you might have would be helpful.”
“Do not beg, Mr. Corbett.” She glowered down at him. “It is a sign of weakness.”
Matthew felt his mouth draw into a tight line. Damn it all, he thought. He’d done his best, but this seemed to be a dead-end. “Thank you for your time, madam,” he said, rather grimly, and stepped down onto the stones.
Her powdered face with its thin arched eyebrows leaned toward him. “If it would be helpful,” she said, “there were the trips to Philadelphia.”
Matthew froze where he stood.
“Madam?” Pollard again, trying to regain his authority now that Matthew was out of the carriage. “I don’t think you are obligated to-”
“Hush,” she snapped, and he hushed. Then, to Matthew, “Pennford made several trips to Philadelphia. Several years ago, though. I do know that our firm handles the brokerage duties for taverns there, as well.”
“Oh, I see. How did that come about?”
Pollard leaned out to give his two pence. “Mr. Deverick bought a Philadelphia brokerage firm. That was in 1698. Ancient history, as far as business goes.”
“You handled the papers?”
“No, it was a few months before I arrived. The transaction was managed by Charles Land. May we go on our way now?”
“And,” said Mrs. Deverick, “Pennford did take the trip to London. I think that was…early autumn of 1695.”
“London?” Matthew was intrigued. “Did you accompany him?”
“I did not.”
“So you don’t know who he visited?”
“It was business, I’m sure. Pennford would not have made such a journey as that for any other reason. When he came back, his stomach pained him so much Dr. Edmonds put him in bed for a week.”
“The Philadelphia brokerage firm,” Matthew said to Pollard. “What was its title?”
“It bears Mr. Deverick’s name.”
“Yes, I understand it bears his name now, but who owned the firm before Mr. Deverick bought it?”
Pollard laughed harshly. “Clerk, what are you driving at? That there is some connection between Mr. Deverick’s murder and the brokerage firm in Philadelphia? You might as well accuse the man in the moon!”
“I’m not accusing, I’m asking. Who owned the firm before Mr. Deverick bought it?”
“Dear God, you’re an arse-pain! Excuse my language, madam.”
“Mr. Pollard?” Matthew said, willing to grind the man down. “Why won’t you answer my question? Do you know, or don’t you?”
“It was a man named Ives, who is still employed by the Deverick company as manager there. So what does that tell you?”
“That I’d hate to perform dental surgery on you, sir, as the extraction of your teeth would have to be done with explosives.”
Pollard’s face had reddened. His thoughts, Matthew reckoned, must have been equally as crimson. The lawyer sat back in his seat, and Matthew saw that Mrs. Deverick had enjoyed this little combat because she was smiling wickedly.
“I have to say,” she commented, “you’re an entertaining young man, Mr. Corbett.”
“Thank you, madam.”
“Is there anything else, then?”
“No, but I appreciate your candor and your time.”
“Our arrangement still stands,” she said. “I’d like to pay you the ten shillings, if only to see you move into something more suitable than a dairyhouse.”
“I intend to collect the money,” Matthew replied, “but the dairyhouse will suit me for a while.”
“As you please. Good day, then.” To the driver she said crisply, “Drive on!” and the carriage promptly pulled away, leaving Matthew in bustling Hanover Square with his mind again turning toward the Queen of Bedlam.
It was interesting, he pondered, how the Queen had been placed in the asylum by a Philadelphia lawyer, and now came news that Deverick owned a brokerage firm in the Fount of Brotherly Love. He doubted that there was as much money to be made in the Quaker town as in New York. Why had Deverick bought the firm? Simply for the desire of acquisition? He recalled something Robert had said, answering questions about his dead father in
