by Sarah Maine
Louis stood there, staring across the river, chewing his lip, then gestured to where Marcel was savagely quartering a small deer he had taken. ‘And what’s eating him?’
James told him, and Louis rolled his eyes. ‘So now I go upriver with two mad dogs, tearing at each other’s throats.’ He glanced downstream again and straightened when he saw that Ballantyre and Kershaw were coming back towards camp, but they passed without a glance, and Ballantyre went to draw Larsen aside.
Kershaw ambled over to the fire and stood there, rubbing his hands together, and looked into the pot where venison was simmering for the evening’s meal. ‘Sure smells good,’ he said, and sat himself down.
‘Are you staying to eat?’ asked Louis.
‘Looks like it.’ The man stretched out his legs, let his hat fall over his face, and settled himself down for a nap. Louis studied him for a moment and then went over to Marcel, spoke to him for a few minutes, and beckoned to James.
‘Tala didn’t overhear much but enough—’ He paused.
‘For what?’
Louis and Marcel exchanged glances. ‘Enough to suggest that your Mister Ballantyre was the man behind that original deal with Achak’s father.’
James stared at him. Oh God. But then, of course – it was suddenly obvious! The deal had been done by an agent, they had been told, working for another man. ‘And so we’ve—’
‘Cut him out.’
Louis looked gleeful but James’s head swam and he looked over to where Ballantyre and Larsen were now in deep discussion. He should have guessed, put two and two together. Ballantyre’s interests in the planned railroad, in the potential of the river, in prospecting and mining, and then his determination to find Achak; it had been more than a desire to follow up a rumour. Ballantyre had staked a claim, done a deal, and would not give it up without a fight. And when he discovered who had stolen a march on him, his interest in clearing James’s name would surely vanish.
He watched as Ballantyre turned from his discussion with Larsen to raise a hand and summon Skinner with an authoritative gesture. True to form, his old stable-yard manner again. And when he turned back he found Louis was studying him. ‘Did you know?’ he asked.
Christ! ‘No.’
Louis held his look.
‘Eh bien.’ He glanced at Marcel and nodded, as if closing the matter. ‘So what now?’
What indeed—?
The others had gathered around the fire, unconcerned by events, the men smoking while Lady Melton showed them the sketches she had started to make of the rock paintings. But Evelyn was looking straight at him.
She rose and came over. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, addressing him.
He dissembled. ‘Miss?’
She gave him a scornful look. ‘What is Papa discussing with that man?’
But before he could respond Ballantyre called out to her. ‘Evelyn, my dear. A moment, if you will.’
He drew her aside. It was just a small change of plans, he said. ‘I’ll be gone a day at most. Mr Larsen and Mr Skinner will remain in the camp with you, and the guides.’ Evelyn recognised the expression on his face, distracted and driven, and she knew that argument was pointless. Even here, in this wilderness of forest and lakes, he would leave her— ‘Kershaw’s canoe is just a mile upstream, above the falls, and from there he says it’s only a short paddle and then a good trail. If we go at first light when the others set off, there’s an even chance we’ll be back by nightfall. At worst I’ll be away overnight.’ He paused and gave her a twisted smile. ‘Another sin to lay at my door, I know. Add it to the pile.’
‘And if he’s already moved camp, will you follow him?’
He flicked her cheek. ‘And so risk your wrath? I’m not sure I have the stomach for that! No. But he won’t move. Kershaw says he’s expecting me, and then the matter won’t detain me long.’ He might have been discussing a short train journey, a meeting in another town, leaving her with a house full of servants, not in this wild place.
‘Will James be here?’ she asked, abruptly. He returned her a questioning look, and then a slight frown.
‘I believe so. Mr Skinner!’ he called across to the old man. ‘Who is to remain here?’
‘Tala and Machk. And James. The two new boys will go with Louis and Marcel and the gentlemen upriver. We’ll look after you, missee, don’t you fear.’
