‘You don’t have to,’ said Murray, bending and kissing her throat. ‘I already know.’
‘Ah,’ sighed Charlotte Lawrence. ‘Captain MacLea was right. You really are a gentleman…’
* * *
‘You know Boydell better than I do,’ Murray said later that day. ‘Why do you think he lied about supporting General Sheaffe?’
‘I don’t know,’ said MacLea. ‘Could she have got it wrong?’
‘She sounded pretty definite, John.’
‘Jesus.’ MacLea shook his head. ‘I really thought James Boydell was someone I could trust. Now I don’t know what to think.’
‘Perhaps he is playing a political game,’ suggested Murray. ‘There are factions in politics here, like there are everywhere. Perhaps he is telling different stories to different groups, trying to assure them of his loyalty.’
‘Possibly. But I think I’ll be staying away from Boydell for a while, at least until I find out what that game is.’
‘Suits me,’ said Murray. ‘Anything to avoid another of those God-awful musical soirées. I have much better ways of spending my evenings these days.’
* * *
As the days passed, the York rumour mill began to buzz again. As was the way with rumour mills, it quickly discarded old subjects and people, spitting them out and latching onto fresh prey. The murder of Mr Fraser, the strange death of Caleb Street, even the rumour that Mrs Lawrence might be having an affair with a militiaman faded into the background. At the front and centre now were the Sackett’s Harbor expedition and the Selby–Derenzy wedding, which was less than two weeks away.
Opinion on the Sackett’s Harbor attack was divided. Cynics declared the whole affair to be either a ruse to deceive the Americans or a publicity coup by Colonel Lawrence to attract attention to himself – or very possibly both – and doubted whether the expedition would ever go ahead. Others said, in sober tones meant to imply a deep and profound knowledge of grand strategy, that the destruction of the American naval base would give the Provincial Marine absolute control of Lake Ontario, thus greatly reducing the threat of American invasion. It was public knowledge by now that Sackett’s Harbor was only lightly defended; as James Boydell had said, most of the garrison had been moved north to the frontier, to posts such as Ogdensburgh on the south bank of the St Lawrence River.
Gossip about the wedding tended to focus around two topics: what the bride would wear (the subject of public speculation) and whether she was still a virgin (a topic confined to whispers in dark corners but still very much alive). Elijah Dunne’s slanders against Elizabeth Selby were revived by wagging tongues eager in that way people so often were to turn a naturally happy occasion into something bitter and spiteful. Odds were being offered against the wedding ever taking place.
Those rumours were partly squashed by the arrival of the bridegroom in the third week of January. Ridiculously handsome and outstandingly brave, with blue eyes and a hint of the Irish rebel about him, Captain William Derenzy of the 41st Foot was one of those officers who caused young women to sigh with admiration and older ones to wish he was destined for their daughter rather than someone else’s. After calling on his bride-to-be, he came around to Whitworth’s Hotel and knocked on MacLea’s door.
‘MacLea! What the deuce are you doing indoors on a fine day like this? Man, it’s only twenty-six below zero! Positively tropical!’
‘Good to see you too, Derenzy,’ MacLea said, smiling. ‘Did you have a good journey?’
‘Cold as a witch’s tit, but other than that, fair enough. I don’t suppose there’s a slug in the house, is there?’
MacLea produced a rum bottle and poured two glasses. ‘Sláinte,’ said Derenzy, sinking half of his. ‘Tell me all the news.’
MacLea told him about Sackett’s Harbor. ‘God’s wounds,’ said Derenzy. ‘So that fat fecker thinks he can win all the glory by himself, does he? A few companies of fencibles and a hatful of raggle-taggle militiamen – no offence – are going to storm the batteries of Sackett’s Harbor? My eye.’
‘Apparently there are no batteries,’ said MacLea. ‘We have overestimated the defences all along. There are two forts, yes, but not enough men to man them.’
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ said Derenzy. ‘I saw James Boydell in the street just now. Apparently, there’s a shinney match next week. He says you’re playing.’
‘Yes,’ said MacLea. He didn’t particularly want to play now, not until he knew what Boydell was doing and why, but there was no easy way out of it.
