Piau

by Bruce Murray

  She began to sob uncontrollably.

  I looked at Marie Josephe, entreating her to continue the story. She reluctantly obliged.

  “Yes, Tyrone placed Benjamin’s lifeless body into his dory and rowed to the wharf. He lifted it onto the plankway and marched down the main road of the village to the Manor House. When we opened the front door Tyrone stood there distraught, with Benjamin in his arms. I do not remember much after that. It seems like some unbelievable nightmare. Why would Benjamin be on his boat during the night?”

  I explained to them in considerable detail the story their brother had related in his journal and his plan to visit Armstrong at Annapolis. They were confused and dismayed, but the story presented only one possibility for all of us, that Mangeant had murdered Benjamin in cold blood.

  “How could he have hated Benjamin enough to kill him?” asked Marie Josephe. “Our brother was loved by everyone!”

  I remarked that that was precisely why Mangeant detested Benjamin.

  Elizabeth interjected, “It was Mangeant who suggested that Tyrone was the likely suspect. He was suspicious that the captain had sailed away too hastily after delivering Benjamin’s corpse. Mangeant speculated that Tyrone’s speedy departure was powerful evidence of his guilt. He even suggested that perhaps Benjamin had taken his own life.

  “Mangeant thought this a possibility. Few believed either of his theories. After all, how does someone stab oneself to death? Most of us guessed at the truth. But no one was prepared to accuse anyone. It was as if the world had decided to permit Benjamin to vanish from our lives. Nothing could possibly return him to us. Better leave him to heaven.”

  “The warning signs were there but no one had knowledge of them. They were privately stored in the pages of Benjamin’s journal,” I replied. “I have to say that a large degree of discretion is required in investigating this treacherous act. I intend on discussing the case with Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong in person, completing the task Benjamin started a week ago. You are to relay this to no one, not even your father. I will notify Charles that I wish to sail immediately, and we will leave on the next tide. Damn that accursed man!”

  Chapter 24

  The evening I arrived back at Melanson Village, my fifth daughter, Agnes, was born. She was an angel from the beginning and she still is. After living among the bereaved for ten days, the joy surrounding her birth was all the more poignant to me. Babies arrive, I am certain, to ease the grief of losing our loved ones.

  Jeanne was extremely happy that I had been present at Agnes’s birth. I chose not to unload the discoveries of the past week on her or anyone else. That would have to wait. I possessed the journal and that was all I required to proceed in my quest for justice. I was optimistic that I would achieve satisfaction, but from whom? Could I expect Armstrong to pursue a murder investigation that conceivably implicated his closest friend and confidant? I felt it prudent to allow some time to pass before I approached the lieutenant-governor with my evidence.

  In time, I mustered the courage to relate the complete story of Benjamin’s murder to Jeanne and my mother. They were horrified and saddened that someone as exemplary as he should experience such a tragic end. When I finally filled in all the gruesome details, neither of them wished to discuss it any further. They loved Benjamin deeply, and even imagining his horrendous final moments was too painful for them.

  As far as the community at large was concerned, I merely explained that it was a sudden illness and left it at that. Nothing in how I delivered the news about Benjamin revealed that I was secretly fuming inside with a combination of rage, sorrow, and vengeance. Revenge and justice were my best friends. I was embracing both in the late summer of 1739.

  I chose to wait until the autumn to present my case to Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong. Charles and I floated into the harbour on the day of the autumnal equinox. My heart was beating furiously as I ventured up from the lower town to the fort. I had not contacted the lieutenant-governor, not wishing to alert him of my mission in advance. I encountered Major Cosby as I passed the garrison. He greeted me warmly.

  “Monsieur Belliveau, I was saddened to hear of the death of your cousin Benjamin LeBlanc. He was a fine fellow, and so young. He was highly regarded in his community at Grand Pré, was he not? I hope he did not suffer in his final days. Captain Tyrone delivered the news of his death as he passed by Annapolis en route to the Atlantic. He met with the lieutenant-governor privately for several hours. I was not privy to their conversation, so I am not aware of the details of your cousin’s death.”

