Cherished

by Elizabeth Thornton

  Leon shifted in his armchair, settling himself more comfortably. “How is my sister-in-law?” he asked, his voice singularly lacking in interest.

  “You will be pleased to know she has made a remarkable recovery.”

  Leon snorted derisively and James’s eyebrows rose, but he continued in the same conversational tone. “But that was to be expected once I put a stop to the daily ration of peyote someone was forcing down her throat.”

  “What?” Leon sat bolt upright.

  “It seems that her maid was dosing her with narcotics. Oh, not enough to kill her, just enough to induce a trance or a deep melancholy.”

  “Good God! It seems I have done Sara an injustice. What happened to the maid? What has she told you?”

  “Nothing. She can’t be found. When I introduced my own agent into the household, the girl took flight. She hasn’t been seen since. Don’t worry. If she has gone back to her own people, I shall find her. She is of the Cree nation.”

  “And Sara? You say that she has made a recovery?”

  “A miraculous recovery. The poor girl still does not know what happened to her. She thinks that she was going insane.”

  “Damn! I thought…I hoped…” Leon shook his head. “I should have been prepared for something like this.”

  His friend eyed him consideringly for a moment before saying, “You must have suspected something or you would not have involved me. I am anxious to hear what you have to say. Why all the secrecy, Leon? And why was someone trying to poison Lady Sara?”

  Inhaling deeply, Leon said, “There are things I am going to say to you which I don’t wish anyone else to know. You are right in this. I had a suspicion, a very faint one, that there might be more to Sara’s illness than met the eye. If it had been possible, I would have gone directly to York to investigate, but I dared not leave my wife unprotected. We must go together, and that means we must wait for the rivers to become navigable.” He smiled faintly. “Emily is not like us, James. When she travels, she travels in style. She has no conception of what the wilderness is like and I have not enlightened her. She presumes that the journey to York will be in the nature of the journey from London to Bath.”

  James laughed. “I can imagine,” he said.

  The amusement gradually died and Leon said, “I have reason to believe that someone—or some group—wants to see me dead. There have been two attempts on my life so far, possibly three. What concerns me most, however, and what puzzles me most, is that my wife and her sister may also be targets.”

  He paused to marshal his thoughts, and he could not help admiring his friend’s patience. Anyone else would have instantly bombarded him with questions. James knew the value of silence.

  “These attacks occurred in England. I had hoped that they would stop once we were safely in America. And they did, or so I thought, until a few moments ago when you told me about Sara. I don’t know what to make of it.” He broke off to consider the puzzle, then continued. “This is the second misadventure to befall Sara. The first was in London. At that time, I thought I was the target. Now, I am not so sure.

  “You must see my dilemma. If it could be arranged, I would like Sara to come to New York where I can keep an eye on her. I don’t doubt that her husband won’t permit it, not as things stand between our two countries. I don’t know what’s to be done except that I aim to keep both those girls well guarded until I get to the bottom of this.”

  He paused before saying, “York is practically on your doorstep, James. I know I could count on you to do whatever was necessary to keep Sara safe.”

  There was just enough inflection on the last statement to prompt James to respond, “You may rest easy on that score. The girl is well protected. No harm will come to her now, not if I can help it.”

  “Thank you. As I said, as soon as it may be arranged, I aim to escort my wife to York to visit her sister. Our vigilance must not be relaxed, not even for a moment.”

  “And if there is trouble?”

  “Then I shall spirit them both away to a place of safety, even if it means abducting Sara against her wishes.”

  “Against her wishes? Why not simply tell her the truth, tell them both the truth?”

  “I don’t know what the truth is.”

  “Now you are prevaricating. If their lives are in jeopardy, they should know it.”

  “What would I say to them? That Sara’s melancholy was induced by a powerful narcotic administered by a serving girl? That the misadventures which have befallen us are deliberate attempts to do us an injury or worse? That my instincts are to be trusted? They would think that I had taken leave of my senses or they would raise questions to which I have no answers.”

  “I see what it is. You don’t wish them to know that you are a marked man. Who is after you, Leon? You must have some idea.”

  The hesitation was brief but noticeable. Shrugging carelessly, Leon answered, “It would seem that the sins of my youth are catching up with me. I always feared that something like this would happen. I suspect that an assassin—or assassins—have been paid to wipe me from the face of the earth. Having said that, it still does not explain these misadventures to Emily and Sara. So you see, I was not misleading you when I said that I don’t know what the truth is.”

  For some few minutes, both gentlemen were silent. Then Leon said, “I mean to ferret them out, James, whoever they are, with your help.”

  “You have it. But you know that already. I can’t believe, though, that all three of you are targets. There is something not quite right here.”

  “Isn’t that what I have been saying?”

  “Have you thought that perhaps you are not a target at all? Those girls are heiresses. Who stands to profit if anything happens to either of them?”

  “I’ve considered that. For the most part, their fortunes go to the surviving sister unless they have issue. In that event, their children would be their heirs.”

