The Widow's Demise

by Don Gutteridge

  As he neared Rosewood, he began to whistle. The auguries were all positive today. Delores had answered his note this morning right away, agreeing to a carriage-ride into the countryside. What is more, she would provide the carriage, as her suitor did not have one. Again, the arrangement seemed appropriate and just to Trueman. As he came up to the front door, he noticed that her splendid surrey and its two horses were standing nearby in the care of a young groom with a pock-marked face.

  “Good morning, sir,” the groom said. “Madame is waiting in the foyer.”

  Trueman nodded slightly and went up to the bell-pull. He adjusted his hat and gave the pull a gentle tug.

  A black-suited butler immediately opened the door.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said, giving Trueman the onceover.

  “I am here to see Mrs. Cardiff-Jones,” Trueman said. “She’s expecting me.”

  “Of course. I’ll fetch madam for you.” He turned to his mistress, who was standing only two steps behind him. “Mr. Trueman for you, madam.”

  “Thank you, Diggs. That will be all.”

  Delores stepped forward and gave Trueman a broad smile.

  “Good morning, Delores. You look stunning.”

  “Thank you, Lionel. You are most king.”

  “I see you’ve got the surrey ready for us.”

  “Yes. And you’ll drive?”

  “I’d be delighted to.”

  “That way we can be alone,” Delores said, taking Trueman’s hand and stepping down off the porch.

  “My very thought.”

  Trueman led Delores towards the surrey. The groom was holding the horses, and watched as Trueman helped Delores up into the front seat of the vehicle, then sat down beside her. The groom handed him the reins.

  “Which way?” Trueman said.

  “Let’s drive up College Avenue to Queen’s Park,” Delores suggested.

  “Splendid idea.”

  College Avenue ran north off Queen Street. It was a broad thoroughfare, lined on either side by rows of maple trees, some of which had just begun to turn colour. When they came to the park, Trueman pulled the carriage over to the side of the road and wrapped the reins around the post.

  “What a beautiful place to stop,” Delores said.

  “Yes, it’s a glorious morning. And only fitting for a woman as beautiful as you.”

  “Lionel, you mustn’t say things like that.”

  He leaned over towards her. “I was raised to tell the truth,” he whispered.

  “I am immune to flattery.”

  “Are you immune to this?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, while his right hand moved around her waist and drew her slowly towards him. He felt little resistance.

  “Oh, Lionel, you mustn’t – ”

  He kissed her on the lips, which parted slightly at the pressure on them. She reached around and cupped the back of his head. Her mouth opened. He could feel her stays sharp against his chest. It was he who had to come up for air.

  “I adore you,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

  “You are a very determined man,” she said, straightening her dress.

  “And you have strong feelings for me, do you not?”

  “I like you very much, Lionel. We enjoy each other’s company.”

  “I want it to be more than that.”

  “I know.”

  “I need you to say you’ll be my wife.”

  “Oh, Lionel, don’t go and spoil things. You know I’m not ready for marriage yet. I’m looking only for companionship.”

  “That kiss wasn’t mere companionship,” he protested.

  “No, perhaps not. I shouldn’t have let things go that far.”

  “But you did. And you enjoyed it.”

  “That doesn’t make me your partner in matrimony. I’m sorry.”

  “Please tell me you’ll at least consider my proposal. I can wait for your answer for as long as it takes.”

  “All right. I can do that much. But I’m not holding out much hope.”

  “There’s somebody else, isn’t there?” he said sharply.

  “’Well, I do entertain other gentlemen from time to time. I like the company of men.”

  “Macy?”

  Delores reddened slightly. “Horace Macy comes to see me once in a while.”

  “And do you let him kiss you?”

  “There’s no need to take that tone, Lionel. He’s just a friend.”

  “And that, apparently is all I am.”

  “Now, please, don’t sulk, darling. It doesn’t’ suit you.”

  “How can you see other men and consider my proposal at the same time?”

  “Lionel, you know I don’t like jealous men.”

  “I saw you dancing with that failed chemist last night.”

  “I was the hostess. I danced with a dozen men, including you.”

  “I won’t be thought of as one of your dozen. I love you. I have behaved honourably.”

  “Of course you have. There’s no need to get so worked up about these things.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  He sighed. “I want you to promise not to entertain any more men until you give me an answer to my proposal of marriage.”

  Delores smiled and patted the back of his hands. “All right, if it will make you happy and not spoil an otherwise splendid morning in the country.”

  “You swear?”

  “I do.”

  Trueman snapped the reins and the horses moved out smartly.

  ***

  Marc and Gilles Gagnon were designated to approach Humphrey Cardiff, who agreed to meet them in his office at one o’clock. When they were settled in, Marc started things off by saying, “We’ve come to discuss the upcoming election, which you probably guessed.”

  Cardiff smiled. “That thought had occurred to me.”

  “You are chairman of Arthur Dingman’s election committee?” Marc said.

  “Indeed I am. And you two gentlemen are much involved in Louis LaFontaine’s campaign.”

  “We are. And the reason we have come here is to discuss some of the ground rules for the campaign. We are hoping to avoid trouble on the hustings by doing more advance preparation that will forestall it.”

