The Queen of Bedlam (8 page)

Afterward, Matthew wondered why he did it. He thought it was because of those two words. Little situations. To Gardner Lillehorne, everything that did not pertain to himself was a little situation. The robbers that used the river as their highway was a little situation, though they’d been at it for almost a year. The murder of Julius Godwin was a little situation, according to how much effort Lillehorne had put into it. So, too-and it seemed that all wickedness, sloth, and corruption came back to this point-the crimes of Eben Ausley surely would have been a little situation to the constable, whom Matthew had seen gaming with the headmaster on many occasions.

Well, it was time to make a big display of a little situation, Matthew thought.

He stood up, steeled himself in an instant, and when Lord Cornbury looked at him with those painted eyes he said, “I’d like to ask that some measure of attention be given to the problem of the constables, sir. The problem being that, as the town has increased in population and unfortunately so has the incidence of criminal behavior, the number and efficiency of the constables has not kept pace.”

“Please identify yourself,” Cornbury requested.

“His name’s Corbett, sir. He’s a clerk for one of the town’s-”

“Matthew Corbett,” came the steadfast and rather loud reply, as Matthew was determined not to be shot down by the high constable’s crooked musket. “I am clerk for Magistrate-”

“-magistrates, Nathaniel Powers,” Lillehorne kept talking, speaking directly to the governor, his own voice getting louder, “and I am well aware of this-”

“-Nathaniel Powers, sir,” continued Matthew, battling the war of tangled voices, and then suddenly he was swept by a storm of images from his little situation with Magistrate Woodward at Fount Royal in the Carolina colony, where he had fought as a champion for the life of the accused witch Rachel Howarth. He remembered skeletons in a muddy pit, and the vile killer who’d tried to murder them in the middle of the night; he remembered the evil smell of the gaol and the beautiful naked woman dropping her cloak and saying defiantly Here is the witch; he recalled the fires that burned across Fount Royal, set by a diabolical hand; he saw in that storm the mob surging toward the gaolhouse doors, the shouting for the death at the stake of a woman whom Matthew had come to believe was innocently embroiled in a plot demonic far beyond even the ravings of that mad Reverend Exodus Jerusalem; he saw the lifeforce of Isaac Woodward waning, even as Matthew risked everything for-as the magistrate had put it-his “nightbird”; he saw all these scenes and more awhirl in his mind, and as he turned his face upon High Constable Lillehorne he knew one thing certain about himself: he had earned the right to speak as a man.

“-problem, fear not. We have on hand a score of good men, loyal citizens who nightly heed their civic du-”

“Sir!” Matthew said; it hadn’t been a shout, but it was as startling as a pistol report in the chamber, for no one dared raise a voice against Lillehorne. Instantly the place could have been a tomb, and Matthew thought he’d indeed put the first shovel to his grave.

Lillehorne stopped speaking.

“I hold the floor,” Matthew said, the heat rising in his face. He saw Eben Ausley give a mean little smile and then hide it behind the hand that cupped his chin. Later for him, Matthew thought. Today for me.

“What did you say?” Lillehorne came forward, a slow step at a time. This was a man who could glide. His narrow black eyes in the long pallid face were fixed upon his enemy with almost delicious anticipation.

“I hold the floor. I have the right to speak freely.” He looked at Cornbury. “Do I not?”

“Um…yes. Yes, of course you do, son.”

Ugh, Matthew thought. Son? He stood sideways to the high constable, not prepared to fully turn his back on the man. Beside him, Magistrate Powers said sotto voce, “Give your best.”

“Please,” Lord Cornbury urged, evidently feeling quite the benignant ruler now. “Do speak freely.”

“Thank you, sir.” One more uneasy glance at Lillehorne, who’d stayed his forward progress, and then Matthew gave all his attention to the man in the dress. “I wished to point out that we-our town-suffered a murder two weeks ago, and that-”

“Just one murder?” Cornbury interrupted, with a lopsided grin. “Mind you, I just made a sea voyage from a city where a dozen murders a night is commonplace, so bless your stars.”

