‘Captain MacLea,’ the colonel said curtly. ‘I would have a word with you in private, if you please.’
They walked out of the ballroom together, followed by curious eyes. In the antechamber Lawrence stopped and turned to face MacLea. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘What is the meaning of what, sir?’
‘Once more I find you have left your post without permission. I don’t believe that cock-and-bull story of Bisshopp’s. You were up to something, and he was protecting you. Now I find you here in York. Why?’
‘I am not at liberty to say, sir,’ said MacLea.
‘Damn your insolence! You are a deserter, MacLea, and I shall see you treated as one. Orderly!’ Lawrence shouted. ‘Place this man under arrest at once! Take him to the fort and see he is kept under close guard.’
He looked at MacLea, his eyes full of vicious pleasure. ‘I shall personally preside over your court-martial. This is the end, MacLea. You’ll not wriggle out from under this one.’
MacLea shook his head. ‘You have no power to arrest me, Colonel. My orders now come directly from the governor general.’
Lawrence stared at him, the wind momentarily taken from his sails. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
MacLea shrugged. ‘Believe what you like, Colonel. Speak to Mr Robinson, the attorney general, or Sir George himself if you don’t believe me.’
‘I will ask you once again, MacLea. What are you doing here?’
‘And I will answer you once again, sir. I am not at liberty to say.’
Lawrence glared at him. ‘I’ll find out, you know, and when I do, I will put an end to whatever scheme you are involved in. Never mind Prévost. I have influence in higher quarters still.’
‘Oh yes, your uncle the duke,’ MacLea said. ‘Nevertheless, Colonel, I would advise you not to interfere. If you do, it is always possible that word may leak out about the night I met you in Niagara, and the, umm… lady who was with you.’
Lawrence was silent.
‘And it would be unfortunate if that… lady were to tell her story,’ MacLea said. ‘You know what small towns are like, sir. They love gossip.’
‘I will break you,’ Lawrence said viciously. ‘I will break you, MacLea, if it is the last thing I ever do.’
‘Colonel Lawrence,’ MacLea said, ‘if I could be certain that breaking me really would be the last thing you do on earth, I would accept the punishment gladly.’
Chapter Nine
‘Did you learn anything from Selby and Dunne?’ MacLea asked next morning. ‘You spent most of the evening talking with them.’
They were alone in the breakfast room of Whitworth’s Hotel, a sombre room with windows looking out onto the snowy street. Outside, men were hard at work with spades, clearing away the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. The servants were all in the kitchen, and they could hear the distant clatter of pots; they had the room to themselves.
‘I did,’ said Murray. ‘Selby is a pleasant old fellow, but he doesn’t give much away. The soul of discretion. Dunne is more interesting. I’ve met him a couple of times, although he didn’t remember me. Friends of mine back in Stormont have used him to ship goods down to market in Montreal.’
‘And?’
‘He’s a slippery bastard. He breaks contracts willy-nilly, but if anyone tries to get out of a contract with him, he cracks down hard. He bankrupted a couple of traders in Kingston last year.’
‘I thought he was a thoroughly unpleasant piece of work,’ MacLea said.
‘He is,’ said Murray. ‘When you asked Selby about the murder at Fanning’s house, I was watching Dunne’s face. He was smiling.’
‘He is malicious,’ said MacLea. ‘He likes seeing other people squirm. That’s why he made that insulting remark about Miss Selby, so he could make her father uncomfortable.’
He reached into his coat pocket, glancing around to see if they were still unobserved, and handed over a small leather folder containing a few sheets of paper. ‘This is the file on Fraser’s killing. Have a look and tell me what you think.’
Murray read the papers quickly. ‘That’s not much to go on,’ he said. ‘The body was found the following morning by Fanning’s caretaker. Like a typical caretaker, while the master was away, he went out to a tavern and drank himself senseless, and finally stumbled home about three in the morning. He found the body later that day when he went to light a fire. Fraser had been stabbed sometime in the late evening, before midnight. The constables searched the house, but nothing was found.’
