"Step aside, please," said Ramsendell, who waited for Slaughter to obey and then came forward to sign the documents. Hulzen was puffing on his pipe, as if to fill up the room with the pungent fumes of Carolina tobacco, and Jacob stood at the door's threshold watching as intently as anyone could who had a portion of their skull missing.
Ramsendell signed the papers. "Gentlemen?" He was addressing Greathouse and Matthew. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter. I'm sure you know that both Curtis and I have given to the Quakers our honorable decree as Christians that our patient " He paused to correct himself, and set aside the quill. "Your prisoner," he went on, "will be delivered to New York alive and in good health."
"He doesn't look too healthy as is," Greathouse answered.
"Just so you gentlemen understand-and I am sure you do, being upright citizens-that we are not in favor of violent solutions, and so if Mr. Slaughter perturbs you on the trip I trust that-"
"Don't worry, we won't kill him."
"Very reassuring to hear it," said Slaughter.
Greathouse ignored him, and picked up the third sheet of parchment. "I'm supposed to read this article of possession. I gather it's a formality."
"Oh, do read it!" Slaughter's teeth flashed.
"This day July third, the year of our Lord 1702," Greathouse read, "Her Majesty's subject Tyranthus Slaughter is charged to be removed from his present arrangement and brought to stand before the Queen's Commission of the Peace, held for the city of London and county of Middlesex at Justice Hall in the Old Bailey, before her Majesty's Justices, in connection with murders possibly committed by one Tod Carter, barber at Hammer's Alley, on or about April 1686 through December 1688, the bones of eleven men and one child being found under the cellar floor by a recent tenant." Greathouse aimed a cool gaze at Slaughter. "A child?"
"I had to have a lather-boy, didn't I?"
"Said suspect," Greathouse continued reading, "also charged to stand in connection with the disappearances of Anne Yancey, Mary Clark, and Sarah Goldsmith and the concurrent robberies of their family estates, on or about August 1689 through March 1692, under the aliases of Count Edward Bowdewine, Lord John Finch and " He hesitated. "Earl Anthony Lovejoy?"
"I was so much younger then," said Slaughter, with a slight shrug. "I had the imagination of youth."
"So you don't deny any of this?"
"I deny," came the smooth answer, "that I am a common criminal."
"Signed by the Right Honorable Sir William Gore, Knight Lord Mayor of the City of London, witnessed by Sir Salathiel Lovel, Knight Recorder of Said City, and the Honorable John Drake, Crown's Constable." Greathouse handed the parchment to Ramsendell, who took it as one might accept a dead snake, and then said to Slaughter, "I think your past has caught up with you."
"Alas, I'm in your hands. I do presume you'll feed me a good breakfast before we get started?"
"One thing," Matthew said, and both doctors immediately gave him their attention. "You said the Quakers found out Mr. Slaughter was wanted in London. How did that happen?"
"He was brought to us in August of last year, looking much as you see him now," Ramsendell explained. "A week or so later, one of their doctors left for a business trip to London and arrived in November, where he discovered people still talking about the bones that had been found at Hammer's Alley the month before." Ramsendell handed the article of possession back to Greathouse and wiped his palms on his breeches. "Some witnesses had come forth and given a description of Tod Carter that was published in a broadsheet and circulated through the streets. Someone else connected him to the alias of Lord John Finch, who wore-as it was called-a patchwork beard. This was evidently a continuing story in the Gazette at that time."
"I think I do recall reading about it," Matthew said. He would have gotten those copies of the Gazette from ship's passengers, which meant he'd been reading them at least three months after the fact.
"The doctor recognized Carter's description and approached the Crown's constable. But as I say, Slaughter was with us by then. He was um a little disruptive for the Quakers to handle."
"And you're any better?" Greathouse scoffed. "I would've taken a whip to him every damned day."
"Look how they talk about you here," said Slaughter, to no one in particular. "As if you're part of the wallpaper."
"Exactly why was he at the Quaker institution to begin with?" Matthew asked.
