The Hunt for the North Star

by The Hunt for the North Star (retail) (epub)

  Robinson frowned. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I sent for one of the constables and asked him to remove it and bring it to my house, but by the time he reached the church, it was already gone.’

  ‘The killer probably had accomplices waiting nearby,’ said MacLea. ‘They helped him get away, and took away the machine to remove the evidence.’ He was still watching Josephine.

  ‘So Kramer is in the clear,’ Murray said.

  Josephine shook her head. ‘Someone came to the church in response to my letter. Did Polaris intercept it, or did Kramer pass it on to him? And it is quite possible that Kramer trained the killer in how to play the harmonica.’

  ‘He said it takes years to learn how to play, madame,’ Thomas reminded her.

  ‘He was lying,’ said Josephine. ‘Kirchgässner told me she mastered the machine in a matter of weeks.’

  ‘Do you think Kramer could have trained Dunne?’ Robinson asked.

  She nodded. ‘Kramer claims Dunne doesn’t like music, which may well be true. But what this man was doing with the glass harmonica was not music. It was science, perverted and warped science, but science all the same. In his hands, the harmonica is not a musical instrument but a device of torture. Dunne is full of hatred, and the sound I heard was the pure, distilled essence of hate.’

  She looked around the room. ‘Have you found Dunne yet?’

  Murray grimaced. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Boydell and I combed the house thoroughly, but apart from the blood in the kitchen, we didn’t find a damned thing. The old lady must have patched him up and smuggled him out of the house somehow.’

  ‘Have you checked his office?’

  ‘McTeer and Hill and Schmidt went through it. Again, nothing. He might be hiding with one of his clerks, or a friend; not that he seems to have many friends. Tomorrow morning we’ll start knocking on doors. But don’t worry, madame, we’ll get him. You plugged him fair and true. He has lost a great deal of blood, and he’ll be weak as a kitten for days to come. Unless the fairies have spirited him away, he is still in York. And if he is, we will find him.’

  ‘There is one problem,’ MacLea said. ‘Dunne toadies to Colonel Lawrence. And as soon as Lawrence learns we are searching for him, he will intervene.’

  Robinson shook his head. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘I think once the colonel hears Dunne is wanted for treason and murder, he will throw his friend overboard faster than you can blink.’

  ‘I wish I shared your certainty, sir,’ MacLea said. ‘But Lawrence is stubborn beyond belief, and once he makes up his mind about someone, he holds firm. Last summer we had cast-iron evidence that Captain Barton was an American agent, but Lawrence protected him right to the end. Dunne is Lawrence’s friend. We could catch him carrying personal letters from President Madison wrapped in the Stars and Stripes and in flagrante with Lawrence’s wife, and Lawrence would still try to protect him.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Mm,’ said Alec Murray. ‘Yes. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?’

  * * *

  That was Saturday. The search for Dunne continued for the next two days, but to no avail. None of his employees or acquaintances had seen him. The general view was that he had left York.

  ‘No,’ said Alec Murray. ‘He is here. I will swear to it.’

  Tuesday morning, the day of the wedding, dawned bright and clear. Against the advice of the doctor and just about everyone else who knew him, MacLea insisted on attending. ‘You’re a damned fool,’ said Derenzy. ‘But if you insist on coming to this hooley, then I’ll be glad of your company. I need my friends beside me.’

  ‘It’ll be no worse than facing the guns at Queenston,’ MacLea said.

  ‘I can assure you it bloody well will. Really? Is that your smartest uniform?’

  The ceremony at St James’s church passed in a blaze of music and candlelight, and such was the radiant happiness of the bride that it was easy to forget that a few days earlier, a maniac with a glass harmonica had tried to commit murder here. Coming out of the church at the end of the service, MacLea found Josephine by his side. He smiled down at her. ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ he said.

  On a sudden whim, she replied, ‘I was wondering whether I would ever make this walk. And who I might do it with.’

  ‘I can answer the last question with certainty,’ MacLea said firmly. ‘There is only one man who will ever walk down the aisle with you.’

  ‘Oh? Who do you think that might be? Is it someone you know well?’

  ‘Quite well,’ said MacLea.

  ‘I see. And when do you think this event might take place?’