He frowned. ‘A man passing the house about ten in the evening heard a strange noise, a sort of high-pitched drone. But when questioned, he didn’t know what it was, nor could he be certain whether it was coming from inside the house. What do you suppose that was?’
‘No idea,’ said MacLea. ‘And then around midnight, a servant at the house next door thought he saw someone in a hooded cloak in the garden. There had been a fall of snow the night before, but it melted in the morning, taking any trace of footprints with it. Do you suppose the man in the cloak was the killer?’
‘Very likely. But in the dark, with snow falling, there was no chance of identifying him. The servant was interviewed by Robinson’s men, but he had nothing more to offer. So that’s it,’ Murray said. ‘There’s nothing there to help us.’
‘No. Not at the moment, at least.’ MacLea sat for a moment watching the men working in the snow-filled street. ‘Damn,’ he said finally.
‘What is it?’ asked Murray.
‘There are so many threads, Alec. First of all, Fraser is murdered in a house owned by John Fanning. Fanning had connections with Wilson, and also with the Mohawks. Then last night Rebecca Morningstar shows up, having followed us here from the Grand River, and has a long conversation with Fanning. About what?’
‘Are you sure she followed us?’ Murray asked. ‘Selby said she came to meet with the Executive Council.’
MacLea shook his head. ‘No. She followed us, just as she waited for us on the Chippawa to take us to the Grand River. She is Catherine Brant’s spy. The question is, what does Adonwentishon want? What game is she playing?’
‘She might have lied about rejecting Wilson’s offer,’ Murray said soberly. ‘She might be working with Polaris, or intending to.’
‘She might. Then there is Josephine. What in the name of all the devils in hell is she doing in York? She said nothing of this the night I saw her in Niagara. And Givins didn’t appear to know either, but he thought I did. He was pretty damned suspicious, I can tell you.’
‘Or on other hand,’ said Murray, ‘maybe he does know, and was sniffing around trying to find out what you knew. We don’t really know whose side Givins is on, do we? Catherine Brant and Mrs Morningstar are Indians, and Givins works for the Indian Department. Draw your own conclusions.’
‘I already have,’ said MacLea. ‘And they worry me. I wish we had John Norton here. I want to find out what in hell is going on at the Grand River.’
Murray nodded. ‘So far as Josephine goes, there is an easy way to find out. Ask her. You know she will always tell you the truth.’
‘Yes. But I can’t go near her, nor can you. Polaris is watching everything we do.’
‘And we think Polaris still doesn’t know about her.’
‘He certainly doesn’t know she is a double agent, or she would have been dead long ago. According to Josephine, Colonel Beauregard keeps his field agents separate from each other. If they don’t know of each other’s existence, they cannot betray each other. Josephine didn’t know about Polaris until I told her, and Polaris will only learn of her existence if someone or something betrays her. So I need to stay away from her.’
Murray thought for a moment. ‘If Josephine is here, so is her maidservant. They are inseparable, remember? We could use her as a conduit for messages.’
‘Yes,’ said MacLea thoughtfully. ‘We should contact Marie… Then, of course, we have th
e politics, the Canadian establishment turning against General Sheaffe. Colonel Lawrence will doubtless be waiting to take advantage of that situation.’
‘He and Sheaffe are supposed to be friends,’ said Murray. ‘But I reckon it’s a friendship of convenience.’
‘Lawrence would stab Sheaffe in the back without a moment’s thought. The only thing greater than Colonel Lawrence’s pomposity is his ambition.’
They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, the grey clouds hung low over the trees. Already there was a foot of snow on the ground, and more was on the way.
‘Give me a good old-fashioned scrimmage any day,’ said Murray. ‘A nice simple fight where I can see the enemy shooting at me and can shoot back at him. Queenston, Frenchman’s Creek, even that fight in Canby Marsh, that’s my kind of war. Not this creeping around in the shadows, plotting and scheming… What next?’
‘Let’s see what Robinson comes up with,’ MacLea said.