"He," Slaughter spoke up, "was there because he was arrested on the Philadelphia Pike for highway robbery. He determined that he was not suited for confinement in the Quakers' gloomy gaol, thus he-poor, misguided soul-should contrive to wear the costume of a lunatic and bark like a dog, which he began to do before that court of fools. Therefore, he was content to join the academy of the mad for how long was it? Two years, four months and twelve days, if his mathematic skills have not turned to pudding."
"That's not quite all of it," Hulzen said, through his pipesmoke. "He tried to escape the Quaker institution four times, assaulted two other patients and nearly bit off a doctor's thumb."
"He put his hand over my mouth. It was very rude."
"Slaughter didn't attempt anything like that here?" Greathouse asked.
"No," said Ramsendell. "In fact, before anyone had learned about Tod Carter, he was on such good behavior that we gave him work privileges, which he unfortunately repaid by trying to strangle poor Mariah, back at the red barn." There was a road leading to some outbuildings behind the hospital, as Matthew knew from his previous visits. "But he was caught in time, and properly punished."
Greathouse's mouth curved into a sneer. "What did you do to him? Take away his scented soap?"
"No, we put him into solitary confinement until it was determined he could rejoin the others. He'd only been out a few days before you two saw his face at the window. By then we'd had a visit from the Quakers, who'd received a letter from their doctor in London addressed to me and explaining the situation. After that, he was kept apart."
"He should've been torn apart," was Greathouse's summary.
Matthew regarded Slaughter with a furrowed brow, as more questions were nettling him. "Do you have a wife? Any family?"
"No to both."
"Where were you living before you were arrested?"
"Here and there. Mostly there."
"And you worked where?"
"The road, Mr. Corbett. My partner and I did quite well, living on our wits and the treasure of travelers. God rest William Rattison's soul."
"His accomplice," Hulzen said, "was shot down during their last attempt at robbery. Evidently even the Quakers have their limit of patience, and they planted armed constables on one of the coaches between Philadelphia and New York."
"Tell me," Matthew said, again to Slaughter. "Did you and Rattison kill anyone while you were living on your wits?"
"We did not. Oh, Ratsy and I bumped a head occasionally, when someone grew mouthy. Murder was not the intent; it was the money."
Matthew rubbed his chin. Something still bothered him about all this. "So you elected to enter a madhouse for the rest of your life as opposed to standing before a judge and receiving a sentence of oh a brand on the hand and three years, say? I assume that was because you decided a madhouse would be easier to escape from? And why are you now so eager to leave this place that you don't even bother to deny the charges? I mean, the Quaker doctor could be mistaken."
Slaughter's smile emerged once more, and then slowly faded. The distant expression of his eyes never changed. "The truth," he said, "is that I never lie to men who are not fools."
"You mean you don't lie to men who can't be fooled," said Greathouse.
"I mean what I said. I am going to be taken from this place, no matter what. Put on a ship and sent to England. Walked before the court, identified by witnesses, badgered to point to the graves of three very lovely but very stupid young ladies, prodded into Newgate, and laughed by a slobbering mob up the gallows steps. No matter what. Why should I be less than tru
thful, and sully my honor before such professionals as yourselves?"
"Or is it," Matthew suggested, "that you fully believe yourself capable of escaping from us on the road? Even from such professionals as ourselves?"
"It is a thought. But, dear sir, never blame the wind for wishing to blow."
Greathouse returned the article of possession and their copy of the transfer document to the envelope. "We'll take him now," he said, rather grimly. "There's a matter of money."
"Oh, isn't there always," was Slaughter's quick comment.
Ramsendell went to one of the desks, opened a drawer and brought out a little cloth bag. "Two pounds, I believe. Count it, if you like."
Matthew could tell Greathouse was sorely tempted to do so when the bag was put into his palm, but the great one's desire to make haste from the asylum clearly won out. "Not necessary. Out," he commanded the prisoner, and motioned toward the door.
When they were outside and walking to the wagon, Slaughter first, followed by Greathouse, then Matthew and the doctors, a cacophony of hooting and hollering came from the windows of the central building, where pallid faces pressed against the bars. Greathouse kept his eyes fixed on Slaughter's back. Suddenly, Jacob was walking right up beside Greathouse and the poor man said hopefully, "Have you come to take me home?"
