- Thomas Harcourt’s house, early Saturday morning, 29 March 1755

Julian fondly remembered the mysterious and knowledgeable uncle of his childhood through fragments: a parcel containing a compass; a letter explaining why maps placed sea monsters where knowledge failed; a dried Virginia leaf pressed between pages; a puzzle involving three estate walls and a dishonest steward.

Thomas’s humor had been quiet and unexpected. Sir Reginald had disliked it because it often arrived after someone important had spoken. Julian remembered his uncle in small patches.

Mrs. Gresham was shedding light on the murder of his brother Thomas. She also created more questions as she answered questions from Julian. He wanted to continue until he could tell the constable who killed his uncle and stop the fraud that he suspected heavily.

I know Colonel Rooke is involved; I just know it, thought Julian to himself. I need more answers. He stared at Gresham, knowing she had the answers he needed. She did not answer previous questions like she was trying to hide anything.

Rebecca Gresham sat near him, looking willing to tell everything she knew about Thomas’ last hours. He had been questioning her with a constable, who scribbled notes as the questioning progressed. Pike stood awkwardly, watching and providing statements as the story wove on.

“I would like to ask more questions,” Julian said.

“I will tell what I know,” she replied.

What happened to the document tube?” Julian asked.

“Thomas retained it until Matthew Wren came,” replied Gresham.

The room became still. Julian looked toward the shuttered window. “Wren came to your ordinary?” he asked.

“At half past three in the morning,” replied Gresham.

“How do you know the hour?” asked Julian

“Because Thomas had spent several minutes correcting my clock and then informed me it remained wrong,” replied Gresham.

Despite himself, Julian looked toward the passage and the silent tall case clock beneath the stair. “Was Wren injured?” he asked.

“No. Frightened,” replied Gresham.

“Did he explain why he failed to meet Thomas at the bridge?” asked Julian.

“He claimed he had been followed from Capitol Square. He hid inside a stable and waited,” answered Gresham.

“Did Thomas believe him?” asked Julian.

“No,” answered Gresham.

“Did you believe Wren?” asked Julian.

“I believed he was afraid. Fear is easier to judge than honesty,” said Gresham.

“What did the two men do?” asked Julian.

“They argued,” answered Gresham.

“What did they argue about, Mrs. Gresham?” asked Julian.

“The Public Records Office. Wren had a key. Thomas wanted entry before daylight,” answered Gresham.

The young constable stopped writing. “Mrs. Gresham, that office is Crown property,” stated the constable. “No one should enter without Crown approval.”

“Then perhaps the Crown should have guarded it more carefully,” answered Gresham.

Julian coughed. “Did they say why they entered the office?” asked Julian, scowling at the constable.

“Wren said a land patent book had been altered. Thomas said it had not been altered - it had been entirely replaced,” said Gresham.

Julian leaned forward. “Which land patent book?” he asked intently.

“They did not name it,” answered Gresham.

“Did they carry the document tube with them?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” answered Gresham.

“And the shovel?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” answered Gresham.

“That is an unusual collection for archival work.”

“Thomas had recently been attacked at a bridge. He may have revised his intentions.”

Pike cleared his throat.

“Could’ve meant to bury the papers,” said Pike. Mrs. Gresham nodded once.

“Or retrieve something already buried,” said Julian. Julian thought of the missing section cut from the map upstairs. “Where did they go?”

“Toward the Capitol,” answered Gresham.

“Together?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” answered Gresham.

“Was that the last time that you saw Thomas?” asked Julian.

Mrs. Gresham’s hands tightened. “Yes,” she replied. Her eyes almost watered.

“You did not see him alive again,” said Pike, as if it was not already apparent in what she said.

“No,” answered Gresham.

“Has his body had been recovered, then?” asked Julian.

“The body was recovered the following afternoon,” answered Gresham.

Julian stared at her. “Then whose body had been declared his, when he came to you?” Julian asked.

“No body had been found that day,” answered Gresham. “Word spread that Thomas had fallen from the bridge because his hat and walking stick were found there. By noon the next day, a corpse had been taken from College Creek.”

“Who identified it?” asked Julian.

“Colonel Rooke’s clerk and Silas Pym,” answered Gresham.

Pike swore softly. The constable’s pen hovered above his notebook. Julian looked at him.

“Is that the official account?” asked Julian.

The young constable hesitated. “I was not present at the identification.”

“But you know who was,” lead Julian.

“Most of the town knows,” said the constable.

“Was the face visible?” asked Julian.

Mrs. Gresham answered. “The body had been in the water.”

“That is not what I asked,” demanded Julian.

“No,” she said. “The face was damaged.”

“How?” asked Julian.

“Rocks, they said,” answered the constable.

“Convenient rocks,” said Julian.

The constable shut his notebook. “Mr. Harcourt, I should caution you against accusing Colonel Rooke or Mr. Pym without evidence. That is a dangerous affair!”

“I have accused no one,” replied Julian.

“You called the condition of the body convenient,” warned the constable.

“So would any undertaker,” replied Julian.

“There was a coat Thomas was known to wear,” Pike said. “His watch as well.”

Julian drew his mother’s silver watch from his pocket and placed it upon the table. “Thomas’s watch?” he asked.