Some laughter ensued from this, notably Lillehorne’s chortle and a repugnant noseblow guffaw from none other than Ausley. Matthew kept his face expressionless and continued. “I do bless my stars, sir, but I’d rather look to the constables for protection.”

Now Solomon Tully and the magistrate laughed, and across the aisle Effrem Owles gave a little gleeful yelp.

“Well.” The governor’s smile was not so hideous, or perhaps Matthew was getting accustomed to the face. “Do go on.”

“I’m aware of London’s mortality rate.” The Gazette made sure of that, with all its grisly descriptions of throat-cuttings, decapitations, strangulations, and poisonings of men, women, and children. “Also of the fact that London has an advanced force of civic organization.”

“Not too well organized, unfortunately,” Cornbury said, with a shrug.

“But think of how many murders there might be a night, without that organization. And add to that all the other criminal acts that occur between dusk and dawn. I’m proposing, sir, that we as a community take London’s model into example and do something now to stem criminal violence before it becomes…shall we say…rooted.”

“We don’t have any criminal violence here!” shouted someone from the back. “That’s just hog’s breath, is all!”

Matthew didn’t look around; he knew it was one of those so-called score of good men defending his woe-begotten honor. Other shouts and hollers burbled around, and he waited until they quieted. “My point,” he said calmly, “is that we need organization before we have a problem. When we’re chasing the cart it might be too late.”

“You have suggestions, I assume?”

“Lord Governor!” Lillehorne, from the sound of the anguish in his voice, had been holding his breath while this discourse-this affront to his authority-was taking place. “The clerk is free to write his suggestions and give them to my clerk, just as any man or woman in this room or this town or this colony can do. I don’t see the need for this public laundering!”

Was there any point in reminding Lillehorne of the letters already written and obviously rejected or discarded outright? Matthew didn’t think so. “I do have a few suggestions,” he said, still speaking directly to Cornbury. “May I state them, for the public record?” He nodded toward the scribes with quills poised over parchment paper at the aldermen’s table.

“You may.”

Matthew thought he heard a hissing sound from behind him. Lillehorne was not having a good day, and it was likely to get worse. “The constables,” Matthew began, “need to meet at a common place before their rounds begin. They should sign their names in a ledger, indicating what time they arrive for duty. They should also sign out, and so receive permission from a higher authority before they go back to their homes. They should sign an oath not to drink on duty. And, to be honest, the drunkards among them should be culled and sent packing.”

“Really?” Cornbury adjusted his hat, as the peacock feathers had begun to droop over into his eyes.

“Yes sir, really. The higher authority at this…this station, call it…should be responsible for making sure they’re fit for service, and passing out to them lanterns and some sort of noise-making devices. Say a ratchet crank. Those are used in London, are they not?” The Gazette said so, therefore no need to wait for Cornbury’s verification. “Something the Dutch used to do, and we for whatever reason ceased doing, was giving green-glassed lanterns to the constables. Therefore when you saw a green lantern’s glow, you knew at whom you were looking. I think there also ought to be a program of training for the constables. They should all be able-”

“Hold, hold!” Lillehorne nearly shouted. “The constables are picked from the common stock! What kind of training are you talking about?”

“They should all be able to read and write,” Matthew said. “Also it wouldn’t hurt if they were men whose eyesight was proven not to be faulty.”

“Listen to this!” The high constable was now back on stage, playing to the crowd. “The clerk makes it seem as if we’re a town full of dunce-caps!”

“One dunce-cap is too many,” Matthew answered; and with that he knew his future would be a battleground. Lillehorne was ominously silent. “I would also suggest, Lord Cornbury, that for the purpose of finding the best individuals for this nightly task, they should be paid from the common fund.”

“Paid?” Cornbury managed to look both bemused and shocked at the same time. “In money?”

“Just as for any job. And let this central station be a serious workplace, not a warehouse or stable used as an afterthought. I think there are other details worth looking into, as well. Larger candles that burn longer, for instance. And more of them afforded to the constables and also placed in lanterns on every street corner. I’m sure Mr. Deverick might help with that.”

