Governing Passion (21 page)

“I’ve never seen you do so,” Robert said.

“Do you think you’ve avoided a possible
sitdown by the French workers out at the Parliament site?” Marc
asked.

“Possibly. But Campion told me most of the
lath work is finished.”

Marc did not reply. The mention of lath work
had triggered an idea in his head. He knew how he might track down
the killer of Earl Denham.

***

After supper, Marc went to his room and dressed
warmly. He put on a fur hat. He borrowed a flask from Hincks and
filled it with brandy. He took an extra scarf and put on a second
pair of socks. Then he walked to the livery stable and hired a
horse. He rode out to the Parliament building-site and led the
horse behind the huge, two-storey structure. He tethered the horse
and walked back around to the front of the building. Two oak doors
were being fitted into a new façade, and one of them swung easily
open at his touch. He went through a dark hall until he came to the
unfinished Legislative Council chamber. Here, moonlight streamed in
through several tall windows. He could see a single pile of laths
over in one corner. He went over and crouched down behind it. He
took out his flask.

And waited.

And waited.

His toes began to grow numb, so he stood up
and walked around the room three times, stomping his feet to get
the circulation going again. He went back to his hiding-place. He
took another sip of brandy, rationing it out because, although it
provided the illusion of warmth, he had to keep his mind clear and
alert.

By the movement of the moon, Marc guessed he
had been hiding out for about three hours when he heard the oak
door ease open. He crouched as low as he could, while maintaining
an eye on the door to the chamber. He heard footsteps coming along
the hall. Soon a figure appeared in the doorway. It was short and
slight. Marc tensed as it moved slowly across the room towards him,
glancing about often. It reached the far side of the pile, and
began picking up pieces of lath.

“I don’t think those are yours,” Marc said,
getting up and reaching out for the thief.

The thief dropped the lath he was holding and
sprinted for the doorway. But Marc was too quick for him. He
tackled the fellow before he reached the door. But he scrambled up,
pushed Marc’s arms away, and headed for the scaffolding. By the
time Marc reached it, the thief was halfway up.

Marc stood below the fellow and said quietly,
“I won’t come up there after you, son. But neither am I going to
leave this spot until you come down. So you might as well do it
now.”

Marc heard the lad sigh, and then slowly he
made his way down. He stood meekly in front of Marc. He was a boy
of no more than thirteen years of age.

“You’ve been stealing laths for a week or
more, haven’t you?”

“Are you a constable?”

“No, I’m not. And I’m not particularly
interested in your stealing.”

“We need the firewood. We’re poor. We haven’t
an axe. And my mother’s sick.”

“You were in here every night last week,
weren’t you?”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What if I was?”

“I’m interested in something you saw one
night. Something you should have gone to the magistrate about.”

Fear filled the boy’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to
see it. I couldn’t help it!”

“I want you to tell me exactly what you saw,
and then perhaps I’ll put in a good word for you with the
magistrate.”

“What good would that do? I’ll go to
jail.”

“What if I agreed to pay the company back for
what you took?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I want you to go to the magistrate
and tell him what you saw here last week.”

“I saw a man kill another man,” the boy said,
near tears.

“With a hammer?”

“Yes. I came in here like I done tonight, and
I see a man crouched down where you were. He’d been here for three
nights, guarding the laths. I turned to run as usual, but then I
hear him snore. So I think I’ll just take a few pieces and
skedaddle. But then I hear someone comin’ down the hall. So I hide
behind another pile of laths, and this fellow comes in, real quiet
like. He goes over to the sleeping man. Then he goes to the other
side and picks up a hammer. I wonder if he’s seen me, but, no, he
just walks back and raises up the hammer and – and hits the
sleepin’ man on the head. It makes a terrible sound.”

“Was there moonlight, like this tonight?”

