“Coltrane is allowed visitors? On a Sunday?” Marc was surprised.
Sturges chortled. “Regular caravan of ’em out there at Chepstow. Two or three a day. It’s made our life hell up there on Hospital Street, and most everywhere else.”
“But that’s ridiculous. Coltrane is a dangerous man. There’s constant talk of his escaping and rumours of his agents poking about and stirring up mischief-”
“You don’t need to tell me that, ol’ chum. But the colonel insists the blackguard is a military prisoner and oughta be treated honourably,” Sturges said with a fierce aspiration of the h. “He’s had the bugger’s duds and doodads brung up from Detroit, he’s given ’im a bloody suite to reside in, and he lets ’im see whoever he pleases.”
“But who, besides alien republicans, would want to see him?”
Sturges spat, missed the spittoon, and said with undisguised contempt, “The editors of every paper in town and two in the nearby counties, to start. And a couple of Tory gentlemen and that Orange alderman to boot. Seems they all wanta take a gander at ’im. I been told he gets a kick outta arguin’ with ’em. Some stay in there an hour or more. We know ’cause we gotta control the crowds out on the road hootin’ and hollerin’ and all riled up ’cause they don’t know whether they’re ragin’ at Coltrane or the idiots goin’ in to gawk at ’im.”
“After which our loyal editors print his seditious prevarications and give a credence to them they don’t deserve,” Marc said, glaring at his cold tea. “The man is clever, isn’t he? He knows he’s going to swing, so he’s decided to use the governor’s trial for his own political ends. He’ll end up a martyr, and the whole affair will have blown up in Sir George’s face.”
Sturges muttered agreement. “You c’n always count on a politician undoin’ himself,” he said with philosophical satisfaction.
“So Billy got in there legitimately, then? Did he say what they quarrelled about?”
“Point of honour,” Sturges said, hitting the spittoon. “That’s all he’d say.”
“And he’s in the cells, I assume.”
“And likely to stay there awhile.”
“What do you mean, Wilf? The lad’s not really dangerous to the public at large. In fact, as far as the local populace is concerned, Sergeant McNair is a war hero. They know full well it was he, not that puffed-up brevet colonel, who distinguished himself at Windsor and captured Coltrane. There’s not a man or woman among them who won’t, when they hear of the duel, wish that Billy had finished the job then and there.”
“Christ, Marc, take it easy. I gotta sleep nights, ya know.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Wilf. I should’ve realized that having to arrest Billy and hold him here has put you and Cobb in a very ticklish situation.”
Sturges sighed. “It won’t be the first one we been in, but I sure ain’t lookin’ forward to a bunch o’ frothin’ Orangemen struttin’ up and down in front of this place fer days on end.”
“So you’ll want Billy released as soon as possible?”
A deeper sigh. “I wish. But Magistrate Thorpe won’t ’ear of it.”
“But that makes no sense-”
“It does to him. He says he’s got two affidaveys there swearin’ to the fact that Billy vowed to kill Coltrane before he could be hanged. He knows Billy wouldn’t stand a chance of doin’ so, and will probably regret what he said when he’s cooled off after a chilly night in the cells, but Thorpe’s terrified of the governor. He knows Sir George wants this trial and a public hangin’ more’n anythin’ else, and so he can’t take a chance on lettin’ Billy loose. He’s denied bail, at least until Coltrane gets turned off. After which I figure the charges against Billy’ll just fade away.”
“But it’s freezing in the cells. If Billy’s kept in there for three or four weeks, he could catch a fever and die!”
“Some do. Though the mob is more likely to bust ’im out before that happens.”
The two men let these grim possibilities settle between them for several minutes.
“I’m going to enlist the services of Robert Baldwin to defend Billy,” Marc said quietly. “He may have more luck with posting surety. At any rate, we’ll need to see the prisoner as soon as possible tomorrow.”
“You seem to ’ave a personal stake in all this.”
“I do. Beth’s friend and employee, Dolly Putnam, was engaged to Billy and is still in love with him. Billy’s been a troubled young man ever since the business in Windsor, and his troubles look to be a long way from over.”
At the door, Sturges said, “I’ll find a nice warm room upstairs fer you and Baldwin to interview Billy. Just send me a message about the time.”
“Thanks, Wilf. You’re a good man.”
“Upholdin’ the law can be a bitch, can’t it?” Sturges replied.
FIVE
Jasper Hogg, the young man next door who did odd jobs for Beth around the house and garden while conspiring to effect as many side glances as possible at Charlene Huggan, came over to Briar Cottage at eight o’clock and hitched Dobbin to Beth’s sleigh. Marc had insisted that if she were foolhardy enough to work at the shop in her delicate condition, the least she could do was drive there in comfort and safety. And as Beth had already determined on this course of action, she was pleased to assent to it. Marc decided to walk to Baldwin’s this day so that Beth could pick up Dolly, take her to work, and break the disquieting news in a tactful, womanly way. Robert was still at breakfast in the domestic section of the grand house on Front Street but came over to the offices of Baldwin and Sullivan shortly after receiving Marc’s note from a servant.
“I heard about this duel business late yesterday,” he said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, and Marc realized that keeping a low profile and abstaining from the rough-and-tumble of political debate had left the committed young man restless and bored. “What can we do to help?”
Physically, Robert was a younger version of his handsome and multitalented father. They were both of medium height with heart-shaped faces, weak chins, slicked-back brown hair (the elder’s now graying elegantly), and dark, darting eyes that observed much and understood more.
“I would like you to represent Billy McNair.”
Baldwin smiled. “With able assistance from my apprentice, I presume?”
“I would be pleased to help.”
Robert went over to his desk, brushed aside some papers there, and sat down. “Well, then, put your feet up on the fender and tell me everything you think I should know.” He reached over and nibbled at a macaroon.
Marc gave him chapter and verse about the incident and its aftermath. When he had finished, Robert said, “It’ll be a pleasure defending a local hero from the wrath of the law, won’t it? It’s been a while since I’ve been on the right side.”
Billy McNair was brought through the tunnel that connected the jail with the Court House about eleven o’clock that Tuesday morning and taken up to a commodious, carpeted room warmed by a sizzling coal fire. The winter sunlight backlit the padded armchairs and glazed the tea tables. Seated and awaiting him were Magistrate James Thorpe and two wool-suited gentlemen, one of whom Billy recognized instantly. Calvin Strangway, the jailer, pushed him into the room, then-realizing where he was-steadied his prisoner and stepped on the shackles to keep them from rattling.
“Good God!” Marc gasped. Billy was dishevelled, hollow-eyed, shivering, and bound hand and foot. “Get those chains off the boy!”
Strangway blushed. “Rules is rules, sir. I ain’t allowed.”
Magistrate Thorpe intervened to say, “It’s all right, Calvin. Take them off and wait downstairs.” Thorpe had offered Baldwin the use of his own study as interview room, in part, Marc thought, to compensate for his refusal to grant bail. A communiqué had arrived from Government House instructing Thorpe not to release the prisoner under any circumstances.
The jailer unlocked the various shackles and scuttled away. Billy, apparently shamed by his experience in the cells or perhaps just exhausted by it, rubbed absently at his wrists and stared at the carpet. Thorpe quietly left the room by the other door. Marc wasted no time.