  “You are kind to express your sympathy. I wonder if you might grant me a favour. It is necessary for me to meet with the lieutenant-governor to discuss my cousin’s death. Would you be able to arrange for me to see Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong on short notice?”

  Major Cosby exhibited a curious look and responded promptly. “I would be happy to do so. The urgency of your request suggests to me that you suspect foul play. Is that so?” I could tell he was fishing for information.

  It was not the appropriate time to elaborate on the matter so I made my apologies and promised to discuss the entire affair after I had met with the lieutenant-governor.

  He appeared to understand and left me momentarily to seek the audience I had requested. He returned after a short time.

  “His Excellency has granted you an audience. You may proceed to the lieutenant-governor’s quarters at the garrison. I look forward to our next meeting, Monsieur Belliveau.”

  I thanked him and bid him good day.

  Armstrong sat in a large leather chair beside a small fireplace. The room was panelled and painted a mint green. Painted walls were a rare sight in the colony. Above the mantel hung several swords — one above the next, all different. There was a writing desk piled neatly with papers, with several ink pens sitting upright in their bottles. There was a crispness in the decor. There were no paintings on the panelled walls. There were no signs of loved ones, no souvenirs of places the lieutenant-governor had visited.

  The lieutenant-governor himself was in complete contrast to the tidiness of the room. He was not wearing a uniform, and his apparel showed no sign of his position at Annapolis. Seeing him for the first time in an informal setting was a shock. He appeared to have taken little care in his dress, and he had a beleaguered expression on his face.

  “So, young Belliveau, we meet again. You and I have a long history, do we not? From a very early age you have shown yourself to be a bold and cheeky fellow. That being said, I had the misfortune of encountering your now deceased grandmother, Madame Marie, on a few occasions, and I recognize such impertinence to be a family inheritance. I must say, though, I respect pluck in a person. Please sit.”

  I sat opposite him in a straight wooden chair and felt rather more comfortable in his presence than I had anticipated. There was something about the man that was different, something almost humane. Something I had not witnessed in him before. This was, of course, the first time I had been alone with him in private.

  “So, what brings you to the garrison, monsieur?”

  “Excellency, I have come to discuss the death of my cousin Benjamin LeBlanc of Grand Pré.”

  “Indeed. I did hear of his passing. Allow me to express my condolences to you and your family. He was a highly respected young man in his community.”

  “He was much loved, sir.”

  I had Armstrong’s full attention, but the expression on his tired face did not alter.

  “Was his death sudden, or did he suffer a lengthy illness?”

  “His death was decidedly sudden and he was in perfect health when he died. It is my belief, Excellency, that he was murdered.”

  “I see.” The lieutenant-governor uttered these words without any change in his demeanour. I recognized that this was not news to him.

  Before continuing, I reached for the bag I had carried into the interview and
slowly drew out Benjamin’s journal.

  “This is my cousin’s journal. The entries here were all written this year. The spring entries tell a story of bad blood between François Mangeant and Benjamin. My cousin even expressed his fear that Monsieur Mangeant might possibly end his life.”

  I began to relate all the details of Benjamin’s secret community meetings and Mangeant’s antagonistic treatment of him. The lieutenant-governor asked to see the journal. I complied, passing it to him with great care. He fingered through its pages in a cursory way then closed it firmly in his hands.

  “And what is it you believe this journal suggests, monsieur?”

  “Forgive my boldness, Excellency, but I believe it suggests that Mangeant murdered Benjamin LeBlanc.”

  “That is a bold accusation, monsieur. Monsieur LeBlanc could not possibly have described his own death in his journal.”

  Armstrong scrutinized me carefully, but his expression never changed.

