‘It’s a pleasure to meet the hero of Queenston,’ said Clerk. ‘Didn’t I hear you had been posted to the Niagara frontier?’
‘New orders,’ said MacLea. ‘We’re on a commission from the government now.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, what can I do for you?’
‘I need billets for my men,’ MacLea said. ‘Can you put them up here at the fort?’
Clerk waved a casual hand. ‘Sure. There’s plenty of room. We only have about seventy men here: my boys and a half-company of the Glengarrys. The mess is in the hut beyond the magazine, but if your fellows have any sense, they’ll do like the rest of us and eat in town. We’ve discovered the cook is an American spy, you see. His intention is to poison us all so the Yankees can walk in without opposition.’
Seeing the expression on their faces, Clerk looked apologetic. ‘It was a joke,’ he explained. ‘But the food really is bad.’
‘I’ll warn my men,’ MacLea said. ‘Corporal Thomas will be in charge of them. Sergeant Murray and I will take rooms in the town. Can you recommend a hotel?’
‘Jordan’s is the best, but it’s hellish expensive. Only lawyers and whores can afford to stay there. Try Whitworth’s on Duke Street. You sure you won’t have a drink?’
* * *
Like most senior officials in Upper Canada, John Beverley Robinson worked from home; in his case, a fairly modest house on Caroline Street, not far from the waterfront. A servant admitted MacLea and Murray and took their snow-covered coats and hats. ‘Wait here, gentlemen, if you please. I will inform Mr Robinson you have arrived.’
Robinson’s office was at the rear of the house, looking out over a garden full of trees. A few jays flitted among the branches, ignoring the falling snow. A wood fire burnt brightly in the grate.
‘Forgive us for calling unannounced,’ said MacLea. ‘We reckoned the weather was on the turn, and decided to come straight here.’
He told Robinson about the search of Wilson’s house and recounted what Adonwentishon and Richard Hatt had said. ‘Catherine Brant was positive that Polaris is a member of the Assembly. She also told us that Wilson was definitely trying to stir up a revolt. And we saw Richard Hatt in Ancaster. He suggested that Wilson had links to some of the American immigrants. What we are wondering, sir, is who else in the Assembly might have American connections.’
Robinson frowned. ‘Quite a few. The Assembly has twenty-five members, and I think at least a third were born in America, or come from American families. The others of course arrived straight from the Old Country.’
‘Hatt mentioned John Fanning and the Street brothers, Caleb and Samuel. They are members of the Assembly, aren’t they?’
‘Not Samuel, no. His uncle used to be speaker of the Assembly, but he’s retired now. Maybe that’s who you’re thinking of. But Caleb Street and John Fanning, yes. Both are members representing Lincoln County.’
‘And the others with American connections? Do you have any information about them?’
‘Macdonell had begun compiling files on some of them before he died. I can enquire further. Do you think one of them might be our man?’
‘I have no idea,’ MacLea said. ‘But at the moment, Wilson’s American connections are about the only thing we have to go on. You said you intended to interview the families of the men we killed in Canby Marsh. Did you learn anything?’
‘No,’ said Robinson. ‘Some, I am convinced, knew what was going on, but I doubt they were deeply involved. Others were clearly shocked and horrified to hear that their menfolk had been consorting with a traitor. I also wrote to Sir George Prévost and asked if questions could be put to Mrs Wilson. The response, which arrived yesterday, was that she knows nothing. As far as she is concerned, Wilson was carrying out his duties as a justice of the peace in Lincoln County.’
‘Did Wilson serve in the militia? Might he have any contacts there?’
Robinson shook his head. ‘He was exempt from military service on health grounds.’
‘Unfit to fight for his country, but healthy enough to plot against it,’ Murray said in disgust.
‘Yes.’ Robinson looked at MacLea. ‘Sir George also confirmed the transfer of his commission from the unfortunate Mr Fraser to you. You have his full authority. What will you do next?’
‘We’d like to see those files on the émigré Assemblymen, plus whatever else you can dig up. And we’d like to know the details of Fraser’s killing. There may be something useful there.’
