The hair was standing up on MacLea’s neck. He forgot about the pounding in his head. ‘How is this done?’ he asked.
‘Most often it is done by touch. The magnetiser places his hands on the body of the person he is controlling. But Dr Mesmer also made experiments with music. There was one instrument that he concluded was particularly suited to exerting magnetic control. The glass harmonica.’
‘Then I was right,’ said Rebecca Morningstar. ‘This machine steals souls.’
‘Perhaps it can, in the hands of the right person. John, you heard Kramer play the glass harmonica that evening at Jordan’s. Do you think the sound you heard at Elmsley House could be the same?’
MacLea thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. The music I heard at Jordan’s was sweet and rather beautiful. The sound that came to my ears at Elmsley House was the most evil thing I have ever heard.’
‘Because the person playing the instrument wanted you to feel that way,’ said Josephine. ‘They were trying to control you, just as they controlled Fraser and, I suspect, Fanning.’
‘And Street,’ said MacLea. Rebecca Morningstar nodded, like someone who had just had her suspicions confirmed.
‘That explains the look you saw on Fanning’s face, Mr Robinson,’ Josephine said. ‘They used the music to torture him, probably to find out how much he had learnt about Polaris. Once they had discovered what they wanted to know, they killed him.’
‘Wait a moment,’ said Murray. ‘The machine we saw at Jordan’s rested on a table, with a treadle and wheel and belt connected to it. You couldn’t drag something like that around the streets of York without someone noticing.’
‘You can disassemble it,’ said Josephine. ‘The glass harmonica itself can be carried separately from the treadle and wheel, and the whole machine can be assembled quite quickly.’
MacLea remembered the scuff marks on the wooden desk at Elmsley House. ‘Then that is what happened,’ he said. ‘They set up Fraser and Street and myself, and used the music to control us. They killed the other two and damned near finished me, and then went on to kill Fanning. We know Kramer has a glass harmonica.’
‘Good,’ said Murray. ‘Let’s arrest him.’
‘That might be a little premature,’ said Josephine. ‘He performed on the glass harmonica that night at Jordan’s Hotel. We all saw him and associate him with the instrument in our minds. Would he really then risk using it to murder people?’
‘Quite possibly,’ said Murray. ‘He’s not lacking in arrogance.’
Josephine nodded in agreement.
‘But we must consider this most recent attempt to murder Captain MacLea,’ said Rebecca. ‘No soul-stealing machines were used there. The men who attacked him relied on brute force.’
‘Did you see any of their faces?’ Murray asked.
MacLea shook his head without thinking, then winced as a fresh bolt of pain shot through his skull. ‘No. They were muffled up to the eyes. Many of the players were, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Murray. ‘God, I hate fighting a war where I can’t see the enemy’s face. I’ll send some of the boys out to start asking questions.’
‘I will lend you a couple of my constables as well,’ said Robinson. ‘Captain, I will leave you to rest now.’
‘I’ll be up and about in a day or two,’ said MacLea, with a confidence he did not feel.
Robinson bowed and departed.
‘Take care of yourself,’ said Murray quietly, and he followed the attorney general. Josephine sat silent, her eyes never leaving MacLea’s face. Rebecca Morningstar stood up, carefully unwrapping her blankets and then gathering her robe more tightly around her.
‘I desire to make a bargain with you,’ she said to MacLea.
‘What is it?’
‘When you learn the name of Polaris, send it not to your government, but to me. I will pay any price you name.’
There was a pause. ‘Is that why you saved my life?’ he asked. ‘In hopes that I would help you?’
A wintry smile crossed her face. He wondered once again how old she was. ‘I saved your life in the hope that you will find Polaris,’ she said. ‘He is a danger to our people as well as yours. An American conquest of Canada would mean the end for us. But even if the British are victorious, we still need to survive.’
Another silence, lingering in the air. ‘You know I cannot do what you ask,’ MacLea said.