  “No, certainly not, but it describes in detail the events leading up to that evening he when received four fatal wounds from the blade of a sword.”

  “And did you inspect these sword wounds yourself?”

  “No, sir, I was not in Grand Pré at the time of the death, but his wounds were described to me by his sisters and his father, René LeBlanc.”

  “So, this information is second-hand knowledge?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If there were no witnesses to the so-called murder, then any accusations against Monsieur Mangeant are purely circumstantial. That being said, I will peruse LeBlanc’s journal and discuss its comments with Monsieur Mangeant himself.”

  “Would it be presumptuous of me, Excellency, to ask from whom you received the news of my cousin’s death?”

  “It is indeed presumptuous, Monsieur Belliveau. The lieutenant-governor always has his sources when someone of note dies in his colony.”

  It was at that moment I realized I must drop the cannonball.

  “Could that source have been Captain Andrew Tyrone? After all, he was the person who found Monsieur LeBlanc.”

  There was still no alteration in his facial expression.

  “And what makes you believe this Captain Tyrone would have relayed this information to me?”

  “I have been told this very day that the day following Benjamin’s death Captain Tyrone sailed into the harbour at Annapolis and met with you for a length of time.”

  For the first time since the audience began I noticed a subtle hint of agitation in his features.

  “Where did you acquire this information, monsieur?”

  “Major Cosby told me that your Excellency met with Captain Tyrone when he visited the garrison on his way home to England in July.”

  “That is true, but what makes you believe he discussed your cousin’s death with me?”

  “It is highly likely that he would have done so, given the fact that he was the person who found my cousin’s body. It seems inconceivable to me that he would not have related such an event to the governor of the colony. Benjamin was a very influential person at Grand Pré.”

  I felt my heart begin to beat faster with every word uttered.

  “Again, sir, that is merely your personal opinion. There are many things I could have discussed with the captain. I have traded with Tyrone often. Let me put this question to you, Monsieur Belliveau. Did it occur to you that Tyrone himself may have had an altercation with your cousin? There is as much evidence to suggest that Tyrone murdered your cousin as Monsieur Mangeant. After all, Tyrone was the one to find LeBlanc aboard his own vessel.”

  The final sentence stopped me in my tracks. I had not mentioned that Benjamin was found on his own boat. I now felt I was on shaky ground.

  “What motive would Tyrone have had for killing my cousin? To my knowledge their relationship was a good one.”

  “Who really knows what relationship one person has with another? I will say to you now, monsieur, that you have a very weak case against Monsieur Mangeant. However, I will read your cousin’s journal and then meet with Mangeant to confirm your cousin’s observations. Then I will speak to you. I can see you are shaken by Benjamin LeBlanc’s death. I say to you there is a possibility he took his own life. Has that not occurred to you?”

  “It never has, sir. I am certain he was murdered, and all I wish is that justice is done.”

  “Time will tell, then. Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I will return the journal to you after I have thoroughly given it my full attention. Good day, Monsieur Belliveau. It was a pleasure to see you again.”

  Having been dismissed, I left the garrison in a dejected state. The meeting with Armstrong was a necessary step if I was to obtain justice in Benjamin’s murder, but it did not appear to have brought me nearer my goal.

  I never saw Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong again.

  The events that occurred at Annapolis over the next two months are not easy to describe, because I did not return to the town again until the following spring. I gave the lieutenant-governor time to digest the evidence I had given to him but I received no response. I was to discover there was a reason for his silence.

  Early snows in December kept us close to home, so any news from the town eluded us. However, on a walking visit to Annapolis to trade with the English merchants, Charles received momentous news. On his return home, I was the first person he visited. He informed me Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong was dead. There were few details, but the rumour was he had committed suicide.

  Apparently, he had been found in his quarters after having inflicted five sword wounds on his chest. The sword was found by his side on the bed.

