I tried to keep my voice casual, not knowing just what might upset Clara. “It’s Mr. Picton, sir. He says maybe it’s time to call it a day.” I let my tone get a little more pointed. “Seems he’s had a telegram-from Mr. Moore.”
The Doctor’s eyes did a little dance, but he kept his emotions under control. “I see.” He glanced down at Clara, then back at me. “All right. I’ll meet you at the house. Five minutes.”
I nodded and departed, the Doctor turning to have a serious heart-to-heart with his young patient as I went.
By the time I got back to the house, the mud on my foot and leg had started to dry, but it was still sufficiently stupid-looking for El Niño to get a big damned howl out of it. He kept going as I removed my boot and tried to get myself cleaned up, but when the Doctor and Clara appeared he snapped to attention and became all respectful business. The girl found the aborigine a strange sight, but not, it seemed, a threatening one; and she whispered a few remarks into the Doctor’s ear again once she’d fully sized him up. The Doctor smiled and then put a hand on Clara’s head, telling her that El Niño’s size was normal for people like him.
“He comes from the other side of the world,” the Doctor explained. “There are many unusual things there. You might see them someday, if you like.” He then crouched down to look her in the eye. “I’ll be back in the morning to take you to the court house, Clara. And I’ll stay in the room there with you, just as I promised. Only Mr. Picton will ask you any questions-so you see, there’s really nothing to be afraid of. It will help-the truth will help everyone.”
Clara nodded, trying hard to believe the Doctor’s words as Josiah Weston came over to put an arm around her. Obviously very much aware that we were on the eve of Clara’s first big test, Mr. Weston shook the Doctor’s hand with what seemed like confidence; but at the same time I thought I could see a bit of lingering doubt in his eyes about whether they were doing the right thing. But as the Doctor turned to board his hired gig, Clara rushed over and threw herself around the Doctor’s leg, the way I’d seen many kids at the Institute do; and I think that convinced Mr. Weston more than any words could have that they had truly started down the only path what would ever lead to any kind of real peace for her.
As we rolled back along the Westons’ drive, I pulled over to one side to let the Doctor bring the gig up beside us, and then gave him a quick version of the situation in town, or what little I knew about it. As to what Mr. Picton had meant by the Doctor’s business at the Westons’ being “all taken care of,” it seemed that Clara had actually started talking that morning, and that the Doctor had dispatched Peter Weston to town with the news immediately, so that Mr. Picton would know that he could count on having the last weapon in his arsenal at the ready when he went before the grand jury. After telling me this, the Doctor slowed the gig, got behind our wagon again, and then put his mind to the task of keeping up with me: the rest of our ride back was as fast and rough as the trip out’d been. When we reached the court house, the Morgan stallion finally made it clear through a series of heavy sighs that he’d done all the running he was going to that day; and I told El Niño, as he led the two horses and rigs back to the livery stable, to make sure that Mr. Wooley gave the remarkable animal an especially good meal and brushing down for his efforts.
The sight of Mr. Picton’s surrey outside the court house clued the Doctor and me in to the fact that Miss Howard had beaten us back with her charges, and the thought that the three of them might be upstairs coercing whatever mysterious news had arrived from New York out of Mr. Picton before our arrival caused us to charge into the court house and toward the marble steps at high speed. The big guard by the door, the one Mr. Picton had called Henry, called out to us resentfully, saying that we couldn’t just go tearing around the place like we owned it, that there were rules what had to be followed; but we paid him no mind. Observing similarly few formalities when we reached Mr. Picton’s offices, we just barged on in, to find the others waiting.
“At last!” Mr. Picton said, smoking and gnawing on his pipe like one of the more nerve-racked types I’d occasionally seen during the Doctor’s visits to Bellevue Hospital’s Insane Pavilion in New York. “I was afraid that if you didn’t arrive soon these three were going to physically assault me and take the telegram! But fair is fair, that’s what I told them-the Doctor and Stevie deserve to hear the news at the same time as everyone else!”
“Please,” the Doctor said breathlessly, ignoring Mr. Picton’s kindly consideration, “go ahead…”
“The wire arrived at just past six,” Mr. Picton said, setting his pipe aside for the moment and adjusting himself nervously in his chair. “And it’s my hope that together we can make more sense of it than I’ve been able to do alone. I’ll just read it to you-” He unfolded the thing with a loud flutter, then cleared his smoky throat and proceeded:
“MR. RUPERT PICTON, BALLSTON SPA COURT HOUSE, BALLSTON SPA. URGENT. L.H. DECLINES RIGHT TO APPEAR BEFORE G. JURY, REFERS STATE TO HER AFFIDAVIT AT TIME OF CRIME. NOTHING MORE TO ADD. LOCATED REV. PARKER YESTERDAY. ALIVE, THOUGH NOT UNDAMAGED. WILL TESTIFY IF GUARANTEED PROTECTION. MICAH HUNTER DIED YESTERDAY OF MORPHINE OVERDOSE. CORONER SAYS SELF-INFLICTED, BUT CAT IS NOW OUT OF BAG. TWO LOCAL COPS ACCOMPANIED CORONER, L.H. KNOWS THERE IS NO OFFICIAL POLICE INVESTIGATION INTO HER ACTIVITIES. DUSTERS NOW TOO DANGEROUS FOR US TO REMAIN ON WATCH. ALMOST KILLED TAILING HER AS SHE MOVED A.L. TO THEIR PLACE. TRYING TO ARRANGE FOR EYES ON THE INSIDE. VANDERBILT BACK IN TOWN. L.H. WENT TO HIM IN FULL MOURNING. V. HAS ENGAGED CHICAGO LAWYER TO ASSIST IN HER DEFENSE. MARCUS DEPARTED LAST NIGHT TO FIND OUT WHO MAN IS. I RETURN BY NEXT AVAILABLE TRAIN. WOULD APPRECIATE TRANSPORT AND LARGE WHISKEY AT STATION. MOORE.
“And that, my friends,” Mr. Picton said, taking his pipe back up, “is the sum of things. I’ve checked the timetables-John should be arriving at about eleven, though of course there’ll be delays. Which gives us several hours in which to figure out just what he’s talking about.” Mr. Picton waved the telegram above his head. “Some of it’s obvious, of course, and none too surprising-I didn’t honestly expect Libby to show up for the grand jury proceedings, for instance. But there are other elements that are quite confusing.”
The Doctor got up and reached toward the telegram. “May I?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Doctor,” Mr. Picton answered, handing the thing over. “You’ve known John far longer than I have, after all, so perhaps you’ll do better with some of his vague references-starting with the statement that Reverend Parker is ‘alive but not undamaged.’ ”
“Either Moore was simply demonstrating his usual clarity of language,” the Doctor answered in what you might call a dry tone of voice, scanning the piece of paper, “or he didn’t want to take the chance that anyone might get hold of a copy of the message. Vanderbilt’s reappearance, looked at in such a light, is somewhat sinister.”
“Yes,” Lucius agreed. “There’s not a lot his people wouldn’t be able to find out, if they had a mind to.”
“I’d be willing to bet,” Miss Howard said, “that the business about Parker means that Libby did sic the Dusters on him at some point. If John and Marcus could find him, she must’ve been able to also. And God knows what shape he ended up in.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Bad enough to make his life a genuine misery, I expect, miss,” he said quietly. “Maybe bad enough to make him wish he was dead. It might be that she’d take more satisfaction from that than from actually having him killed.”