“I must admit, I don’t know if they tried to do something for the girl or not. Patience Gordon sent her some baking, but Leland says he can’t get close to her. This was confirmed by a farmer I met on the road, and mirrors my own experience, as well. As I said, I called, but my only answers were from a cow and a dog.”
Her face cleared then. “Caroline will be fine as long as she has Digger. He won’t let any harm come to her.”
Thaddeus was astounded by her lack of concern. She hadn’t asked a single question about Caroline’s welfare, or what arrangements could be made for her. Was she protecting her daughter in some way? If she was, he decided there was no point in asking her about it.
“At any rate, I milked your cow.”
She laughed and the warmth came back into her face. “I should like to have seen that,” she said. “The famous preacher with his face stuck in a cow’s flank. I’m surprised you know how.”
“It took me a while to get the hang of it again,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time.”
She stood. “I’m allowed to take my exercise in the hall,” she said. “Would you walk with me?”
Again, Thaddeus noted the small hesitation when she stepped through the door. Not a limp, exactly, just a stiffness. She noticed his concern.
“It’s an old injury,” she said. “When I was a child we lived on an estate in Norfolk. We children had ponies, and used to dare each other to jump the fences. I mistimed things one day. The pony crashed into the fence, then crashed into me. The pony was fine. I broke my leg. It didn’t heal properly and I’ve been left with a slight limp ever since.”
Thaddeus fell in beside her as she headed down the hall. It would have been natural for him to offer his arm, but he felt awkward about it as she had made no move to take it on her own.
“Father got rid of the ponies after that,” she went on. “For the longest time I thought it was because of my accident, but then he started selling other things as well. Eventually everything was gone. Anyhow, the damp of this place aggravates the stiffness. Under normal circumstances, it doesn’t give me that much trouble.”
“Mr. Ashby is looking into the possibility of getting you out on bail,” Thaddeus said. “It may be that you won’t have to stay here until the trial.” Although where the money was to come from, Thaddeus had no idea. How much would they want to ransom an accused murderer? Quite a lot, probably.
“I must thank you for finding Mr. Ashby,” she said. “I’m not sure how much help it will be, as I can shed no light on what happened, but I must admit that it’s comforting to have him on my side. I had no idea how daunting court would be.”
So she hadn’t told Ashby anything either.
“He told me that he’s working pro bono, which is a great relief. I know he hopes to establish his name with this case. In all honesty, I don’t see what good it will do him if he loses, but so long as he doesn’t send a bill, I don’t suppose it will do me or mine any harm.”
“It would be a completely unfair trial otherwise,” Thaddeus said.
“I suppose you’re right. They’ll hang me anyway, you know, but at least it will be fair.” She emphasized the last word, drawing it out and tingeing it with irony.
“Don’t count him out yet. By all accounts he’s a very enterprising young man.”
They had reached the end of the hall and turned to retrace their steps.
“Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?” Thaddeus asked. “Is there anything you need?”
“Yes.”
Thaddeus held his breath and hoped that her request would be within his means to deliver.
“Time hangs heavily on my hands. It is far too dark in here to read, even on the sunniest of days, but I am not allowed a lamp or a candle unattended. I believe they would allow you one. Do you think that you could, just occasionally, read to me for an hour or two? My friends are too far away to come, and I’m not entirely sure that the gaoler can read at all. I have no one else to ask, other than the local Church of England man, and I can tell, just by looking at him, that he’d take his selections from religious sources.” She stopped, and looked a little shamefaced. “No offence meant by that, but I’d prefer something lighter.”
“What would you like to hear?”
“Something that would remind me of home. Some Jane Austen, perhaps. Maybe one of the Brontes. Something entertaining and full of romance.”
“Count on it. I can come tomorrow. After that, I’ll be off on my wanderings again, but only for a few days, and then I can come back.”
He was rewarded with a smile that seemed to light up the entire hall.
Thaddeus stopped at the bookseller’s on his way back to the manse. Once inside the shop, he became mesmerized by the long shelves of books, in particular by the section that contained volumes of philosophy and theology. He wondered that there were enough people in Cobourg to sustain a large selection of such heavy material, but then he realized that many of them were introductory texts, aimed, no doubt, at the students of Victoria College. The more advanced books would appeal to the professors, he supposed.
There were several shelves set aside for fiction, and this seemed to be more in keeping with the general tenor of the town. He lingered for a moment over a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories. Once, long ago, he had read and enjoyed Poe’s Murders in the Rue Morgue. Then he realized that macabre stories about death would hardly be a comfort to someone in a gaol cell awaiting trial for murder. Besides, they were to his taste, not hers. She had asked for something romantic.
