Mr. Picton had prepared us for the possibility that some of the townsfolk of Ballston Spa would take an interest in the activities of the deliberative body what was slated to convene on Friday morning at eleven in the smaller wing chamber of the county court house; but we weren’t at all ready (and I don’t think he was, either) for the sight that greeted us when we rolled up to the building in the surrey. There must’ve been a hundred people of every age, size, and description on the steps and lawn of the place, milling around like so many hungry chickens. The guard Henry was at the top of the steps barring the entrance, being as the activities of grand juries are not open to the public (a fact what many of those would-be spectators were obviously unaware of). But the big, horse-faced Henry seemed to be talking sympathetically with the crowd as much as holding them at bay. And the closer we got, the clearer it became that the general mood among all of them-Henry included-was not a happy one.
“Oh, good,” Mr. Picton said, as he reined his horse to a halt. Then he huffed in an irritated manner, causing his pipe to shoot sparks upward. “I was so hoping that my fellow citizens would take an interest in the proceedings-nothing like the public getting involved in the affairs of government, especially when they’re too ignorant to know at what point they’re not allowed to be involved!” He brought the surrey to a halt and, picking up one of the several big stacks of books and files what were sitting on the floor under the driver’s bench, jumped down to the street. “I’d advise you not to fetch Clara alone, Dr. Kreizler,” he said, as the Doctor moved up from the back to the front seat. “God knows how many more of these people have come out to offer their opinions in other parts of town.”
“Cyrus and Stevie will accompany me,” the Doctor answered with a nod as I moved on up to take the reins.
“And El Niño, too!” the aborigine said, swinging around toward us from his perch on the outside of the rig. “If you have El Niño to guard you, there will be no trouble for the Señor Doctor!” He flashed a grin, one that the Doctor, even in that uncertain situation, couldn’t help but return.
“Very well, El Niño,” he said. “You shall come along, too. But don’t be too quick to reach for the tools of your trade.” The Doctor glanced at the crowd in front of the court house. “People such as these are to be feared more for their ignorance than for their daring.”
“Yes, Señor Doctor!” El Niño said, jumping onto the back seat beside Cyrus as Mr. Moore vacated the spot. “Is true!”
“You don’t want me to come along, too, Laszlo?” Mr. Moore said, still looking sleepy after his first decent night’s rest in five days.
“I think we’re an impressive enough little escort, John,” the Doctor said, eyeing those of us what were still in the surrey. “And someone’s got to get Mr. Picton through that crowd. Someone, that is”-the Doctor gave Miss Howard a quick smile-“who won’t reach immediately for a firearm.”
“Oh, my hands will be full,” Miss Howard answered, smiling as she picked up another pile of books and files. “Fortunately for these people.”
“It’s all very well to joke,” Lucius said, wiping his forehead, which was shining bright in the hot morning sun. “But you will be careful, Doctor? The girl is the key to our case, after all.”
“Yes, Detective Sergeant,” the Doctor answered. “And a good deal more than that. No harm will come to her or to anyone else, I pledge you that.”
“And so does El Niño!” declared the aborigine, at which I smiled to the detective sergeant.
“And so does El Niño,” I said, clicking my tongue at Mr. Picton’s horse and starting us slowly on our way.
As we drove, we turned to keep an eye on the other four as they made their way through the crowd in front of the court house, Mr. Picton’s pipe still blazing like the smokestack of a forge as he greeted faces he recognized with a cheeriness what couldn’t have been more phony. “Ah, Mr. Grose, I am relieved to see a representative of our Weekly Journal-and the editor himself! This is truly gratifying! A man in my line of work rarely experiences such an exhibition of support!”
We began to drift out of earshot just as an irritated voice replied to Mr. Picton, “The Ballston Weekly Journal most definitely does not intend to support you, sir, if you are truly seeking an indictment against the unfortunate Mrs. Hatch!”
The last piece of this conversation we heard was Mr. Picton’s reply: “Ah! What a pity! Sheriff Dunning, you will remind these people-including friend Grose, here-that these proceedings are closed to the public, won’t you? Good man…”
A heavy sigh came out of the Doctor, and I turned to him. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, turning away from the scene in front of the court house and then rubbing his bad arm with his right hand. “It begins already…”
When we reached the Westons’ farm, we found the whole family out in front of the house and gathered around their carriage, a simple but dignified rig what bore a shiny new coat of black paint. They looked like they were ready for church, scrubbed and dressed in the kind of somber, formal clothing what they most likely only brought out for Sundays, weddings, and funerals. The Doctor boarded the carriage with them, sitting next to Clara on one seat while Mr. and Mrs. Weston took the other and Kate climbed onto the driver’s bench with Peter, who had the reins.
Clara was a picture of nervousness and confusion, of course, her golden eyes as round and skittish as a spooked Thoroughbred’s. Almost as soon as the Doctor was in the carriage, he got her to open her sketch pad and start working with her pencils: the best way, he obviously figured, to keep her mind off where she was going and why. As Peter started down the drive, I pulled the surrey in behind him, and all the way back to town Cyrus, El Niño, and I kept a careful lookout for any curious or hostile faces what might appear by the road.
We didn’t catch sight of any ’til we were back on the edge of Ballston Spa; but the cold stares we started to receive at that point indicated that word about what was going on at the court house had spread all through the village. The general reaction seemed to be the same as the one exhibited by those brave souls who’d marched up to the court house steps in a pack. It wasn’t exactly a mob mentality-I’d seen mobs at work, and this was something different. The citizens of Ballston Spa seemed mostly bewildered: their faces were disturbed and furrowed and plainly displayed the wish that we would disappear back to the evil city what had disgorged us.
“It is strange, Señorito Stevie,” El Niño remarked at one point. “These people-they do not wish for baby Ana to be found?”
“They don’t really get the connection,” I answered, as we rolled by the Eagle Hotel and netted a whole slew of new glares. “And we can’t tell them, because the señor says so. It’s a secret, if you get my meaning.”
“So,” El Niño answered with a nod, “that is why they look this way. If they know the story of baby Ana, they feel different. Sure.”
I hoped like hell that the aborigine was right.
Back up at the court house the scene hadn’t changed much; and as our two rigs moved along High Street, one heavyset man with a thick gray mustache, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a badge on the lapel of his jacket, approached us.
“Josiah,” he said in a polite but serious tone of voice, signaling to Mr. Weston.
“Sheriff Dunning,” Mr. Weston answered with a nod, his voice betraying no emotion. “A few folks here.”
“Yessir,” Sheriff Dunning answered, looking a little uneasily at the crowd. “Nothing serious-but you’ll want to take your rig around back, maybe. Come in through the ground floor. Be easier on everybody.” He glanced once at Clara. “Hello, there, little miss,” he said with a smile. “Come to visit the court house, have you?” As an answer Clara hid herself behind the Doctor’s arm, at which point the sheriff turned his gaze up to meet the Doctor’s. The man’s smile vanished in the process. “Anyway, Josiah,” Sheriff Dunning said. “I just figure that’ll be the easier way to go about it.”