* * *
Robinson sent for them the following day, and they met once again in the attorney general’s library. ‘My conjecture was correct,’ he said, shuffling the papers on his desk. ‘Over a third of our Assembly members, nine to be precise, are American born. Five of the nine, so far as can be ascertained, have no contact with the families they left behind, nor any business interests in America. However, the other four do.’
‘Caleb Street and Fanning are two of them,’ said MacLea.
Robinson nodded.
‘And the others?’ Murray asked.
‘Mahlon Burwell and John Stinson. Stinson represents Prince Edward County, down east, and has no obvious connection with Wilson. Burwell, on the other hand, represents Oxford and Middlesex, above Lake Erie. Wild country, for the most part, but he has invested heavily in land there. And George Wilson had also bought some properties in Middlesex near Burwell’s holdings, around Port Talbot.’
‘Tell us about Burwell,’ said MacLea.
Robinson looked down at his papers. ‘He was born in New Jersey, and arrived with his family in ’96, when he was thirteen; that makes him thirty now. He became a surveyor, one of the best in the business, and surveyed pretty much all the land west of Fort Erie, right down to Amherstburg. Along the way he picked up some choice plots of land for himself. They’re not worth much now, but when the war ends and settlement resumes out west, he stands to make a fortune.’
‘A surveyor,’ said MacLea. ‘Someone who knows how to scout the country and make maps. The Americans would find him mighty useful. What about his politics?’
‘Until recently he has been staunchly loyal,’ said Robinson. ‘But he did sign the petition urging Sir George Prévost to recall General Sheaffe.’
‘And he still has American contacts?’
‘The family own land in New Jersey, and Burwell has acquired more in New York State. Despite the war, he is still receiving income from some of those lands.’
‘How is he getting money from America?’ asked Murray.
‘Banks on each side of the border still honour each other’s bills of exchange,’ said Robinson.
MacLea nodded. ‘Business is business,’ he said, echoing Hatt’s comment.
‘Indeed,’ said Robinson. ‘Stinson is forty-nine, and from New Hampshire. His family were Loyalists during the revolutionary war, but he didn’t emigrate to Canada until 1786. He continues to correspond with his family in New Hampshire. In fairness, New Hampshire’s support for the present war is lukewarm at best.’
He shuffled his papers again. ‘Of all the Assemblymen, Stinson was the most vocal in his opposition to the war. To be precise, not so much the war itself as the erosion of democratic liberties he believed would follow. Of course, he was right to some degree. I yield to no one in my admiration for the late General Brock, but he could be jolly high-handed at times. He had to be, to defend a five-hundred-mile frontier with two battalions of regulars, some fencible men and a handful of scruffy militiamen.’ He smiled at the two of them. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ said MacLea. ‘Brock did what was necessary, but he trampled on some toes in the process.’
‘Precisely. Stinson is a prickly customer, and he didn’t like the way Brock rode roughshod over the Assembly and proclaimed new laws without consultation. Ever since, he has complained about pretty much everything the government does. The petition to recall General Sheaffe was his idea.’
‘Is there any connection with Wilson?’ MacLea asked.
‘None that I have been able to find. But both shared similar views about the government. Wilson may have persuaded Stinson to turn against us.’
‘Or vice versa,’ said Murray.
‘Indeed.’ Robinson’s face was sombre. ‘Shall we turn now to Caleb Street? He is thirty-five years old and from Connecticut. He and his brother Samuel came to Canada in 1787 after their father was murdered. Thanks to the influence of his uncle, who was already settled here, Caleb Street prospered. Early on, he made some very clever land speculations, which made his fortune. He knew Wilson and they had been involved in several ventures together. And it is no secret that before the war, the Streets invested heavily in businesses on the American side of the Niagara River: mills and distilleries and so on, in Lewiston and Youngstown.’
‘A man on the make, then,’ said MacLea, remembering Boydell’s description.
Robinson hesitated a little. ‘Yes… yes, I think that is fair to say. He works hard at making friends with the right people.’
