by Vicki Delany
“I’m looking for a man name of Johnny Stewart,” Sterling said, raising his voice to be heard at the top of the makeshift hill. “Any of you know him?”
The men said nothing, but their eyes shifted to a small fellow sitting at the edge of their group.
He drew on his pipe. “I’m Stewart.”
“Constable Sterling, NWMP. Can I talk to you for a moment, sir? Won’t take much of your time.”
Stewart looked at his friends. They looked back without interest or emotion. He stood up, like a man whose every joint protested at the movement. “If ye keep it short. Break’s almost over.”
The man’s accent was identical to Ray Walker’s.
Sterling led Stewart away from the listening group of men. Angus and Millie followed, simply because they had nothing better to do.
“You’re not in any trouble, Stewart, I only want to ask you a couple of questions.”
Stewart puffed on his pipe. His hands were covered in angry white blisters, and he winced with every step he took. Less than a week on the job, and Stewart looked like he’d been underground for twenty years. Men arrived from the south all the time, Angus had heard amidst much laughter in the Savoy, thinking they would dig for gold like they dug for carrots and potatoes on the farm or in their mother’s back garden.
“Sunday last you were in Dawson. Can you tell me what you did there?”
Stewart’s eyes barely flickered. “D’ ye have any food in that saddlebag, laddie?” he said. “Working underground’s mighty hard work.”
Angus dove into his bag. There were a few of Mrs. Mann’s scones left, most of them broken into crumbs, but one remained almost whole, scattered with raisins, plump and inviting. He held out the tin, and a satisfied Stewart alternately smoked, ate and talked.
“Drifted around town in the morning, then ran into a lad from the old country who knew my gran.”
“This man’s name?”
“Ray Walker.”
“About what time did you meet Mr. Walker?”
“Late morning. Eleven or so. We talked mostly, about Glasgow and the old days, and walked through town? He showed me the sights. Ha! Not much o’ them. Walker told me not ta waste my time prospecting. Said the real money’s to be made in town. Guess I should have listened to him, right, boy?”
Angus opened his mouth to agree then, catching sight of Sterling’s stern face, snapped it shut. He wasn’t supposed to be offering his opinions.
Millie paid the men no attention and licked her private parts with gusto.
“What time did you last see Walker?”
“Hey, Johnny. Time to get back at it.” The men on the slag heap yelled as they reluctantly got to their feet.
Stewart blew a sigh, full of cheap pipe smoke and expensive regrets. “We had supper round five o’clock, maybe a wee bit later. I had ta get off to bed; we was leaving first thing the next morning. Prob’ly left Walker five thirty, six.”
“You were with Walker the whole day?”
“Yea.”
“He couldn’t have been in your sight the whole time.”
“The fellow had to go to the loo now an’ again, didn’t he? So did I. But no more than that.”
“Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary when he got back from the privy? His clothes look the same?”
Steward shrugged. “Clothes are clothes. Didn’t notice anything funny. Sorry, Constable, but I gotta get back to work. First days on the job, can’t seem to be slacking off. Me and Ray, we spent Sunday talking ’bout Glasgow and our aunties and grandmas. I’ve nothing else ta tell ye.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stewart,” Sterling said. “I appreciate your giving me your time.”
“Couple more days, and we’ll strike it rich, what d’ ye think, laddie?” Stewart snuffed out his pipe and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. He winced as the blisters on his hands rubbed against the dirt-encrusted wool.
“I think that’s great, sir.” Angus said, trying to sound as if he believed it. “My ma owns the best dance hall in all of Dawson, it’s called the Savoy. On Front Street. When you and your friends are in town, you should come and visit.”
Stewart was a couple of inches shorter than Angus, but he reached up and ruffled the boy’s hair. “My wee lad’s about your age,” he said. “Him and his sister and their mum’s waiting in Halifax. Waiting for me to strike it rich and come and fetch them.”
“Stewart,” one of the men called. “For Christ’s sake, you wanna be fired? Get up here.”