With a sudden intake of breath, Slaughter turned. His hands still clasped together and bound by the leather cuffs, he took a single step forward that brought him face-to-face with Jacob.
Greathouse froze, and behind him Matthew's knees also locked.
"Dear Jacob," said Slaughter in a soft, gentle voice, as the red glint flared in his eyes. "No one is coming to take you home. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day. You will stay here for the rest of your life, and here you will die. Because, dear Jacob, you have been forgotten, and no one is ever coming to take you home."
Jacob wore a half-smile. He said, "I hear " And then something must have gotten through into his head that was not music, for the smile cracked as surely as his skull must have broken on the fateful day of his accident. His eyes were wide and shocked, as if they remembered the whipsaw coming at him, yet he knew that to see it coming was already a lifetime too late. His mouth opened, the face went slack and as pallid as those that screamed behind the bars. Instantly Dr. Hulzen had come forward to put his hand first on the man's arm, and then his arm around the man's shoulder. Hulzen said close to his ear, "Come, Jacob. Come along, we'll have some tea. All right?" Jacob allowed himself to be pulled away, his expression blank.
Slaughter watched them go, and Matthew saw his chin lift with pride at a job well done.
"Take your shoes off," said Greathouse, his voice husky.
"Pardon, sir?"
"Your shoes. Off. Now."
With some difficulty because of the leather cuffs, Slaughter removed them. His dirty feet with their gnarled yellow nails did not make a pleasant sight, nor did the air remain unsullied.
"Drop them in the trough," Greathouse told him.
Slaughter shot a glance at Ramsendell, who made no effort to interfere. The papers had been signed and the money changed hands; he was quits with the fiend.
Slaughter walked to the horse trough. He dropped his shoes into the water one after the other.
"It's not I mind it so much," he said, "but I do pity the poor horses." And he gave Greathouse the smile of a wounded saint.
Greathouse pushed Slaughter to the wagon. Then he took the pistol from underneath the seat, cocked it and, standing behind the prisoner, put the barrel against Slaughter's left shoulder. "Dr. Ramsendell, I presume he's been thoroughly checked for hidden weapons?"
"You'll note he's been given clothes with no pockets, and his body has been gone over, yes."
"And that was quite the thrill," said Slaughter. "Of course, they left the joy of looking up my arsehole for you."
"Remove the cuffs," Greathouse said. The doctor slid a key into the padlock that held the leather cuffs closed. When they were off Greathouse said, "Back here," and pulled Slaughter to the rear of the wagon. "Get up there," was the next command. "Slowly." The prisoner obeyed without a word, his face downcast. Greathouse told Matthew, "Hold the gun on him."
"Please," Slaughter replied with an air of exasperation. "You don't think I want to be shot, do you? And I don't think the Quakers would like that, by the by."
"Aim at his knee," Greathouse advised as he gave Matthew the pistol and climbed up into the back of the wagon. "We said we wouldn't kill you. Sit down."
Slaughter sat, staring at Matthew with a bemused expression.
From the burlap bag Greathouse withdrew the irons. They consisted of wrist manacles connected by chains to a pair of leg shackles. The chains were short enough so that Slaughter, if he could stand at all, would stand only in a very uncomfortable back-bowed crouch. Another chain connected to the right leg shackle ended in a twenty-pound iron ball, sometimes called a "thunderball" due to the rumble it made across a gaol's stone floor. When Greathouse finished locking the second leg iron, he put the key into the pocket of his shirt.
"Oh dear," said Slaughter. "I believe I have to shit."
"That's what breeches are for," Greathouse answered. He took the pistol from Matthew and eased the striker forward. "You drive, I'll guard."
Matthew untied the horses, got up in his seat, released the brake and took the reins. Greathouse climbed up beside him, turning around so as to face the prisoner. He placed the gun on his lap.
"Take care, gentlemen," Ramsendell said. In his voice there was a lighter note that could only be relief. "A speedy trip to you, and God's protection."
Matthew got the horses turned and started them toward the Philadelphia Pike again. He wished he could flick the reins against their backsides and get them trotting, but an earlier attempt at a "speedy trip" had met with nothing but the slow plod of old hooves. Now the horses were hauling about two hundred more pounds, as well.
