But the door to the sitting room burst open, and Colonel Stanhope marched in. His gaze took in his wife, then the intruder. His moustache bristled like barbed wire strummed.
“I specifically told you to stay away from my wife, sir, and you have deliberately and callously disobeyed me! Now-”
“I apologize, Colonel, but you left me with little choice. The trial is next Friday.”
“How dare you continue your impudence in my very presence! I want you to leave my home immediately, or I’ll be forced to draw my sabre and give you a proper thrashing!”
Marc’s instinct was to take two steps towards the seething man in the tunic and, sabre or no sabre, thrash him till his moustaches dropped off. But he caught sight of Almeda out of the corner of his eye.
“Please, Mr. Edwards. .”
Marc bowed to her and walked briskly out of the room.
Behind him came the trumpeting umbrage of the upstaged coloneclass="underline" “I don’t want to see you in or near this house again! You are not to speak to my family or my servants, or I’ll have the law on you!”
As Marc let himself out, he noticed the butler hovering anxiously near the sitting room door.
“And I hope they hang the young hothead!” the colonel roared.
TWELVE
Robert nibbled at the last of the macaroons. A tasty luncheon had been brought in from the other side of Baldwin House, and its remnants lay forlorn on the silver serving tray.
“All right, Marc, indulge me while I play defense counsel summing up what we know and what we think we know. Stop me when you think I’ve got it seriously wrong.”
“That should help me write up a proper chronology for Dougherty,” Marc agreed. “Go ahead: my pencil is poised.” Over lunch Marc had reprised the drama at Chepstow, and they had mulled over the information Billy had provided.
Robert cleared his throat, focused his gaze on an imagined jury, and began: “This entire sequence of events, of cause and effect, started late last February when Gideon Stanhope, importer of dry goods, enlisted in the St. Thomas militia while on one of his periodic visits to his brother. To his surprise and delight, his unit is involved in the action at Pelee, where he is slightly wounded and comports himself well enough to be hailed, on his return to Toronto, as a hero, indeed as the Patriot of Pelee Island. He may not have been aware of it, but at the same battle his wife’s cousin, Caleb Coltrane, is fighting on the other side and, according to his own testimony, distinguishes himself so conspicuously that it is he who is crowned the Pelee Island Patriot.”
“Perhaps it was those two who should have had the duel,” Marc observed.
Robert chuckled and continued. “Having gotten a taste for military conflict and its attendant honours, our Mr. Stanhope leaps at the opportunity to form one of two proposed new militia regiments here in Toronto. He is eminently successful, enlisting competent and committed officers and men. He spends the summer training them, during which time he gets to know and like Billy McNair, his most accomplished sergeant.”
“Meanwhile,” Marc said, “back in the spring. .”
“Quite right. In April or May, the Stanhopes go together to St. Thomas to visit the in-laws. Almeda Stanhope seizes the opportunity to slip over to Detroit to call upon her cousin, Gladys-”
“Dobbs,” Marc prompted.
“-whom she hasn’t seen in some years. Gladys’s brother, Caleb, a major in the liberation army and big man in the local Hunters’ Lodge, happens to be there at the same time. Caleb had a passionate affair with Almeda when they were teenagers, and he attempts to rekindle the flame when he discovers her staying at his sister’s house.”
“A house that appears to have been used by Coltrane as a base of operations, since we know that his library and snuff box collection were sent to Chepstow from there and are on their way back there as of yesterday.”
Robert nodded. “Precisely what form this renewed affair took is still an open question. What we do know is that Coltrane wrote to his Duchess, expressing his undying love and indicating that, since her husband had discovered their liaison-”
“Probably because he himself revealed it, or possibly but less likely, if there were other letters lying about to be discovered, the colonel stumbled on one.”
“Either way, Coltrane initiates a scheme to extort money from her husband. She tells you that most of this is wishful thinking on Coltrane’s part, but we can assume from Billy’s story that at least one compromising love letter, however circumspect, was sent from Almeda to her admirer in Detroit. That letter, we can be fairly sure, was kept by Coltrane, either because he did care for Almeda or because it was critical to his blackmail scheme.”
“For example, if the American Patriots were inexplicably to lose the battle of Windsor and he were to be captured,” Marc filled in.
“A fine lover, eh? Anyway, we can now pick up the story at Windsor in December. Again, both ‘patriots’ distinguish themselves in the conflict, but as Coltrane organizes a strategic withdrawal of what remains of his squad, he is spotted by Captain Muttlebury of the Windsor militia and his sergeant, Billy McNair.”
“Who has, along with Stanhope and four other NCOs, been attached to that regiment since early November to assist in their training.”
“Right. Muttlebury, we learn later, was in charge of removing a number of crates of rifles and ammunition from a nearby abandoned fort or redoubt. But despite being shown by his colonel where they were buried, he managed to miss at least two crates. This occurred a week or so before the Windsor skirmish. Muttlebury’s mistake results in Coltrane’s being able to arrange an ambush with fresh rifles and ammunition, during which poor Muttlebury is killed, along with Corporal Melvin Curry, Billy’s childhood friend and bosom pal. Billy finds the treacherous Coltrane bleeding to death nearby. He behaves admirably despite his outrage at the ambush-”
“A point I’m certain Dougherty will exploit,” Marc added. “Perhaps we should subpoena the official battle reports for that day.”
“I agree. I’ll put Peachey onto it. Now, where was I?”
“You’ve got Billy kneeling beside a wounded Coltrane.”
“Right. It is Billy, then, who uses his fiancée’s gift, her silk kerchief, to apply a tourniquet to Coltrane’s arm and save his life. Again, still acting with the utmost military discipline, Billy searches the commanding officer’s kit and discovers important military papers, which he keeps to present later to Colonel Stanhope. He also spots a love letter of sorts, written by what appears to be the major’s mistress. Believing it to be personal and private, he tucks it safely inside the unconscious man’s blouse. Back at their camp, Billy watches as Coltrane’s wound is cauterized, and he observes that the love letter is put between the leaves of the fellow’s leather-bound Bible.”
“The same Bible I observed on Coltrane’s desk at Chepstow,” Marc said.
“Time now for some critical interpretation. The letter from Coltrane to Almeda, which we possess, when set beside an equally compromising letter from Almeda to Coltrane, presents compelling circumstantial evidence that there was a de facto affair between the two. And a comparison of their respective handwriting would be almost as persuasive to a jury as signatures would.”
“Could that be why the colonel was in such a hurry to ship Coltrane’s effects back to Detroit?”
“Why not just destroy them?” Robert asked.
“Too risky, at least until Billy was safely convicted. Nor would Sir George be pleased at an act guaranteed to rouse the Hunters’ indignation further. After all, the governor’s recast trial is meant to calm the waters in the republic. No, I think the colonel had to take a chance that anything still hidden in those effects would stay there undisturbed in Gladys’s house.”
“More important though, Marc, is the galling fact that we have only one of the two letters. Even if we can find samples of Coltrane’s writing here in Toronto-one of our newspaper editors should have a screed or two of his lying about-we have nothing but innuendo without corresponding epistolary proof from Almeda or an admission by her under oath.”