If James was here, and Papa was not, then at last there would be the chance to talk. To talk properly— And now that the essential facts were clear she no longer considered herself bound by her father’s orders. ‘Then I’ll be just fine,’ she said, turning back, and unconsciously raised her chin.
‘Of course,’ he agreed, but there was a glint of understanding in his eye. ‘But continue to apply good sense, Evelyn, and then everyone will stay safe.’
‘Mister, don’t you fear,’ said Skinner. ‘Nothing’ll happen in a day.’
‘This gets interesting, ‘ Louis muttered as he passed James; and then later, when they were down by the river, cleaning the cook pots: ‘What powers does Ballantyre have?’
‘Powers?’
‘Of persuasion, my friend. He seems to me to be a formidable foe— Will he persuade Achak to go back on his agreement?’
James shrugged. ‘He can only offer the man money, in one form or another. He’s got plenty of that, but his deal was with the old chief—’
Louis scratched his chin, his eyes darkening again. ‘But we’ve no more legal claim than he had. No documents. Nothing registered.’ He glanced up at James. ‘We can only trust Achak not to renege.’
And trust was a brittle thing.
They were carrying the water between them, back towards camp, when Ballantyre himself appeared at the edge of the wood. And he came down the slope towards them. ‘A word, if you will, with you both.’ James sensed Louis tensing beside him. ‘There was something of a quarrel between Marcel and Dalston, I believe,’ he said, addressing Louis.
‘Yes – though I wasn’t here.’
‘But you were?’ He switched attention to James.
‘It was nothing – temper and bravado, on both parts.’
Ballantyre held his look then turned back to Louis. ‘Are you still prepared to go upriver with them?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good.’ Ballantyre considered him. ‘Melton certainly made light of the matter, but if you sense trouble you must return at once, and take whatever measures are necessary.’ Louis shrugged, but looked puzzled. ‘If they wish to quarrel I’d rather they did it out of this camp while I’m away, but I’ll tell you now that you can rely on Melton. He’s a sound man. Dalston is volatile.’
Volatile? Dalston was a killer—
And yet still he went free.
Ballantyre reached into his pocket and brought out two cigars which he offered to them. Louis took the nearest. James shook his head, lips tight, and Ballantyre thrust it into his shirt in a sudden spurt of exasperation. ‘Keep it for later, then. Or give it to Louis. Skinner and Mr Larsen remain in charge here, of course, but I place the comfort and safety of the ladies in your hands, young man. See that they stay around the camp until I get back, no more junketing off to see paintings or waterfalls. Understood? They stay here.’
Perhaps it was the two-day-old venison, or just his general uneasiness, but Larsen’s stomach was burning with acid when they gathered around the fire that evening. Somehow, despite the restrictions of the site, the group had splintered again. The guides had arranged themselves on one side, the guests on the other, with Skinner and Kershaw unconsciously straddling the two. But Larsen saw that they were not a companionable group. Looks were being exchanged between Dalston and Marcel which suggested that their quarrel was not yet played out, while Louis’s and James’s attention seemed fixed with a strange hostility on the laconic Kershaw. There had been no further mention of the prospector’s purpose, but the word gold seemed to hang in the very woodsmoke— What was it Ballantyre had said? Worse poison to men’s souls. An
d poor dear Evelyn was looking mutinous again, as well she might, unforgiving of her father again, while Clementina sat close to her husband and stared into the fire. It was as if some strange sense of anticipation had crept into the camp, and already that sublime moment at Astra’s Pool was just a memory.
Ballantyre, on the other hand, was more animated than he had been for some time, discussing fishing with Skinner in a way that seemed intended to keep the conversation flowing, and on safe ground. Larsen decided to help him along. ‘So you think that old reel of mine might just see me through?’ he said, addressing James. ‘It feels like a betrayal even to consider replacing it.’
‘It’s done you long service, I think,’ the young man replied with that engaging smile he too rarely showed. ‘Did it give you trouble today?’
