He didn’t wait for a response. Nor did he return to the Derne house. This had nothing to do with Geoffrey Brower, or with Sephira Pryce for that matter. If Derne had made up his mind not to speak with him, Ethan could do little to force the matter. At least as long as Derne remained in his home.
Instead, Ethan headed back to the center of the city, to the Boston Prison. The time had come for him to speak with Ebenezer Mackintosh.
Thomas Hutchinson had mentioned to Ethan that Mackintosh’s friends were working to get the cordwainer released from gaol, but Ethan had put little stock in this, thinking it the bitter imaginings of a wronged man. As he approached the prison, though, he saw no less a personage than Peter Darrow exiting the building leading a slight young man in laborer’s clothes. Ethan had no doubt that this was Mackintosh.
He approached them. Mackintosh took no notice of him, but Darrow spotted him from a distance and momentarily faltered, his expression difficult to read. He appeared tired and he moved stiffly. His eyes were red, his cheeks blotchy. Ethan wondered if he had been drinking the night before.
“Mister Kaille,” the lawyer said. “I suppose I should have expected this. Have you met Ebenezer Mackintosh?”
Ethan stopped in front of the two men. “No, I haven’t.”
“Ebenezer Mackintosh, this is Ethan Kaille. Mister Kaille, Ebenezer Mackintosh.”
They shook hands and Ethan actually winced. The shoemaker had a crushing grip, as well as a winning smile. His face was angular and thin, his eyes small and widely spaced, so that he vaguely resembled a fox. His nose was crooked and his hair hung to his shoulders in brown waves. Ethan wouldn’t have called him conventionally handsome-not like Darrow, with his square chin and almond-shaped eyes. But there was, he was forced to admit, something compelling about the man. Mackintosh had uttered not a word, and already Ethan could see why people were drawn to him.
“Nice t’ meet you, Mister Kaille. You a friend o’ Mister Darrow?”
“Not really, no.”
Mackintosh’s face fell, puzzlement furrowing his brow. Already people on the street had recognized the cordwainer and were crowding around them, hoping to shake the hand of the Commander of the South End and congratulate him on his release from prison.
Mackintosh turned to Darrow, perhaps hoping that the lawyer would steer him away from Ethan. But Darrow didn’t move. He was watching Ethan, wearing that same bland expression.
“I need to speak with you, Mister Mackintosh,” Ethan said. “And I’m afraid it can’t wait.”
The man glanced at Darrow again. “Well, I don’ know tha’-”
“I’m investigating the murder of Jennifer Berson, which occurred the night of the twenty-sixth. There are those in the city, many of them in positions of power, who would like to see you blamed for her death.”
A hard look came into Mackintosh’s eyes, offering Ethan a glimpse of the street fighter lurking within.
“Aye,” the man said. “All righ’. Where?”
“Come with me,” Darrow said to both of them, and started away.
It didn’t take Ethan long to figure out that the man was leading them back to the Green Dragon. He didn’t relish the idea of having this conversation with Adams, Otis, and Darrow listening in, but he would deal with that when they reached the tavern.
As they walked, a number of people approached Mackintosh offering words of support, or merely hoping to shake hands with him. And the cordwainer had a smile for every one of them. Ethan was amazed at the number of well-wishers he could greet by name. Thomas Hutchinson might have thought Mackintosh a common street tough, but Ethan thought he underestimated him. Watching Mackintosh exchange pleasantries with his people, Ethan realized that he had skills as a politician that Hutchinson simply did not possess.
But his renown had a dark side as well. Here on Brattle Street, they were as close to the North End as to the South, and for every South Ender who saw Mackintosh as a hero, there was a North Ender who glared at him with murder in his eyes, clearly incensed to see him walking the streets again.
Mackintosh, though, was oblivious of these others, or at least pretended to be. He seemed to bask in the adulation of his fellow South Enders, and he strode along the avenue like a conquering hero.
Turning onto Hanover Street, they walked past the Hallowell house. Ethan watched Mackintosh for some sign of remorse or shame or even pride in what he had wrought the night of the riots. But he gave no sign of realizing where he was. He walked and waved and smiled, and he allowed Darrow to lead him to the Green Dragon.
Once they were inside, though, some of Mackintosh’s swagger fell away. His smile vanished, leaving a wary, nervous stare. He might have trusted Darrow, but he also seemed to understand that he had few allies in the Dragon.
“We can take a table in the back of the tavern,” Darrow said, glancing back at Mackintosh and Ethan as they descended the stairs. “I’ll get you both ales, if you like.”
“Tha’s f-”
“No,” Ethan said, cutting off Mackintosh.
Darrow halted at the bottom of the stairs. Mackintosh stopped as well.
“What’s the problem, Mister Kaille?” Darrow asked sourly.
“I want to speak with him in private, without you and Adams and Otis listening to what we say.” He thinks you’re his friends, Ethan wanted to add. But you and I know better.
Darrow’s jaw muscles bunched. Mackintosh eyed them, seeming to grow more confused and nervous by the moment.
“I wan’ Mister Darrow with me,” he said at last.
Ethan sighed, but he could hardly blame the man. Mackintosh had known Darrow for a year and Ethan for ten minutes. To Darrow’s credit, he didn’t gloat at all. Rather he turned to Ethan again, a question in his eyes.
“All right, then,” Ethan said. “If that’s what he wants, you should join us.”
Darrow nodded and led them the rest of the way down the stairs to the tavern. While he crossed to the bar, Ethan and Mackintosh took a table by the hearth.
“You don’ trust Darrow?” the cordwainer asked as they sat.
“I wouldn’t say that I don’t trust him. But I’m not sure that he has your best interests at heart.”
Mackintosh laughed. “An’ you do, is tha’ right?”
“No,” Ethan said. “I couldn’t care less about your best interests. But you never would have thought to trust me, so that hardly matters.”
Mackintosh frowned. “Darrow helped me out some time back. He helped get me off after we sacked Oliver’s house, an’ jus’ this mornin’ he got Sheriff Greenleaf t’ let me go. You might not think he has my interests at heart, but he’s done me a good turn time an’ again. I know him. I trust him. You…” He shrugged.
“I understand.”
Before they could say more, Darrow came to the table with two ales. He placed one in front of each of them, and then sat.
Mackintosh still looked troubled.
“Is everything all right?” Darrow asked.
“Mister Mackintosh was explaining that he trusts you and not me,” Ethan said.
“I see,” Darrow said. “And were you telling him why he’s wrong to put his faith in me?”
“I merely told him I didn’t think you were concerned first and foremost with his welfare.”
“What do you think of that, Ebenezer?” Darrow asked.
“You’ve helped me out o’ some tough spots, Mister Darrow. Tha’s wha’ I told him.” But Mackintosh didn’t meet the man’s gaze.
Darrow regarded him for another moment before facing Ethan again.
“Perhaps you should ask your questions, Mister Kaille. Ebenezer has had several long and trying days.”
“Of course,” Ethan said. He faced Mackintosh. “As I already told you, I’ve been hired by Abner Berson to inquire into the death of his elder daughter, Jennifer. She died the night of August twenty-sixth, around the time you and your followers were abroad in the city ransacking the homes of Benjamin Hallowell, William Story, and Thomas Hutchinson.”