The Hunt for the North Star

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

  ‘But you could not save Colonel Lawrence himself,’ said Sheaffe mournfully.

  ‘No, sir. And I am sorry for that. But I did my best to warn him.’

  ‘And what about the rest?’ demanded Boydell. ‘What about the years of spying, the correspondence with the Americans before and during the war? What about all the lives that have been thrown away thanks to your betrayal? We know the whole story now, MacLea. We have letters, coded documents, evidence of money you received, everything. And we have the stories of the deserters who saw you at Sackett’s Harbor. The evidence against you is overwhelming. You are a dead man.’

  ‘I am sure this evidence has been manufactured very thoroughly,’ said MacLea. ‘Show it to me, and I shall refute every piece of it. As for the deserters, if you examine them, you will find they are American agents, carefully primed with a story by Colonel Calder.’

  ‘Enough!’ said Sheaffe sharply. ‘Must I repeat myself? We are not here to decide Captain MacLea’s guilt, not now. You will have your chance to give evidence, Mr Boydell, and you, Captain MacLea, will have your chance to speak before you are sentenced.’

  ‘Before he is sentenced?’ said Selby sharply. ‘Then you have already decided on his guilt.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Sheaffe stiffly. ‘I misspoke myself. I mean that Captain MacLea will have a chance to speak in his own defence. Mr Robinson, what are your objections to a court martial?’

  ‘I think we have been presented with a golden opportunity,’ said Robinson. ‘A treason trial will ram home the point that we are not prepared to tolerate trafficking with the enemy in any form. It will be a strong deterrent, Sir Roger.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Prideaux Selby. ‘You are all forgetting something.’ He wheezed suddenly, leaning on his stick. ‘You cannot simply sweep this matter under the carpet. The charges against Captain MacLea are serious; so serious that he has the right to defend himself against them, in public, before a jury of his peers. You are convinced already that he is guilty. But I, who believe in his innocence, tell you this. If you execute him now, and evidence then emerges – as it most certainly will emerge – that he is innocent, you yourselves will be guilty of a great crime. You will have murdered one of this country’s staunchest defenders.’

  The old man wheezed again, and MacLea saw his knuckles whiten as he clenched his stick, but then he straightened and looked around the room. ‘If you proceed with either a court martial or a trial by judge only, I will go over your head and ask Sir George Prévost to intervene, and if he will not, I will appeal to the government in London, even to the prime minister himself.’ He paused to draw breath. ‘You desire a quick resolution, Sir Roger? Then give this man a fair and open trial. If you will not, then I promise you, I will ensure this affair drags on for months, if not years.’

  There was a long silence. Then Sheaffe shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You may appeal all you wish, Mr Selby, but we shall proceed. Mr Robinson, I am convinced by your argument. The trial will be held in camera. Mr Selby, you will be allowed to accompany the prisoner into the courtroom, but no one else. The trial will be completed in one day, and you will have time to call only a limited number of witnesses. I suggest you choose them carefully.’

  ‘That is your final decision?’ asked Selby.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then I can only say that this is a very dark day for British justice.’

  ‘You are entitled to your opinion.’ Sheaffe motioned to the escort. ‘Take the prisoner away.’

  * * *

  After MacLea and Selby had been escorted out, General Sheaffe looked at Robinson and Boydell. ‘Have we made the right decision, do you think?’

  Outside, the wind was rising, and it had begun to rain. ‘Yes,’ said Boydell. He was calmer now and seemed almost sad rather than angry. ‘The threat we face is very real, Sir Roger,’ he continued. ‘I need not remind you of that. Our losses at Sackett’s Harbor were not as heavy as they might have been, I grant you, but they were bad enough. The Royal Americans are broken as a fighting force, our other regiments are stretched thin as parchment, and thanks to MacLea, the morale of the militia is at rock bottom. His execution will serve as a powerful symbol for all, strengthening the faint-hearted and discouraging the waverers.’ He paused. ‘I am truly sorry. What led him to treason we will probably never know. But we must make an example of him.’