Behind him, as they pulled away, Matthew heard the shrieks and jabbering of the mad beyond the barred windows.
"Farewell, friends!" Slaughter called to them. "Farewell, good souls! We shall meet again, on the road to Paradise! Ah, listen to my public," he said in a quieter voice. "They do so love me."
Eight
"I smell rain."
It was the first thing Slaughter had said since they'd left the Publick Hospital for the Mentally Infirm behind them about four miles. Matthew had already noted the large wall of dark-bellied clouds beginning to roll in from the west, and he too had detected the faint but telling metallic odor in the air that forecast a storm. He wondered, though, how Slaughter could-
"You might ask yourself," the prisoner went on, "how I am able to smell anything, due to my present physical aroma. Alas, I was not always so. In fact, I much enjoyed the bath and shave day. Not that I was allowed to hold the razor, of course. But those pleasures were taken away from me, when the doctors became so frightened of my mere shadow." He paused, waiting for a response from either Greathouse or Matthew, but none was forthcoming.
"A good shave," he went on, as if conversing with his companions in the House of Lords, "is a thing to treasure. The smooth leather of the chair, that leans you back just so. The steaming hot towel, to prepare your face. The warm lather, smelling of sandalwood, applied with a supple badger-hair brush. Not too much now, we mustn't waste such an expensive commodity! And then the razor. Ah, gentlemen, did the mind of man ever create a finer instrument? The handle made of walnut, or bone, or ivory, or that beautiful mother-of-pearl. The blade itself, slim and sleek and oh so very feminine. A beauty, a symphony, a shining piece of art." He rustled his chains a bit, but Matthew kept watching the road and Greathouse kept watching Slaughter.
"Red beards, brown beards, black beards," said Slaughter. "I've polished them all off. Oh, how I'd like to polish you off. You're in need of a shave, sir."
Matthew had brought along a small bag, which was under his seat next to his water flask, that included his own
razor and shaving soap. He'd scraped his face clean of whiskers upon rising this morning, whereas Greathouse might typically go several days without, as Slaughter put it, a polish.
Slaughter said nothing more for a few moments. They passed a rider in buckskins, who nodded a greeting and then continued on his way south. Matthew glanced again at the slow advance of dark clouds. Though both he and Greathouse had brought light cloaks and were sitting on them as cushions against the splintery plank seat, he wished he'd packed his sturdy fearnaught coat, for he knew due to experience that a chilly rain could make a road trip a trial of misery. But the thing about October was, it was so unpredictable.
Slaughter cleared his throat. "I trust that you two gentlemen do not grudge me for telling poor Jacob the truth," he said. "You know, I like the young man. I feel pity for him, that those doctors won't tell him the truth. My fondest hope is that, due to the truth I told him, his mind will clear enough for him to walk back to the barn, take a rope and hang himself."
Matthew knew Greathouse wouldn't be able to restrain a comment on that one, and sure enough came the husky voice: "Oh, that's your fondest hope, is it?"
"Absolutely. Well, think of it! Once a strapping young man with-as I understand-a wife and two children. Then came a terrible accident at a sawmill on the river, which evidently was none of his doing. Now, he's all well and happy for the present time, perhaps, if you believe lying to a person makes them happy, but what of his future? He's never going to get any better. Not one iota improved. So what will become of him? What if Ramsendell and Hulzen leave, and a more shall we say stern master comes into possession of the hospital? What cruelties might be done to him, then? And all he is currently is a drain on their time and money, for I dare say there are patients who could be improved. So you might say that Jacob is an impediment to their work, his being far beyond improvement. And, sir, would you have his wife and children come to see him, and the children look upon such a horror as their father has become? Would you have him return to the family home, where he might be an impediment to the success and lives of those he once loved?" Slaughter made a clucking noise with his tongue. "Oh, sir, sooner or later, if Jacob does not kill himself, one or the other of those doctors may well realize it would be so much to the benefit of the hospital if a small accident might occur, say with a pickaxe or a shovel, so as to release that poor soul from his suffering. And surely, sir, you believe that Heaven is a much better place than this, don't you?"
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