  ‘I am not yet certain of that.’ He was also not sure how he would overcome the rather formidable obstacles that lay in his way. ‘One day, though.’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to any promises.’

  ‘When I make promises, I keep them,’ MacLea said.

  Sleighs took them back to the Selby house for the wedding breakfast. Like the church, the house was full of light and colour. Flowers, grown with loving care in hothouses during the heart of winter, bloomed in every room. The excited bride kissed everyone in sight, while the groom grinned and drank glass after glass of punch without noticeable effect. Prideaux Selby sat watching his daughter, a benign smile on his old face. Charlotte Lawrence walked up to Murray and took his arm. People watched them with interest.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind keeping company with a scarlet woman,’ she said to MacLea.

  The captain bowed and grinned at her. ‘I have never objected to your company, Mrs Lawrence. Only your advances.’

  Charlotte smiled back at him. ‘Don’t worry. You are safe from me now. I have found what I was looking for.’

  James Boydell joined them. ‘What a splendid occasion,’ he said cheerfully. ‘There is nothing like a winter wedding to raise the spirits and cheer people up. Good health, everyone.’

  They all raised their glasses. ‘I don’t see Mrs Boydell,’ said MacLea. ‘I trust she is well?’

  ‘Sadly not,’ said Boydell. ‘My poor wife has always been a martyr to sick headaches, and this morning she came down with a particularly unpleasant one. Needless to say, she is bitterly disappointed not to be here… I say, what is that dreadful noise?’

  There was a commotion in the hall, and then came a familiar roaring voice insisting that the servants admit him to this house at once, do you hear me, at once! ‘Oh dear God,’ said Charlotte, growing pale. Murray moved protectively in front of her just as the drawing room door banged open and Colonel Hector Lawrence strode in, his face purple with rage. The young ensign from the 41st was behind him, followed by two soldiers with muskets. People scrambled to get out of their way.

  ‘MacLea!’ boomed Lawrence. ‘I want a word with you!’

  ‘Here I am, Colonel,’ said MacLea. ‘At your service.’

  ‘Damn your insolence! I gave you an order, MacLea! I told you to stay away from Elijah Dunne.’

  ‘Dunne is wanted by the law. He is facing criminal charges.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Lawrence snapped. Whatever charges you have trumped up against him will be dropped at once. I shall order Robinson to abandon the case. As for you, I gave you fair warning.’ He nodded to the soldiers. ‘Arrest him.’

  The men hesitated. ‘Arrest him!’ Lawrence bellowed. ‘Do you hear me?’

  Alec Murray moved forward. ‘If you arrest John, you’ll have to take me too. If you can.’

  Lawrence turned. His piggy eyes were sharp and malevolent. ‘So,’ he said. ‘The man who has been violating my wife. Yes. Arrest him too.’

  The crowd around them gasped. Everyone was watching; Lizzie Derenzy, as she now was, stood with one hand clutching her husband’s arm and the other covering her open mouth.

  ‘Hector, don’t be ridiculous!’ Charlotte Lawrence said sharply. ‘No one has violated anyone! What I gave to Mr Murray, I gave freely.’

  The crowd gasped again. Lawrence’s colour darkened still further. ‘So,’ he sai
d through clenched teeth. ‘You have had relations with this man. Where and when? Admit your guilt, you strumpet!’

  ‘With pleasure,’ said Charlotte. ‘When? Many, many times over the past month, so many indeed that I have lost count. Where? Mostly in my bed, sometimes in my dressing room, several times in the drawing room, and once – I remember this with special pleasure – on the dining room table. I apologise for the stains on the wood, but one of the candles was dripping. And Hector? I enjoyed every damned minute of it.’

  ‘Huzza!’ cried Captain Derenzy, and he hiccuped. There was a moment of shock, and then slowly, like the ripples cast by a stone thrown into a pond, laughter began to spread around the room.

  The veins in Lawrence’s forehead bulged. ‘Arrest them!’ he screamed. ‘The bitch too! Arrest them all!’

  ‘Cap’n MacLea!’ a voice called from the hall. ‘Cap’n MacLea! Come quick, sir!’ It was Miller, the backwoodsman from Markham, pushing his way into the drawing room.

  ‘What is it?’ MacLea asked.