He found several Jane Austen novels on the shelf. He finally picked out a volume called Mansfield Park. She said she’d like something that reminded her of home, and in leafing through the volume he found several passages that described the English countryside. He handed over a few coins he could ill-afford, tucked the book under his arm, and went home.
Martha’s eyes lit up when she saw what he had in his hand.
“Is that for me?” she asked.
“Oh. No, I’m sorry, it isn’t.” Thaddeus should have realized that Martha would want to dive into the book. He was about to tell her that she would have to wait and then he realized that there was no reason the book couldn’t be shared. “But you can have it for all but the few hours that I’m reading it to Mrs. Howell.”
“Why can’t she read it herself?”
“It’s too dark in the cell, and she’s allowed no light.”
Martha had an odd look on her face. “That’s awfully nice of you.” Then she heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I can see now what will happen. I’ll be right at a thrilling bit and you’ll want to rip it out of my hands and take it away.”
Thaddeus laughed. “And I’m afraid if that happens you’ll have to wait to see how it all turns out. But you won’t have to wait long. I can spare only an hour or two here and there.”
“I’d like to start reading right now, but not necessarily the book in your hand. There’s a letter arrived that I would have torn open and read long since except for the unfortunate fact that it’s addressed to you.”
“From Ashby?” Thaddeus said.
“I expect so.” She pointed to where it was lying on the kitchen table. “He said he would write.”
Thaddeus pulled out a chair and sat down. Martha hovered behind him.
“I hope you’re not going to read over my shoulder,” he said.
“Maybe you should read it out loud. Then I won’t bother you.” She took a chair next to him.
Thaddeus unsealed the letter and spread it out. There was no salutation; none of the niceties of normal correspondence. Instead, Ashby jumped straight to the subject at hand: “I must say there are rather a jolly lot of drinkers in Cobourg and they do appreciate a fine brandy. One night in the saloon at the Globe Hotel and I’m quite sodden from drink.”
“I hope some of them had s
ome useful information to impart,” Martha muttered. “Otherwise, it sounds like a foolish way to spend your time.”
“Do you want to hear what he has to say or not?”
“Sorry. I’ll be quiet from now on.”
Major Howell, or rather I should say Mister Howell, as he doesn’t appear to have been anywhere near the British army — is quite well known at the Globe. He appears to be on good terms with most of the leading citizens of the town and is particularly noted for his willingness to assist in delicate business matters. As is already general knowledge, Howell purchased the land at Sully at the instigation of Mr. D’Arcy Boulton, who in all probability also furnished the wherewithal to complete the purchase.
“Who is D’Arcy Boulton?”
“Shush.”
“Oh, all right.”
Although the recent land purchase itself appears to be perfectly straight-forward, there has in the past been a cloud over the title, as is the case with several other pieces of property in the area. The difficulty dates back many years, in fact to the very first settlement and the rather chaotic manner in which land was handed out. The Court of Heir and Devisee has allowed the titles to pass a number of times in the meantime, but I’m curious enough about the original problem to dig a little deeper. I will let you know when and if I discover anything of interest.
Other than being a go-between for the local movers and shakers, it appears that Mr. Howell dabbles in currency exchange and the sale of railway bonds, both Canadian and American.
I met with Mrs. Howell, but she said absolutely nothing that will shed any light on the situation. As far as she is concerned, she was minding her own business when the constables came and arrested her. She seems quite resigned to being found guilty.
I will be returning to Cobourg the middle of next week, and am anxious to hear what, if anything you’ve discovered in the meantime. There is no need to meet the steamer — I can find my way to the Globe without assistance — but I would like to meet with you and your granddaughter again, at which point we’ll decide where we go from here. I would, of course, be delighted if Miss Renwell could be persuaded to furnish another excellent dinner.
The letter was signed, but with such a scrawl that Thaddeus recognized only the initial T and a capital A in the middle.
“Oh dear,” Thaddeus said.
“What?” Martha had taken the letter from him and was rereading it avidly.
“Do you remember the first time we went to the market?”
“And you ended up with a pocketful of bad money?”
“Yes. That was right after the camp meeting. The first time I ever laid eyes on the Howells. I remember thinking they didn’t fit in very well. They were all over the site doing some sort of business. I didn’t pay much attention at the time. Now I wish I had.”
Martha looked up from the letter. “Do you think it’s Major … sorry, Mister Howell, who’s been passing counterfeit money?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m not even sure what ‘currency exchange’ is. But remind me to tell Ashby about it.”
“I think we should keep a list of the things we need to tell Mr. Ashby,” Martha said. “I’ll go find some paper and ink.” And she jumped up and went into the parlour, still clutching Ashby’s letter.
