‘Why didn’t you come to us before?’ asked Robinson. ‘Why not declare your identity earlier?’
Kramer spread his hands. ‘You said it yourself. Officially, Austria is at war with Britain, and I am an enemy alien. I have no authority here. Prince Metternich’s orders were that I should operate in secret, without the knowledge of the British authorities.’ He hesitated, his hands fidgeting suddenly.
‘What is it?’ MacLea asked.
‘While in Montreal, I did make myself known to one of your officials. I had met him in Vienna several years earlier, when we were still allies. He played a role in helping me track down Beauregard’s spy, and I knew I could trust him. I am sure you know who I mean. Herr Magnus Fraser.’
A little silence fell. ‘Do you know anything about his death?’ Robinson asked.
‘Colonel Beauregard’s agents killed him,’ said Kramer. ‘That much is obvious to me. And that was another reason for me to keep my cover. If Beauregard learned who I was, he would hunt me down and kill me too. I hope, gentlemen, that you will be discreet and never repeat a word of what I am telling you. Otherwise I am a dead man.’
At the back of the room, Abel Thomas looked meaningfully at McTeer and Schmidt. Both nodded.
‘So, you are hunting for Beauregard,’ said Robinson. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Not yet,’ said Kramer. ‘But I have hopes. Rather than searching directly for Colonel Beauregard himself, which would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack, I intend to capture one of his agents. Once I have interrogated this agent, he will lead me to Beauregard. And what is more, gentlemen, when I do find him, I believe I will also find Magnus Fraser’s killer. Justice will be done.’
MacLea watched the Austrian’s face. ‘You think you can convince one of Beauregard’s agents to betray his master?’
‘My methods are very persuasive, Captain.’ The gleam in Kramer’s eyes was not entirely pleasant. ‘They have never been known to fail.’
‘And have you found any of his agents yet?’ Robinson asked.
‘As it happens, I have. A low-level watcher, nothing more, but I am quite certain she knows where Beauregard is. I confronted her this afternoon, with the intention of apprehending and interrogating her. Unfortunately, I was prevented by Mr Murray from doing so.’
MacLea stiffened.
‘You were very gallant, Mr Murray, coming to the aid of a damsel in distress,’ Kramer said. ‘But you were also misguided. Believe me, the lady is not who you think she is.’
‘Speak plainly,’ said Robinson. ‘Who are you accusing?’
‘Is it not obvious? I speak of the lady astronomer from Niagara, Madame Lafitte. Long ago, in London, she was Colonel Beauregard’s mistress. And now she is his spy.’
‘How do you know?’ MacLea asked.
‘I have been cultivating Elijah Dunne. Not because I particularly like him, or his pickled old crone of a mother, but because he has a finger on the pulse of many things in the colony. He hears things and knows things. Men like him are very useful in my line of work.’
‘Get on with it,’ said Murray.
‘Dunne believes Madame Lafitte has been intercepting the official post, for which he has responsibility. In particular, he believes that just before New Year, she broke into the post office, clubbed the nightwatchman over the head and removed certain documents. I urged Dunne to inform the authorities, but he says he has no evidence.’
Robinson looked sceptical. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t. I know Madame Lafitte, and she doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who would go around breaking into post offices and assaulting people.’
‘Perhaps not. But maybe this will persuade you to change your mind.’ Kramer reached into his coat again and pulled out a letter, folded and sealed with red wax. He held it up to the light. The seal had been broken, MacLea saw. ‘Do you recognise the handwriting?’ Kramer asked.
MacLea looked at the superscription. The handwriting belonged, unmistakably, to Josephine. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.
‘Madame Lafitte left it in my coach house this afternoon,’ Kramer said. ‘I had seen her go into the courtyard and come out again, another thing that aroused my suspicions of her. After she departed with Mr Murray, I searched the courtyard and outbuildings, and found this letter. I suspect she has been using the coach house as a secret post box for some time.’
‘What did you do when you found the letter?’ Robinson asked.