The woman nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And you know why I had to ask all the same. Farewell, John MacLea. I shall return now to the Grand River. May you win all your battles.’
‘And may you win yours,’ said MacLea. Surprisingly, she smiled again, and then turned and walked out of the room.
* * *
Josephine rose and came towards the bed. Kneeling down, she bent and kissed MacLea softly on the lips. ‘What happens now?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. We can’t push things any harder with Dunne; if we do, he will call in Colonel Lawrence. I faced down Lawrence the last time we met, but the truth is, if he decides to interfere in the investigation, neither Robinson nor I will be able to stop him. All we can do is appeal to Sir George Prévost, but it will take three weeks for a letter to reach Montreal and a reply to come back, and by that time the damage will have been done.’
‘And Kramer?’ she asked. ‘Alec Murray told me the story he gave you, and it sounds plausible. I may have been wrong about him.’
‘Even though your post box just happens to be in his coach house?’
‘Coincidence, perhaps. The location may have been chosen before Kramer arrived from Montreal. There is a way to test whether Kramer is genuine. But John, if I am to do so, I need something from you.’
‘What is it?’
‘You have sent your men to guard me,’ she said. ‘Call them off. Let me go alone wherever I need to go.’
He stared at her, forgetting for a moment the pain in his head. ‘I cannot do that.’
‘You can. You must.’
They looked at each other for a long time.
‘I was in Queenston last autumn when the Americans bombarded the town with red-hot shot,’ she said. ‘I was outside in the middle of the bombardment, helping my neighbours fight the fires. For a little while I experienced some of the danger you go through on a daily basis, and I learnt something. I am strong, John, stronger than I ever was, and that is thanks to you. The love and passion you give me have awakened my courage. I am ready to fight.’
‘You are fighting already,’ he said. ‘And you have courage in plenty. You could not carry on your lonely war in the shadows without it.’
‘And now I am stepping out of the shadows,’ she said. ‘I am casting off the disguise. I will be Beauregard’s spy no longer. I am a Canadian soldier now, just like you.’
‘Ever since we met,’ he said, ‘I have only wanted two things: for you to be safe, and for you to be happy.’
She smiled at him. ‘But this is Canada in wartime. I can be safe, or I can be happy, but not both. I have made my choice, my love. Rest now, and I will return soon.’
* * *
The letter she wrote to Julius Kramer that afternoon was brief. I have information you need, and I am prepared to sell it at a price. Meet me at St James’s church tomorrow at 5 p.m. Come alone.
She folded and sealed the note. Then, cloaked and muffled against the cold, she went out and walked the short distance to Kramer’s house, where she went into the courtyard and placed the letter under the seat of the carriage. No one saw her; all the servants were indoors. She turned and walked briskly back out of the yard and down the street. It is done, she thought. The trap is baited and set. Only which of us is the trapper, and which the bait?
She slept badly that night, and when she did fall asleep, she dreamed of John’s body floating beneath the ice. When she leant down to grasp his hands, he sank slowly into the dark water, disappearing into the depths. She woke in a panic and did not sleep again.
In the morning,
the house hummed with activity. The wedding was scheduled for the 2nd of February, in three days’ time, and the bride was a fidget of last-minute nerves, going over the menu and seating plan for the wedding breakfast, changing the order for hothouse flowers, making last-minute adjustments to the bridesmaids’ gowns. Stepping in and restoring order to the chaos gave Josephine something to do. Early in the afternoon, while working in the drawing room, she looked up to see Prideaux Selby standing in the doorway, leaning on his stick and smiling at her.
‘You are an angel sent from heaven,’ he said. ‘Without your steadying influence, Lizzie would have worked herself into a frenzy by now.’
‘She will insist on attending to every detail herself,’ Josephine said. ‘She needs to learn to delegate authority. It is good to see you up and about, sir. I trust your health is improving?’
Selby had been ill since New Year, and had spent much of his time in bed. ‘I fear not,’ he said. ‘But I will not remain bedridden, not when my only daughter is about to be wed. Lay down your burdens for a moment, my dear, and come with me. I wish to speak to you.’