The next morning Thaddeus tucked the copy of Mansfield Park into his pocket, careful not to disturb the hairpin Martha had left on page fifty-five as a bookmark.
When he arrived at the gaol he showed the keeper his book and asked for a light. After a moment’s hesitation, the keeper allowed “as to how it would be all right” and fetched a small lamp for him, then let him through to the cell block. Ellen was at the end of the hall, and walked to meet him.
“Mr. Lewis. As promised!”
“And, as promised, with a book in hand.”
She smiled as he held it out for her to see.
“An Austen! Oh, well done!”
He felt a flush of pleasure in her approval, wondering at himself even as he did so.
There was nowhere to sit but in her cell. Thaddeus set the lamp on the small table by her cot and took a seat on the wooden stool that had been drawn up to it.
“Shall we begin?” he asked when he was settled, his feet tucked under the stool to give her more room.
She sat on the end of the cot and waited expectantly. He opened the book and began:
About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to thereby be raised to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income. All Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it.
The first chapter seemed to concern the quite different fortunes of Miss Maria Ward’s sisters, which were not nearly as advantageous in nature. One sister in particular brought disgrace upon herself by marrying a mere Lieutenant of the Marines.
Thaddeus wasn’t at all sure that he liked the tenor of this story, in which one’s fate was dictated by the amount of money one was able to either inherit or marry. His own father had been a hard-working farmer, prosperous enough and well respected, but neither Thaddeus nor his fifteen brothers and sisters had received any great advantage because of it. They had been expected to make their own way and decide the course of their own lives. Nor had it occurred to any of them that they were inferior in any way because of it.
He soon, however, became engrossed in the story of the disgraced sister’s little girl, who was summarily plucked out of the bosom of her family and brought to Mansfield Park. But even then, her circumstances made her in no way equal to her cousins.
“There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,” observed Sir Thomas, “as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up; how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorize in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights and expectations, will always be different.
What nonsense, Thaddeus thought, to take a child into your household and treat it differently from the rest. His own daughter had married young, in haste, and perhaps unwisely, but in those dark days after she had been murdered, he and Betsy had endeavoured to provide a real home for her baby. Martha had been as their own child, and he knew that she had always regarded them as her parents, even after her real father finally came back.
Ellen Howell, however, appeared to hear nothing amiss in the premise of the story. While the first chapters unfolded, she sat very upright on her cot, but as the story deepened she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She was so close that Thaddeus could see the fine lines that etched the skin beside her eyes and at the edges of her lips. He could hear her slow, steady breathing. He would glance up and watch her mouth form into the slight upward curve of a smile at the words he spoke to her.
After a time, his knee began to hurt from the tucked-up position of his legs, and he stretched them out to ease the ache. The cell was so narrow that his foot brushed against hers. He pulled it back hastily, but she appeared not to notice.
He gathered himself and read on. The story progressed in such a way as anyone could have predicted — the little girl was miserable and much put upon by the Bertram family, with the exception of one son, who, much to Thaddeus’s amusement, was to be given a church and a ready-made congregation, an appointment which apparently was within Sir Thomas Bertram’s purview to hand out to anyone he pleased.
She sighed, but didn’t open her eyes. “Oh no, nothing so grand. My father had no title, just a smallish estate inherited from his grandfather. The rents were never enough to cover our expenses, though we lived quite simply. There were three of us girls, and no male heir.” She opened her eyes and looked at him then. “You’ve just read about what it can be like in England. With no money and few connections, our prospects of good marriage were slim, and father had little means to provide for us otherwise. The estate was in rather perilous debt and father hoped Canada would restore our fortunes. The land was so cheap, you see. Surely it would be no time at all before we made great riches and could go back home to live in a much finer style than we had ever dreamed of before.”
Her voice trailed off. Thaddeus had no need to hear the rest of the story. It was a common enough tale. No one had told the English that two hundred acres of Canadian bush was very different from two hundred acres of settled English countryside, and that they would be expected to work their land themselves. It had been a rude awakening for many of them.
Clearing a bush farm would be a daunting prospect for a family with no sons. No doubt it had worn the father out, and the girls had been left to marry whoever was willing to provide for them. George Howell must have seemed a good choice. He was, after all, the same class of people Ellen had been used to. It may not have turned out to be a very good match after all, given her current predicament.
Thaddeus was about to continue reading when Ellen spoke again. “I never thought I would be called upon to milk a cow, or to bake bread, or to scrub a floor. It was quite a shock, for my sisters and me, when we realized that if we didn’t do it, no one would. It seemed so degrading.”
It would, he supposed, if you were brought up with the notion that labour was something to be despised. How foreign these English settlers must have found it here, where “hard-working” was a term of the highest praise.
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