‘I opened it, of course, and attempted to read it. Unfortunately, it is written in a highly sophisticated cipher, which I was unable to break. I was still considering my course of action when Mr Murray and his men arrived. They searched my house, quite thoroughly, but they failed to search me.’ He smiled at Murray. ‘That was careless of you. Do not make that mistake again.’
Murray did not smile back. ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘And we’ll take that letter.’
‘Good luck,’ said Kramer, handing it over. ‘Well, gentlemen? What shall we do? You can arrest me and intern me as an enemy alien, or you can release me and let me continue my work. I cannot prevent you from doing the former. But if you let me go about my business freely, then you may rest assured that you will be performing a service for both our countries.’
‘Why should we believe you?’ asked Robinson. ‘You have a three-year-old passport, and a story you cannot prove.’
‘Of course I cannot prove it. Do you think I am foolish enough to leave proofs of my real identity lying around where anyone can find them? You are thinking like a lawyer, Mr Robinson. You want proof, but proof in the world of spies is never what it seems. Ask yourself this. Refer to the law, to your famous British system of justice. Can you think of any valid reason to detain me?’
‘No,’ said Robinson finally.
‘Then I believe I am free to go,’ said Kramer. He paused. ‘There is just one more thing. Madame Lafitte. What will you do about her?’
‘Nothing, for the moment,’ said MacLea. ‘Whatever suspicions you and Dunne have of her, she has committed no crime. We will watch her, of course, and if we find evidence linking her to Beauregard, she will be arrested and interrogated. Does that satisfy you?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Kramer. The expression on his face suggested he would have quite enjoyed torturing Josephine for information, and indeed had been looking forward to it. ‘But I suspect it is all I am going to get. Very well, gentlemen. I bid you good evening.’
* * *
After Kramer had gone, Murray said, ‘I think we should watch him.’
MacLea nodded. ‘Thomas?’
‘We’ll follow him, sir,’ said Abel Thomas. The three militiamen left the room, closing the door behind them. Robinson rose from his seat, crossed to the sideboard and poured three glasses of whisky, handing two of them to Murray and MacLea.
‘The question is,’ he said, ‘how much of his story do we believe?’
‘Not a damned word,’ said Murray.
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Because he has only given us one version of the story. Madame Lafitte has given us another. I prefer hers.’
‘But Kramer says she is an American spy.’
‘She is,’ said MacLea. ‘Or at least, the Americans think she is. In reality, she is a double agent. She works for us, feeding false information to Colonel Beauregard.’
A little silence fell. ‘You can prove this?’ asked Robinson.
Thinking like a lawyer again, MacLea told himself. Aloud he said, ‘John Macdonell told me. She reported to him. She has been working for us ever since she came to Canada, early last year.’
‘I saw nothing of this in Macdonell’s papers,’ said Robinson.
‘No,’ said MacLea. ‘I would be very surprised if you did. The entire business was under the rose.’
‘How many people knew?’
‘Macdonell, of course, and General Brock, both now dead. Myself, Mr Murray, Major Givins, and now you. That is all.’
‘Givins? What is his role?�
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‘He is her paymaster. He formerly dispensed funds from the army staff coffers, but now that Brock and Macdonell are gone, he is paying her instead out of money he embezzles from the Indian Department.’
Robinson stared at him. ‘Why is he doing that?’
‘I would dearly love to know,’ said MacLea.
‘General Sheaffe and his staff know nothing of this?’
‘No. For the lady’s own safety, we deemed it best to keep her role as secret as possible.’
Robinson considered this slowly. ‘Who broke into Dunne’s office? Was it you?’
‘I don’t think you want to know the details,’ MacLea said. ‘Gentlemen, we have a more serious problem on our hands. If Kramer is telling the truth and he is an Austrian agent, then provided he keeps his mouth shut, Madame Lafitte’s secret is safe. But if Madame Lafitte is right and Kramer is in fact working for Polaris, two things follow.’
‘And what are they?’ asked Robinson.
