‘And there is a fresh scratch in the wood on this desk,’ MacLea said. ‘Someone rested something heavy on it not that long ago.’ His mind was largely clear now, and he tried to recollect what it was he had heard. The music, he remembered, had seemed to be coming from overhead; he had been on the verge of going upstairs to look for the source of the sound when it had transformed into a piercing howl of violence. After that, he had barely been able to think at all.
The awful music, Caleb Street had said before he died. Such pain.
They moved down the passage towards the back stair. There was another pool of water at the head of the stairs, and more water on the steps themselves. Someone had come inside quickly, so quickly they had not knocked the snow off their boots. The back door was wide open; MacLea looked outside, holding up the lamp again so he could see the courtyard more clearly. He saw the marks of many booted feet in the snow, coming and going. It had not snowed recently, so the prints could have been made at any time in the past couple of days. It was impossible to tell which were recent and which were not.
His hand was bleeding and he knew he needed to have it treated. Thomas needed medical attention as well. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘Let’s go. Whoever did this is long gone.’
* * *
Alec Murray handed over the watch on the Selby house to Schmidt, and arrived back at Whitworth’s Hotel just as the doctor was finishing dressing MacLea’s injured hand. Abel Thomas sat to one side with a bandage around his head, looking glum. Murray waited until the doctor had gone, and then pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘They were waiting for you.’
‘I asked that blithering old fool of a librarian if there was anyone in the house,’ MacLea said bitterly. ‘He swore blind there wasn’t. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him. You’re quite right, Alec, someone slipped inside and waited upstairs until I was alone. Then… I don’t know how to explain this, but I heard music.’
‘Music?’ asked Murray.
‘Yes. Did you hear it, Thomas?’
‘No, sir,’ Thomas said gloomily. ‘I didn’t hear a damn thing.’
‘What sort of music was it?’ Murray asked.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it. I thought I was losing my mind. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. Then it stopped, and I just stood there like I had been struck by lightning while this man came at me with a knife. I managed to get away from him, but God only knows how.’ MacLea held up his bandaged hand. ‘He gave me this as a souvenir to remember him by.’
‘You were bloody lucky,’ Murray observed. ‘Both of you.’
‘Yes,’ said MacLea soberly. ‘If that is how Fraser and Street died, bewitched by that music, frightened and alone, then I pity them. That was a horrible way to die.’
‘Did you get a look at this fellow who attacked you?’
‘Not really. He had a long black cloak and a hood covering his hair. His face was painted too, divided vertically, half black and half white.’
Abel Thomas looked up. ‘That sounds like Indian paint, sir. Mohawks use those colours when they go to war.’
‘They do,’ said Murray. ‘Anything else, John?’
‘Yes. He was a small man, shorter than me. Lightly built, too.’
‘Small,’ said Murray grimly. ‘Like one of Fanning’s servants, and painted in Mohawk colours. Let’s go arrest the bastard right now, and that bloody woman, too.’
‘Steady,’ said MacLea. ‘Who is on watch at Fanning’s house?’
‘Carson.’
‘Ask him if anyone has gone in or out over the last few hours. If it turns out Fanning or one of his servants was absent during the time we were attacked, then we’ll have grounds for asking more questions.’
Murray rose to his feet, reaching for his cloak.
‘I’ll come with you, sir,’ said Thomas.
‘No you won’t,’ said MacLea. ‘You’re going to stay here and have a glass of rum with me. God knows we both need it.’ His bandaged hand was throbbing and his nerves were still not quite steady. ‘Then you’re going back to the fort to get some rest. The doctor said you need to take it easy, remember? You’ve had a bad knock on the head. Light duties for you for the next few days, my lad.’
‘We’ll see about that, sir,’ said Thomas stubbornly, but he accepted the glass of rum MacLea poured for him.
* * *
Apart from a couple of servants going to the woodshed to fill a basket with logs, said Schmidt, no one had entered or left the Fanning house since midday. ‘Means nothing,’ said Murray. ‘One of the servants could have slipped out earlier, and then hidden somewhere until nightfall before going to Elmsley House.’