  * * *

  As a young man, James Givins had spent much of his life in the western forests, and even in his more settled years he preferred the wild country to the towns. He and his wife Angelique were commonly seen in York society, but they did not live in the town; their home was Pine Grove, three miles to the west in the heart of the forest. Wolves often came sniffing around the house at night; far from being afraid of them, Angelique Givins sometimes put out meat for them, as if they were dogs.

  The wind that had risen during the day was howling now, and from the direction of the lake they could hear a strange creaking and groaning noise, interspersed with sharper cracks like the report of a gun. The wind was breaking up the ice. By tomorrow morning there would be open water. ‘And we know what that means,’ Julius Kramer said. ‘Once the lake is open, the Americans will come.’

  Alec Murray glared at him. ‘I don’t recall inviting you to this meeting.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ said Kramer. ‘I came anyway. If you want to save John MacLea, you need my help.’

  They were gathered in the rustic drawing room of Pine Grove: Givins and his wife, Josephine, Kramer, Sekahos of the Mississaugas, Rebecca Morningstar, Captain Derenzy, Charlotte Lawrence, Murray and the other nine men of MacLea’s company.

  ‘You’ve heard the news,’ Derenzy said. ‘My father-in-law told me this afternoon. A quick and secret trial with few witnesses, followed by an even quicker execution. Pour encourager les autres, Selby said.’

  ‘So, we have very little time,’ said Murray.

  ‘Then we must move quickly,’ said Major Givins. ‘Let us look at what we know. There is this mass of evidence that Boydell talks about, the letters from Calder and so on. But Calder told MacLea they intended to fabricate this story in order to undermine morale. So we can assume that American agents planted the material where Boydell would be sure to find it.’

  ‘Why didn’t he find it before now, sir?’ asked Abel Thomas.

  ‘Probably because it hadn’t been planted yet,’ said Givins. ‘Did Calder make any direct mention of Polaris? Was Polaris working for him? If so, can we assume that was who planted the evidence?’

  ‘MacLea didn’t say,’ said Derenzy.

  ‘It was Polaris,’ said Kramer.

  The others stared at him. ‘You have never mentioned Polaris before,’ Murray said.

  ‘Of course not. A good spy does not reveal everything at once, not without reason. Magnus Fraser told me about him when we met in Montreal, in exchange for certain information he needed. As we know, Polaris is a high-level agent. He has the ability to plant misleading information, just as he has the ability to intercept intelligence reports and insert false ones in their place. Trust me. This is the work of Polaris.’

  ‘We also know that MacLea must have been deliberately betrayed at Ogdensburgh,’ said Givins.

  Derenzy nodded. ‘They knew right where to find us.’

  ‘But who told them you were coming?’ asked Charlotte Lawrence. ‘Mr Dunne? He couldn’t have known for certain when and where you would arrive.’

  ‘And Dunne was attempting to flee when we caught him,’ Murray said. ‘He was terrified. I reckon he knew Calder intended to kill him and was trying to get away. No. It was someone else.’

  ‘And I think I know who,’ said Josephine.

  Outside, the wind raged, roaring in the trees. Everyone looked at her.

  ‘Can you not guess?’ she asked.

  After a moment, Kramer nodded slowly. Rebecca Morningstar nodded too. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I can.’

  * * *

  In the darkne
ss, the wind-torn waters of Sackett’s Harbor boiled. Waves flung themselves at the waterfront, churning up white foam and throwing fountains of spray in the air. The wind plucked at the taut rigging of the ships, singing like a monstrous harp as it rushed across the harbour. More lights gleamed on the decks of the ships themselves, showing their crews hard at work; some toiled at the capstans, dragging anchors up from the lake bed, while others climbed the ratlines and ran along the yards to hoist the big canvas sails.

  Packed with troops and guns, stores and ammunition, the ships began to move. The big corvette was first, all her guns remounted; she was called the Madison, named after her predecessor, which had gone crashing over Niagara Falls seven months before. The brig Oneida followed, and then the schooners and smaller ships, Scourge, Raven, Gold Hunter, Lady of the Lake and their consorts. As the ships cleared the harbour, the lights were doused, and in wind and darkness the flotilla sailed across the lake, brushing aside the drifting floes of ice.

