“An’ we ain’t talked to Mrs. Blodgett yet, have we?”
Marc, who had started to get up, sat back down. “No, and we should do so before we beard Prissy. There is no chance that Mrs. Blodgett is part of a conspiracy that would in any way harm Macaulay. She’s been here for two decades, and she and Garnet appear to be very close. And cooks always know what’s going on in their domain. We need to ask her if she’s noticed anything out of the ordinary down there. She’ll also know if Bragg was absent for any length of time over the past two or three weeks. She’ll be our honest broker.”
Cobb got up. “Then let’s head down there. We got less than an hour to come up with somethin’ you can take inta yer conflab at six.”
Marc nodded, and followed Cobb down the hall. Once again Macaulay popped out of the billiard-room, looking knackered. “Any news?”
“We’ll have something by six,” Marc lied. “Right now, we’re hoping to interview Mrs. Blodgett.”
“Then you’re in luck. Finch just told me she’s up, taking tea, and being her wonderful bossy self.”
Marc excused himself, and he and Cobb sprinted for the rotunda.
***
Mrs. Blodgett was seated comfortably in her rocking-chair, balancing a cup of tea and smiling up at her nursemaid, Tillie Janes. Hetty could be heard working somewhere in the back shed, and humming to herself.
“Come right in, gentlemen,” Mrs. Blodgett said. “Tillie’s just made the tea. You’ll have a cup?”
“That’s kind of you,” Marc said, “but Constable Cobb and I would like to talk to you in private for a few minutes before my meeting starts at six o’clock.”
“About the sad business upstairs, I take it?” she sighed. “Tillie’s been bringin’ me up to date since I decided to rejoin the livin’.”
Tillie looked anxious at this turn of events, but whether it was out of general concern for Mrs. Blodgett’s fragile health or something less noble, Marc could not tell.
“I’ll just go an’ tidy up yer room, then,” Tillie said. “No need fer you to leave yer chair, is there?”
“Thanks, Til. You’ve been real good to an old lady.”
Tillie smiled, patted her mistress on the wrist, and went back into the cook’s quarters.
“You sure you won’t have a cup of tea? Or a mince tart?”
Cobb salivated, but resisted manfully.
“No, thank you,” Marc said. He drew a chair up beside the cook, who looked steadily at him as he said, “First of all, what we would like to learn from you has nothing to do with what you heard or saw last night, because we know you were in bed suffering from your arthritis.”
“That I was, sir. I collapsed before the supper was cleared away, an’ the girls had to carry me into my bed. Tillie stayed with me, bless her.”
“We do think you might be able to help us in another way, however,” Marc said.
“If you won’t find it too fatiguin’,” Cobb said gallantly.
Mrs. Blodgett chortled at this, and managed to slop a good deal of her tea onto her saucer. “My goodness. Look at me! I ain’t felt this spry in months! I went to bed in terrible pain, but Tillie an’ me prayed real hard an’ the Good Lord blessed me with the longest an’ deepest sleep I’ve had since I was a babe. I’m just disappointed I’ve got no supper to cook fer Mr. Macaulay an’ his guests.”
Marc felt his stomach knot.
“You all right?” Mrs. Blodgett said.
“Did Tillie prepare a glass of camomile tea for you last night?” Marc said in a voice that alarmed the cook and surprised Cobb.
“Yes, sir, she did. But why’re you lookin’ like that? It wasn’t poisoned.”
“About a quarter to ten?”
“I wouldn’t know that fer sure, but it was only a few minutes after I was put to bed. I was moanin’ an’ carryin’ on somethin’ awful.”
To Cobb’s astonishment, Marc marched across the room to the door of Mrs. Blodgett’s quarters and shouted, “Tillie! Please come out here!”
Then he walked slowly back to Cobb and Mrs. Blodgett, who stared open-mouthed at him.
“You lost yer marbles?” Cobb said.
Tillie came hesitantly into the room, her face a mask of fear.
“Tell us, Tillie,” Marc said sharply, “what you put in Mrs. Blodgett’s tea last night before she fell into a deep, painless sleep?”