The Scot climbed up the pile of gravel and slag, his back bowed and his shoulders bent. He turned around and looked at Angus. His eyes were blue and very bright. “You think they’ll be waiting long, son?” And he disappeared into the unforgiving earth.
Angus blew out a lungful of air. Sterling scribbled in his notebook with a stub of pencil. Millie continued to wash herself, making happy doggy noises all the while.
Sterling put his notebook and pencil back into his jacket pocket. He read the expression on Angus’s face. “No one forced these men to come here, son,” he said. “They’re free men. Not slaves. Let’s head home.”
Angus pulled himself back to the moment. “Did he tell you what you wanted to hear, sir?”
“I didn’t want to hear anything, Angus. I simply wrote down what Stewart said.” They started down the slope. “He confirmed what Walker had to say about the events of Sunday afternoon.” His voice dropped as if he were talking to himself. “So maybe it was what I wanted to hear at that.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Five long days passed. Ray went to the fort where he found out that Sterling had, indeed, gone to the Creeks. No one would, or could, tell him why, but he guessed it had something to do with his friend, Stewart. Mr. Mann stopped ranting about the ungrateful boy and assumed a worried frown. I was usually up when he came in for his breakfast because I didn’t sleep much.
The bartenders, the croupiers and the dance hall girls, most of whom had gotten to know Angus, and to care for him, looked at me with questioning eyes and glanced away when they saw the negative reply in mine. Helen almost wore her apron to bits, wringing it between her tough old fingers. Some of the prominent citizens in town—Mouse O’Brien, Big Alex Macdonald, Belinda Mulroney among them—had started to put together a party to go to the Creeks in search of Sterling and Angus. That people cared so much, in this cold, hard town, where no one ventured except in search of fortune, touched me again to the point of tears. Hearing of my plight, Sergeant Lancaster refrained, wisely, from pressing his suit.
Of course, nothing could dampen business at the Savoy. Everything that happened to us seemed only to increase our custom. I was so run off my feet those long nights that I scarcely had a moment to think about my missing child.
Then on Friday afternoon, Richard Sterling and Angus MacGillivray walked into the Savoy. Sterling looked like Zeus, the avenging Greek god I’d learned about in the schoolroom, and Angus… Angus looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. News of the depth of our concern, not only mine but also half of Dawson, had reached them.
I was making my way into the gambling hall when all conversation in the saloon died. Convinced that some unimaginable terror had struck, I whirled around. Every man in the place was looking at me. My knees buckled. Sterling pushed Angus in the small of his back, propelling my boy a few reluctant feet through the narrow passage that had opened between us.
Ray stood behind the bar, a glass of whisky half poured. The look of relief on his face was so great that I understood, only at that moment, that he had been far more worried about my son than he’d let on.
I marched past Angus hissing, “Upstairs,” underneath my breath. Sterling followed. Not a man spoke as we climbed the stairs. But as I walked down the corridor, exclamations, questions, and shouts erupted beneath my feet like the spring flood spilling through a broken dam.
I didn’t know whether to take my son, as tall as I, over my knee or to kiss every inch of his beloved face.
“Mother, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” he said, his head downcast. “I left you a note. I told you not to worry.”
Still undecided, I turned on the nearest available target. “How could you?” I growled at Constable Richard Sterling. “How could you take a twelve-year-old child into the wilderness without his mother’s permission? I ought to have you up on charges.”
“That might well happen, Mrs. MacGillivray,” Sterling said. He didn’t look at Angus, scuffing the floorboards with one mud-encrusted toe. “We walked into Fort Herchmer less than half an hour ago, to find that the whole town is in an uproar of unprecedented proportions, and some prominent citizens were in the process of putting together a group of men to go in search of a member of the NWMP. Inspector Starnes is not pleased, I can assure you.” Inspector Cortlandt Starnes was the officer in charge of the Mounties in Dawson.
