Thoreau at Devil's Perch (22 page)

“I beg your pardon for imposing on your time, young lady.”

I had not meant to sound so dismissive. “I have time enough to make you a cup of tea too,” I quickly told him, “and would be most happy to do so.”

He refused my offer with a genteel bow. “Your kindheartedness is to your credit, Miss Bell. But it could also be to your detriment if it induces you to forgive and forget Mr. Upson's conduct toward you.”

“You are making far too much of the incident!”

“Just heed my words. I will say no more.” He pressed a grubby finger to his lips, bowed again, and took his leave. I fear he might be a bit addle-pated.

So that was my day. Far more interesting than most. Yet somewhat disturbing too. A long, lonely evening awaits me, for Grandfather is already asleep and it is not yet nine. If Adam were here I would ask him to play his guitar for me. He is not very accomplished at it, but I do so enjoy singing along as he strums. I am not very accomplished musically either. Indeed, I am quite tone deaf. But Adam does not seem to mind my false notes. I miss him! I had expected him back this evening, but apparently he has been delayed in Boston yet another night.

Thursday, August 20th

 

W
ell, Finch did not kill me after all, although he did act mighty suspicious when first he came inside. I suggested that he remove his coat because the evening was very warm, but he insisted he was more comfortable keeping it on. I was not so comfortable, however, knowing he kept a flick knife up his coat sleeve. He then insisted on looking all around the downstairs of the house, claiming he needed to feel secure from prying eyes and ears before going into a trance. Or before doing away with me, I thought, not feeling at all secure myself. But I finally got him settled down on a chair in the front parlor and told him to try and relax.

“That goes against my grain,” he said. “As a soldier I have been well trained to always keep up my guard.”

Began to doubt he would be susceptible to hypnosis. But I took out my timepiece anyway. “Please follow the watch's movement,” I told Finch, gently swinging it back and forth.

Although this method had worked well with Julia and Henry, Finch claimed it was making him more dizzy than calm. I recalled that instead of a moving object, Dr. Braid had used his own lancet case as the bright object to focus on. Not being in the habit of carrying a lancet, I considered asking Finch for his flick knife to focus on but decided that handing it over to me would only increase his apprehension. Tried my watch again, this time holding it steady in front of him. Finch said the ticking annoyed him. Suggested he liken the sound to the beat of a distant Indian drum and soon perceived a gradual relaxation in his posture as he listened. His hands on his lap unclenched, his brow went smooth, and his breathing eased from short and irregular breaths to a deeper, softer, and more even rhythm. When his pupils dilated I extended the fore and middle fingers of my free hand to his eyes. Rather than close involuntarily, his orbs widened, and he drew back his head.

“Hey, watch it, doc.You near poked out my eyeball.”

“I assure you that was not my intention.”

“This ain't going to work,” he said.

Recalling my failure with Molly Munger, I almost agreed with him. But my stubborn nature would not let me. “I am no quitter, Lieutenant Finch, and I do not believe you are one, either.”

“You are right. As I soldier, I have been trained to persevere. Let us give it another try.”

And so we did. We went through the same procedure once again, but this time I assured Finch he would awaken to the sound of my clap and recall everything he said or did in a hypnotic state. This put him more at ease. Eventually his eyelids began to quiver, and after a moment they firmly closed.

Although he appeared to be in the state of waking sleep I sought, I confess that I briefly considered trying to test the depth of his trance by telling him he would feel no pain and then pricking his finger with a needle. Indeed, I almost reached into the sewing basket on the table beside me for one. But I did not do so for two reasons. First, the man was a soldier, and if he was tricking me, he would no doubt be able to endure more pain in an unflinching manner than I was willing to subject him to. Secondly, if he wasn't tricking me, such an action would violate his trust in me. So I proceeded with my examination, never at any moment being certain whether Finch was perpetrating an elaborate ruse or if he was in fact recalling what his conscious mind could not reach.

“Go back to the night you arrived at Captain Peck's home in Plumford,” I said.

After a moment he said, “I am there.”

“What are you doing?”

“The captain and I are drinking whiskey together in his parlor. He can't keep up with me like he used to, though. He excuses himself, claiming he has to go meet someone outside.”

“When he leaves, do you follow him?”