‘I have reviewed the papers on the murder myself and found nothing of importance,’ Robinson said. ‘But you may take the file with you. Where are you staying?’
‘Whitworth’s Hotel,’ MacLea said. He hesitated. He still had a little of the prize money he had been awarded after the capture of Detroit last summer, but Murray, who was not an officer, had received substantially less. ‘It would be helpful, sir, if we could recoup our expenses.’
‘Of course,’ said Robinson. ‘I will make funds available to you.’
MacLea nodded. ‘We also wish to talk to James Boydell. He knew Wilson, but he also knows something of this matter, and helped us once before. He is an Assemblyman too, and well connected.’
‘Do you trust him?’ Robinson asked.
‘Up to a point,’ said MacLea.
Robinson nodded. ‘Very well. You have a free hand, Captain MacLea. Do whatever you need to do. I will send for you once I have gathered more information on the Assemblymen.’
* * *
Robinson gave them directions to Boydell’s house, which was a couple of blocks away in a pleasant location on Ontario Street, looking past the parliament buildings and the old blockhouse towards the snow-covered marshes around the mouth of the River Don. A servant opened the door to MacLea and Murray, and they knocked the snow from their boots and entered. James Boydell came out to greet them.
‘What a pleasure it is to see you both again,’ he said as they shook hands. Like Hatt, he had retired from the field when his militia company was stood down at the end of the campaigning season and reverted for the duration of the winter to being a prosperous merchant and Assemblyman.
‘Come into the library,’ he said. ‘It is warmer there. May I offer you coffee, or a drop of something stronger?’
They accepted coffee and were seated in the library next to a roaring fire, where they made small talk until the refreshments arrived. ‘I sense you have come on official business,’ said Boydell after the servant had gone. ‘I heard what happened to Wilson.’
‘Yes,’ said MacLea. ‘But he wasn’t Polaris, as Calder claimed, although we think he was working closely with him. James, you traded with Wilson. Did you ever hear that he might have American sympathies?’
Boydell shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t know him well, but like Hatt, I was absolutely shocked by Calder’s accusation. I knew Wilson had his grumbles, but I never dreamed he could turn traitor.’
‘Did he ever complain to you about the government?’
‘Of course he did. Everyone complains about the government; I do it myself. The war is putting huge strain on all of us, and sometimes unpopular measures must be enacted to feed and pay the troops and preserve our security. I didn’t like the laws that Brock and his council introduced, but I understood the need for them. I assumed Wilson felt the same. At least, he never gave me cause to believe the contrary.’
‘So, nothing at all?’ asked MacLea.
‘Believe me, John, if I knew anything to Wilson’s discredit, I would tell you. I want this bastard Polaris caught and hanged just as much as you do.’ Boydell paused for a moment. ‘Do I take this to mean you are searching for him again? Has General Sheaffe given permission?’
‘No,’ said MacLea. ‘We have gone over Sheaffe’s head.’
‘The governor general?’ Boydell let out a low whistle. ‘Sheaffe won’t be happy. He is already accusing the Canadian establishment of trying to get him removed from his post.’
‘And are they?’ asked Murray.
&n
bsp; ‘Indeed they are, or some of them, at least. A group of Assemblymen has sent a petition to Montreal asking for Sheaffe to be recalled. Fifteen of my colleagues signed it – a majority of the Assembly.’
‘Did you?’ asked MacLea.
‘No. I am no more fond of General Sheaffe than you are, but there is an excellent chance that his replacement would be Colonel Lawrence. Sheaffe has his deficiencies, but compared to Hector Lawrence, he is Caesar and Alexander and Marlborough rolled into one. If Lawrence takes command, we may as well surrender immediately.’ Boydell drank some of his coffee. ‘But I am digressing. You came to talk to me about Polaris. I’m not sure if I can help, but I will if possible.’
‘Wilson had a number of business connections,’ MacLea said. ‘Caleb Street and John Fanning were among the names mentioned. Do you know them?’
