‘Indeed. And there is another interesting thing. According to the Gazette, we shall shortly be graced with the presence of royalty, or at least vice royalty.’
MacLea raised his eyebrows.
‘Sir George Prévost is coming to York,’ said Boydell. ‘Ostensibly to inspect the defences of Upper Canada; in reality to read the riot act to the Assembly.’
‘Has something happened?’
‘You recall Stinson’s attempt to have General Sheaffe recalled, and Sir George’s response? Well, again according to the Gazette, not content with issuing a stinging rebuke by letter, Sir George is coming here to reinforce his message in person. He is expected in early February.’
‘What sort of welcome will he receive?’
Boydell’s face was wry. ‘A rather mixed one, I fear. Stinson has not taken his defeat lying down. He is mounting another attempt to overthrow the general, and already has half the Assembly lined up behind him. Caleb Street and myself were among the few still solidly backing Sheaffe, but the rest are sitting on the fence.’
‘And you think Stinson and his allies will try to face down Sir George when he arrives?’
‘I do indeed. It should make for interesting times. No need to make fireworks for carnival this year, old fellow. Stinson and his friends will provide enough flashes and bangs for all of us.’
Boydell drained his glass and stood up. ‘We should rejoin the others,’ he said. ‘Patience will scold us if we are away too long. Believe me, you don’t want to be around when she is angry.’
MacLea smiled. ‘Your wife has the sweetest disposition of anyone I know,’ he said. ‘I cannot imagine her ever being angry.’
‘Best not to try.’ Boydell clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’re organising a shinney match later this month. Do you play?’
‘I do indeed.’ Shinney, a form of the old Scottish game of shinty, was played in the winter months on ice, with the players wearing skates instead of boots. MacLea had played a few times on the frozen St Lawrence River near his home in Stormont. The game’s two main features were a great deal of violence and a near-complete lack of rules.
‘Good,’ said Boydell. ‘Then I am drafting you on to my team. Ah, I hear the dulcet tones of Kramer’s violin once more. Let’s go and listen to him, shall we?’
‘So long as we don’t have to talk to him,’ said MacLea. He still remembered the distasteful conversation at Christmas.
* * *
Muffled against the cold, MacLea’s men continued their patient watch on Stinson, Fanning and Dunne. Stinson, at least, made no secret of his actions. As Boydell had said, far from being cowed by the impending visit of the governor general, he was attempting to rally the opposition. ‘He is coming perilously close to treason,’ Boydell said when he and MacLea met a few days later. ‘He is risking gaol or exile, possibly even the noose if he carries on.’
‘I suppose one must admire the strength of his convictions,’ MacLea said.
‘Yes. What a pity they are not matched by his intelligence.’
Elijah Dunne’s routine rarely varied. Every day except Sundays he rose early and went to his office, where he remained until evening. Other merchants and traders occasionally came to call on him, but winter was the low season and such callers were rare. Then, about a week after New Year, his behaviour changed.
‘It’s been the same the last three days,’ said Abel Thomas. He and MacLea were meeting as usual out by the frozen lake. ‘Mr Dunne leaves the office just about sunset and walks up past Mr Selby’s house. Once he has passed the house, he turns and walks back again. Sometimes he does this four or five times. He keeps his hat pulled down and has a scarf over most of his face, but Miller and Croghan are sure he is watching the house, looking through the windows. It’s like he is trying to catch sight of someone inside.’
‘What do you suppose he is playing at?’ MacLea asked Murray when he returned to the hotel.
‘Well, we know he is obsessed with Miss Selby,’ said Murray. ‘And she’s getting married to William Derenzy in less than a month. He could be lurking outside hoping to catch a glimpse of his inamorata. It’s the kind of thing men do when they meet a woman they can’t have. Stare at her hopelessly and imagine what they would do if they could have her. Or at least, so I’ve been told,’ he added. ‘It’s not a problem I’ve ever had myself.’
‘Or he could be watching for Josephine,’ MacLea said. ‘And that means we need to keep an eye on the house. Crabbe calls once a day, but that is not enough. Who can we send to support him?’