“No reason to. Have a bottle of whiskey for company. But when it is empty I go looking about the house for more. Come up empty-handed and wander outside to catch the cooler air. Drinking makes me heat up like coke in a forge.”

“You are outdoors now. What do you see?”

“The moon in its last quarter. Such a clear night. How the stars do shimmer! Makes me giddy, and I lose my balance. Land down so hard on the porch step that I am sure I have put another crack in my arse. And damn if I have not bitten my lip.” At that he licked at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you hear anything?”

“Voices. I get up and wander toward them. Get caught up in a thicket and scare up a grouse. It thunders off so loud that I fall back on my arse again. Get up and dust myself off. Feel a fool for getting scared like that by a damn bird. Mightily glad no one is around to witness it.”

“What about those you hear?”

“They are a good distance off.”

“Continue toward the sound of their voices, Lieutenant.”

“I am closer now. They are up yonder in a little open structure with a round roof.”

“Who are they?”

“Can't make 'em out in the shadows. Two silhouettes, one taller than the other. Recognize Peck's voice. Not the other one's.”

“Which is the taller one. Peck or his visitor?”

“Can't rightly know for sure. Can't see their mouths moving. But I twig they are talking private, and so I move into the bushes. Step onto a dead frog or toad or something, and the slick mess under my boot sends me down hard on a stump. Hurts like the devil. Not a peep out of me though.”

“Can you hear what Peck and the other man are talking about?”

“Peck is the one doing all the yammering. The other one is just listening now.”

“And what is Peck saying?” I asked as patiently as I could.

“Not so very much. He just keeps repeating how sorry he is.”

“For what?”

Finch yawned mightily. “I'm getting sleepy out here in the dark. I will lay myself down upon the ground for a bit.” He started snoring.

“Lieutenant Finch, wake up!” I hoped my demand would not pull him out of hypnosis, but it was of little purpose to allow him to reenact his slumber.

He snuffled and sat up straighter. “Those stars sure do sparkle tonight.”

“Good.You are awake. Now please listen again to the two men in the belvedere.”

“Oh, they are long gone. Must have left whilst I was dozing. Best I get up off this damp ground and go to my bedchamber. Very fine house Peck has. With all the refinements. My mattress is stuffed with feathers instead of straw, and I make sure to take off my boots before getting into such a fine bed as that.”

“Before you climb in and fall asleep, I ask you once again if you saw the face of the man who met with Peck at the belvedere.”

“Never got close enough. And he stayed in deep shadow.”

So that was it. I learned no more from Finch under hypnosis than I had over our noon repast. I clapped my hands sharply, and his eyes immediately opened. He stood and stretched his long limbs. “Sorry I could not help you further concerning Peck's mysterious visitor, Doctor.”

“I am very sorry too. It might have helped save an innocent man.”

“You really think that young Cherokee is innocent?”

“I would not be so determined to help him if I did not.”

“Well, I wish you luck. I am doubtful myself that he murdered Captain Peck. No Indian would scalp a man in such a sloppy manner. They take too much pride in their tortures.”

We shook hands good-bye. Finch told me he has family Down East near the Canadian border and may take up an uncle's offer to go into the timber trade. I considered advising him to reenlist instead, for he seems a military man through and through.Yet I do not know him well enough to give him such advice. He must have his reasons for leaving the Army. For aught I know, he was asked to. He impresses me as a dodgy, albeit amiable man. If he is Peck's killer, though, he has fooled me mightily.

This morning I awoke eager to get back to Plumford and back in Julia's good graces. But decided to take an afternoon train and interview one last person this morning—Pierre LaFarge. I have been most curious about him ever since Mrs. Vail informed me that he makes jewelry out of Georgia gold. I was almost certain it was the ill-gotten gold that Peck stole from Trump's family and wanted to find out more.

Had to inquire at a good many Washington Street jewelry establishments before I came upon anyone who knew where I could find the Frenchman. His little shop on Province Street is a good distance from the fashionable commercial district. Although alerted of my entrance into his shop by the bell above the door, the stocky, broad-shouldered fellow in the adjacent room kept his back to me as he worked at a high table. I looked at the fine engravings depicting landscapes and sentimental scenes covering the walls, then gazed into the glass case displaying lockets, bracelets, pendants, and earbobs. Even my inexperienced eye could discern that they were of unique design and superior craftsmanship.