  On the shadowy quarterdeck of the Madison, Brigadier General Zebulon Pike turned to Commodore Chauncey, the naval commander. ‘When will we reach York?’

  ‘With the wind on this heading, we shall make landfall at dawn the day after tomorrow,’ said the commodore.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Pike. ‘And by the end of the day, the capital of Upper Canada will be in our hands. The first blow will have been struck. Three weeks, gentlemen, and the war will have been won.’

  ‘What a pity Colonel Calder won’t be alive to see it,’ drawled Major Forsyth.

  ‘No. And that reminds me, Forsyth. The British have sent MacLea to York to stand trial. When we land, I want him caught and brought to me. I want to witness his execution personally.’

  * * *

  ‘But how do we prove it?’ asked Murray. ‘If we go to Robinson with a story like this, he’ll think it’s a tale cooked up to try and save John.’

  ‘There is not a shred of hard evidence,’ agreed Givins.

  ‘No,’ said Rebecca Morningstar. ‘We know Polaris is subtle and clever, and he has played the game well. He moves like the wind through the forest, leaving no trail behind him.’

  ‘Pardieu, why worry about evidence?’ asked Sekahos. ‘We know who he is, we know where he lives. We wait for him in the darkness, and pfff.’ The Mississauga drew his finger across his throat.

  ‘Trust an Ojibwe to think like that,’ said Rebecca Morningstar. ‘Do you wish us all to be hanged for murder? We must bide our time.’

  ‘Trust a Mohawk to think like that,’ said Sekahos. ‘We have no time. Remember?’

  ‘Pardon me for interrupting,’ said Kramer sardonically. ‘And my apologies, Mrs Morningstar, but you are wrong. Every spy leaves a trail, even one as good as myself. Give me permission, and I will find evidence for you.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The house,’ said Kramer. ‘I have been there before, and I know its layout. I can discover where Polaris keeps his secrets.’

  ‘But even if you can, Polaris invented the evidence against Captain MacLea,’ said Charlotte Lawrence. ‘Surely when we accuse him, he will say that we have forged the evidence again him. As Alec says, it will look like a false story on our part, a desperate invention in order to save our friend.’

  ‘She is right,’ said Josephine. ‘We need evidence, yes, but we also need a witness.’

  ‘And there’s the problem,’ said Murray. ‘Every time we think we have found a witness against Polaris, someone gets killed. Fraser thought he had discovered one, and died. Then we found Street, but he was killed before he could talk. The same thing happened to Dunne. Captain Derenzy is right: Calder was ready to kill him even before we got to him, in order to eliminate a potential witness. It’s almost as if Polaris has set out to obliterate anyone who might reveal his identity, friend or otherwise.’

  ‘That is exactly what he has done,’ said Josephine. ‘He suffers, I think, from a form of madness that leads him to suspect everyone of being his enemy, even if they are not. And he takes great pleasure from killing them as cruelly as possible. Hence the employment of the glass harmonica. But there is one person he has spared. Perhaps he thinks she does not know the secret. And indeed, perhaps she does not. But we must try.’

  ‘Who is that, madame?’ asked McTeer.

  ‘Dunne’s mother,’ said Josephine. ‘Lady Lawrence… Charlotte. You know her a little. Do you think she was unaware of her son’s activities?’

  ‘No,’ said Charlotte. ‘Mother and son were united by a bond of suffering. I am positive they had no secrets from each other.’

  ‘She was covering something up the night we searched her house,’ Murray said. ‘We thought it was the fact that Dunne had been shot, and she had patched him up and then hidden him. But maybe it really was pig’s blood.’

  ‘Except the footprints went right up to the kitchen door,’ said Miller.

  ‘Yes… So she knows something, that’s for damned sure. All right. What do we do?’

  ‘I think this is a job that requires a woman’s touch,’ said Josephine. ‘Charlotte, Mrs Morningstar, we shall go together. Mr Murray, will you provide us with an escort?’

  * * *

  In the morning, the wind was still blowing. The harbour remained full of ice, cracked and translucent; no fishermen ventured out now. But the lake beyond Gibraltar Point was open water, white-crested grey waves breaking on the shore and pounding against the great slabs of rotting ice washed up on the beach.

