by Sarah Maine
Ballantyre pulled a paper from his jacket and handed it to Melton, and Larsen read it over his shoulder. It was short, to the point – and entirely damning. When they had finished reading, Melton nodded. Ballantyre took it and handed it to Dalston.
‘Read this, and then sign it. It is a true account of that evening, and I intend to present it in court.’
‘You’ll bring the matter to court?’ Melton’s expression sharpened, and he looked uneasy. Larsen heard him ask in a quiet aside, ‘Will that be necessary? It’ll cause an unholy furore, you know. And such filthy allegations against yourself, sir, however untrue—’
Ballantyre looked across contemptuously to where Dalston sat, white with fury as he read the document. ‘They would have brought James to court, lied, condemned him, and then watched him hang. If you think I’ll agree to some accommodation with Stanton after all this, you are much mistaken.’ His gaze shifted to James. ‘I owe him that much at least.’
Evelyn felt James’s embrace slacken, although his arm still encircled her waist. She looked up at him and then saw that her father was coming towards them.
‘Evelyn, my dear—’ he said, and then it seemed he had nothing else to say, but he raised a hand to her cheek and brushed it softly. Then he looked at James. ‘I shall speak further with you presently—’ He turned away again, and in moving aside allowed them all to see that Rupert had calmly folded the document into a paper dart which he aimed unerringly into the centre of the fire.
It was immediately consumed.
‘Did you really think I would sign it?’ he asked.
Her father looked gravely back at him. ‘Perhaps not. Though it can, of course, be redrafted.’
Rupert seemed to be regaining some of his composure. ‘Just as you like. But I’ll still not sign. You can make all the charges you like when we return to Scotland, but you’ve not a shred of evidence. Anything you force me to sign will be under duress, and not admitted as evidence. And my family, you know, has powerful connections …’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And the fact that you, and your daughter, have sheltered a wanted man rather than hand him over to the authorities will hardly play to your advantage. Don’t you think?’
Evelyn felt fear clutch at her again, and it tightened when she saw the expression on James’s face. He released her and stepped forward, but her father raised his hand. ‘Peace, James. The matter is not yet concluded.’ He turned back to Rupert. ‘I think you’d begun to believe your own story, hadn’t you? How extraordinary – no wonder your father sent you on your travels. Only such self-delusion can account for the astonishing audacity you showed in accepting Larsen’s invitation, offered to you in all innocence. Did you think I would welcome you? That I had forgotten, and forgiven? Or was shooting a poacher such a trifling offence that time had erased the crime, allowing you to pay court to my daughter—?’
‘Pay court?’ Rupert flashed a contemptuous look in her direction, and then glanced at James beside her. ‘Hardly! And besides it would appear the gal’s tastes run to—’ James made an ugly sound and this time it was she that pulled him back.
‘Dalston, for God’s sake, man—!’ Melton protested, revolted.
Her father waited, then: ‘Or perhaps you thought that your father still had some hold over me?’ His face was like granite. ‘I promise you, young man, the boot is now on the other foot.’
Larsen felt his stomach turn over. He had some idea what was coming, and although it offended his every instinct, he knew he would stand by Ballantyre’s actions, and any consequence, even if it left his own reputation in shreds. ‘I had planned things very differently,’ Ballantyre was saying, ‘over many years. But when I found James Douglas, here in this wilderness place, and then received Larsen’s telegram to say that he had invited you along, I knew that the fates had decided to take a hand, and that there would be a different resolution after all.’ Larsen glanced at Dalston and saw that the bruise around his eye had darkened from red to purple. ‘And as of two days ago I am empowered to follow the matter through. Am I right, Niels?’
Larsen started, and then calculated rapidly. Of course. Good God. Yes.
‘You are right,’ he said.
‘And we had expected to celebrate rather differently, did we not, my friend?’ Larsen responded to the gleam in Ballantyre’s eye and had a sudden image of that moment at Astra’s Pool, of sunlight on spinning coils of line as they stood side by side. That instant of perfection.