I cleared my throat a few times, and the fellow finally shrugged out of his blue work smock, took his time getting into a frock coat of an even brighter blue hue, and came forward to assist me. He had a high forehead, broad nose, and unwashed hair tied back in a tail.

“
Bonjour, monsieur.
How may I help you?”

The first thing that came into my head was to tell him I was in the market for a piece of gold jewelry.

“Jewelry for a young lady?”

“Perhaps.”

He laughed. “Perhaps she is young? Or perhaps she is a lady?”

“She is both,” I said most definitely as Julia's image appeared in my mind's eye. “And I would like to buy her a present.” Although that had not been my intention upon entering the shop, I now wished to do so very much.

“Is this young lady your betrothed,
monsieur?
”

“No, no. We have made no plans to marry.”

He gave me a wink, opened the case, and took out an oval pendant. “No need to marry when you can encourage a woman's most intimate embraces with a gift such as this, eh?” He placed the pendant on a piece of black velvet cloth for my delectation. It was rather small but sublimely etched with interwoven leaves surrounding two clasped hands. I imagined how it would look resting upon Julia's bosom. “Go ahead and cup it in your hand,” he urged me.

And so I did. The pendant warmed in my palm, and I could not stop staring at it. “Who is the craftsman of this excellent piece?”

“C'est moi!”
the jeweler said. His blunt but not unhandsome face glowed with pride. “I am Pierre LaFarge,
artisan extraordinaire!
”

“Tell me, Mr. LaFarge. Is this pendant fashioned from Georgia gold? I hear that is the best gold there is.”

“What you hear is correct, young man. And that is indeed Georgia gold you caress in your hand. The trace of copper alloy lends it the rose tint that makes it unique in the world. I alone have a supply provided by a former officer of your Army. He obtained it directly from the miners in the mountains of that wild and uncivilized place.”

I made an effort to keep my expression disinterested. “The man who told me about Georgia gold was also in the Army. Captain Gideon Peck served in that region during the Cherokee removal.”

LaFarge stepped back and studied my face warily. “Is this Captain Peck you mention a friend of yours?”

“We knew each other well enough. He recently died, you know.”

“How would I know that,
monsieur?
”

“Well, if you do not, I am sorry to be the one to tell you.”

“You presume I was acquainted with Captain Peck?”

“Were you not?”

LaFarge shook his head so vehemently his tail of hair swayed.

If he would not admit to knowing Peck, I could get no further information from him. I looked around the shop a moment, taking in the framed scenes on the wall, and recalled the far more vivid depictions of LaFarge's work I had seen.

“In truth, the reason I came here, Mr. LaFarge, has nothing to do with gold,” I said. “I am far more interested in the paper impressions you produced for Captain Peck.”

He paled. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

I could understand his obvious nervousness. Men in Boston had been imprisoned for writing about sexual behavior much milder than what LaFarge so vividly depicted in his engravings. “Have no fear,” I said. “I am an admirer, not a censor. Captain Peck showed me his collection of erotica and informed me you were the artist.”

He immediately relaxed. “Ah,
those
impressions.” Color returned to his face, and a glimmer lit his eye. “Are you a collector yourself ?”

“I would like to be. Have you anything to show me?”

“
Mais bien sûr
!”

He led me to the adjoining room where the smell of copper, ink, and acid competed with the scent of ripe cheese. I spied a big wedge of it upon the worktable, along with a small brown mouse taking nibbles from it. The little creature regarded us without fear, but it must have had its fill of cheese, for a moment later it leapt down and scurried across the room. As my glance idly followed its movements, I noticed it had no tail. I also noticed a satchel with a large brass lock in the corner of the room. The worn leather bore the faded lettering “U. S. Army, 3rd Infantry” on its side. The sight of that snagged at my memory like a cat's claw on silk, but soon more vivid sights captured my attention.

After hurriedly clearing his worktable of copper sheets, engraving tools, food, and a half-empty wine bottle, LaFarge unfurled upon it a sheaf of finely drawn, graphic scenes of lovemaking. Most exceeded in sheer lubricious wantonness what I had seen at Peck's. Naked men embraced naked women in both familiar and quite unique postures of congress, and their expressions conveyed a passionate joy free from any sense of guilt, sin, or embarrassment. The artistry was superb if absolutely pagan.