‘Hidden somewhere, in this weather?’ asked MacLea. ‘And I still don’t understand where that bloody music came from.’
In the morning, Murray went to Elmsley House himself and, to the confusion and mild outrage of the government clerks who worked there, insisted on searching all the upstairs offices. He found nothing. He also interrogated the librarian, who repeated what he had told MacLea: he had waited until the two ladies had departed and then prepared to lock up. He was positive that, until MacLea arrived, he was the only person remaining in the building.
‘Doddering old fool,’ muttered Murray, who had a young man’s impatience with the elderly and frail. ‘The Household Cavalry could have come riding through the back door and up the stairs and he wouldn’t have noticed.’ Dissatisfied, he went off to take his turn watching the Selby house. MacLea was right: they needed to wait. Fanning was an Assemblyman and Rebecca Morningstar was the personal agent of the powerful Adonwentishon; arresting either of them without sufficient evidence would have consequences.
* * *
Elijah Dunne also had influence, and he was prepared to use it. That afternoon, MacLea received a letter, curt to the point of rudeness, ordering him to report to Colonel Hector Lawrence at Government House immediately and without delay.
Government House was an imposing building surrounded by gardens deep with snow, set in splendid isolation on the western edge of town not far from the fort. It was meant to be the residence of the lieutenant governor, Major General Sheaffe, and his wife. But with Sheaffe still bedridden in Niagara, Colonel Lawrence had taken up residence there and was acting as if he was to all intents and purposes the governor himself, issuing streams of orders and communiqués and exasperating the colonial civil servants with demands for stores and supplies for his forthcoming expedition against Sackett’s Harbor. The date for this expedition had still not been set.
Notably, the colonel’s wife had not joined him, preferring instead to remain at their rented house in the town. The York gossipmongers had not been slow to notice this.
Government House was busy when MacLea arrived, bustling with black-coated clerks and aides in military red and white, all clutching sheaves of papers as they hurried to carry out the great man’s orders. A young ensign from the 49th Foot took MacLea’s name. ‘Wait here a moment, if you would, sir. I’ll see if he is free.’
He was not free. Having summoned MacLea at a moment’s notice, Lawrence then kept him waiting for over an hour before he was finally shown into the governor’s office.
Lawrence sat behind an oak desk, leaning back in the chair with his hands clasped across the white waistcoat of his uniform as he watched the captain enter the room. The royal blue lapels and cuffs of his coat were stiff with gold braid, reminding everyone that here was a man who was rich enough not only to raise an entire regiment at his own expense, but also to procure a royal warrant for it. His fat face was full of malevolence.
More clerks were working at desks around the room, pens scratching on paper. ‘Leave us!’ Lawrence barked, and they rose and scurried out. The young ensign followed them, closing the door behind him.
‘Once again I find you under my feet,’ Lawrence said. ‘When will you learn to know your place, MacLea? What must I do to te
ach you?’
‘You have the advantage of me,’ said MacLea.
‘Oh yes, I do.’ The colonel leant forward a little. ‘I have the advantage of you, MacLea, in every possible way. I have breeding, power, friends in high places, a regiment of men who follow my every order. You are the low-born leader of a rabble of misfits and criminals.’
MacLea’s eyebrows rose. ‘Criminals?’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know. That man Hill has been in and out of prison most of his life, and the German, Schmidt, is a gaolbird too. If the rest haven’t been to prison, it’s only because they’ve been lucky. They’re scum, MacLea. Just like you.’
‘Are you going to tell me what this charade is about?’ demanded MacLea.
‘Oh, this is no charade. This is deadly serious, I assure you.’
Lawrence paused. MacLea waited, staring back at him.
‘You have insulted a friend of mine,’ the colonel said. ‘Elijah Dunne. I am ordering you to stay away from him. Do not approach him, do not speak to him, do not go near his house or his office. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand you,’ MacLea said.