Boydell nodded. ‘Of course, I know them well. Like myself, they are members of the Assembly.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Why do you ask about them?’
MacLea stirred a little. ‘Anyone connected with Wilson is of interest,’ he said. ‘That is about all I can say, James. This entire matter is under the rose.’
Boydell raised a hand in apology. ‘Of course, and I have no business asking questions. Very well, let me see… Caleb Street is a busy young man with his fingers in plenty of pies. Some think he is smooth and charming, but I’m afraid I find him rather oleaginous. He makes a point of cultivating friendships with people who might be useful to him and giving the cold shoulder to everybody else. He is one of the few Canadians whom General Sheaffe trusts.’
‘He didn’t sign the petition either,’ said Murray.
‘No. Street has ambitions; he would like to be speaker of the Assembly one day, just as his uncle was. There is little chance of that happening, though. Many of the other Assemblymen find him presumptuous, and not a little arrogant.’
‘What of Fanning?’ MacLea asked. ‘I gather he and Street both own land near Chippawa.’
‘Oh, yes. Along with Wilson, they are about the biggest landowners in Lincoln County. Fanning has interests in mills, shipping, freight transport and much else besides. He is a gentleman in every sense of the word, a fine, upstanding man. I quite enjoy his company. But there is something…’
‘What is it?’
‘He owned the house where that fellow Fraser was killed last month. He didn’t live there; his main house is in Niagara, and he wasn’t even in York when Fraser was stabbed. But I cannot help wondering why the killers lured him to that house in particular. And there is another thing, too. Fanning, like Wilson, traded often with the Indians of the Grand River. And according to rumours, someone wearing Indian face paint was seen leaving the house that night, probably around the time Fraser was killed. I’m sure there is no connection with Fanning, but… I still wonder.’
‘Still, that is hardly enough to condemn a man,’ said Murray.
‘Indeed,’ said MacLea. ‘May I ask you a personal question, James?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ve never mentioned where you were from before you came to Canada. Do you mind telling me?’
Boydell smiled. ‘You mean do I have some secret Yankee connection I have been hiding? In fact, I was born in London. My father was a barrister at the Inns of Court. I was meant to follow in his footsteps, but after I married, my wife and I decided to embark on a life of adventure in Canada. We arrived in 1805 and settled in Montreal for a bit, then came out here.’
‘Have you ever thought of going back to England?’
The other man laughed. ‘Back to the stuffy robes and wigs and dusty books, the Old Bailey and the halls of Chancery? Good God, no. We have a splendid life here. Wild horses wouldn’t drag either of us back. What about you, John? And you, Mr Murray? Why did you come here?’
‘I was in the army,’ said MacLea. ‘Five years as a gentleman volunteer with the Cameronians, in the Netherlands and Egypt. I grew tired of war, I suppose… and I fought a duel with a man who turned out to have rather a lot of influence. His family threatened to make life difficult for me, so I took my prize money and my bounty, and came out here and bought a farm in Stormont County.’
‘Much the same,’ said Murray. ‘I was in the Black Watch, and I got tired of taking orders from other people. I decided I wanted to be my own man for a change.’
‘Then we understand each other entirely,’ said Boydell. He turned his head as the door opened and a woman entered the room, her silk dress swishing softly on the floor. She stopped when she saw MacLea and Murray, raising one hand to her mouth.
‘My dear, I am so sorry,’ she said to Boydell as the three men rose to their feet. ‘I did not realise you had guests.’
‘Patience, my sweet,’ Boydell said, smiling. ‘Come and meet the famous John MacLea. And this is his friend Alec Murray.’
MacLea and Murray bowed and the woman curtseyed. She was very fair, MacLea saw; her skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent, like fine porcelain. She had dark brown eyes with delicate lashes, a slightly long nose and a high, smooth forehead. Brown hair fell in ringlets, framing her face. Her voice was soft and gentle.
‘I am honoured,’ she said, smiling. ‘James has told me much about both of you. May I ask what brings you to York, gentlemen?’