Tillie began to tremble all over, but she did not cry. She was made of sterner stuff than her younger sister. She ignored her interrogator and said to Mrs. Blodgett, “I couldn’t stand to see you sufferin’ so, ma’am. I know I shoulda got Mr. Macaulay’s permission first, but he was busy with his important guests an’ I just couldn’t bear watchin’ you in such pain fer another night. I’m so sorry, so sorry – ”
“Control yerself, girl!” Mrs. Blodgett cried, not unkindly. “The world ain’t comin’ to an end. Just tell us what you done.”
It was Marc who responded: “She slipped up to the bathroom off the rotunda – after Mr. Tremblay had left it and just before the other guests arrived to retire – and brought back with her the bottle containing Mrs. Macaulay’s laudanum.”
“Jesus!” Cobb breathed, then: “Pardon my French.”
“I followed the instructions, ma’am. I c’n read! I only give you a teaspoonful in yer tea. An’ look at the wonders it worked! I don’t care if Mr. Macaulay sacks me, I don’t – ”
“Nobody’s gonna get sacked,” Mrs. Blodgett said, taking Tillie’s hands into her own swollen, arthritic ones. “You’ve only used a wee bit of it, an’ Mr. Macaulay was gonna have the doctor see me tomorrow to get some medicine fer me, so there’s nothin’ to get upset about. You just leave everythin’ to me.”
“Where is the bottle now?” Marc said.
“In the drawer of Mrs. Blodgett’s commode,” Tillie said warily, not completely convinced by her mistress’s assurances that she was truly out of danger. “Do you want me to fetch it?”
Marc sighed and looked bleakly at Cobb. Then he said to Mrs. Blodgett, “I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands, ma’am. In a way, you and Tillie have been helpful to our investigation, though it would have been better if we had known about this sooner than later.”
The two women looked much relieved.
Marc and Cobb took their leave. Neither said a word until they were back in the library and seated before their notes once again.
“Well, Major,” Cobb said finally, “now we got no loud-’an’-numb, no Bragg, no Harkness, no wine – an’ no prospects.”
“It couldn’t get any worse, could it? The Amontillado did contain a massive dose of laudanum, but it looks now as if it was smuggled in here, probably in a small vial – easily hidden and easily disposed of. The wine could also have come in via someone’s luggage or much earlier with Bragg or any of the servants who attend church or market in town. We can’t be sure now when the crime was initiated, that is to say, when the doctored sherry was actually handed to Chilton with malice aforethought. It could have been given to him an hour after he arrived a week ago Thursday.”
“Well, there’s still Tremblay. He could’ve brought both things with him.”
“Possibly. But we haven’t got any compelling reason to grill him or ransack his room other than our desperation at having no other available target.”
“I’d say we just lost our fishin’ line an’ the pole to boot.”
“And I’m due to meet with LaFontaine and Robert in a few minutes. I’ve got nothing but bad news to report.”
“We still got tomorrow an’ Sunday.”
“Thank God. But I see no reason for you to stay here any longer. Why don’t you go home, say hello to Dora and the children, and come back in the morning. Young Struthers can drive you in now and pick you up after breakfast.”
Cobb frowned. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Major. I’ll just hang around here till yer meetin’s over. I’ll fetch myself a few goodies from the dining-room an’ sit here an’ read through a
ll these notes again. Besides, you may need somebody to cheer you up after all the bad news has been doled out.”
“Thanks, Cobb,” Marc said, deeply moved by the unqualified friendship of a man whom, despite his rough-and-ready manners, Marc considered to be a true gentleman.