‘First, Madame Lafitte has always assumed Polaris did not know of her existence; that, she says, is how Colonel Beauregard works. But Kramer knows she is an American spy. If he is working for Polaris, then that means Polaris now knows too. And second, by coming here tonight and telling us Josephine’s name, Kramer has deliberately betrayed her to the enemy.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Robinson.
‘I think I know the answer,’ said Murray. ‘After he confronted madame outside his house this afternoon, he became worried that she would expose him. So he came up with this cockalayne story about being an Austrian agent, and then decided to accuse her in order to distract us still further.’
‘Of course, he might be telling the truth,’ Robinson said. ‘It is entirely possible that he really is an Austrian agent.’
‘You’re right, Mr Robinson,’ said MacLea. ‘It is. In fact, let us assume for the moment that Kramer is genuine. So even if Kramer isn’t working for Polaris, it is quite possible that Dunne is. And that means Madame Lafitte is still in jeopardy.’
No one spoke for a while. The crackle of the fire was the loudest sound in the room. ‘Very well,’ said Murray finally. ‘What are we going to do?’
* * *
They talked for over an hour and came to no conclusions.
Murray stuck doggedly to his opinion that Kramer was a fraud. His view was based on little other than his faith in Josephine, but nothing would shift him. Robinson, despite his earlier scepticism, was inclined to believe the Austrian.
‘What do you think?’ he asked MacLea.
‘I think we should reserve judgement,’ MacLea said. ‘Let us watch him and wait.’
‘And Madame Lafitte?’ asked Robinson. ‘I wonder if we should send her away, for her own safety.’
MacLea shook his head. ‘The moment we attempt to do so, Beauregard will know she has betrayed him, and he will send Polaris or another agent after her. We couldn’t protect Caleb Street, remember, even though Jordan’s Hotel was surrounded by troops. Once Beauregard knows her secret, we won’t be able to guard her either.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’ asked Robinson.
‘We carry on as before,’ said MacLea. ‘Whatever happens, we must not let Beauregard or Polaris know she has defected to us. My men will be outside her house night and day and will follow her wherever she goes. When Kramer sees them, he will think they are watching her. In reality, they will be her bodyguards.’
‘Very well,’ said Robinson. He glanced at MacLea’s bandaged hand. ‘What about you, Captain? Polaris will try again to kill you.’
‘I hope he does,’ said MacLea. ‘Let him turn his attention to me, and leave Josephine Lafitte alone.’
Not for the first time that evening, Robinson looked dubious. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Carry on, Captain MacLea. And of course, you will also continue to keep an eye on Kramer.’
‘And Dunne,’ said Murray. ‘And Fanning.’
‘Yes, Dunne and Fanning.’ Robinson rubbed his eyes. ‘God help Canada,’ he said. ‘Is there anyone in this poor bloody country who is not selling us down the river?’
* * *
They watched, and they waited.
The day of the shinney match arrived. A crowd gathered along the shore of the frozen harbour, muffled as always in heavy wool and furs against the cold and the wind. The sky was an undifferentiated grey, a leaden sheet blocking out the sun. The lighthouse on Gibraltar Point was a spike against the white ice sheet of the lake. In the middle distance there were dark patches, holes cut by the fishermen the day before and now frozen over with a thin skin of ice. ‘We need to keep well away from those,’ said James Boydell, balancing expertly on the bone blades of his skates. ‘Fall through one of those fishing holes, and you could end up trapped under the ice. If that happens, they won’t find you until spring.’
The players around him nodded. There were about thirty on Boydell’s team, including MacLea and William Derenzy, the latter looking dashing as usual in a cocked hat and sealskin coat. Murray was not playing; at MacLea’s request he was escorting Josephine and Elizabeth Selby, both of whom had insisted on coming to watch the match. Most of the population of York seemed to have turned out as well. Abel Thomas and the rest of MacLea’s men were mingled among them, keeping watch.
‘Who captains the opposition?’ someone asked.
‘James Givins,’ said Boydell. ‘He’s got Sekahos and some of his Mississaugas playing for him. Watch out for those lads. They don’t play by the rules.’