  The word was that the lieutenant-governor was despondent and experiencing severe attacks of melancholia. I thought of how ironic this was. The last time I spoke to him he had suggested the possibility of Benjamin ending his life in the exact same manner. The death was being investigated. What if he, like Benjamin, had been murdered in his bed? I don’t know why, but the news saddened me more than I would have expected.

  We did not attend the funeral service.

  When finally I sailed into Annapolis in the spring of 1740, I met Colonel Cosby by chance. He told me he had completed the inquiry into Armstrong’s death and it had been designated a suicide. Furthermore, he wished for me to follow him to his quarters at the garrison. I did, and he prod­uced Benjamin’s journal, saying he thought I would wish to have my cousin’s property. It had been found in the lieutenant-governor’s rooms at the fort. He also informed me, knowing I would be interested, that Mangeant had resigned his post at Grand Pré.

  “Do you believe François Mangeant murdered your cousin, Monsieur Belliveau?”

  I was taken off guard by his question but chose to be forthright.

  “I am certain of it, Colonel.”

  “I share your belief. Unfortunately, there is no real evidence that can connect Mangeant to Benjamin LeBlanc’s death.”

  “What about Benjamin’s diary?” I asked in desperation.

  “I read the journal after I found it beside the lieutenant-governor’s bed and there appear to be a large number of pages missing. So, I am afraid you may be compelled to give up on your quest for justice and leave that to the Almighty. Divine justice is the most powerful justice of all. If Mangeant killed Benjamin LeBlanc, then he will roast in the fires of hell, which is where I predict he is destined in any case. That should be comfort enough for you, monsieur. Good day.”

  I walked to the harbour with Benjamin’s journal under my arm and remained huddled on Charles’s schooner for the entire day until he returned in the early evening. Sailing back to the village, I held the book to my breast, feeling that somehow I was embracing Benjamin’s spirit.

  THE FRENCH MENACE

  Chapter 25

  The five years following Armstrong’s death proved to be a s
hort reprieve from the usual anxieties we had experienced under his governorship. Colonel Cosby acted as lieutenant-governor for a short time, but despite his kindness to the Acadian community he never quite managed to achieve quietude at the fort. His sudden death in 1742 ended the unrest that had existed at the garrison for decades. One of the officers, Major Paul Mascarene, who had been stationed at Annapolis Royal for many years, replaced him as lieutenant-governor, and things settled down among the English considerably.

  In 1742 Jeanne and I welcomed another daughter into the world. We named her Rosalie. She was our sixth daughter. My home had become a girlish domain, but I continued to treasure it as always. I was the recipient of my family’s attention and love.

  Isabelle continued to visit Benjamin’s sisters at Grand Pré following his death. It was obvious she was tenaciously holding on to his memory. However, in time she met a first cousin of Benjamin, Joseph LeBlanc, son of René’s brother Jacques LeBlanc, and they married in Annapolis at Chapelle St. Jean Baptiste in the summer of 1742. We held the wedding feast at Melanson Village, and it gave us great joy to witness Isabelle moving on with her life. She was more radiant than I had ever seen her, although I detected a tiny glint of melancholy in her beautiful eyes. She moved to Grand Pré to live with her husband’s family.

  Throughout this period of peace, there were nevertheless rumblings of war from afar. Across the ocean in Europe, they called it the War of the Austrian Succession, but its name was just a name to us. We imagined that succession meant something to do with monarchs, but which ones none of us knew. We were not even aware which Louis sat on the throne of France. Nor did we care. We were loyal subjects of King George II, although we had never even seen a portrait of this ruler. As for Austria, it might have been some imaginary place.

  We Acadians were French-speaking and French in culture, but the menace from France that arrived in Acadia in 1744 was almost our undoing. It led to a series of calamitous events that the English governors for the next decade were not soon to forget. France’s determination to regain control of Acadia was to cause us no end of grief. Without consulting us, our mother country, France, was as responsible for the destruction of Acadia ten years later as the British were in carrying it out.