‘Do you? Do you?’ Lawrence shouted. ‘I bloody well hope so, MacLea. Because if you disobey me, then by God—’
‘You will break me,’ interrupted MacLea. ‘I know, I know, I’ve heard this tune before. Colonel, don’t you know who Dunne really is?’
‘Of course I do!’ snapped Lawrence. ‘He is a powerful and influential man; and, I might add, far above the likes of you.’
‘He is a radical,’ MacLea said. ‘If you dig into his past, I suspect you will find he is affiliated with the United Scotsmen, or some similar organisation. As a boy, he watched redcoats shoot his father dead and attack his mother. He hates us, Colonel, and he is conspiring to destroy us.’
‘Nonsense! This is all a pack of lies. I’m warning you—’
‘We have already arrested one of his employees for spying,’ MacLea interrupted. ‘The moment I have enough evidence against him, I intend to arrest Dunne himself, and I won’t let you stand in my way. Need I remind you that my warrant comes from Sir George Prévost himself?’
Lawrence’s face had gone beet red. ‘Prévost won’t last for ever,’ he said. ‘Once he is out of office, you will no longer have protection. And when that day comes, MacLea, I will squash you like an insect!’
‘Oh? Who will replace Prévost? General Sheaffe? You?’ Lawrence glared at him. ‘Why does Dunne matter so much to you, Colonel?’ MacLea asked. ‘He told you to summon me here, didn’t he? He is pulling your strings, and you are dancing. Why? What hold does he have over you? Or perhaps I should add you to my list of suspects?’
Lawrence shot to his feet. For a bulky man, MacLea reflected, he could move surprisingly fast. ‘By God! You’ve gone too far this time, MacLea!’
‘Have I? Good. Then do what I asked you to do last year, Colonel. Fight me.’
‘Fight you? I wouldn’t soil my hands on you,’ Lawrence said viciously. ‘I know how to keep you in line, MacLea. That little black slut from Niagara is here, isn’t she? Are you still bedding her? Well if you want to keep her safe, then you had better do as I say.’
MacLea stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Dunne wants her,’ Lawrence said, ‘and not for sport. He thinks she stole something that belongs to him, and he wants it back. If you do not do exactly as I say, I will arrest her. And then I will hand her over to Dunne.’
MacLea watched him with burning eyes. ‘There is a name for men who make war on women,’ he said. ‘They call them cowards. There, I have said it. You are a coward, sir!’ He paused to let the implication of the word sink in. ‘Now. Will you fight me?’
Lawrence smiled an unpleasant smile. He knew he had won. ‘Remember what I said, MacLea. If you go near Dunne again, I’ll make that black slut suffer.’
* * *
‘God’s truth,’ said Charlotte Lawrence, gasping for breath. ‘That was quite superb. I think we’re getting better at this.’
‘Practice makes perfect,’ said Alec Murray.
They lay for a moment sprawled across the bed next to a roaring fire, pleasantly drained of energy and delighting in their memories. After a while, Murray rolled over and gathered her close, holding her damp body warm against his own. He kissed her softly on the forehead. ‘You are a delight,’ he said.
‘Oh Alec… We’re quite mad to do this, aren’t we?’ They were in her bedroom in the house in York, where she lived alone since her husband had departed for Government House.
‘You said your servants would be discreet,’ Murray said.
‘Oh my dear. It is only a matter of time before Hector learns about us. I’m sure half of York already knows. But do you know? I really don’t care. Whatever happens, I am not giving you up.’
He kissed her again. ‘I mean so much to you?’
‘Most of the men I have known in my life have treated me like an object to be used. When I am with you, I feel…’ She paused, struggling for the word.
‘Happy?’ Murray asked.
‘Cherished,’ she said. ‘You treat me like you really do care for me. I’m not used to that.’
‘And that is wicked and wrong,’ Murray said. ‘You are a splendid woman, Charlotte, and you deserve much better than that pompous windbag. You know what? Like you, I don’t care if he does find out.’
She lay in his arms, looking up at him. ‘You might get hurt,’ she said.
‘He’ll not touch a hair on my head, lassie. He doesn’t have the guts for it. My only concern is that he might try to hurt you.’