  ‘It’s Mr Dunne, sir! We spotted him half an hour ago headin’ out of town on a sleigh, goin’ east and drivin’ hell for leather. He’s gone, sir!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Just for a moment the room was frozen, the figures of the wedding guests a silent tableau against the backdrop of flowers. Then there was an explosion of noise and movement, everyone calling out in astonishment. MacLea kissed Josephine on the cheek. ‘Look after Mrs Lawrence,’ he said. ‘She will need protection.’

  Eyes wide, she nodded. ‘Stay safe,’ she whispered.

  Colonel Lawrence stood dumbstruck, his mouth opening and closing but no sound emerging. The two soldiers looked at each other. The young ensign approached MacLea hesitantly. ‘Get out of the way!’ MacLea snapped, shoving him bodily to one side and then running for the door. Murray was close behind him.

  In the hall, James Boydell caught MacLea’s arm. ‘John, you’re not fit. Stay here. Murray and I will go.’

  ‘No,’ said MacLea grimly. ‘Dunne is mine.’

  ‘Then I’m coming with you.’

  ‘So am I,’ said William Derenzy, still in his dress uniform. He drained his punch glass and threw it over his shoulder. ‘That bastard Dunne insulted my wife. Let’s go get him.’

  ‘Derenzy, you idiot, you’ve just got married. And you’re not sober.’

  ‘I’m sober as a judge. And Lizzie agrees that my little outburst of enthusiasm just now may have been a trifle ill judged. It might be good to put some distance between myself and Colonel Lawrence, at least for a while. Come on, boys, you heard the man! The fecker is getting away!’

  They hurried outside. Abel Thomas and the rest of MacLea’s men were waiting in the street. Eleven men, MacLea thought. Thirteen with Boydell and Derenzy. It would have to do.

  ‘We must move quickly,’ said Boydell. ‘Before Lawrence snaps out of his trance and arrests us all.’

  ‘We need horses,’ MacLea said.

  Boydell shook his head, pointing to the row of sleighs waiting in the street, their teams still in harness and the drivers sitting on their seats smoking pipes. ‘We’ll take two of these. Some of the guests can walk home. If anyone complains, refer them to Robinson.’

  * * *

  The next seven days were the hardest any of them could remember.

  By the time they drove across the bridge over the River Don on the east side of York, the weather had changed. A mass of clouds rolled down from the north, blotting out the blue sky, and with it came a hard wind that whipped through the forests, scooping up clouds of brittle snow and throwing it in their faces. The temperature fell still further. By the time they reached Pickering, twenty miles east of the capital, a blizzard had set in.

  At Pickering, the drivers of the two sledges refused to go any further. Boydell swore at them and took out his pistol, but the men declared their willingness to be shot rather than journey onward in such appalling weather. Fortunately, most of the party knew how to drive; Miller, Croghan and Hill were the only exceptions. ‘Finally,’ Murray said to Hill, ‘we’ve found something you can’t do.’

  ‘Tried to drive once,’ came the laconic answer. ‘Didn’t like it much.’

  ‘Go on,’ said McTeer. ‘Tell us what happened.’

  ‘Nothing too bad. Couple of walls got knocked down, and there was a bit of a fire. Just a small one, though. I still don’t know how that cow got pregnant.’

  In the morning, they pressed on through snow and ice and freezing wind, taking turns at driving, for no one could sit on the exposed seats for too long. How the horses stood it, MacLea never knew, but they seemed to have a higher tolerance for cold than people. At every settlement they came to, Whitby and Smith’s Creek, Hardscrabble and Meyer’s Creek and Adolphustown, they asked if anyone had seen a lone man in a sleigh. Yes, came the answer each time; he passed through a while ago, heading east. Sometimes he was nearly a day ahead of them, sometimes the interval was no more than an hour, but frustratingly, they could never quite catch him.

  ‘For a wounded man, he’s pushing damned hard,’ said Boydell. ‘I don’t know how he is managing to stay ahead of us.’

  ‘He can feel the noose around his neck,’ said Derenzy, who had been briefed on the situation as soon as he sobered up. ‘Do we have any idea where he was hiding in York?’

  Murray shook his head. ‘Not a damned clue. He wasn’t at home, that’s for sure; we had the house under watch day and night. Someone else must have been protecting him. I would love to get my hands on whoever it was.’