‘I’ll do it myself,’ Murray said.
‘Dunne will recognise you.’
‘He won’t. I’ll be muffled up to the eyes, and I will stay out of his line of sight. I’m not as good a tracker as Miller or Croghan, but I’m pretty fair.’
That much was true; MacLea and Murray had stalked deer in the Stormont forests, and for a big man Murray was surprisingly light on his feet.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ MacLea asked.
Murray nodded. ‘Colonel Lawrence returns tomorrow, so I’ll have some free time. Crabbe and I can share the watches between us.’
MacLea regarded his friend for a moment. He was aware that Murray had seen Charlotte Lawrence several times since New Year; they had gone skating on the lake or sleigh-riding in the forest, and Murray had always returned in good humour. ‘Will you continue to see her once Lawrence returns?’
Murray shrugged. ‘If possible. It will be up to her, of course.’ He paused for a moment, looking at his hands. ‘You know, under that brittle veneer of hers, she is a very decent and kind woman. Her father deserves to be whipped for marrying her to a pig like Lawrence.’
‘Careful,’ warned MacLea. ‘If you end up falling for her, that will make things very complicated indeed.’
‘Not one complicated woman in our lives, but two,’ said Murray. ‘Yes. Very tricky.’
* * *
Colonel Lawrence returned to York around midday the next day, and by evening the little town was buzzing with rumours about what he had done in Niagara. ‘Sadly, most of the rumours are true,’ Robinson said when MacLea called on him that evening. ‘When the colonel reached Niagara and heard the rumours about Wilson and a possible revolt, he took matters into his own hands. He issued a proclamation urging people to denounce suspected traitors, and then arrested everyone whose name was put forward.’
‘Let me guess,’ said MacLea grimly. ‘Some people used this to settle scores with their personal enemies.’
‘Of course they did. As a result, those in custody include a mother with a new baby, an elderly blind man and a twelve-year-old boy. The entire district is boiling with anger.’
‘Thereby creating just the sort of resentment against the government Polaris is hoping for,’ said MacLea, ‘and making a real revolt far more likely. Has General Sheaffe done anything to stop him?’
‘No, Sheaffe is still ill. And as we know, he tends to do whatever Colonel Lawrence tells him to do. Of course, Sheaffe isn’t very fond of Canadians in the first place, which makes it even less likely that he will intervene.’
‘Then he really is a bloody fool,’ said MacLea. ‘All this will rebound on his head and makes him look weak and inept, just when Stinson and his friends are mounting another challenge to his authority.’
‘I know,’ said Robinson. ‘It makes one want to weep.’
He looked genuinely upset. As attorney general, it would fall to him to sort out the mess Lawrence had made, decide whether any of those arrested deserved to be prosecuted and then, very probably, arrange compensation for those who had been wrongfully accused.
‘On top of that, preparations for this foolhardy attack on Sackett’s Harbor are going ahead,’ Robinson said. ‘Lawrence’s regiment, the Royal Americans, are to transfer from Niagara to Kingston forthwith. That means marching nearly two hundred and fifty miles through the dead of winter. Half of them will be down with frostbite by the time they arrive. And several compani
es of militia will be called out in support, which will cause still more trouble with the populace. All this just to feed that man’s vanity.’
He sighed and picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. ‘However, I did not call you here to rant about Lawrence. I have received word from Kingston. Acting on the information you provided, Colonel Vincent has arrested the American spy. He was, as you rightly deduced, the postal clerk in Dunne’s Kingston office. Vincent has interrogated him vigorously, but beyond admitting that he is an agent, the man has refused to talk.’
‘He may not know very much,’ said MacLea. ‘Low-level watchers rarely do. Sir, I think we need to find out how much Elijah Dunne knows about his employee.’
‘He may know nothing at all,’ Robinson warned.
‘Yes… Ever since I met Dunne, I have had a feeling that I know the name. Do you happen to know where he comes from? Is he an Edinburgh man?’