  Charlotte Lawrence knocked on the door of Dunne’s house, and then knocked again. They were beginning to wonder if anyone would answer when at last, they heard the sound of bolts being drawn back. A servant stood in the doorway, gazing at them without speaking. ‘Ask Mrs Dunne if she will receive me,’ said Charlotte, handing over her calling card.

  After a long wait, they were ushered into the spartan drawing room. Mrs Dunne sat before the fire, a tiny figure in black, gnarled hands clutching the arms of her chair. An open book lay face down in her lap. Josephine caught a glimpse of the title: A Godly Letter of Warning, or Admonition to the Faithful.

  ‘Mrs Dunne,’ said Charlotte gently. ‘My friends and I came to say how sorry we are about your son.’

  Dark eyes studied them from a wrinkled face. ‘A widow’s weeds suit you, Lady Lawrence,’ the older woman said. ‘You carry off black very well. You set a good example. There will be many a wife and mother greetin’ for their lost ones before long. Aye, Madame Lafitte. I expect you’ll be one of them, not that you and the gallant captain had benefit of wedlock.’

  ‘What do you mean, ma’am?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘You know full well what I mean. I know you were close to that man. Nay, I pass no judgement on you. God will judge us all soon enough.’

  ‘I too am sorry to hear about your son,’ Josephine said.

  ‘Why? You were no friend to him. He suspected you of breaking into his office and stealing his letters. Did you?’

  Josephine looked up and met Rebecca Morningstar’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said calmly. ‘I was doing my duty, just as your son was doing his. We were soldiers, Mrs Dunne. We just happened to be on opposite sides.’

  ‘Soldiers,’ said Mrs Dunne slowly. ‘Aye, you were; we all were. Soldiers in a war without honour. Elijah believed, you know. He truly hoped that overthrowing British rule in Canada would be the beginning of the end. First Canada would fall, then the spark of revolution would light a fire in Scotland, perhaps even England itself. Pitt and his bloody-backs crushed our rebellion first time around, with killings and floggings and transportation, but the will to fight is still there. There’ll be another revolution, and this time there will be a different end. Elijah believed that.’

  ‘And do you?’ asked Rebecca Morningstar.

  ‘I believe freedom will come one day. But Elijah pinned his faith on the wrong cause. The man he followed betrayed him and killed him. Faithfully did he serve, my son, and his reward was a lonely death and a nameless grave.’

  ‘You worked
with him,’ said Josephine. ‘You shared his belief and his passion.’

  ‘I did. I carried messages for him. No one would suspect a wee old biddy like myself, and I could move about freely even when he might be under suspicion. We worked well together.’

  ‘Mrs Dunne,’ said Charlotte softly. ‘There is one question we must ask you.’

  ‘Aye. I know what it is. You want to know the name of Polaris.’

  Josephine realised she was holding her breath.

  ‘Will you tell us?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Why should I? To save the life of John MacLea? He’s just another bloody-back soldier. He is nothing to me.’

  ‘But if you tell us,’ said Josephine, ‘you will have justice for your son. We will ensure that the man who ordered his murder is punished.’

  ‘Aye. Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t. He’s cunning, cunning like a fox, and you’ll struggle to lay hands on him.’

  ‘We shall try all the same,’ said Rebecca Morningstar.

  The old woman gazed into the fire. ‘Then I wish you good fortune. Very well. My Elijah is dead. It is over now, or nearly so.’

  They waited.

  ‘You already know what I am about to say, Madame Lafitte,’ Mrs Dunne said at last. ‘I see it in your face. But I will say it anyway. The man who calls himself Polaris is James Boydell.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A key rasped in the lock of his cell, and MacLea sat up. He could hear the crowd outside; judging by the murmuring, the mob was larger now, and more restive. If they decide to break in and hang me themselves, he thought, will the guards be able to resist them? Will they even try?

  One of the gaolers stood in the door of the cell. ‘Captain MacLea? Come with me, sir, if you please.’

  MacLea blinked. There was a tone of respect in the man’s voice that had been absent before. ‘Is the trial about to begin?’