‘And now so am I,’ said Derenzy. ‘He press-ganged me on to his team. I told him that if I suffered injury to any of my vital parts before the wedding, Lizzie would turn him into collops. But he said that with you and me at his back, we are assured of victory. Now, pour us another glass, old son, and let’s relive past glories. God, that charge at Queenston! How did you ever get up the nerve to do it?’
* * *
The following day was bright and cold. As the sun sank slowly towards the white-forested horizon, Josephine Lafitte sat at her writing desk, pen in hand, turning words into the familiar code.
There is still no news as to the precise timing of the attack on Sackett’s Harbor. Rumour has it that Colonel Lawrence is waiting until the ice in the eastern portion of the lake is sufficiently thick to support cannon, and also that the Royal Americans need time to recover from the rigours of their winter march from Niagara to Kingston. If they fail to do so or are too burdened with frostbite or desertion, the 104th Foot, expected daily in Kingston, will take their place in the line.
‘I am going out, Marie,’ Josephine said, wrapping scarves around her neck.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Marie. ‘Will you be long?’
‘A matter of fifteen minutes, no more. There is an errand I must run.’ She smiled. ‘Then you may go and see your admirer.’
‘Mr Crabbe is not my admirer, ma’am!’ the girl exclaimed.
‘Your voice says one thing,’ said Josephine, smiling again. ‘Your eyes say another. No, do not worry, Marie. I do not mind in the slightest. You are a free woman, and he is a fine young man.’
That was true. Crabbe was a gentle young soul. He wore the scars of slavery on his back, but unlike his friend Abel Thomas, he seemed to bear no grudges.
She placed her letter under the seat cushion on the carriage as usual and walked back out into the street. Even though she was expecting it, her heart still sank when she saw Julius Kramer waiting for her. He stood with the sunset glow behind him, a black silhouette full of menace.
‘Madame Lafitte,’ he said, bowing a little. ‘A pleasure to see you as always.’
‘I cannot claim the same, sir,’ she said. As before, she stepped aside to walk around him, but this time he moved swiftly to bar her way.
‘Have you thought any further about my offer?’ he asked, his breath steaming in the freezing air.
‘I wasn’t aware that it was an offer,’ said Josephine.
‘Oh, it was,’ he assured her. ‘A very good offer, and one that you would be wise to take up. You see, madame, I can protect you.’
‘From whom do I need protection?’
‘From Elijah Dunne. Word comes to my ears that he wants to lay hands on you, and I don’t think his intentions are honourable.’
‘Don’t you? Perhaps he wishes to recruit me as a companion for his mother.’
‘Unlikely. Dunne thinks you took something that belongs to him. He wants it back.’
‘Then why does he not ask me for it himself?’
‘Oh, he intends to. He will persuade you to give him an answer, and his means of persuasion will not be pleasant. Some very unsavoury people work for Mr Dunne.’
‘How do I know you are not one of them?’
Standing as he was with his back to the light, she sensed rather than saw his smile. ‘Don’t worry. I have the measure of Mr Dunne. Accept my protection, and I will see you safe. Once you get to know me better, you will find my company q
uite enjoyable.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Josephine, and she moved to walk on. Again he barred her way, reaching out and seizing her arm. Even through her thick cloak, his grip hurt like the jaws of a vice.
‘Let her go,’ said a voice.
Josephine gasped. For a split second she thought it was Givins again, but then she realised the man standing beside her was taller, with broader shoulders. ‘Let her go,’ repeated Alec Murray. ‘Or I will break your arm.’
‘Do not speak thus to me, peasant,’ snapped Kramer, but he let go of Josephine.
‘And if you call me a peasant again, I’ll break your other arm as well,’ Murray said. ‘Don’t meddle with a Highland gentleman, Mr Kramer. Now be on your way.’
Kramer glared at him, but Murray simply folded his arms across his chest and waited. The Austrian spat into the snow, then turned and strode away into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Murray gave Josephine his arm and they began to walk along Front Street. ‘Are you all right, madame?’ he asked.
‘I am unhurt,’ she said, her voice a little unsteady. ‘How did you happen to be here?’
‘I followed you,’ he said. ‘John’s orders. Didn’t you know?’