  “What about Lady Sara’s husband, what’s-his-name—Major Benson?”

  “He won’t be a pauper, but he won’t be a rich man, either. No, the moneys go to the surviving sister unless, as I said, we have children. You may believe that my brain has chased down every possible avenue to find answers. I’m no further ahead than I was. As I see it, the only way to find out who is the real target is by a process of trial and error. Only then may we begin to put two and two together. Now, tell me about the steps you have taken to protect Sara.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The memory of the journey to York in Upper Canada would linger with Emily for many a long day. She knew, of course, that distances between villages in the New World were not to be compared to those in England. But nothing could have prepared her for the emptiness of this vast continent.

  For the most part, the journey was made by water. They traveled up the Hudson and Mohawk rivers. The silence of the forests unnerved her. The isolation frightened her. Her most pervasive feeling, however, was one of awe. So must the world have looked, she reflected, when Adam and Eve were given dominion over the whole created order.

  The journey was not without its humorous moments. Though the gentlemen were dressed appropriately in buckskins, her own garb seemed comical. She was garbed in the height of fashion. With her little silk parasol to protect her from the sun’s rays, she might have been stepping onto a barge for a jaunt on the Thames. Leon and his guides saw nothing incongruous in her attire. She was a white woman. It was taken as a matter of course that she would wish to maintain the niceties of civilization. Only the Indians who met them along the trail stopped to stare. Emily was as curious about them as they were about her. But when she learned from one of the guides that some of the braves were more than a little curious, that they wanted to barter for her, she was aghast.

  “You’re worth your weight in furs,” Leon teased after one tense encounter, when it seemed that one of the bolder-eyed braves would not take no for an answer. “I am a fur trader. You may imagine the temptation that has been put in
my way.”

  “I see nothing to laugh at,” she snapped, fear making her angry. “There are so few of us and so many of them. What’s to stop them taking what they want?”

  “I would stop them,” answered Leon, patting the butt of his firing piece. “No, really, I know them. They would not risk injury or death for a mere woman, even if she does have hair the color of ripe maize. Now a horse—that is a different matter.” Observing that she was far from reassured, he added more gently, “Emily, trust me. I know what I am doing.”

  Strangely, Emily believed him. He was as much at home here, in the wilderness, as he was in the ballrooms of Mayfair. She had often wondered how a financier came by his muscular physique. Now she knew. As often as it could be managed, Leon told her, he liked to spend time in the wilderness, pitting himself against the elements, surviving off the land. The trip to York was nothing to him. It was his practice to travel at least once a year, to Montreal, the hub of the fur trade. He was an investor and liked to keep abreast of things.

  “Are we going to Montreal this time around?” asked Emily. The question was an innocent one. When Leon’s lids drooped to half-mast, concealing his expression, Emily became alert.

  “It’s not necessary,” he demurred. “I made the trip last year. Besides, I have an agent there who keeps me informed.”

  “All the same, I should like to see Montreal.” This suggestion was not an innocent one. She was testing him.

  “That would not be convenient,” he answered at once, then in a more conversational tone, “I don’t know if I can spare the time. I am not a gentleman of leisure, Emily. While you are visiting Sara, I shall be fully occupied. York is the capital of Upper Canada. As a financier, naturally I am interested in the opportunities for investment to be found there.”

  Emily sensed a mystery. He did not want her to go to Montreal. Why? When he adroitly turned the subject, she became more curious than ever.

  Though York was the capital of Upper Canada and the seat of British government, in 1812, to one newly arrived from England, it was primitive beyond imagining. Its buildings ran the gamut from the crudest of log cabins to spacious, dignified Georgian mansions. The population had yet to reach the thousand mark, and of those, a small though significant proportion were government officials. It was these select persons and the officers from the garrison who set the tone of society.

  Emily listened with half an ear as Leon tried to prepare her for the disappointing reality of York. They were at the rail of the small schooner which had taken them on the last leg of their journey from Oswego on the American side of Lake Ontario. She nodded now and then as her eyes eagerly scanned the approaching shoreline. She was not disappointed. To her, it seemed incredible that civilization should have made such inroads. Even from that distance, she could see that the small settlement was ringed around by dense forest.

  “Leon, look!” she exclaimed, breaking into his explanations as they neared the wharf. She pointed to the ensign fluttering in the breeze.

  “The Union Jack,” murmured Leon dryly. “I shall have to accustom myself to the return of British protocol.”

  “Poor Leon,” said Emily, and laughed.

  It seemed to take forever before the schooner had docked and they were allowed to descend the gangplank. The wharves were busy. Theirs was not the only boat to ply the waters of Lake Ontario. Emily’s eyes absorbed the spectacle, noting the assortment of bystanders, ranging from well-heeled gentlemen to Indians disembarking from birch bark canoes.

  Emily was not expecting to be met. A journey through the wilderness was unpredictable. They might have arrived a few days earlier or later. She was reminding herself of this, attempting to quash an incipient sense of disappointment, when a gentleman separated himself from the crowd and came to meet them.