‘No, no.’ It was Ballantyre who had troubled him. ‘It was fine, and I was using a fly of my own devising. The Pale Horseman I call it, but I think it’s more effective in a fast-moving current than a pool, being long and slim.’ And he described how he put it together.
Louis too was listening. ‘But every fly fisherman has his own secret, I think, his own bit of magic, eh? What was it that fool from Buffalo was using?’
‘Silk and skunk’s tail came into it,’ said James.
Larsen laughed. ‘With me it’s just my old grey nag’s mane – I think I only keep her to ensure a supply of the right coloured hair. But what will I do when she dies?’
James shrugged. ‘I know a man who once plucked a dead bird for its feathers.’
Larsen smiled, but as he reached for his pipe his hand stayed and his stomach seemed to tighten. A dead bird— He looked at James, long and hard, as an extraordinary idea occurred to him, then he glanced around and saw that Louis had switched his attention to Melton. ‘But one day they too will run out, and what then?’ he said casually.
The young man’s eyes were on Ballantyre, across the campfire, and he shrugged. ‘Jackdaw maybe, or raven.’
‘But less exotic than the original—’ Larsen spoke softly, watching the young man’s face, but James was still watching Ballantyre, and merely nodded.
Chapter 22
‘Ah, so the whisky jacks have found us!’ Larsen remarked with a smile. ‘It doesn’t take them long.’ Two jays squabbled amongst the pine needles for scraps of bannock and he stood watching them as he drained his mug.
The camp had emptied at first light when Louis and his party had set off up the trail, the guides carrying the canoe and the gear, with Melton and Dalston following. Ballantyre and Kershaw had departed soon after. Both women had risen early to breakfast with the others before they departed, and then Larsen had gone down to the river to cast a line or two, and consider, but his reel had jammed again, so he had had to return. Other than that annoyance he was looking forward to a quiet day, and a chance to think further.
He watched absently as Tala lay a trail of crumbs to lure the jays towards the two women, and the birds, nicely reckoning the risk, followed it boldly. He had seen men follow promising investments with that same greedy look, only to be snared by false trails, and drawn to disaster. ‘Just stay still, ladies—’ The Indian crouched down, held out his palm, and in a blur of smudge-grey feathers the birds snatched the offering and flew off into the trees. And he had seen the money vanish that quickly too.
‘Oh, so cheeky,’ cried Clementina, looking up at where they now scolded from a low-hanging branch.
‘Camp robbers,’ said Larsen, with a smile.
‘No,’ Tala replied. ‘The forest was theirs, long before you came—’
And that, of course, was true.
James looked up from where he sat. He had Larsen’s reel dismantled before him again but there was little he could do, the moving parts were worn quite smooth and it really ought to be replaced, but perhaps it would last the trip. He smiled slightly as he watched Tala go through his repertoire of tricks with the jays, placing bread on his shoulder, and then on top of his head, grinning at the ladies’ astonishment as the birds swooped down to take it. Over the season they had grown bold and wily, and Tala liked nothing better than an appreciative audience. Evelyn was watching with rapt attention, hands clasped, childlike, much as she had once watched in admiration as a half-grown youth had lain along a grassy bank to pull trout from the river. He had spent most of this trip trying to avoid looking at Evelyn, or thinking about her. But he had not been wholly successful in this resolve, and since speaking to her he found it was nigh on impossible to stop looking at her.
He was transported back to a time when the cow parsley was grown tall, and the woodland around Ballantyre House had been strewn with bluebells. She had been a joyous child, away from Ballantyre House, and he had found companionship with her – God knows he’d had little enough himself as a child. And today she appeared just the same, relaxed and at ease, with her hair falling down her back. In fact, she looked lovely.
‘They’d come to you too, Miss Ev … Miss Ballantyre,’ he said, setting aside the reel, drawn by that familiar smile. ‘Give her some bread, Tala. Let her try.’ He went over to her. ‘Lean forward and then put out your hand.’ The birds approached with their lopsided hopping walk, their black eyes greedy-bright, but she was too tense, and fidgeted, pulling her hand away with a squeak.