  At the end of the week, cold and exhausted, their clothes stiff with ice, they drove across the frozen Cataraqui River and pulled up outside the gates of Fort Henry. The huddled houses of Kingston stood on the far side of the river, roofs caked with snow. The sentries at the gate, soldiers of the 49th Foot in scarlet coats with green facings, eyed them with suspicion as they climbed out of their sleighs, but the officer of the guard recognised both MacLea and Murray.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘You fellows look rough. Where have you come from?’

  ‘York,’ said MacLea. ‘We need to see Colonel Vincent, as soon as possible.’

  Lieutenant Colonel John Vincent, commanding officer of the garrison at Kingston, was a cheerfully competent officer in his mid-forties. Despite having spent most of his life in the British Army, his voice still held the ghost of a Limerick accent. ‘John MacLea,’ he said. ‘Good to see you again. You too, Alec. Have you two been disgracing yourselves again?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said MacLea. He introduced Boydell and Derenzy. ‘Colonel, we’re looking for Elijah Dunne. We need to find him as quickly as we can.’

  ‘Dunne? He came in this morning. Asked for fresh horses, said he was in a hurry, and moved on.’

  ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  ‘Prescott. He said he had business there. I tried to talk him out of it.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Murray.

  ‘Because merry hell is breaking loose downriver, that’s why. An American officer, a fellow called Major Forsyth, has gone on the rampage. His men have burned Gananoque already, and last week he attacked Elizabethtown, fifty miles east of here. He captured the entire garrison, pillaged the settlement and burned the barracks. I reckon Prescott could be next.’

  Prescott was an important staging post for supplies being shipped from Montreal to Upper Canada; its warehouses would make a tempting target. ‘I thought the Americans were still in winter quarters,’ Boydell said.

  ‘Someone seems to have forgotten to tell Major Forsyth,’ said Vincent. ‘To make matters worse, we’ve received word that Sir George Prévost has left Montreal and is on his way up to York. He’ll be arriving in Prescott in a few days. I’m worried Forsyth will try to lay an ambush for him. Capturing or killing the governor general would be a real coup.’

  ‘Where is Forsyth based?’ MacLea asked.

  ‘Ogdensburgh, in New York,’ said Vincent. ‘Just across the river from Prescott. He has
an entire battalion there, the 1st US Rifles. You see why I’m worried.’

  MacLea and Murray glanced at each other. ‘That’s it,’ said Murray. ‘That’s why Dunne has gone to Prescott. He’s trying to reach Ogdensburgh. Through his contacts in Montreal, he must know Sir George’s itinerary. He’ll tell Forsyth where and when to find the governor general.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Vincent sharply. ‘Are we talking about the same man? Elijah Dunne, the freight forwarder? He’s working with the Americans?’

  ‘Yes,’ said MacLea. ‘And we need to catch him before he gets to Ogdensburgh. Once he’s under the protection of Forsyth’s men, he will be beyond our reach. Colonel, can you lend us some more men?’

  Vincent shook his head. ‘I can give you fresh horses and food, but that’s all. I’m under strength as it is, and now Colonel Lawrence is threatening to strip troops from my garrison to support the attack on Sackett’s Harbor. Half his precious Royal Americans are down sick after that march from Niagara, and he needs more men.’

  ‘When is the expedition due to depart?’ Boydell asked.

  ‘We’re still waiting for supplies, and Forsyth’s depredations are making it hard for convoys to get through. Assuming everything is ready, the expedition is due to assemble at Kingston on the 20th of March.’

  Boydell frowned. ‘Lawrence is leaving it late. The lake ice may have started to thaw by then.’

  ‘Oh, no fear there. It’s been a bloody awful winter, and the ice is thicker than I’ve ever seen it. It should be a stroll in the park. Sackett’s Harbor is only thirty miles away, and the intelligence reports say the place is practically defenceless.’

  ‘I have heard the same,’ said Boydell. ‘I only wish you were in command, sir, rather than Colonel Lawrence. If anyone can find a way to bungle this expedition, it will be him. Right, you chaps. Let’s find a hot meal, and then be on our way. It’s still seventy miles to Prescott.’