Matthew Pearl - The Poe Shadow

I learned, furthermore, that Hope Slatter, embarrassed to report that a black man had put him down, claimed the assault on him had been by some German foreigners. German seeming a nationality close enough to the police to French, and the horse being found in front of the house where the rogues were returning, the police felt certain that the assault on Slatter had been perpetrated by the same parties who had killed the Baron.

"So I am not to be arrested?" I asked, after some contemplation.

"Heavens, Mr. Clark!" the police clerk responded. "You are quite free! Don't you wish to be driven home?"

Others had not forgiven me for the long period of public denunciation against me. This became clear over the next months.

All that I had in possession would soon be at risk.

Glen Eliza felt empty and worthless without Hattie Blum. She and Peter were to be married and I could not in the inmost regions of my mind seek to disrupt that. They were both better people than I could be, perhaps; they had tried to steer me away from trouble, and had been deeply united by that very thing that had pushed me away from them. Hattie had risked her own reputation with her visits to my prison cell. Now that I was free, I wrote a brief letter thanking her with all my heart and wishing her happiness. I at least owed them tranquillity and peace.

For myself, I had none. My great-aunt had come to visit after I was restored to Glen Eliza, where she questioned me repeatedly about the "delusions" and "fanatical" ideas that had, in my long despair over my parents' death, ultimately led to my imprisonment.

"I did what I thought was right," I said, remembering Edwin Hawkins's words to me when I was hiding in the packinghouse.

She stood with her arms folded, her long black dress a great contrast to her snow-white hair. "Quentin, dear boy. You were arrested for murder! A jailbird! You are fortunate if anyone in Baltimore will keep your society. A woman like Hattie Blum needs a man as worthy as Peter Stuart. This house has become the very castle of indolence."

I looked at my great-aunt. She had been thrown into more of a passion over this than I had realized. "I'd have wanted nothing more than to marry Hattie Blum," I said, which was even more outrageous to her, since I was now talking about a woman shortly to be married. "Anything you can say meant to punish me further is far too little. I am happy for Peter. He is a good man."

"What would your father say! God forbid we should visit upon the dead the errors of the living. You, dear boy, are a great deal your mother's blood," she added with a dull mutter.

Before leaving that day, she flashed a glare at me intended, I later realized, as a threat. She examined Glen Eliza as though at any moment it could crumble from the moral dilapidation I had perpetrated.

Soon after, I was informed that my great-aunt had brought suit to claim possession of most of what I had inherited from my father's will, including Glen Eliza, on the basis of the mental incompetence and imbalance exhibited in my conduct since the irrational resignation of my position in Peter's practice…and my strong neglect of the Clark family investments and business interests, which had resulted in severely diminished value over the last two years…culminating in my wild, raving interruption at the fatal assembly of the Baron Dupin…my outrageous escape from prison, my rumored attempt to dig up a grave and encroach on a home on Amity Street…and all of this was proved by my complete lack of comprehension of the whole chronicle of actions.

I learned further that she had been helped in all this by Auntie Blum. It seemed that Auntie Blum had intercepted my letter of gratitude to Hattie. Inflamed to learn through my letter of Hattie's visits to my prison cell, Auntie Blum had immediately called upon Great-Auntie Clark.

Great-Auntie wrote me a letter, explaining that she was fighting for the honor of my father's name and because she loved me.

I began to ready my defense. I worked feverishly, hardly leaving the library, calling to mind the former times when Duponte would sit at the table sometimes for days without interruption.

I prepared as well as I could to defend my actions. The process was strenuous. Not only to produce responses to each accusation that my great-aunt would allege as evidence that I had squandered and misused my good fortune and name in society; but also to frame it in the language of the law that I had thought I had abandoned.

Auntie Blum had reportedly advised that the case against me emphasize the disregard of my family's wealth. She calculated that polite Baltimore would not brook the injustice of any such pecuniary offense. This was Baltimore 's lynch law.

Meanwhile, I contemplated the many witnesses and friends I might call to my defense, but sadly concluded that many-like Peter, of course-could no longer speak in my favor. The newspapers, having only recently finished with the sensational news of my arrest, escape, and exoneration, now looked happily upon this lawsuit as containing an interesting sequel to my affairs, and always wrote about it with a tone of suspicion that it might prove me guilty yet of some other, larger misdoing.

At times, I felt convinced that I should peacefully leave this shattered house, Glen Eliza, which I seemed now to float inside rather than live in. As I loped through the upper stories, and climbed up one set of stairs and down another, it only seemed to confirm this feeling-word of my great-aunt's suit, indeed, left me asking myself, "Where in the land am I?" The house, with all its rambling divisions and subdivisions, with its wide spaces, still seemed to have room for only a few particles of myself.

I do not know why I stopped before one particular framed silhouette. It was one I had rarely noticed before. Even if I were to reproduce it here, it would look unremarkable to my reader's eye: an ordinary man's profile, with an old-fashioned three-point hat. It was my grandfather, who had turned furious upon hearing of my father's intention to marry Elizabeth Edes, a Jewish woman. He threatened and fumed, and stripped my father of family money rightfully owed to him. No matter, my father said, for it put him as a young man in a position not so different from my mother's family, who had built their own foundations. Through his packinghouses-"through my enterprise," he said-Father prospered enough to build one of Baltimore 's unique mansions.

But while my father always spoke of his Industry and Enterprise, the traits he found opposite of Genius, I realized, looking upon this picture, that he was the pioneer he had always claimed not to be. For he and Mother had created this world from nothing for the sake of their happiness-and how much impatience and insistence, how much genius, this entailed it could not be said. My father had the very pains of genius he warned against. This is why he tried so hard to keep me away from any but the ordinary path-not because he had embraced it, but because he had deviated from it and found himself, though victorious, also wounded.

The grand old patriarch in the silhouette even unto death did not retract his objections to my mother's Jewish blood having been interjected into our orderly family line. Yet my parents had hung his silhouette in a central place in Glen Eliza, the place erected for our happiness, rather than hiding it, abandoning it, or destroying it. The meaning of this had never struck me fully until this moment. I felt an instant possession of this place and of my family and returned to my desk and to the work at hand.

I received no visitors until the evening Peter arrived.

"No servant to open the door, I see?" he commented, then frowned at himself, as though confessing he could not regulate his mouth sometimes. "Glen Eliza is still as magnificent as when we were children, playing bandits in the halls. Some of my happiest times."