  Cardiff’s heavy brows shot up. “What sort of trouble?”

  “Well,” Gagnon said, “there was a lot of violence and rough stuff during LaFontaine’s campaign in Terrebonne last April. We are hoping that there will not be a repetition of those incidents.”

  “And you think our side might be capable of such tricks?”

  “Both sides are capable of it,” Marc said. “Strong feelings usually prevail at election time. All we can do is make sure that the leadership is not the root cause of violence among the troops.”

  “You feel there might be some strong anti-French, anti-Rebellion feeling among the populace of the county?”

  “It would be easy to stir up,” Gagnon said, suddenly aware of his very French accent. “As you did in you letter to the Gazette.”

  “Ah, that,” Cardiff said. “That was fair political comment. It was intended to persuade people to vote Tory, not incite violence of any sort. I am the Attorney-General. I am opposed to violence. I stand for law and order. And I can assure you gentlemen that no-one on our side will do any stirring up of the populace.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Marc said. “We want an open and fair election.”

  “But,” said Gagnon, “we hear you have taken on D’Arcy Rutherford.”

  Cardiff’s grimace turned slowly to a smile. “You overestimate Rutherford’s influence. He is a loyal Tory and a superb organizer. That is all. You have nothing to worry about on that score.”

  “This is most reassuring,” said Marc. “May we shake hands on it?”

  “Certainly,” Cardiff said. He held out his hand. “To a clean election.”

  “Likewise,” Marc said.

  He and Gagnon were shown out. Humphrey Cardiff went back to his desk and sat down. He l
it a cigar and puffed on it with some satisfaction. Words were wonderful things, he thought. They could be shaped, manipulated and aimed where you wanted them. A few minutes later, the side door to his office opened and D’Arcy Rutherford came in. He was a short, wiry little man with angular features and tiny shifting eyes that darted here and there and never seemed to alight anywhere.

  “Ah, D’Arcy,” Rutherford said. “You’re just in time.”

  “Things are in motion,” Rutherford said.

  “LaFontaine will never know what hit him,” Cardiff said.

  He continued to puff on his fancy cigar.

  ***

  Carlton Diggs, the butler, poked his head into Delores’s sewing-room. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but your father would like to see you in the library.”

  “I didn’t know he was back from the office,” Delores said, putting down her knitting.

  “He just arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “Very well, then.”

  Delores followed Diggs down the hall to the library. Her father was seated at the big table, fingering a calf-bound book.

  “Ah, there you are,” Cardiff said, placing the book aside. “Please have a seat. There is something important I wish to discuss with you.”

  Delores sensed the urgency in his voice, and without further ado sat down next to him.

  “I’m not sure how or where to begin, my dear, but begin I must. I’ll come straight to the point. I was, to say the least, disappointed in your behaviour last evening at the ball.”

  Delores was taken aback. Her father was not usually so blunt. “Oh,” she said, “in what way?”

  “Well, you were, how shall I say it, a little too free with your person.” He looked down briefly and then back up again.

  “But I was the hostess. I was expected to mingle and make our guests feel comfortable.”

  “Of course you were. But it is unseemly for a young woman to approach a man and ask for a dance, a manoeuvre you repeated several times.”

  “I wanted to make Monsieur Gagnon feel at home here in Toronto. I wished to show him we were not prejudiced.”

  “He wasn’t the only one, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry you feel so strongly about it, father. After all, I am a woman of independent means.”

  “That’s just my point, Delores. You are a widow with a small fortune. Every unattached male in town is in pursuit of you, and you make yourself shamelessly available.”

  “I like to dance,” Delores said stubbornly.

  “I particularly don’t like you getting close to Lionel Trueman. The man is nothing but a gold digger.”

  “I only danced with him once.”

  “Don’t be disingenuous. I know for a fact that you spent the morning driving about the countryside with the man.”

  Delores bit her lip. “Who told you?” she said sharply.

  “What does it matter. I know. And I heartily disapprove.”

  “It was Perkins, wasn’t it?”

  John Perkins was the all-purpose manservant in the household.

  “What if it was. That is irrelevant.”

  “Lionel Trueman is just a friend. I have no intention of marrying the man. Not him nor any man.”

  “Then you ought to act in a manner that suggests that. I am heavily involved in Mr. Dingman’s election campaign. I don’t want tongues to start wagging.”

  “So it’s your precious campaign you’re worried about!”

  “I’m worried about my daughter. Now promise me you’ll curtail your activities in regard to gentleman friends.”

  “Well, it’ll have to be tomorrow because I’ve invited Horace Macy to spend the afternoon with me. He’ll be here shortly.”

  “Macy? The chemist? Why, he’s worse than Trueman. Everybody knows his business is near bankruptcy. He’s after your money. I absolutely forbid his coming here.”

  Delores laughed. “Well, he’s a long ways from getting it. I find him amusing. He likes to play piquet. That is all there is to it.”

  “I’ll not have him in the house. You are a most wilful girl.”

  “Woman, you mean. And a very rich one.”