“Yeah. Lots of it. That’s why I thought he
might’ve seen me. But he didn’t. I heard him laugh, and then he
walked away. I went over to the man, but he wasn’t snorin’. I was
sure he was dead, and I thought I might be blamed for it. So I just
grabbed a bundle of laths and ran. I didn’t come back the next
night, but I heard they arrested a man, and we needed firewood. So
I come back tonight.”

“Did you get a real good look at the
killer?”

“Yeah. I saw his face.”

“Can you describe it for me?”

“He had a long scar, right here.” The boy
brushed his cheek.

Marvin Leroy. They had their murderer.

“Now, son, you and I are going for a ride
into town.”

***

Next morning, faced with an eye-witness, Marvin
Leroy soon confessed to the crime. Jacques LeMieux was set free.
Marc convinced Magistrate Wilson to let the thief off with a
warning and restitution (courtesy of Marc). A further toast was in
order in Robert’s room, after which Marc went back to his own room
and discovered a pile of papers sitting on his desk. He sat down
and began to read.

***

Constable Cobb was invited into the Chief’s
office.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I’ve just come from the Mayor’s office,
Cobb. They are very pleased at your catching the mad killer.”

“And mad she is, sir. I figure she’ll end up
in the asylum.”

“I’ve sent a note to her brother in Kingston.
He’s a twin. He’ll no doubt take the news hard.”

“Bound to, ain’t he?”

Cobb sensed there was more to be said, so he
just waited.

Bagshaw cleared his throat. “The Mayor
ordered me to pass on his congratulations to you for a job well
done.”

“That’s real nice of him.”

The next sentence was delivered as if the
speaker were in pain. “He also ordered me to make you our
detective, to investigate all serious crimes.”

Cobb’s surprise showed on his face. “I wasn’t
expectin’ that,” he said.

The next sentence came out a whisper. “He
wants you in plain clothes, just like the detectives in London,”
Bagshaw said, his right eyebrow quivering.

***

When Cobb got home and told Dora the news,
her response was, “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to get yer Sunday
suit mended.”

Then she mentioned that she had picked up a
letter at the Post Office. Later, alone, Cobb opened it. It was
from Marc in Kingston.

Dear Cobb:

I just spent a couple of delightful hours reading
through the copies of your interviews and your reports on the
Devil’s Acre murders. I have formulated a theory, which is quite
fanciful but may prove to have some basis in reality. First of all,
I think you took into account almost all the clues available to
you. Your pursuit of the dropped glove was persistent and resulted
in the first detailed description of the killer by Bartholomew
Pugh. The scarf with the ‘P’ on it certainly suggested Pugh may
have been more than a witness to the crime. And were it not for
another, more compelling theory, I would say that he – given his
obsession with Sally Butts – was the most likely ‘gentleman’ to
have committed the crime.

Also, you were quick to discern that you were
dealing with one killer and three victims. The killer was obviously
obsessed with women with blond hair. But even though the deaths
occurred in Devil’s Acre, I don’t believe this was a case of a
gentleman hating prostitutes. Sally Butts may have been taken for a
prostitute, but Sarie Hickson was dressed as a lady (a famous
lady), and your cross-dresser certainly had good taste in clothes.
So victims two and three were taken for respectable women, whose
blond wigs got them murdered. So we are left with a killer who
merely hated blondes.

Why? Well, it could be a blond lover who’s
betrayed him or a despised mother who was blond (which wouldn’t
account for the youthfulness of the first two victims). But I am
going to suggest another motive, and it’s based on the one clue
you’ve overlooked so far. In your very first report you mention a
laundry woman whom the watchman saw on Church Street, just beyond
the point where the killer left Devil’s Acre. Also, you mention
that the bootprints showed the killer “shuffling” about, waiting to
enter the street. What I am wondering is, what might have been in
the laundry woman’s sack? Could it not have been the coat, hat and
boots that your killer is described by Pugh and Miss Pettigrew as
wearing? That is, could this have been a disguise, allowing the
killer to move about freely in Devil’s Acre to search for
victims?

Yes, I know it sounds fantastic, but if the
male clothes were a disguise, then the killer might have been that
laundry
woman
.