“It’s all my fault, Mother,” Angus said to the floor. His voice broke, and for a moment I thought he might burst into tears, but he swallowed hard and fought to regain some of his composure. “I didn’t mean to get Constable Sterling in any trouble. I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn to be a Mountie.”
“We’ll deal with that shortly, Angus.” I glanced at Sterling. He struggled to hold his thoughts inside his big frame.
“Do you have anything to say about this, Constable? Surely you realize that as the adult, and the authority figure, you bear more responsibility than my child.”
“Angus?” Sterling said.
“I lied, Mother. I told Constable Sterling you’d given me permission to accompany him to Grand Forks.”
“And you believed him?” I shouted at Sterling. Fortunately, the patrons downstairs had resumed their normal pitch of conversation, or they would have heard me.
“Show my mother the letter, Constable,” Angus said.
“Let’s just say that Angus can be most convincing, Mrs. MacGillivray. I’m truly sorry we caused you such distress. I take full responsibility. I have to get back to the Fort. I’ve been ordered to give the Inspector a report once Angus has been safely returned to you. I’m sorry.”
He turned and walked out the door.
“Don’t you move a muscle,” I ordered my son. “Constable. A moment, please.” I walked down the hall and stood in front of Sterling. There was only one small window at the end of the corridor, and the single lamp at the top of the stairs flickered, almost out of fuel. “I have no doubt my son tricked you into taking him on this expedition. He can be quite charming when he chooses to be. I can guess the contents of this letter, even if you don’t want to show it to me. If you need any help with your superiors, please let me know.”
“That’s kind of you, Mrs. MacGillivray. I won’t pretend that I’m not worried about what the Inspector has to say. You have some powerful friends.”
“I’m sorry.”
He held up one massive paw. “Don’t apologize. If it were someone dear to me who’d gone missing, I’d have called on the devil himself to intervene. You did the right thing. You have a good boy there, don’t be too hard on him. He was a help, and good company on the trail. I’d better be going.”
“Perhaps you could join us for dinner tonight,” I blurted out, without thinking. “With Angus and me, I mean. At our boarding house. I’d like to hear of your adventures.”
He looked at me, his brown eyes unreadable. “If you’re not in jail or something,” I stammered. The corners of his mouth lifted once again. “I’d like that, Mrs. MacGillivray.”
“Nine o’clock?”
“Nine o’clock. If I’m…indisposed, I’ll send a message.”
The stairs clattered beneath his boots. I stood still for a moment, just thinking. I could follow Sterling’s progress across the room and out into the street as the drinkers’ conversation fell silent in his wake.
I walked back to my office. “So,” I said to my ashen-faced son, “tell me about this letter.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I sent Angus home with his pockets full of money. I told him to give the money to Mrs. Mann and tell her we were having company for dinner and to do the best she could.
After that, he was to go to Mr. Mann’s store down by the waterfront and work for the rest of the afternoon. Provided he was still wanted.
Make no mistake, I was absolutely furious. He’d forged my signature, lied to an officer of the law, failed to show up at his place of employment, disappeared for five days and worried his mother half to death, not to mention a good portion of the citizenry.
But he had come back. Safe and sound.
When I ventured downstairs, some of the men watched me, but most of the excitement had passed with the departure of Sterling, and shortly after, Angus, both of them still in one piece.
“Everything all right, Fee?” Ray asked.
“I hope so.” I walked around the back of the bar, and Ray bent forward so that I could whisper into his ear. Only he, and Her Majesty, glowering disapprovingly at us from her portrait, could hear. “It would appear that Angus strung Sterling quite a line, and Inspector Starnes is furious about it all. What a mess.”
“Speaking of the police.” Ray pointed his chin towards the door.
I turned to see Inspector McKnight enter the saloon. The customers gave him a wide berth. “Evening, Mrs. MacGillivray. Do you have a minute, Walker?”
“No. Ye might not have noticed, but we’re busy at the moment.”
“I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say. In private.” The Inspector looked at the group of drinkers lingering nearby, unashamedly hanging on his every word.