Wondering, she rose and followed him into the library, where he sat down heavily in a chair beside the fire. She sat opposite him, hands resting in her lap, waiting.
‘How fares the gallant Captain MacLea?’ Selby asked. ‘I understand he had an unfortunate accident while playing shinney.’
‘I fear so, sir,’ she said. ‘He fell through a hole in the ice cut by the fishermen. Fortunately, his friends were able to rescue him.’
‘How careless of him,’ said Selby. ‘Uncharacteristically so. Would you not say?’
‘Yes,’ said Josephine.
‘You care for this man,’ Selby said. ‘I see the change in your face when you speak of him. And I have seen his eyes when he watches you.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I think you are fortunate to have found each other,’ he said. ‘You deserve happiness.’
‘I am not sure what I deserve,’ said Josephine.
Selby watched her closely. Not for the first time, she realised that the old man could see further and deeper than most people. She felt now like he was looking into her soul, and that made her uncomfortable, for she knew how thickly the darkness lay there.
‘Are you in danger?’ he asked.
Josephine jumped a little. ‘What makes you say that, sir?’
‘What happened to MacLea was no accident. The servants tell me Mr Murray and his men are asking questions in the town, and so are the constables. Someone tried to kill him. Are you also in danger, my child?’
‘Yes,’ Josephine said finally. ‘If you are concerned, sir, I will leave this house and take lodgings elsewhere. I do not wish to endanger you or your daughter.’
Selby chuckled. ‘You mistake me entirely,’ he said. ‘I have only months to live; I fear no threat. As for Lizzie, beneath that bright exterior lies a will of burnished steel. You are welcome to remain with us for as long as you wish. But I have something to offer you. Go to the cabinet by the window and open the bottom drawer.’
Inside the drawer was a snub-barrelled pistol, a powder horn and a soft leather bag containing lead balls. ‘Do you know how to shoot?’ Selby asked.
‘Yes,’ said Josephine. He had taught her, long ago, back when she still thought he loved her and their lives belonged together.
‘Then take it. I no longer have need of it. And I think perhaps you do.’
She had never carried a pistol before, largely because she had always doubted whether she would have the courage to use it. But she had told MacLea she was a soldier. She picked up the weapon and weighed it in her hand. It was heavy, but it would fit easily in a pocket of her cloak.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I do not deserve your kindness.’
‘You deserve every kindness, my dear. I do not know what shadows haunt your past, but it is time you put them behind you. You are a comet, waiting to burn. This is your time.’
In the distance came a feminine squeal of rage: the bride-to-be discovering that the ribbon for her flowers was the wrong shade of blue. Josephine smiled. ‘I think I am needed,’ she said.
* * *
The clock in the hall chimed half past four. The sun glowed red in the western sky, preparing for its descent over the white horizon of the frozen lake. Dinner was finished, the board cleared. Selby was asleep in a chair in the drawing room; his daughter sat by the window, embroidering furiously in the dying light, trying to complete the set of handkerchiefs destined for her husband as a wedding present. Quietly Josephine rose and walked into the library, where she took the pistol and powder horn and balls out of the cabinet. She loaded and primed the pistol, then closed the cover of the priming pan and went out into the hall, calling for Marie.
The little maidservant brought her cloak and scarves and gloves. Her eyes widened at the sight of the pistol. ‘You are going out at this hour, madame?’
‘I am going for a walk,’ said Josephine.
‘The thermometer says the temperature is thirty-two below zero and falling.’ Marie was still staring at the pistol.
‘Then I will make it a short walk,’ said Josephine, putting the pistol and powder and shot into her cloak. ‘I have an errand to run at the church. I will not be long.’ She patted the girl’s cheek. ‘Go and find Mr Crabbe and invite him in for a hot drink. He must be frozen standing out there.’