‘Neither do we,’ said Derenzy. ‘And don’t forget, we have John MacLea on our side. The game is as good as won, me boys.’
There was laughter in the crowd, and someone slapped MacLea on the back. He wished he shared their good humour. Ever since the attack at Elmsley House, he had slept badly, worrying not so much for his own safety as for Josephine’s.
The players began skating out onto the ice field, each carrying a shillelagh, a wooden club with a hard rounded end. MacLea and Boydell stood alone for a moment, watching them go.
‘What happened to your hand?’ Boydell asked.
‘Someone had a crack at me,’ MacLea said.
There was no one else within earshot. ‘Polaris?’ said Boydell softly.
‘Of course.’
Boydell looked at his face for a long moment and whistled softly. ‘You’re damned cool about it,’ he said. ‘I must say, if I had a homicidal maniac and traitor on my tail, I’d be a bloody sight more worried than you appear to be.’
MacLea smiled. ‘It’s all a front,’ he said. ‘Underneath, I am quaking in my boots. James, may I ask you a question?’
‘Of course, old fellow. Fire away.’
‘You have always told me you are a supporter of General Sheaffe. Is that right?’
‘I wouldn’t say a supporter exactly,’ Boydell said. ‘I’m certainly no admirer of his. But so long as the only alternative is Colonel Lawrence, I’ll back Sheaffe to stay in post. Frankly, if Lawrence takes command, we might as well hand over the colony to the Yankees now and have done with it.’
Lawrence was not at the match; he was still at Government House, issuing orders and generating snowdrifts of paperwork.
‘A little bird tells me you attended a meeting at Dunne’s house last year,’ MacLea said. ‘You and others, including Dunne and Stinson, discussed ways of getting rid of Sheaffe.’
Boydell shifted uncomfortably on his skates. ‘Oh Lord,’ he said mournfully. ‘I knew that incident would come back to bite me one day… Yes, I went to the meeting, and yes, I said some things I probably shouldn’t have. The truth is, it was not long after Queenston, and I was still smarting. I had seen the dispatch Sheaffe wrote to London – or rather, the dispatch Colonel Lawrence told him to write – announcing the victory and claiming all the credit for himself and Lawrence and the redcoats, and completely ignoring the gallantry and heroism of the Canadians and Mohawks who fought and bled alongside them. I was damned angry. A lot of people were.’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes,’ said MacLea. ‘I remember.’
‘And frankly, I was also pretty bloody indignant about the way you were treated after the battle. So yes, when Stinson invited me, I went along to Dunne’s meeting. But it didn’t take me long to realise that we were all making a mistake. Sheaffe isn’t the greatest general ever born, but he’s the best of a bad lot. So I changed my mind, and I have backed him ever since.’ He clapped MacLea on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. I have seen the error of my ways.’
‘Good,’ said MacLea. ‘Now if only you could persuade Dunne to talk Lawrence out of this damn-fool escapade he is planning at Sackett’s Harbor.’
Boydell laughed. ‘That’s unlikely. And as you know, I think the idea of attacking Sackett’s Harbor is a good one. I just wish someone other than Hector Lawrence was leading the expedition… Right, here comes Givins and his crew. We’d better get out there.’
* * *
The players gathered on the ice, the crowd cheering them on. A band was playing ‘The British Grenadiers’, the notes of the brass instruments splitting in the freezing air. MacLea took up position beside Derenzy, gripping his heavy shillelagh in his hand. Boydell stood facing Major Givins, wrapped in an army-issue greatcoat. A red-varnished wooden ball lay on the ice between them.
Up on the bank, a pistol fired.
Instantly the men on the ice sprang into motion, skating towards each other with long, flowing strides, accelerating and then crashing into each other with an impact that sent shock waves through the air. Boydell swiped at the ball with his shillelagh but Major Givins, ignoring the ball completely, rammed into him and knocked him backwards. Two more of Givins’s men followed, hacking at the ball and shouting, but Derenzy, skating at full speed, slammed into them and knocked them sideways like skittles.
The Hunt for the North Star Page 25