‘No,’ she said, a touch of asperity creeping into her voice. ‘I told him I can take care of myself.’
‘He begs leave to differ,’ said Murray. ‘What did Kramer want with you?’
‘Blackmail,’ she said.
Murray nodded. ‘Dunne knows, or thinks he knows, about the burglary. I wonder how?’
‘He worked it out,’ said Josephine. ‘Something about my visit earlier that day aroused his suspicions.’
‘Where does Kramer fit in?’
Josephine was silent for a long moment. ‘Kramer lives in that house,’ she said. ‘I leave my messages for the American intelligencers in the coach house behind. That is my post box. And Kramer knows it.’
‘How?’
A sleigh swept past them, bells ringing, runners chattering on the rutted ice. Once it had passed, they were quite alone in the failing light. ‘Because Kramer is the courier,’ she said. ‘It is he who collects messages from other agents, myself included, and forwards them to the Americans.’
Murray considered this. ‘What about Dunne?’
‘He is involved, of course. I think Dunne formerly ran the courier service, but something went wrong. My instinct is that for some reason, the Americans have cause to distrust him. Kramer came in to take over the operation.’
‘Kramer arrived in York at almost exactly the same time as Magnus Fraser,’ said Murray. ‘Both came from Montreal. Maybe it wasn’t Colonel Beauregard who sent for Kramer. Maybe it was Polaris. He knew one of his lieutenants was about to betray him, but he didn’t know who it was: Wilson, Street or Dunne.’ A thought struck him. ‘That dispatch you opened. Do you suppose Kramer sent it, as a test for Dunne? If it disappeared before it reached Niagara, he would know Dunne had been disloyal. But then we intervened, and that complicated things.’
‘Yes,’ said Josephine. ‘The dispatch arrived in Niagara, but one of the letters inside was missing, and Dunne was called to account for it. That explains why he is desperate to find out whether I took it. And Kramer wants to know too, so he can decide whether to trust Dunne.’
Murray gave a low whistle. ‘Madame, you do realise what this means. There is every likelihood that either Kramer or Dunne, possibly both, knows who Polaris is.’
‘I don’t know how high up Dunne is,’ she said. ‘But Kramer, yes. I should think he knows.’
They were outside the Selby house. Murray looked along the street. There was no sign of Dunne, but in the middle distance he saw Appleby, loitering on watch. He stopped, and in the pool of light shed by the lamps outside the door, looked down into Josephine’s face.
‘John says you are trying to bluff the Americans about the defences of Kingston,’ he said. ‘But madame, this is getting dangerous. Even if they don’t know the full truth, these men are threatening you. Sooner or later they will make good on their threats. Two men are dead already. You know what we have to do.’
‘Yes,’ said Josephine. ‘I think I have already done enough to persuade the enemy about Kingston. Kramer has served his purpose for me. If John wishes to arrest him, he has my blessing.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Whom do we arrest?’ asked Murray. ‘Dunne, Kramer or both?’
‘Kramer,’ said MacLea. ‘You say Josephine sent a letter today. If it is not still in the coach house, then it will probably be in Kramer’s house. Take Thomas, Schmidt and McTeer. Find Kramer and the letter, then bring them both to Robinson’s house. I’ll go directly to Robinson and tell him what we have.’
Half an hour later, a wide-eyed footman ushered Murray and the others into Robinson’s study, Schmidt and McTeer holding Kramer pinioned between them. The Austrian’s face was red, his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes were bright with anger. He looked at MacLea, and his eyelids flickered when he saw the bandage on the captain’s hand. Then he turned to glare at Robinson.
‘Did you find the letter?’ MacLea asked Murray.
‘No,’ said the sergeant. He looked nearly as angry as the Austrian. ‘We were too late. He must have sent it on already. Either that or he has destroyed it.’
‘You stupid fucking peasant!’ snapped Kramer. ‘I have told you already. I do not know what you are talking about.’
Murray turned his head and looked at the Austrian. ‘Do you remember what I said about calling me a peasant?’ he asked.
‘Ach, Gott verdammt Scheisse.’ Kramer shook his head, and then suddenly his shoulders slumped a little and he looked down at the floor. ‘I see I have no choice,’ he said, half to himself.
