The Queen of Bedlam by Robert R. McCammon Read Free Book Online Page B

hour after hour? Arranging my papers for me? Writing my letters? And to become a magistrate some day? The honest fact is that you’d have to go to law school in England, and do you know the expense of that?”
    “Yes sir, I do. I’ve been saving my money, and-”
    “It will take years,” the magistrate interrupted, staring steadily at Matthew. “Even then, you must have connections. Usually through social ties, family, or church. Didn’t Isaac go over all this with you?”
    “He…told me I’d need to be further educated in practical matters, and that…of course I’d have to formally attend a university, at some point.”
    “And I have no doubt you’d be an excellent university student and an excellent magistrate, if that’s the professional path you choose to follow, but when were you planning on applying for placement?”
    Matthew here had a jolt of what he might later term a “brain check,” in light of his interest and aptitude for playing chess; he realized, like a drowsy sleeper hearing a distant alarm bell, that since the death of Isaac Woodward the passage of days, weeks, and months had begun to merge together into a strange coagulation of time itself, and that what at first had seemed slow and almost deceptively languid was indeed a fast bleeding of a vital period of his life. He realized also, not without a sharp piercing of bitterness like a knife to the gut, that his fixation on bringing Eben Ausley to justice had blinded him to his own future.
    He sat motionless, the quill poised over paper, his precise lettering spread out before him, and suddenly the quiet thrump of the pendulum clock in the corner seemed brutally loud.
    Neither did Powers speak. He continued to stare at Matthew, seeing the flash of dismay-fright, even-that surfaced on the younger man’s face and then sank away again as false composure took its place. At length Powers folded his hands together and had the decency to avert his eyes. “I think,” he said, “that when Isaac sent you to me he considered you’d stay here only a short while. A year, at the most. Possibly he believed your wage would be better. I think he meant for you to go to England and attend school. And you still can, Matthew, you still can; but I have to tell you, the climate at those universities is not kind to a young man without pedigree, and the fact that you were born here and raised in an orphanage…I’m not sure your application wouldn’t be passed over a dozen times, even with my letter as to your character and abilities.” He frowned. “Even with the letters of every magistrate in the colony. There are too many formidable families with money who wish their sons to become lawyers. Not magistrates for America, you understand, but lawyers for England. The private practice always pays so much better than the public welfare.”
    Matthew found his voice, albeit choked. “What am I going to do, then?”
    Powers didn’t reply, but he was obviously deep in thought; his eyes were distant, his mind turning something over and over to examine it from all angles.
    Matthew waited, feeling like he ought to excuse himself to go home and spend the last of his remaining pocket-money on a few tankards full of the Old Admiral’s ale, but of what use was a drunken escape from reality?
    “You could still go to England,” the magistrate finally said. “You might pay a captain a small amount and work on the ship. I might help you in that regard. You might find employ with a law office in London, and after a period of time someone there with more political currency than I possess might offer to champion you to a university of merit. If you really wanted to, that is.”
    “Of course I’d want to! Why wouldn’t I?”
    “Because…there might be something better for you,” Powers answered.
    “Better?” Matthew asked incredulously. “What could be better than that?” He remembered his place: “I mean…sir.”
    “A future. Beyond the hog thieves and the