‘I don’t give a fig about that.’ She relaxed against him, kissing the hollow of his neck. ‘And you are right, Hector won’t fight you. Beneath the bluster, I don’t think he has the nerve to fight a duel. But he could make trouble for you in other ways.’
‘You mean he might tell his chum General Sheaffe and get me drummed out of the service?’
‘His chum.’ Charlotte snorted. ‘Hector hates General Sheaffe. He despises the ground he walks on. Mind you, he feels the same about most people.’
‘So why does he cleave so close to Sheaffe? Last summer on campaign, they were inseparable. Like twins parted at birth.’
‘Why do you think? Hector watches General Sheaffe like a mongoose watches a snake. All the time he is waiting, waiting for an opportunity to blacken Sheaffe’s name so he will be disgraced and recalled, and he himself can become lieutenant governor in Sheaffe’s place. That is why he encouraged John Stinson and the others to send their petition to the governor general.’
Murray sat up. ‘He did?’
‘Most certainly,’ said Charlotte, looking up at him.
‘When did this happen?’
‘A couple of months ago. They held a meeting at Dunne’s house. Hector was there, along with Stinson and Boydell and some of the others. Hector promised he would address their demands as soon as he was appointed lieutenant governor. All Canadians would be treated fairly, he said.’
Murray frowned. ‘What was Boydell doing there? He’s one of Sheaffe’s supporters, and he is certainly no friend of your husband.’
‘In public, yes. In private, perhaps he thinks otherwise. According to what I have heard, Boydell was one of the foremost voices urging Stinson and the others to go forward. He spoke out strongly against the general and pledged his support to Colonel Lawrence.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Mrs Dunne told me. You know, Dunne’s mother. I joined the Loyal and Patriotic Society hoping to find some company in this frozen wasteland. Most of the women treated me like a pariah, but some of them were actually quite nice. To my surprise, Mrs Dunne was one of them. Of course, her son is very close to Hector and is one of his supporters, so I suppose she felt she had to be pleasant to Hector’s wife.’
‘And why is Dunne toadying up to your husband?’
Charlotte shrugged one bare shoulder. ‘Looking for a chance to win more contr
acts once Hector is in power, I assume. Why else?’
‘Why indeed… Mrs Dunne told you what happened at the meeting?’
‘Yes. Needless to say, she is all in favour. Despite her age, she is still quite the radical. She hates all the King’s officers, Prévost and Sheaffe included. But for her son’s sake, she tolerates Lawrence, and me.’
‘Well I’ll be double damned,’ said Murray slowly. ‘But Prévost has knocked Stinson and his fellows back. He is even coming here to whip the Assembly into order. It looks like the plan to replace Sheaffe has failed.’
‘Oh, Hector won’t give up that easily. He will keep undermining General Sheaffe at every opportunity. And meanwhile, he has another plan. The magnificent victory he will win at Sackett’s Harbor will make him a hero. Then public opinion will force Sir George to recall Sheaffe and promote Hector in his place.’
‘Assuming he wins the victory,’ said Murray.
‘In his own mind, he has already won it. After that, of course, Hector will canvass his friends in London to have Sir George recalled too, and himself promoted to governor general. Once he is all powerful in Canada, he will swiftly bring the war to a conclusion, force the Americans to sue for peace and return in triumph to London.’
‘With you at his side,’ said Murray.
Charlotte Lawrence smiled, drawing a soft finger down his chest. ‘I do not think so, my dear. Why do you think he leaves me here on my own? Because I am no longer useful to him. He is a great man now, or will be soon, and he wants a wife whose status will match his own. He will divorce me quite soon, I am sure. He has the money and the friends in Parliament to make it so.’ She paused. ‘And I will be abandoned,’ she added.
‘You will not,’ said Murray strongly. He scooped her up in his arms and held her close, kissing her again. ‘Not while I am alive. If you are ever in need, come to me.’
She gazed at him, blue eyes bright with affection. ‘Shall I tell you what I need right now?’
The Hunt for the North Star Page 23