‘And he opposed the petition to recall General Sheaffe?’
‘Indeed. He and James Boydell were the petition’s leading opponents.’
‘And Fanning?’ asked Murray.
‘Ah, yes. John Fanning. Details about him have been remarkably hard to find. He is thirty-two, and hails originally from South Carolina, but he later settled in New York State. When and why he came to Canada is not clear. He made a good marriage and invested heavily in all sorts of business ventures: mills, inns, freight haulage, a stagecoach, mostly in the peninsula. But he still has interests in America as well.’
‘What sort of interests?’ asked MacLea. ‘Does he receive income?’
Robinson shook his head. ‘No. That’s the odd part. Unlike the others, it appears he sends money back to America.’
MacLea and Murray considered this. ‘Do we know where and how?’ MacLea asked.
‘No. Fanning banks with a firm in Montreal. That is all I have been able to learn.’
‘Burwell the surveyor with lands on both side of the border,’ said Murray. ‘Stinson the disaffected, who opposed the war. Street the speculator. Fanning the man of mystery.’ He looked at MacLea. ‘Could one of them be Polaris?’
‘Possibly,’ said MacLea. ‘What do you think, Mr Robinson? You know these men better than we do. Do you think one of them could be our man?’
‘Do you want my honest opinion?’ asked Robinson. ‘I think the idea that any of these men could betray their country is absurd. But then if you had suggested to me last year that we were about to go to war with America, I should have denounced that notion as equally absurd. Quite frankly, Captain MacLea, I no longer know what to think. Were I to wake up one morning and discover that I was Polaris, I wouldn’t be terribly surprised.’
* * *
MacLea’s little company met on the frozen shores of Lake Ontario, far from prying eyes in the fort or the town. The lighthouse on Gibraltar Point could be seen fitfully through the snow flurries that swept across the harbour. The wind was bitterly cold.
‘We need to set a watch on four men,’ MacLea said. ‘Mahlon Burwell, John Stinson, Caleb Street and John Fanning. Sergeant Murray has their addresses. Work in shifts, one at a time, and take care that you are not spotted. Miller, Croghan, you take Burwell. He’s a frontiersman himself, so he’ll be alert. That is why I have assigned him to you.’ Both men nodded.
‘Appleby and Schmidt, you’ll watch Stinson. He comes from down east, Schmidt, so if you think he has recognised you, I’ll swap you f
or one of the others. Carson and Hill, you take Street. Thomas and McTeer, you keep watch on Fanning.’ In his own mind MacLea had decided that Fanning was of the most interest, partly because of the air of mystery around him. Behind the mockery, McTeer was intelligent and perceptive, and Thomas missed very little.
‘What are we looking for, sir?’ asked young Appleby.
‘Anything,’ said MacLea. ‘Where they go, what they do. If they meet someone, try to find out who it is. If you learn anything, report at once to Corporal Thomas. Corporal, I will meet you here on this spot every day at sundown. If I discover someone is following me, I will abort the meeting and send word to arrange a new time and place.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Thomas. He gestured towards Crabbe. ‘You’ve assigned eight of us. What about Moses here?’
‘I have another task for you, Crabbe,’ MacLea said. ‘Mr Prideaux Selby has a house on Frederick Street. Madame Lafitte is staying there. As discreetly as you can, make the acquaintance of Marie, her maidservant, and give her a message to pass to her mistress. I may ask you to repeat this service.’ Crabbe nodded.
‘Why does Moses get all the good jobs?’ asked McTeer. ‘I’d be happy to flirt with a comely maidservant. But nobody asked me.’
‘How do you know she’s comely?’ Appleby asked.
McTeer looked at him with pity. ‘My boy, after six months in the field, all maidservants are comely. That is one of the immutable laws of war.’
Dismissed, the men walked off towards the fort through the falling snow singing ‘Here’s to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen’. MacLea watched them go, smiling a little. ‘They’re good lads,’ he said.
The Hunt for the North Star Page 13