Barney belched in his face. Grumbling, Ray led the way to Helen’s kitchen, and I followed, as did a pack of miners. I shut the door firmly in their dirty, bearded faces.
There was scarcely enough space in the room for three people to stand, and only one chair. McKnight seated himself. As I hadn’t been invited to follow them, I could scarcely complain about this shocking breach of manners.
“I thought you’d want to know that Sterling located your friend, Mr. Johnny Stewart.”
“I figured that was why he went to the Creeks.”
“Mr. Stewart confirms your alibi.” “
Could of told you that,” Ray said. But some of the tension he’d been carrying all week slipped from his shoulders and he almost, but not quite, cracked a smile.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “It’s kind of you to take the time to come here and inform us in person, Inspector.”
He made no effort to stand but twisted his hands in his lap and coughed. “Well, uh, Mrs. MacGillivray, there is one small thing you could do for me.”
Ray and I exchanged knowing glances. So that was the way it was to be played, was it?
“I’d be pleased to offer you the hospitality of our house, Inspector,” I said, the words choking in my throat. Bribery of the local constabulary might be common business practice for bars and gambling houses in every other corner of the world. But not in Dawson. For the first time, I was about to bribe an officer of the law. Perhaps we’d find out that Stewart hadn’t given Ray an alibi after all.
McKnight flushed. “You misunderstand me, Mrs. MacGillivray. I was sort of hoping that once all this is settled, you might introduce me to Miss Ellie.” The words out, he leapt to his feet. “Nothing improper, you understand. She’s so admired that it’s quite difficult, impossible really, to get a moment to speak to her. Privately. And I would like to.” He studied the wall behind my head. “Speak with her, I mean. For just a moment. Nothing improper, of course. But if you think it improper…I’d best be leaving.” He bolted for the door.
I smiled and touched his sleeve. “It would be my pleasure, Inspector. Why don’t you come by this evening, say around quarter to eight? I’ll be happy to introduce you. Ellie doesn’t go on stage until well after eight, perhaps you could escort her to the bar and enjoy a drink or two. My treat, of course.”
“Mrs. MacGillivray! That
would be perilously close to a bribe.” He looked at me through his thick eyeglasses. “A brief introduction to the lady is all I ask. I’ll see you this evening.”
The door stuck momentarily on badly-installed hinges. McKnight wrestled it open and ran, his ears scarlet.
I laughed, after ensuring that the Inspector had been swallowed up by the noisy crowd.
“You shouldn’t o’ promised to introduce them,” Ray said. “It’s not right.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The fellow wants to meet the object of his affections for a minute or two in a packed bar.” I walked out, still chuckling.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
By seven o’clock, I was regretting my impulsive invitation to Constable Sterling to join us for dinner. I was exhausted. All week, I’d been living on worry—no sleep, and even less food than I’d consumed over the winter—and now that Angus was safely home, I wanted only to collapse like a rag doll.
McKnight arrived, thoroughly scrubbed, hair greased and combed flat, moustache stiffly groomed, promptly at 7:45 p.m. As promised I introduced him to Ellie. She performed like the professional she was: absolutely thrilled to make his acquaintance, she had heard so very much about the famous Inspector McNichol. He was too infatuated to correct her mistake over his name—probably didn’t even notice. I left them as she was promising to save him a special dance after the show.
I waited until the orchestra did their bit on the street, and the stage show got underway before slipping out.
“Fiona, my dearest. You look perfectly lovely this evening.” Graham Donohue fell into step beside me on the boardwalk. He hadn’t been around the Savoy much lately, and when he did drop in to hear if there had been any news about Angus, his demeanour towards me had changed. He was acting wary, skittish almost, like a halftrained dog afraid he’d misunderstood his master’s command and had made the wrong move. “I hear Angus is back from his misadventure. They’re saying Sterling’s going to be drummed out of the Mounties for it.” He seemed almost pleased at the scrap of news.