‘We are here on army business, ma’am,’ said MacLea. ‘All rather tedious, I’m afraid. We won’t bore you with the details.’
‘But you will be staying for a few days?’ Patience Boydell asked.
‘Certainly,’ said MacLea. ‘And possibly longer, depending on how our business goes.’
‘Then we shall enjoy the pleasure of your company. Perhaps you would both dine with us one evening?’
‘We should be delighted, ma’am,’ said Murray, and they both bowed again.
Patience turned to her husband. ‘James, dear, I came to remind you about the charity concert at Jordan’s this evening. You remember? The Loyal and Patriotic Society’s musical benefit for the families of injured soldiers? You are coming, are you not?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Boydell, kissing her hand. ‘Especially not when you have worked so hard to organise it. And perhaps our friends might like to come too, if you have any spare tickets?’
‘I am certain something can be arranged,’ she said, smiling again. ‘Mr Kramer, the famous musician from Vienna, will play for us, and then there will be supper and dancing in the ballroom of Jordan’s Hotel. Mr MacLea, Mr Murray, do say you will come, please. Everyone would love to meet you.’
MacLea and Murray looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Oh Christ. Not bloody dancing. ‘We should be delighted,’ said MacLea. ‘At what hour are we bid?’
* * *
They departed half an hour later, stepping out into the street where snow was falling heavily. ‘What do you think?’ MacLea asked.
‘I think I’d like to know quite a lot more about John Fanning,’ said Murray. ‘And his house.’
‘Yes,’ said MacLea. ‘He does sound interesting, doesn’t he?’
Further along the street, men were shovelling snow, trying to keep the roadway clear. Murray groaned. ‘I suppose we have to go to this shinty tonight.’
‘We do,’ said MacLea. ‘And while we are there, keep your eyes and ears open. Let’s see what we can learn.’
Chapter Eight
The Loyal and Patriotic Society’s benefit concert was a popular event. Walking into the ballroom in Jordan’s Hotel, neatly dressed in clean rifle-green uniforms, MacLea and Murray saw more than sixty people gathered, with more coming through the doors behind them. Very few of the men were in uniform; most wore coats with the newly fashionable high-waisted trousers and collared shirts with ornate cravats, while the women wore gowns in bright colours. Candlelight from the glittering chandeliers and gilded wall sconces reflected off the jewels on their fingers and in their coiffed hair. Waiters moved around the room offering glasses of hot punch to keep out the winter chill.
It
looked like a scene from any salon in Europe. You would never know, MacLea thought, that there were wolves in the trees on the outskirts of town, or that seventy miles away across the waters of Lake Ontario, the embers of war still flickered in Niagara.
Patience Boydell came through the crowd, her eyes lighting up with pleasure at the sight of them. MacLea and Murray bowed to her, and she smiled and curtseyed in return. She wore a gown of pure white, its snowy brilliance accentuating her pale complexion. ‘I am so glad you could come,’ she said. ‘It is splendid to see you both again. Come, let me introduce you to some of our friends.’
She took them to a little group of soberly dressed men standing at one end of the room. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, ‘my apologies for disturbing you, but I wish to introduce you to an honoured guest. Indeed, he is a man who needs no introduction. May I present Captain John MacLea, the hero of Queenston, and his comrade in arms, Mr Alexander Murray.’
The others bowed as Patience introduced them. Most of the names went straight out of MacLea’s head, but two caught his attention: Prideaux Selby, a stout white-haired man leaning on a stick, and Elijah Dunne, younger and dressed all in black with a shock of red hair. MacLea already knew Dunne by reputation; he was a merchant, a freight forwarder who controlled virtually the entire carrying trade between York and Montreal, and as Richard Hatt had said, he was a power in the colony.
Selby and Dunne, MacLea thought. Two of the oligarchs, the men of power in Upper Canada. And of course, Boydell was one of them too.
‘Welcome, Captain,’ said Selby. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you. The people are, quite literally, singing your praise in the streets.’
The Hunt for the North Star Page 11