***
It had been just over twenty-four hours since the delegates had completed their negotiations, and surprised even themselves that things had gone so well so quickly. But to Marc, seated between Louis LaFontaine and Robert Baldwin at the rosewood davenport in the parlour, it seemed like an age, an age in which there had been a sea-change in the atmosphere and circumstance of Elmwood. Robert looked weary but not dispirited, after a day in which, against his nature, he had done his duty by helping Macaulay and Hincks entertain Bergeron and Bérubé at whist, piquet and billiards. LaFontaine looked as he had from the outset: serious to the point of self-absorption but acutely aware, in the silence he drew around himself, of everything going on about him. And Marc, who had endured a fruitless, frustrating day found, to his surprise and relief, that the moment he glanced at the two documents laid before him, he was able to move smoothly back into the sphere of political negotiation and, for a little while at least, forget about murder in all its ugliness. Robert and Louis did their part by refraining from quizzing him about the status of the investigation.
At Robert’s suggestion, Marc began by reading the English summary of what had been agreed to yesterday in regard to principal policy initiatives and parliamentary strategies for the new coalition. As he read out the English, clause by clause, he translated it into French for LaFontaine’s benefit. At several points, LaFontaine interrupted to ask for clarification, which was followed by a brief exchange between the two leaders by way of their translator. The fact that both men had put their unquestioning trust in him was not lost upon Marc. Next, Marc read through LaFontaine’s French summary and translated it for Robert. Only two minor clarifications were required. No additions or cross-outs were asked for. These two men – of differing culture, religion and political experience – had grasped the essentials of the two-day negotiations and independently summarized them with an uncanny convergence. They seemed able to read each other’s thoughts. It boded well for the future.
The two leaders shook hands, pleased with their achievement.
The smile on Robert’s face, however, faded slowly as he turned to Marc and nodded meaningfully.
Clearing his throat, Marc said, “Mr. LaFontaine, we feel obligated to ask all our members to come into the room at this time in order that I may bring them up to date on the murder investigation, a briefing I’m sure they have been anxious to hear despite their admirable forbearance. In addition, I have some further news that may be disquieting in the extreme.”
“Which may affect your decision to sign the agreement,” Robert said carefully, and LaFontaine responded with a Napoleonic furrow of the brow.
Marc went out and with Macaulay’s help rounded up everybody concerned. When they were all seated and the excited buzzing had diminished somewhat, Robert stood and announced that Marc had something to say about the investigation. The two documents, meanwhile, sat on the davenport nearby and were subject to more than one curious glance from those assembled.
As the news affected the Quebecers most directly, Marc spoke in French, trusting that Robert, Hincks and Macaulay would get the gist of his remarks. “I want to thank everyone here for their patience and cooperation,” he began. “What you deserve to know is that Constable Cobb and I have worked diligently all day to track down the person or persons who poisoned Graves Chilton. We have developed some promising leads, which I cannot specify for obvious reasons, but I must be frank and tell you that we will not be making an arrest any time this evening. In fact, our investigation may take us as far afield as Burford, a village beyond Brantford, and require another day or two – at best.”
“Are you saying we’ve got to stay here until Sunday!” Tremblay cried, and looked as if he were ready to punch anyone within range of his fists. “That’s outrageous, and absurd! You told us this morning we were not suspects! If not, then why should we be asked to hang about here?”
“Are we suspects?” inquired Bérubé, who had entered the parlour with the smile of a satisfied merchant on his face.
“It’s not that you are or are not suspects,” Marc said. “It’s something else. Our coroner, Dr. Angus Withers, has given the police until Monday noon to come up with the murderer or else he will call for an inquest later next week. He has also agreed to keep Chilton’s death under wraps, in deference to the delicacy of the situation here, but in turn has declared all of us at Elmgrove, guests and staff, to be potential witnesses at the inquest.”
“You’ve got to be joking!” Tremblay spluttered.
“We cannot be put on a witness-stand,” Bergeron said, “before the public – in Toronto! Everything we’ve been doing here since Wednesday will be known! We’ll all be ruined!”
“If we aren’t all discovered and exposed before then,” Bérubé said as his plump cheeks reddened. “How long can we stay here without somebody noticing us?”
“The news of these – these negotiations will get back to Montreal long before we do!” Tremblay said, looking to his colleagues for support. “Our enemies will be laughing up their sleeves. Your Tories here will do the same.”
“Try to calm yourself, sir,” Macaulay said in his fractured French.