  She hung back a little as her husband and the stranger greeted each other warmly. There was no surprise in the meeting. That thought had barely occurred to her before Leon was bringing her forward to make the introductions.

  “Emily, allow me to present James Fraser. James and I were at university together. He is one of the partners in the North West Company. Furs, Emily—that is all this reprobate knows.”

  Emily was conscious of a very close scrutiny from a pair of eyes even darker than her husband’s. Then those eyes crinkled at the corners, and Emily let out a small, relieved breath.

  “Lady Emily,” he said, bowing over her hand. “May I be the first to welcome you to Toronto?”

  She expected an accent, but not the one her ears picked up. Somehow the Scottish burr softened that first intimidating impression of the man. “Toronto?” she responded, somewhat at a loss.

  “It’s the Indian name for York,” interjected Leon.

  As they conversed, James led the way up the boardwalk to a waiting carriage. From snatches in the conversation, Emily deduced that James Fraser had known beforehand that they would be arriving that morning.

  “I sent a messenger ahead,” Leon said in an aside, in answer to Emily’s questioning look. “Sara is waiting for us at the house. Peter will be along later. His duties have delayed him at the garrison.”

  When they came up to the carriage, Emily was handed in and the gentlemen turned back to await the unloading of their baggage, leaving her with the vague impression that she had been deliberately excluded from a private tête-à-tête. Minutes later, the gentlemen rejoined her. The baggage and boxes were stowed and they were on their way.

  The house on Frederick Street was a well-proportioned, two-story brick edifice. Emily did not wait for the gentlemen. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she made for the front doors.

  They were opened by a manservant who was every inch an English butler. This took Emily by surprise, for she remembered that Sara had often complained of the scarcity of trained servants to be had in York.

  “That will be all, Paterson.”

  The butler inclined his head, acknowledging the lady who was descending the stairs. Then he retreated to a door leading to the back of the house.

  “Hester…” said Emily, and came forward with hand extended.

  Lady Hester Benson was a handsome woman on the wrong side of thirty, but only just. Her figure was slender and straight-backed, giving the impression that it was a crown she wore on her head and not a lace cap. Her features were refined, as was everything about her. Emily had no difficulty in seeing why Sara had taken a dislike to her sister-in-law. Any young girl of some spirit must chafe at the restrictions such a chaperone would undoubtedly impose, and Sara had never wanted for spirit.

  In a voice as formal and as elegant as her pale-mauve muslins, Lady Hester greeted them all in turn, inquiring politely about their journey, never waiting for answers, but keeping up a monologue as she led the way to the front parlor.

  The coldness of this welcome was dispelled the moment they were ushered into Sara’s presence. At their entrance, she started to her feet, then threw herself across the room into Emily’s arms.

  After the first emotional greeting, with everyone talking at once and exclaiming over the joy of their reunion, Sara turned aside. Only then did Emily become conscious of another presence in the room, a gentleman who was waiting patiently to be noticed.

  Sara started to say something, but Hester got there before her. With a coy little smile, she said, “There is someone here who is anxious to renew your acquaintance.”

  It was William Addison.

  Emily was prepared for it. This was the secret she had been keeping from her husband. She had hoped to have a little time in which to prepare Leon for this encounter. She could almost feel Leon’s eyes boring into her back. The hand which William touched was trembling like a leaf in a gale.

  Then suddenly, Leon’s displeasure did not matter to her. She was not thinking of William as her lost lover. Her sentiments were far more complex. He was a dear friend. He was the best that England had to offer. Their minds, their thoughts, their opinions, ran on a parallel course. She was suddenly
aware of having lived under a terrible strain in the last number of months. In America, she was a foreigner and something of an oddity. Her sister-in-law disliked her. She was now among her own kind.

  When she finally chanced a look at Leon, she knew that he was putting two and two together. That thought helped her to find her balance. “Leon, you remember William Addison?” she asked, keeping her voice light and cool.

  She could never remember afterward the first few minutes of that conversation. She knew that everyone was civil if not cordial. But beneath the polite chatter, she sensed her husband’s anger. It was a relief when the tea things were brought in and she could involve herself in the ritual of handing round tea and cakes. Hester did the pouring, and it came to Emily that Peter’s sister was the real mistress of the house and Sara, perhaps because of her illness, made no objection to this reversal of roles.

  It was James Fraser who broached the subject of William’s presence in York. “Mr. Addison is here on a reconnoitering mission,” he said. “He has been assessing our border garrisons. Everything is of interest to him, even the Indians.”

  “Indians?” Leon stirred his tea, and flicked William a look of polite inquiry.

  William’s color had heightened, as though he detected an edge of derision in the other man’s tone. “I am not here in any official capacity, you understand. I am simply a private citizen. Like every visitor, naturally, I am interested in conditions here.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said James. “I understood that you were a representative of your government?”

  “Only informally. That is, when it was known that I was planning to come to York, I was asked to keep my eyes and ears open. That is all.”