She had been impatient that other time too, catching trout—
‘Stay still! And hold your palm flat.’ He came closer and crouched beside her, then he took her hand and turned it, her palm pale against his own, tanned and dirty. He heard her soft gasp as the bird’s twig-like feet gripped her finger but she stayed still that time, and let the black beak have its reward.
‘It took it—’ She breathed, looking up at him.
‘Aye.’ He smiled, then released her hand abruptly, and went back to his reel. It took him a moment to remember what he had been doing with it.
His coffee finished, Larsen withdrew to his tent and spent some time subjecting his whiskers to a long overdue trimming, and thought hard, alternatively accepting and dismissing the extraordinary theory that had occurred to him last night. Could it really be so?
When he emerged the two women were still behaving like giddy girls, testing the limits of the jays’ boldness, and he stood a moment watching them, drying his hands on the small towel he had brought with him. James, he saw, had left them and sat with his back to them, bent again over Larsen’s reel. ‘Any progress?’ he called over to him.
‘Some—’ came the quiet reply.
Larsen went over to the fire and sat, listening to the sound of the wind gently stirring the tops of the trees. It was a fine clear morning, but the air sure was colder today with the promise of a winter not far away. He studied the young people again, still rolling his extraordinary idea around in his head, and then, with a stifled sigh, he pulled out his book and began to read.
But once again Thoreau failed to console. Life had become too complex to follow his mantra: simplify, simplify, simplify. The letter Ballantyre had given him was burning a hole in his pocket and he thought again of the shots yesterday, and of Ballantyre’s extreme reaction. Whatever had he expected? And he looked across at the young Scot, whose accent, and his own remarks, placed him so close to Ballantyre’s estate. But how close—? He watched as he put aside the reel, drawn back into the game, and Evelyn, egged on by Tala, was now balancing a piece of bread on the young man’s head, ordering him to stay still, and clapping her hands in delight as one of the jays landed and stabbed at the bread. The other bird swooped down beside it and he winced as they squabbled amongst his hair.
Then, without warning, Tala took up his gun and aimed it at James’s head. ‘Shall I shoot them off?’ Evelyn froze, and gave a strangled scream. And the birds flew away.
James stood up quickly. ‘He wasn’t serious—’ he said, reaching his hand towards her. Tala apologised but grinned wickedly at James. ‘I would not have missed my shot, you know, and there are many jays in the wood.’ But Evelyn looked shaken.
Later James cleared away the plates and watched the women go their separate ways – Lady Melton to her tent while Evelyn headed down to the shore with her book, and he thought again of what Ballantyre had said to him just before he left.
‘Refuse my cigar, if it gives you pleasure, James,’ he had said, pulling him to one side. ‘I shan’t explain to you just now, but this business with Achak is central to my plans, and to resolving your own situation.’ James, uncomprehending, had searched Ballantyre’s expression, intense, as he had never seen it, but not hostile. ‘I’ll explain when I return, and then close the matter— And in the meantime I ask that you keep an eye on Evelyn as you once did before. You’ve no quarrel with her.’ And with that he had turned on his heel, leaving no time for questions, and had joined Kershaw at the trailhead, raising his hand just once to his daughter, and was gone.
‘You have jays in Scotland, I think.’ Larsen interrupted his thoughts. ‘I remember seeing them in the woods when I stayed with Mr Ballantyre.’
James nodded. ‘Aye, but they are larger here, and more impudent.’
‘And not just the jays, eh?’ James acknowledged the remark with a smile but made no other response. ‘But you’ve got used to different ways here no doubt, after, what was it, five years—?’
‘Aye.’
‘Will you go back to Scotland, one day, do you think?’
‘I’ve nothing to go back for.’
‘No family?’
‘None. Shall I pour this tea away, sir? Or will you have another cup?’
So his probing came to naught, and there was little more Larsen could say after that, but he watched James as he went about his tasks, and thought again about that strange business at the station. Other incidents came to mind too, and just now, that expression on Evelyn’s face.
And the letter—