  ***

  Delores found John Perkins in the drawing-room, stacking kindling in the fireplace.

  “Madam,” he said with a tremor in his voice.

  “Put down your work, Perkins. I wish to speak with you.”

  “Yes, madam. Is anything the matter?”

  “Yes, there is. I want to know why you told my father about my carriage-ride this morning when I expressly asked you and the other servants not to.”

  Perkins, a handsome fellow with a shock of sandy hair, went white. “Mr. Cardiff asked me if anyone came to visit you this morning. I couldn’t tell a lie directly to the master. He’d have dismissed me.”

  “You didn’t have to tell him anything. You could have said you were busy all the time and didn’t see anything at all. Don’t you have a brain in your skull?”

  “I’m sorry, madam, I didn’t know what to – ”

  “It’s too late for an apology. I want you to gather your belongings and clear out.”

  “You’re – you’re firing me?”

  “I am. I can’t have people about me who are untrustworthy.”

  “But my wife is pregnant!”

  Perkins did not live in. He had a rented cottage, where he lived with his wife of six months.

  “That’s of no concern to me. And don’t expect references.”

  “But I’ll not be able to get another job.”

  “You don’t deserve one.”

  “I’ll – I’ll go to the master,” he spluttered as anger overwhelmed his fear.

  “He’ll not overrule me in any matter concerning the servants. You’re wasting your breath.”

  “Please, madam. It was a small mistake.”

  “Not as I see it. Now quit whining about it and do as I ask you. You’ll get the rest of your wages for the week.”

  With that she turned and walked out, feeling exhilarated.

  Perkins began to stack the kindling, then dropped the last sticks beside the growing pile. Very slowly he left the room.

  ***

  Horace Macy approached the back door of Rosewood. He didn’t mind using the rear entrance as it made his assignations with Delores all the more romantic, like something out of Sir Walter Scott. There was, however, a sense of urgency in his step. His chemist’s shop was on its last legs. He needed an infusion of cash, and quickly. But the widow was proving a hard nut to crack. There were times when he thought she saw him merely as a playing partner for the French card game of piquet, and nothing more. Certainly she had an inordinate passion for the game, and he figured that he had convinced her that he shared that passion. But what else? Every attempt to bring the conversation around to marriage was summarily or coyly rebuffed. Perhaps he would have to approach the father, but Humphrey Cardiff was a formidable gentleman. He would want to know the details of his wealth, of which there were few that would impress a man of Cardiff’s standing in the community. No, he must get the lady’s consent first, and use her as an ally against the father’s protestations. Well, he would press her again this afternoon. And she would surely succumb. Unless, of course, there were serious rivals. She had danced with Lionel Trueman last night, and with Cecil Denfield, although he was married. He’d have to keep an eye on Trueman. Perhaps he didn’t play piquet.

  Macy approached the door and gave three discreet raps. Seconds later the door was opened by Delores Cardiff-Jones.

  “Ah, right on time,” she said. “Father’s in his study. We’ll go to my sewing-room as usual.”

  Macy followed her through the kitchen and down a hallway to her sitting-room. The card-table and cards were ready for immediate use.

  “We won’t be disturbed,” Delores said. “The maid will bring us coffee in half an hour.”

  “Let’s get started, then, shall we?” Macy said, putting his coat and hat on a nearby chair.


  They settled on opposite sides of the table and prepared for an afternoon of piquet. So fiercely did Delores concentrate on the game that there was little opportunity for small talk. The challenge for Macy was to lose the game to Delores without her discovering any deception. She liked to win. It was not until the maid brought the coffee that Macy could direct the conversation towards more productive ends.

  “That was a fine ball last night,” Macy said.

  “I thought it went very well, thank you.”

  “I enjoyed dancing with you, as always.”

  “I was kept very busy, that’s for sure.”

  “You and I were meant to dance together.”

  “You dance very nicely, Horace.”

  “I meant we go together as a couple. We’re compatible.”

  “You’re the best piquet player I’ve come up against.”

  Macy sighed. “I think you know what I’m driving at.”

  “How would I know what you’re thinking,” Delores said lightly.

  “You know I wish to marry you.”

  “I do know that, and I think it’s charming of you to think that way.”

  “But I’m serious. We have a lot in common. We like to enjoy ourselves. We are passionate about cards. I have been a widower for a year and a half, and have a large house that needs people to inhabit it.”

  Since his wife’s death Macy had lived in five rooms at the front of the house with his mother and a single servant. The rest of the house he had closed up, and neglected. But at least he owned it, although he might have to sell it to save his business. Unless . . .

  “But I have been a widow for only six months,” Delores said. “It’s far too soon for me to think of remarrying.”

  “But when you do, you would consider me?”

  Delores finished her coffee. “Of course I would. When the time is ripe. Now let’s get back to our piquet.”

  ***

  Horace Macy stepped out of the back door onto the stoop. At Delores’s behest he would go through the bushes and out through the lane that ran behind Rosewood. It was all very cloak and dagger, and he felt a charge of excitement run though him. Surely Delores would not put herself through so much trouble if she were not – deep down – serious about his intentions. Just then, someone popped out from the bushes.