Robinson frowned. ‘No, I don’t think so. I recall someone saying he came from a village in East Lothian. Tranent, I believe the place is called.’
‘Tranent,’ said MacLea softly. ‘Yes, that’s it. Now I know why I have heard his name.’
* * *
‘Do you remember the Massacre of Tranent?’ MacLea asked Murray an hour later. The sergeant had just come in off watch and was still dusting snow off his boots.
‘Fifteen years ago,’ Murray said, nodding. ‘A group of radicals calling themselves the United Scotsmen confronted a British Army recruiting party at Tranent. They were protesting about the recruitment of militia who they feared might be drafted into the regular army. The officer in charge ordered his men to open fire. A company of dragoons then went charging into the town, cutting down anyone who stood in their way and hunting the rest like rabbits across the hills. Twenty dead at least, including women and children.’
‘One of the leaders of the United Scotsmen was a man named George Dunne,’ MacLea said. ‘He was shot and killed in the street while attempting to hand over a petition. And according to Robinson, Elijah Dunne comes from Tranent.’
Murray gave a low whistle. ‘So if George Dunne is family – father, perhaps, or uncle – Dunne would have plenty of cause for a grudge.’
‘I wouldn’t blame him,’ said MacLea.
‘Who would? I was sixteen when it happened, just getting ready to go into the army, and when I heard the news, I nearly didn’t sign up at all. I took the King’s shilling to fight Bonaparte, not turn my hand against my own people.’
‘I think we need a word with Dunne,’ MacLea said.
‘Well before we do, there’s something else you need to know,’ Murray said. ‘John Fanning has set someone to watch him too.’
MacLea stared at him. ‘What?’
‘Dunne came around the Selby house again today. Did the same thing as before, walking up and down peering through the windows like he was looking for someone. Miller tailed him from the office like usual, but today he realised someone else was there – a short little fellow in a dark coat. He too was shadowing Dunne.’
‘How did you find out he worked for Fanning?’
‘Miller pointed him out to me, and I followed him. After Dunne returned home, the short little fellow went back to Fanning’s house. I saw him go in through the servants’ entrance.’
‘Well I’m damned,’ said MacLea slowly. ‘I wonder what is going on there?’
‘We’d better find out,’ said Murray. ‘Tomorrow morning, you take Dunne and I’ll talk to Fanning.’
* * *
‘Good morning, Mr Murray,’ said Fanning as Murray was shown into the drawing room. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again.’
And that is a lie, Murray thought. Judging by the expression on his face, I’m about as welcome here as the pox. He bowed to Fanning, and again to Rebecca Morningstar, who was standing by the fireplace in a long dark gown with her braided hair hanging over her shoulders.
‘I need to talk to you, sir, if I may,’ Murray said. ‘Alone, for preference.’
The woman did not move. ‘Mrs Morningstar is my guest,’ said Fanning. ‘She stays.’
‘Very well,’ said Murray. ‘One of your servants was out yesterday afternoon tailing Elijah Dunne. He followed Mr Dunne from his office, past Mr Selby’s house on Frederick Street, and then home. Do you know why he was doing this?’
Fanning shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Mr Murray, but I think you must be mistaken. My servants are hard-working and diligent. They have better things to do with their time than wander about in the streets.’
‘He was not wandering about,’ said Murray. ‘He was following Dunne, quite deliberately. Why?’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Then I suggest you summon this servant now and ask him what he was doing.’
‘Very well. Do you know his name?’
‘No.’
‘Can you identify him?’
‘No,’ said Murray again. ‘Like all of us, he was wrapped up against the cold. He was a short man, that is all I can tell you.’
‘I am afraid that is not very helpful,’ Fanning said coolly. ‘All my servants are characterised by a decided lack of height. Perhaps they are related in some way.’
Murray could feel his temper beginning to unravel. ‘Then will you allow me to question them?’
‘Absolutely not. They have better things to do than gossip with you.’