“A plain one,” Pike said. “Brass case. He complained it lost time.”

“Who saw it upon the body?” asked Julian.

“Mr. Rooke’s clerk,” replied the constable.

“The same clerk who identified him?” asked Julian.

Pike nodded reluctantly.

Mrs. Gresham said, “The burial was arranged quickly.”

“By whom?” asked Julian.

“Colonel Rooke,” answered Gresham. The answer accumulated with the others but did not yet form proof.

Rooke had known Thomas for twenty years. Arranging the burial could signify friendship rather than guilt. Identifying a damaged corpse through clothing and possessions was ordinary enough. Pym’s presence might be explained by the surveyor’s work with Thomas.

Yet Thomas had walked into Rebecca Gresham’s ordinary after the reported fall. Either she lied, or the burial had placed Thomas’s name upon another man.

Julian studied Gresham. “What prevented you from speaking before now?” asked Julian.

The question landed differently from the others. Mrs. Gresham’s expression did not change, but the lantern flame moved as her hand tightened. “Thomas requested forty-eight hours,” answered Gresham.

“For what?” asked Julian.

“He said that if he did not return within that time, I was to speak to Matthew Wren. ,” answered Gresham.

“And Wren?” asked Julian.

“Vanished,” answered Gresham.

“Then why not go to the authorities?” asked Julian.

“I did,” answered Gresham.

The constable looked at her. Mrs. Gresham turned toward him. “Not you. Your superiors.”

“What did they say?” asked Julian.

“That grief had confused me,” replied Gresham. “That the dead man’s possessions established his identity. He said that Thomas had often spoken irrationally during his final weeks.”

“Who said this?” Julian asked.

“Mr. Voss,” answered Gresham.

The name meant nothing to him. Pike supplied the explanation. “Gideon Voss. Under-sheriff.”

“For York County?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” replied Pike and Gresham together.

Julian looked again at the young constable. “Your superior?” The man nodded.

“And Colonel Rooke?” asked Julian.

“Colonel Rooke confirmed the identification,” answered Gresham.

“Silas Pym?” asked Julian.

“Also,” answered Gresham.

Julian touched the cut inside his lip with his tongue. “Mrs. Gresham, did you tell Voss about the document tube?”

“No,” answered Gresham.

“Why not?” asked Julian.

“Because Thomas told me that if men came asking after it, I was to assume they already knew too much,” answered Gresham.

“Did men come?” asked Julian.

“Pym,” answered Gresham.

“When?” asked Julian.

“The morning after the burial,” answered Gresham.

“What did he ask?” asked Julian.

“Mr. Pym asked whether Thomas left papers in my keeping; whether he had mentioned Matthew Wren; whether he spoke of some kind of chain,” answered Gresham.

Julian forced himself not to look toward the ceiling. The 101-link chain remained hidden upstairs. “What did you tell him?” asked Julian.

“That Thomas owed me for six meals and broken a shovel,” answered Gresham.

“And he believed you?” asked Julian.

“He did. He had also searched the stables,” answered Gresham.

“Did he find anything?” asked Julian.

“No,” said Gresham.

“Do you know what Thomas buried?” asked Julian.

“I do not know,” answered Gresham. Julian suspected that answer was true and incomplete.

Rebecca Gresham had kept Thomas’s survival secret for more than a week. She had stood before an under-sheriff and withheld the existence of a chained document tube. She had allowed a body to be buried under Thomas’s name.

Whatever her reasons, she would not reveal everything merely because Julian had crossed an ocean and acquired a bruised rib.

The young constable reopened his notebook. “I must report this to Mr. Voss.”

“You will,” Mrs. Gresham said.

“I should do so at once,” stated the constable.

“It is Good Friday night, the roads are dark, and someone fired twice in this house. You will remain until another constable arrives,” ordered Gresham.

The young man looked offended. “I am not subject to your orders.”

“No,” she said. “You are subject to anyone sufficiently determined to keep you alive.”

Pike coughed into his hand. Julian rose. His side protested with stabbing pain. He concealed the pain by crossing to the hearth.

“Did Thomas say where he intended to go after the Records Office?” asked Julian as he walked.

“No,” answered Gresham.

“Did he mention Saint Orison Parish?” asked Julian.

Mrs. Gresham’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that name?” she demanded.

“Do you know it?” asked Julian.

“I know Thomas used it,” said Gresham.

“In what context?” asked Julian.

“He asked whether anyone had taken a room at my ordinary under that address,” answered Gresham.

“Had they?” asked Julian.

“No,” answered Gresham.

“Did that surprise him?” asked Julian.

“It frightened him,” answered Gresham.

“Why?” asked Julian.

“He said Saint Orison existed only when someone required it,” answered Gresham. The sentence settled over the parlor.

Pike frowned. “A parish cannot appear and disappear.”

“A parish cannot,” Julian said. “A name can.”

The constable wrote Saint Orison carefully, pausing over the spelling. Mrs. Gresham watched him. “Do not place that in a public report.” The constable looked up.

“You have just described unlawful entry into the Public Records Office, concealment of a living man declared dead, and possibly the misidentification of a corpse,” explained Gresham. “The name Saint Orison is the part most likely to get you killed.”

The young man gave a nervous laugh.

No one joined him.