‘Mr Kramer,’ said Robinson. ‘Have you anything to say?’
Kramer raised his head again. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘There has been a mistake.’
The attorney general gazed at him. ‘What sort of mistake?’
‘Tell this… Highland gentleman and his friends to release me and I will explain. Do not worry. I give you my word of honour that I will not attempt to escape.’
MacLea nodded. ‘Schmidt, McTeer, let him go. Thomas, guard the door, if you please.’
The three men saluted and stepped back. MacLea turned to Kramer, who was rubbing his arms where the militiamen had gripped him. ‘Explain,’ he said.
Kramer reached inside his coat and pulled a folded document from his pocket. ‘Unfortunately, this is written in German,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose any of you can read it.’
‘Schmidt?’ said MacLea.
‘Entschuldigen Sie bitte, mein Herr,’ said Schmidt politely, removing the document from the Austrian’s hands. Kramer glared at him, opening his mouth to speak, but Murray shook his head. In silence, Schmidt opened the document and read it.
‘It is a laissez-passer from the Austrian Empire, sir,’ he said to MacLea. ‘It asks all Austrian officials and those of allied nations to render every assistance to the bearer of this document. It was signed in Vienna on the 27th March 1809. The signature is that of Prince von Metternich, the Imperial foreign minister.’
MacLea nodded, and Schmidt folded the document and handed it back to the Austrian. ‘Why are you showing us this?’ MacLea asked.
‘Let me take you back to the spring of 1809,’ said Kramer. His anger had gone now; his voice was quiet, reasonable. ‘The War of the Fifth Coalition was about to begin, and Britain and the Austrian Empire were allies. Austria was preparing to face French invasion. We were aware that French spies had penetrated the Austrian court and army high command, and we tracked them. I had the honour to play a leading role in that operation, reporting directly to Prince Metternich. The leader of this spy ring had been planted many years earlier and had been operating without detection ever since. The man who recruited him was an American, then working in the service of France. Can you guess his name?’
‘Beauregard,’ said MacLea.
/> ‘Ah, you are clever, Captain MacLea. Mr Robinson chose wisely when he recruited you. Colonel Beauregard had been in England, working for the American government, but his identity was exposed and he fled to France to avoid arrest. He then spent several years in French service before returning to America. Over the course of those years, he did us a great deal of damage. The spy we found in 1809 was only one of many he recruited and trained.’
Behind his desk, Robinson stirred a little. ‘All of this is ancient history,’ he said. ‘Austria was defeated at the Battle of Wagram. The subsequent peace treaty forced your empire into an alliance with France. When Bonaparte invaded Russia last summer, Austrian troops marched alongside the French. At the moment, Mr Kramer, Austria is our enemy.’
‘In name only,’ said Kramer. ‘The French invasion of Russia will fail. Indeed, it may have failed already.’
‘Why do you say so?’ asked MacLea.
‘Have you ever been to Russia, Captain? It is vast beyond comprehension, and its winters are colder even than those of Canada. If the Russian army does not defeat Bonaparte, then time, space and temperature will. And when Bonaparte does finally retreat, Austria will shake off the French yoke and a new coalition, the Sixth, will arise. Metternich has already foreseen this. That is why he sent me here.’
‘To do what?’ asked Murray.
‘To find Colonel Beauregard,’ came the response. ‘The man we arrested in Vienna gave us a little information before he… expired. Since coming to Canada, I have learned more. Beauregard has agents here undermining your government and your army. Did you know this?’
‘Of course we know it,’ said Robinson impatiently. ‘The important question is, why are you here? Why did Prince Metternich send you?’
‘When Bonaparte’s attack on Russia collapses and the new coalition against him is formed, Britain will once again be our most important ally,’ Kramer said. ‘If Canada falls to the Americans, who then make a formal compact with Bonaparte – as some people in both Washington and Paris are demanding – then Britain will be greatly weakened. But if Colonel Beauregard and his agents can be taken out of the game, Canada stands a better chance of survival, and we will gain the strong ally we need. So my orders are to find Beauregard and defeat him.’
The Hunt for the North Star Page 24