“Kiss my arse!” Tremblay shouted in perfect English. To Marc he said with slightly less vehemence, “You cannot keep us here. Your coroner has served us no subpoenas. We shall depart first thing in the morning.”
“There are no subpoenas, and won’t be until Monday noon,” Marc said, “because Mr. Macaulay and I made a gentleman’s agreement with Dr. Withers.”
“Your agreement, not ours!”
“Perhaps we should leave,” Bergeron suggested, “while we can.”
“What’s another day?” Bérubé said with a sideways glance at the unsigned documents.
“We’ve been told that this so-called alliance has to be based on trust,” Tremblay carried on, “but what kind of trust is it when gentlemen’s agreements are made behind our backs and we are told we are not suspects when it’s obvious we are?”
“Maurice, restrain yourself,” Bérubé said. “Please.”
Robert, who had got the import of these angry remarks if not their precise wording, looked over at LaFontaine and said, “Louis?”
LaFontaine stood up. The room fell silent.
“There is no need for any of us to panic,” he said calmly. “My colleagues and I will be safe here until Sunday, and have been treated with kindness and generosity. I, too, share their concerns about public exposure at an inquest. As a lawyer, I also am cognizant of the imperatives of a criminal investigation. As the crime was committed here, everyone in this house has to be considered a suspect, whatever his station. And that is as it should be. After all, it is precisely the unearned privileges and automatic entitlements of the established elite that we have come here to oppose, so it would be the plainest hypocrisy for any of us to claim immunity simply because we are gentlemen.”
He paused while Marc quickly translated and his followers stared at him with a kind of wary reverence – even the fiery Tremblay.
“A deal has been struck with the coroner,” he continued, “chiefly to protect us and the deliberations we have distilled in those documents over there. We shall honour it by remaining here until Sunday evening, and offering the police our full cooperation. At that time, if there has been no charge laid, I propose we all meet again here in this room – to weigh our options.”
“What about the accord?” Bérubé said.
“It cannot be signed this evening. The risks are too great for all of us. If we are exposed before Monday, the documents will have to be burned. With luck and God’s will, Sunday evening will see a murderer charged and an historic alliance sealed with our signatures.”
At this stage, Marc felt that even God wouldn’t lay odds on that happy outcome.
***
Garnet Macaulay joined the wake in the library as soon as he had seen his guests comfortably settled in the dining-room, where hot soup and cold chicken had been laid out. He glanced at the pile of papers that Marc and Cobb were shuffling idly.
“At least we’ve got till Sunday night,” Macaulay said, sitting himself down with a world-weary sigh. “Did you mean it, Marc, when you said you had some promising leads?”
“We did, Garnet, but they’ve fizzled out. I’m trying to persuade Constable Cobb here to go home and get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll all start fresh in the morning.”
Cobb was riffling the pile of Marc’s notes like a deck of cards. “While you were deliverin’ the bad news, I read through everythin’ you jotted down here, Major, an’ there’s only one small item I’m puzzled about.”
“Only one?” Marc said.
“Way back near the beginnin’, you mention some reference letters from the butler’s betters back in England.”
“Yes,” Macaulay said, “I showed them to Marc.”
“I don’t see ‘em amongst these papers.”
Marc looked up quickly. “They’re in a drawer in my room. I glanced at them and then promptly forgot about them.”
“Hard to see why they’d be important,” Macaulay said reluctantly.
“Yeah, we’re cluckin’ at straws, ain’t we?” Cobb said.
“Nevertheless,” Marc said, “we’d be remiss in not going over them line by line. I’ll go and get them.”
Three minutes later Marc returned and dropped half a dozen letters on the table. “Let’s start reading. You never know.”
They each took a letter and began.
“This fella should’ve been cannon-ized, not murdered,” Cobb muttered. “I don’t believe what I’m readin’ here!”
“This one’s the same,” Macaulay said. “You see why I quit reading these after the first two or three? I just wrote Sir Godfrey and said, ‘Send the paragon to me!’”
Marc muttered his agreement with these sentiments, but a minute later cried out loud enough to make Cobb jump.
Unholy Alliance Page 17