‘As of two days ago,’ Ballantyre continued, ‘papers I signed in New York took effect and I now have overall control of Mr Larsen’s bank. For most of our clients this means very little, but for you, Dalston, and for your father, it means everything. All your family’s debts – and they are very considerable – are owed to the bank, you see.’ Larsen saw Dalston tense and start to pay attention. ‘And if this matter regarding James Douglas is not resolved, to my full satisfaction, then I shall not hesitate to call them in. All of them at once. I had intended to put the matter to your father on my return, but then you walked so arrogantly into my lair—’ Dalston’s face drained of colour. ‘So one more unwise remark and I might choose to foreclose immediately by telegram, from Nipigon station. Believe me, it will be that easy.’
Larsen had the sort of mind which could retain detail; it was a gift which had made him such a successful banker. And it allowed him to recall, and now recognise, each step that Ballantyre had taken as he wove his vengeful plot through the bank’s affairs. He had never once had reason to doubt his partner’s integrity, and Ballantyre had always been scrupulous in his dealings with the bank’s clients. With all clients, except Earl Stanton. And what Larsen had seen as benevolence and friendship he saw now had been a deadly snare, laid five years ago and then tightened at every opportunity with ruthless skill. He belched as he looked at Evelyn, remembering how wildly he had misinterpreted Ballantyre’s motives – and Stanton had never questioned his generous treatment. Had that been from arrogance? He had that a-plenty— Perhaps he too had thought the matter of the poacher a trifling affair, long forgotten. Or had he seen Ballantyre’s willingness to lend without security and extend overdue loans as fear that Stanton still held, and might use, McAllister’s damning statement? And all that time Ballantyre had been quietly amassing a fortune which made him virtually invincible, and now he had Stanton where he wanted him, in the palm of his hand. Jeb Merlin might hold the mortgages on Stanton’s estate, but Ballantyre had everything else.
And then, with that odd ability Ballantyre had to pick up on other people’s thoughts, he spoke, almost as if in an aside. ‘The final piece only fell into place very recently when I was able to seal the acquisition of the mortgages on the rest of the Stanton estate – the land, farms, and Stanton Hall. ‘ He turned to Larsen, and added, ‘Which was why this little mining enterprise was rather important, you see. The Wizard demanded a high price for them.’ Then, in a low voice meant for him only, he said, ‘You’ve a lot to forgive me for, Niels—’
Larsen was rendered speechless. It was he who had told Ballantyre that Jeb Merlin held those mortgages, and then he remembered how Ballantyre had disappeared for a while that night on Merlin’s yacht. Good God! He had arranged it there and then, under his very nose; and he quailed at the thought of how much of the bank’s capital had been spent to secure those papers.
James saw Louis look up sharply at the mention of the mining enterprise and he shot James a glance. He had entirely forgotten the reason for Ballantyre’s recent absence and now cursed to himself. So had Ballantyre somehow outmanoeuvred them too? But James was not the only one distracted by their thoughts at that moment, and so no one saw Dalston slip a hand inside his jacket. And so the shot, when it came, took them all by surprise.
James heard Ballantyre’s cry, and then a second shot was fired in the ensuing struggle and it hit Louis in the thigh, causing him to release his grip on Dalston. Larsen, who later had no memory of pulling his own pistol from his pocket, fir
ed it without thinking. It hit only the back of Dalston’s chair but that was enough to put him off his aim. And so Dalston’s third shot, aimed at James, went wide.
And then all was confusion. Dalston swung the butt of his pistol into Marcel’s face then shouldered him in the gut and sent him sprawling into the path of Tala and Machk, who tried to seize him. Panicked screams from inside Clementina’s tent added to the chaos, distracting Melton’s attention. Firing randomly, Dalston’s next shot hit Machk, then he turned to run for the river.
James went swiftly to Louis who was grasping his thigh.
‘Laissez-moi. Vite! Go after him!’ James glanced up and saw Evelyn bent over her father. He cried out to Skinner to come to Louis, then pelted after Dalston.