Still looking alarmed, Marie departed. Josephine stepped out into the pale orange light, closing the door behind her. She spotted Crabbe at once, loitering outside the kitchen door. Further along the street Abel Thomas stood leaning against a wall, smoking a pipe. She frowned. John had not withdrawn his guard dogs.
Planting her boots carefully on the icy road, she walked up to Thomas. ‘My apologies, Corporal,’ she said, ‘but I do not need an escort. Please do not follow me.’
Thomas removed his pipe from his mouth and bobbed his head. ‘I’m sorry, madame, but those are Captain MacLea’s orders.’
‘I am countermanding his orders,’ she said calmly. ‘I am quite serious, Corporal. Do you know about Polaris?’
‘Yes, madame.’
‘This business concerns him. On your word of honour, do not follow me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, madame,’ he said unhappily.
‘Good.’ She smiled at him, and then turned and walked away down the street. She could feel his eyes on her back, but he did not follow.
* * *
St James’s church was empty and cold. Sunset light poured through the stained-glass windows, casting brilliant patterns on the walls and across the altar, reflecting brightly off the brass lamps. She moved slowly forward between the pews, looking around.
All was silent. The door to the vestry was firmly shut. She wondered if Kramer would come, and whether he would be alone. Reaching the front of the church, she knelt before the altar and bowed her head, crossing herself and uttering a brief prayer to a deity she barely remembered. Up on the silver-gilt crucifix, glowing with sunset fire, the figure of Christ gazed down at her with sightless eyes.
Whisper-light, a skein of imagined mist in the air, a feather floating on the breath of God, the music began.
Endgame
Chapter Nineteen
‘Anything to report?’ Murray asked Abel Thomas.
They had given up the clandestine meetings out beyond the fort; by now, Polaris undoubtedly knew who all of MacLea’s men were. They were standing on Frederick Street, not far from the Selby house. Snow banks fringed the street, head high, with passageways cut through them to allow access to the houses behind. People walked past them, boots crunching on broken ice. Bells rang and a couple of sleighs came gliding down the street, steam snorting from the nostrils of the horses.
‘Some dockyard workers got involved in the shinney match,’ Thomas said. ‘They weren’t there when play started, but it would have been easy to join in later without anyone noticing.’
‘Do we know anything about these fellows?’
&n
bsp; Thomas nodded. ‘Schmidt and me made some enquiries. The dockers are a tough bunch. Once freeze-up comes, they’re out of work, so during the winter they can be hired to do pretty much anything.’
‘Keep digging around,’ said Murray. ‘Try to find out if anyone hired them. But be careful.’
Thomas gave one of his rare smiles. ‘We will. Remember, sir, we’re a tough bunch too.’
He hesitated for a moment. ‘Sir, there’s something else. I don’t quite know how to say this.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s madame, sir. She went out a while back, and she told me not to follow her. When I said Captain MacLea had given us orders, she said she was countermanding them. She said it was something to do with Polaris.’
In the back of Murray’s mind an alarm bell began to ring, tolling steadily. ‘She went alone? Did she say where she was going?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why didn’t you follow her, you damned fool?’
‘She made me promise not to, sir,’ said Thomas. His young face looked desperately unhappy.
‘God damn it,’ said Murray. ‘Come on.’ He ran to the Selby house and hurried around to the kitchen entrance, boots slipping and sliding on the ice. A startled maid answered his knock at the door. ‘Madame Lafitte’s maidservant,’ said Murray. ‘Fetch her at once, please.’
Marie came to the door a moment later, looking frightened. ‘Madame went to the church, monsieur. She took a pistol with her.’
‘Jesus,’ said Murray. He drew a long breath and then let it out, exhaling clouds of vapour. ‘Did she say why?’
‘No, monsieur.’
Murray tapped Abel Thomas on the shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said, and they began to run, up Frederick Street and then down Duke Street to the west towards the church, the blazing red light of sunset shining in their faces.
* * *
The Hunt for the North Star Page 27