“Yes of course,” Deverick spoke up quickly, but everyone including Matthew knew he was already counting the extra lucre. “I also like the idea of the green lanterns. I can get those as a special order.”

“This has not passed my approval yet, sir!” Cornbury obviously had no liking for Pennford Deverick, and wasn’t about to let the moneywagon run away from him. “Please withhold your pleasure!” Then he directed a piercing stare at Matthew, who felt the power of royalty like a fist balled up to knock him down. “How is it you’ve given such thought to this, and the high constable has heard nothing of it?”

Matthew pondered this. Everyone waited, with some expectation. Then Matthew said, “The high constable is a busy man, sir. I’m sure these ideas would have come clear to him, eventually.”

“Or perhaps not.” Cornbury frowned. “Dear me, I’ve seen men duel to the death over lesser affronts to offices as this. Mr. Lillehorne, I assume you have the good of the town in mind, and that would preclude any offense you might take at this young man’s bravura. Yes?”

Gardner Lillehorne said with the hint of a hiss, “My lord, I am only here to sssserve.”

“Very good. Then I shall read over these remarks from the public record and I shall ask you at some point to meet with myself and, of course, the aldermen for further discussion. Until then, Mr. Deverick, I don’t wish to see any green lanterns floating about in the dark. And you may sit down, Mr. Corbett, with thanks for your thoughtful suggestions. Anyone else?”

Matthew sat down, having been thoroughly dismissed. But Tully jabbed an encouraging elbow into his ribs and Powers said, “Good show.”

“Sir? I have a question, if you please?”

The voice was familiar. Matthew looked around to see his chess-playing comrade stand up. Effrem Owles was twenty years old, but already the gray streaks were pronounced on the sides of his bird’s-nest thatch of brown hair. His father, the tailor, had gone completely silver-haired by age thirty-five. Effrem was tall and thin and wore round spectacles that made his intelligent dark brown eyes seem to float out of his face. “Effrem Owles, sir,” he said. “I do have a question, if it’s not so…improper.”

“I’ll be the judge of impropriety, young man. Ask away.”

“Yes sir, thank you. Well then…why is it you’re dressed as a woman?”

A gasp went up that might have been heard ’round the world. Matthew knew Effrem had asked the question in all sincerity; it was not the younger man’s nature to show cruelty or ill-will, but his vice-if such could be called-was a plain-spoken curiosity that sometimes rivaled even Matthew’s.

“Ah.” Lord Cornbury lifted a gloved and ringed finger. “Ah, that. Thank you for asking, Mr. Owles. I do understand how some-many, even-might not fathom my attire today. I am not always dressed so, but I decided that I should today at our first meeting show my respect and solidarity of spirit with the royal lady who has given me this wonderful opportunity to represent her interests so far from the mother shore.”

“You mean-” Effrem began.

“Yes,” Lord Cornbury said, “my cousin-”

“The Queen,” supplied some harsh-voiced rascal from back amid the mob.

“There you have it.” The governor smiled at his citizens as if he were the very sun. “Now I must retire from you and go about my business. Your business, of course. I promise to obey your call and your needs, as much as is humanly possible. Never let it be said that Edward Hyde is not responsive to the people. Good day, all of you, and I trust that at our next meeting we shall all have progress to report. Good day, gentlemen,” he said to the aldermen, and with a sharp turn he made his way back toward the door and out of the chamber, leaving voices both calling and cat-calling, and Matthew wondering how many hours it had taken the man to practice flouncing in that gown. The crier, still visibly shaken, managed to croak that the meeting was ended and God save Queen Anne and the town of New York.

“That’s that,” said Magistrate Powers, which suitably summed everything up.

On his way out through the converging crowd, which seemed torn between near-hysterical laughter and sheer speechless shock, Matthew caught Effrem’s eye and gave a lift of the chin that said Good question. Then with the next step he was aware of the sweet scent of flowers and Polly Blossom was passing him, leaving her provocative perfume up his nostrils. No sooner was she past than Matthew’s forward progress was stopped by a silver lion’s head pressed firmly against his collarbone.