His quarry had reached the river’s edge by then and was pushing one of the canoes over the shingle and into the water. He turned as James leapt down the incline, aimed again, and shot. Pain seared across James’s shoulder, and then Marcel, his face streaked with blood, tore past him.
The canoe was already pulling away by then and Dalston was paddling hard. He glanced just once over his shoulder at them, then turned back, all his energies concentrated on keeping the canoe heading across the river, fighting the current, heading for the opposite bank. James considered, then dismissed, the idea of following in another canoe.
‘Imbecile. He’ll never make it.’ Louis joined them, clutching his bleeding thigh, and they stood at the water’s edge and watched.
The current midchannel was strong and they saw the canoe taken broadside. If Dalston did not paddle hard, it would take him with it, down towards the lower falls. But so far he seemed to be making steady progress towards the opposite shore.
‘My God, he’s going to do it!’ said James.
‘But then what?’ said Marcel, with scorn. He was right, of course, Dalston would soon be lost in thick impenetrable bush, miles from civilisation with only the river as his guide. ‘And we would find him—’
He broke off as another shot rang out, but this came from behind them and whistled over their heads.
Later Evelyn had no memory of picking up the rifle. She had seen it, propped against a tree, and seized it, ignoring her father’s roar, and run after the men with the vague idea that they would need it. She had halted at the top of the rocks and saw that Dalston was getting away. Too late to give the gun to them now – so she fired it from where she stood, falling back and crying out at the recoil.
Perhaps she missed her mark, but it was enough. Out on the river she saw Dalston flinch and duck, breaking his paddle stroke, and allowing the bow to swing round and the canoe to head downstream, gathering speed. The current had him— They saw him straighten, unhurt, and start paddling again, but wildly now, desperately swapping stroke from side to side as the river bore him on.
There was nothing any of them could have done, even had they wished to, they could only stand and watch as the current bore the canoe along until it disappeared around the bend of the river, towards the falls.
Chapter 29
A thick pall of white smoke rose from the fire, and it hung there, low over the clearing, fumigating the campsite. No matter where Evelyn sat it seemed to find her and her eyes were soon smarting and sore. Her father sat close beside her, his face scarred by the bullet that had seared his cheek. He was almost as pale as the gauze she had applied to the wound, but she fancied that some of the lines had smoothed away and he looked younger. Drained and infinitely weary, but younger.
She held on to his hand, tightly.
Part of her wanted to leave this place at once, but this was also a moment to savour, for here, at least, the world, with all its complicated trappings, was held at bay and matters which had festered too long had at last been settled, and in a way that made sense. As soon as they started the journey home everything that had occurred here would be questioned and explanations demanded.
It was too late to start the journey back to Skinner’s lodge tonight, though, especially with so many of them injured or hurt. Clementina had taken a great deal of calming down and was even now sobbing quietly in Larsen’s tent, with George beside her. James’s and Louis’s wounds were not serious and had been attended to, while her father had dismissed his own as trivial. Machk was the most badly injured and would require medical attention when they reached Nipigon, but Tala had made him as comfortable as possible and said that he was not unduly concerned. The men who had accompanied her father back to camp turned out to be Achak’s men, and they had agreed to stay on and help the shattered party get back down the river and were even now restoring the camp so it could be used for one last night. James was helping, one-handed for the most part, refusing any suggestion that he rest his injured shoulder. Amazingly it was still only midday.
‘Was that shot fired on James’s behalf, or mine?’ her father asked her, breaking a long silence.
She looked back at him, and did not answer at once. Then: ‘I think it was for five lost years.’
He grunted. ‘Well, whatever and for whomever, I’m glad you missed.’
Tala had taken Achak’s men along the trail downstream to below the falls where they had found the canoe, damaged but not destroyed, thrown against the rocks below the falls. They had pulled it ashore and agreed that it could be repaired, and had left it to collect later. A little farther downstream they found the paddle, but it had taken longer to find Dalston’s body— Then they had seen a foot, wedged between two rocks which had held him, vise-like and below water, at one side of the falls. With difficulty they had released the body and pulled it ashore. There was, amongst a range of other cuts and bruises, no trace of a bullet wound, so they had covered it with a tarpaulin, and piled rocks on top to keep away animals, and left it there to collect tomorrow. Her father had nodded with satisfaction when they reported this.