If it was a woman – and I think you should
keep an open mind on the matter – then the motive becomes clearer.
Remember that the crimes are committed about three days apart and
the same figure is murdered – a youngish blond woman. This suggests
that your killer is mad to some degree, for she kills the same
person over and over again, every three nights or so (although this
may be coincidence). Why? Because the woman is a rival or other
figure of detestation. I am convinced there will be more murders if
there are victims available, so I do hope you are lucky enough to
catch the killer in the act. Meanwhile you’ll know who to warn.

Anyway, I enjoyed speculating on your case.
Thank you for sending me the material.

Your Friend

Marc Edwards

Cobb told Dora about Marc’s letter, and then said,
“The Major and me still make a great team, don’t we?”

Governing
Passion
is wholly a work of fiction, although it is quite
possible that actual historical personages like Robert Baldwin,
Francis Hincks and Louis LaFontaine did meet in March of 1841 in
Kingston to make plans for their coalition and prepare for the
upcoming elections and subsequent meeting of the new, united
Parliament. In depicting Baldwin and LaFontaine, I have relied on a
number of sources, chief among which were: R.M. and J. Baldwin,
The Baldwins and the Great Experiment
; J.M.S. Careless,
The Union of the Canadas
; S.B. Leacock,
Baldwin,
LaFontaine and Hincks
; and George E. Wilson,
The Life of
Robert Baldwin
. Also useful were: Paul G. Cornell,
The
Alignment of Political Groups in Canada, 1841-1867
; Edwin C.
Guillet,
Toronto: From Trading Post to Great City
; and Edwin
E. Horsey,
Kingston A
Century Ago
.

Don Gutteridge is the author of more than 40 books:
fiction, poetry and scholarly works, including the Marc Edwards
mystery series. He taught in the Faculty of Education at Western
University for 25 years in the Department of English Methods. He is
currently professor Emeritus, and lives in London, Ontario.

Turncoat

Solemn Vows

Vital Secrets

Dubious Allegiance

Bloody Relations

Death of a Patriot

Or visit the
Simon & Schuster Canada Website

Desperate Acts

Unholy Alliance

Minor Corruption

Governing Passion

Available from
Bev
Editions

Coming Soon in the Marc Edwards Mystery
Series:

The Widow’s Demise

ONE

September 1841

“Hold still, please, Mrs. Edwards, or I’m gonna
stick you with the needle.”

This warning was delivered by Etta Hogg, the
live-in, all-purpose servant at Briar Cottage.

“It’s only a small tear,” Beth Edwards said,
twisting about to get a frontal image from the mirror that Marc had
set up in the parlour to aid the fitting of the ball gown.
“Nobody’ll notice.”

“You don’t sound all that enthusiastic,” Marc
said from his chair by the fireplace.

“You know what I think of fancy-dress balls,”
Beth said. “Ouch!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Edwards, but I did warn
you.”

“Please, call me Beth, as I’ve asked you a
dozen times.”

“Yes, Mrs. Edwards.”

“Remember that we’re doing this for charity,”
Marc said. “Look on it as a personal sacrifice or a form of
penance.”

“I know the proceeds all go to the Hospital
Fund,” Beth said, “or else I wouldn’t’ve agreed to go.”

Each couple at the Charity Ball at Rosewood,
Humphrey Cardiff’s palatial home on Front Street, had to contribute
to the Hospital Fund, an annual rite that drew the largest crowd of
the season. Old money and new, the established and the hopeful –
all attended the Attorney-General’s extravaganza.

“Just a lot of stuffed shirts and ladies in
evenin’ gowns they have to be squeezed into,” Beth said, only
half-seriously. “A lot of old Tories, too.”

“Robert and Francis will be there,” Marc
pointed out reasonably.

Robert was Robert Baldwin, a leading
Reformer, colleague and good friend of the Edwards. Francis was
Francis Hincks, another political associate and editor of the
left-wing paper, the
Constitution
.