Page 10 of Angel of Vengeance

Gosnold approached the undertaker and his men with a small leather bag. Murmuring instructions, he dispensed several $20 gold pieces.

“This,” said Pendergast, turning back and introducing D’Agosta to the undertaker, “is Mr. Harrison, the boy’s guardian, who will be driving with you in the carriage to the funeral home. He will handle all the details of the transfer. And Mr. Harrison, allow me to introduce Mr. Porlock, the undertaker kind enough to assist us on such short notice.”

“Sir,” said the undertaker, bowing. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harrison.”

“Likewise,” D’Agosta said. “I’m sure.” He gritted his teeth. Jesus Christ, all of this had to be some kind of karmic joke.

Féline was speaking in a low voice to Joe, leading him over to the coffin. The boy looked into it and took a step back.

How the hell were they going to get the boy into the coffin? He was staring at it, shaking his head.

“Now, young man,” said Pendergast, “I realize this is not the ideal form of transportation, but it will have to do. If you please—get in.”

For all his brilliance, Pendergast had no idea how to talk to a twelve-year-old boy. D’Agosta stepped forward.

“I’ll handle this,” he said, then knelt before the youth. “Joe, here’s the situation, and I’m going to give it to you straight. Man to man. What Constance, I mean the duchess, said is true. Some awful things happened here last night. I don’t know what you saw, or how much you know, but the house is being watched by some very bad people, and we’ve got to smuggle you out of here. You’re going to have to be brave and get in that coffin. It’s a disguise, a trick—nothing else. You’ll be in there for about an hour, and then we’ll get you out. You and I will take a train to a place where they can’t find us. When things are safe again, I’ll bring you home. Okay?”

The boy stared at him with a tight, hostile expression. “Who took Binky?” he asked.

So he knew that Binky had been kidnapped.

“Criminals. The same people who are watching the house. The duchess has gone to get her back. But if things—if things take too long, they’ll try to take you next. That’s why we have to get you out of here.” He held his hand out toward the coffin. “Come on, there’s no time to waste. It’s you and me against the bad guys.”

Joe climbed in without another hesitation. It was a large coffin, and despite its flimsy appearance the inside had been spread with cushions and blankets for the short journey. Small slits had been cut into the sides for air. As Joe made himself comfortable, Féline gave him a little bag of sweets. The boy then lay down and the lid was affixed on top. The four men hoisted it up on their shoulders and headed out the door.

Pendergast came up to D’Agosta and slipped an envelope into his hand. “You will get off in Boston, go to the Dorchester Piers, and take the Bar Harbor Coastal Packet, a steamer, north to Mount Desert Island. You will then go to the address in the envelope—complete instructions are inside.”

He handed D’Agosta a traveling case of rough cloth. “There’s a little more clothing in here, some sandwiches, a few necessaries, and of course money. I will send warmer clothes for you and Joe, along with instructions on how we will communicate. From now on, you’re Mr. George Harrison of Sleepy Hollow, New York.”

“George Harrison?”

“I picked a name you aren’t likely to forget.”

“Jesus.”

“Good luck, my friend.”

D’Agosta left the house and descended the steps as the men were sliding the coffin into the back of the hearse. He got into the passenger seat next to Mr. Porlock, the four men clambering into the back. They started off, the frost on the lampposts glittering in the morning light, the horses blowing steam from their nostrils, hooves clip-clopping on the cobblestones. D’Agosta had the strange feeling of slowly waking from a dream, waiting expectantly for the moment that these surroundings would melt away and he’d wake to find Laura in bed next to him, the sun pouring in through the curtains, the twenty-first century running on as usual outside.

8

THE HEARSE TRAVELED SOUTH on Fifth Avenue and was soon caught up in a scrum of carriages, horses, peddlers’ carts, and all manner of conveyances elegant and shabby, mingling with the shouts of drivers, the ringing of iron wheels on cobblestones, and the cracking of whips. The smells of horse sweat and manure filled the air, along with the ever-present stink of burning coal. It occurred to D’Agosta that he was experiencing the nineteenth-century equivalent of a traffic jam.

Mr. Porlock took out a cigar case and offered one to D’Agosta. While he had given up cigars years ago and had promised Laura never to touch them again, he took one now. Why the hell not? She wasn’t even in the same universe. Porlock lit up his and D’Agosta did the same, grateful for the scent of tobacco to dilute the noisome air.

When they reached Forty-Third Street, Porlock gave a histrionic cry, as instructed, and ordered his driver to pull to the side. He got out and together with the driver, made a show of examining the nearer horse’s rear shoe. After a minute the undertaker’s driver picked up the horse’s hoof, messed around with a nail clincher, then said in a loud voice: “Mr. Porlock, we’re going to have to make a quick stop at the livery stables. We’re about to lose a shoe.”

Porlock waved his hand with a show of impatience. “So be it.”

They turned down Forty-Third Street and rode west toward Sixth Avenue, where a sign over a large brick building announced a livery stable and farrier establishment. Wooden gates, manned by two boys, opened to let them into the courtyard, closing immediately behind them.

They were met by another youth, calling loudly and gesticulating. “This way, gents, this way.” Other carriages were parked in a courtyard that was covered with sand and straw, and horses were being led about by stable boys.

The boy led the hearse to a bay, where it was parked. The horses were unharnessed and taken away.

“Mr. Harrison?” said Porlock in a low voice. “Now’s your chance.”

D’Agosta stepped down and went around to the back of the hearse in time to see the four men opening the lid. Joe climbed out. He had the same determined expression on his face, which encouraged D’Agosta. At least he wouldn’t try to run away.

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