Murray drew breath. ‘Very well, Mr Fanning. Then I have some questions for you instead. Just how well do you know Elijah Dunne? You said he was trying to buy out your business. Does that mean there is bad blood between you?’
‘I suggest you ask Mr Dunne,’ Fanning said.
Silence fell. Murray and Fanning stared at each other for a few moments, and then Murray turned towards the woman. ‘And what is your purpose here, Mrs Morningstar, if I may ask?’
‘The same as you,’ she said calmly. ‘Passing the winter in York in comfort, rather than out on the frozen frontier.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ said Murray. ‘You’re Adonwentishon’s spy, aren’t you? The two of you are cooking up something together. What is it?’
They watched him, saying nothing.
‘I could have you both arrested,’ Murray said.
Fanning remained silent. Surprisingly, it was Rebecca Morningstar whose dark eyes snapped with sudden anger. ‘Do not meddle with me, Mr Murray,’ she said. ‘Do not make an enemy of me. Until now, I have been your friend. Do not make me change my mind.’
* * *
‘Mr Dunne is busy,’ the clerk said. ‘He cannot spare the time to see you.’
MacLea looked around at the big room, the other clerks sitting at their desks working, heat waves shimmering around the cast-iron stoves. All was calm and orderly. He glanced at the door to the post room, and wondered if the nightwatchman had recovered from his headache.
‘Tell Mr Dunne this concerns Tranent,’ he said.
The clerk disappeared into the back office. He came out again a moment later. ‘If you would be pleased to follow me, sir.’
Dunne’s office was spartan: wooden walls and floor, a desk, a couple of plain chairs, and a stove with a coffee pot sitting on top of it. The only adornment was a glass-fronted case on the wall containing a collection of highly ornate snuffboxes, silver and gold, jewels and onyx cameos winking in the light.
Dunne did not rise from his desk, nor did he invite MacLea to sit. His face was pale and tense. ‘What is this about?’
‘George Dunne,’ said MacLea. ‘One of the leaders of the United Scotsmen who was killed at Tranent. Was he by any chance a relative?’
‘Yes,’ said Dunne. ‘He was my father. What is it to you?’
‘Let me make a few guesses,’ MacLea said. ‘You were young when the massacre happened, sixteen or seventeen. After the event, you and your mother resolved to get away, come to Canada and start a new life. But you continued to blame your father’s death on the British government and the army. The passage of time
did nothing to soften your bitterness. If anything, your hatred increased.’
‘I was there,’ Dunne said. ‘I watched my father die. Another soldier pointed a musket at my mother and pulled the trigger. The weapon misfired, which saved her life. Instead, he beat her with the butt of his musket until she fell down bleeding. Some might say she was lucky. Other women in the town, even some who had nothing to do with the protest, were raped by the dragoons. I have never forgiven, Captain MacLea, nor have I ever forgotten.’
‘Your hatred is understandable,’ said MacLea. ‘The question is, did that hatred push you towards treason?’
Dunne stared at him, his pale eyes hostile. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘A post office clerk in your employ in Kingston has been arrested,’ MacLea said. ‘He has admitted to spying for the Americans. How much did you know about his activities?’
Dunne’s face flamed with sudden anger. His red hair seemed to be standing on end. ‘I knew nothing,’ he said. ‘Now get out of my office.’
‘The clerk is still being interrogated,’ said MacLea. ‘If you are involved, we will soon know about it.’
Dunne stood up. ‘Are you making a formal accusation against me? If so, produce your evidence. If not, then get the hell out of here.’
‘I have no evidence,’ said MacLea. ‘Not yet. But never fear, Mr Dunne. It will come.’
* * *
I have received further word from Kingston. The defences of Fort Henry are being strengthened, with a new stone blockhouse and new batteries emplaced to cover both the fort itself and the navy yard on Point Frederick. There is also talk of furnaces for heating red-hot shot. It seems clear that the British are expecting you to launch a determined attack against Kingston once the ice breaks up. They are preparing a warm reception for you. If your ships try to enter Haldimand Bay, they will be sailing into a trap.
The Hunt for the North Star Page 21