He smiled at her and then he turned to Mr Larsen. ‘I hope one day that you will be able to forgive me, Niels, but I could not bring you into my confidence.’
‘No—’
‘Everything had to be in place, you see, before I could light the fuse and bring Stanton down.’
‘I’d have felt compelled to stop you.’
‘I know.’
There was another long silence. ‘And now? What happens now, Charles?’
Her father sighed and ran his hand through his hair, wincing slightly as he pulled at his wounded cheek. ‘Perhaps my appetite for vengeance has been assuaged—’ he said. ‘I’ll use my leverage to see to it that Stanton clears James’s name, of course, which will mean he must admit to Dalston’s guilt. As the scoundrel said, his father has powerful friends, but I doubt they’ll stand by him once the facts are known, though they might help him hide the dirty linen. They’ll do that much— Dalston is dead and there is little to be served now by causing a scandal. And so we can, perhaps, keep the bank’s business out of it.’ Mr Larsen looked profoundly relieved. ‘Stanton’s older son, his heir, is a sound man and has done me no harm, so I’ll not ruin him, as I would inevitably have done. His father is finished, though, and can live out his years knowing that he is at my mercy— That, perhaps, will be enough.’ He squeezed Evelyn’s hand. ‘And we shall go home, my dear.’
They would. Of course.
‘Did you really not know that James was here?’ she asked him, after a moment.
He gave a half-smile and shook his head. ‘I’ve had men looking for him for five years and I see now why they could find no trace of him. But somehow I always knew he was alive.’
She digested that in silence. So he had been searching— ‘But how was bringing Earl Stanton down going to help James? How would he have known?’
He smiled at her. ‘He would have known, believe me. I was planning to light such a flare! It would have blazed the truth across every newspaper, and I was counting on the fact that the ensuing furore would bring him out of hiding, and I could then start to set matters right. But it would not have caused a ripple out here on the Nipigon, and so he might never
have known.’
Then he looked around him, surveying the wreckage, and began to talk: ‘That night, I couldn’t believe what Dalston had done, shooting the poor wretch in cold blood. I think he must have been unhinged, or drunk— His father was furious but decided at once, without compunction, that James would take the blame. I was stunned, and then outraged that he dared propose such a thing! James Douglas was under my protection, I told him, and perhaps it was that which gave rise to his monstrous plot. He became very inventive – by evening he’d worked out the whole infernal scheme, bought McAllister’s complicity, and I saw at once that he could make the accusation of sodomy stick.’
And this must have been the scene that she had broken in upon in his study.
‘And you know what? Looking back on it now, taking James in all those years ago was not the philanthropic act I believed it to be. I was pitting my principles, my morals, against Jacko’s, demonstrating to him that what I had to offer was in every way superior to his vagabond ways.’ He rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead, and winced again. ‘But by the end of that evening with Stanton I’d learned that my own class had no more principles than a pack of sewer rats.’
And Evelyn, for five years, had believed the same of him. ‘Papa—’
He ignored her, and continued. ‘I like to think I stood against Stanton for as long as I could, but I could see that he meant business. And then, at that pivotal moment, you flung open the door and came flying in, so distressed and so fragile, and stood there in front of your mother’s portrait.’ He gave her a twisted smile. ‘It was then that I faced the stark reality of the situation, and saw that I had no choice— If James was caught he would hang, regardless, while if I agreed to Stanton’s terms, and James managed to get away, he had a chance. His only chance— It was so clear then, you see, so simple. And, I tell you, Niels, it was the oddest thing, but I had a sudden image of Jacko’s face as he had looked at me across the courtroom on that occasion I told you about.’ He turned to Evelyn. ‘He once told me that the justice I peddled was self-serving, and that he would only ever be governed by his own conscience. And I began to see that if there was to be justice, it would be through adopting his morals, and abandoning my own. And so I resolved to get justice for the old reprobate, even if it took me years.’