Thornton shook his head, like a man in shock or one appalled at the news he would be taking to his governor. “In view of what we have just heard, milord, the Crown is prepared to withdraw the charges against William McNair.”
The courtroom burst into applause, and the judge made no move to quiet the demonstration. Gideon Stanhope let his head drop to the railing in front of him. Then he raised it slightly, searching for his loved ones.
Doubtful Dick’s record remained intact.
NINETEEN
Later that afternoon, all those concerned with the triumphant defense of Billy McNair gathered in the comfortable and spacious drawing-room of Baldwin House to celebrate the defendant’s release from prison and partake of a high tea in the traditional English manner. Young Billy, bathed and suitably reattired, arrived with his mother, his fiancée Dolly, and her parents. Rose Halpenny donned a dress she thought she would never have occasion to wear again, and showed up with Beth in tow fifteen minutes before everyone else. Robert Baldwin was joined in his hosting duties by his sister-in-law, and Clement Peachey and the legal staff walked across the hall for a rare visit to the domestic quarter of the premises. A cutter with two horses at its head was dispatched to pick up Horatio and Dora Cobb, who gave only nominal resistance to the unexpected invitation. The commandant of the defense corps, however, was too exhausted to attend, though the prospect of fine food and chilled champagne made his eyes water. He was driven home and tucked into his wing chair by his wards, who surprised and delighted the assembly by joining the festivities a few minutes later. Among the notables, only Marc was missing.
He had just put Rose and Beth into their sleigh in the lane behind Smallman’s when Annie Brush, the apprentice seamstress, poked her head out the door and called out that an urgent message had come for him. Marc took the note and read it with some disappointment and much puzzlement. It was from Magistrate Thorpe, informing Marc that Gideon Stanhope had made a full confession and had been formally charged. And, for reasons not given, wished to see the lieutenant right away.
“I’ve got to go to the Court House for a minute,” he said to Beth. “You and Mrs. Halpenny go on ahead. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
And so, while the champagne flowed and the hors d’oeuvres were nibbled at Baldwin House, Marc found himself in the magistrate’s study in the presence of James Thorpe and the newly charged felon. Stanhope’s confession seemed to have lifted some burden from his shoulders, for he had regained his upright posture, and in his face there lay a resigned and calm sort of dignity. He nodded politely to Marc but swung his attention immediately back to Thorpe, whom he gazed at with a fixed stare. Something had been exchanged between the two men besides courtesies.
Thorpe did not keep Marc in suspense long. “Thank you for coming, Marc. I know you are expected elsewhere.”
“That’s perfectly all right, sir. Is there a service I can perform for you now that I’m here?” He suspected that his summons must be connected to the charges or some anomaly in the confession. But the note had said it was Stanhope who wished to see him.
“Yes, there is. Colonel Stanhope has requested of me that he be allowed to return briefly to Chepstow to retrieve his uniform and say farewell to his wife and daughter in familiar surroundings. I have acceded to this wholly reasonable request and have cleared it with Chief Sturges. He has kindly provided a sleigh for transportation, and Wilkie and Brown will act as driver and guard. The colonel also wishes you to accompany him in the sleigh and inside his home. He feels that as a former soldier and wounded veteran, you would be the most appropriate person to do so, and, moreover you are a man he can give his parole to with all his heart.”
Stanhope looked to Marc, but there was no pleading in his face, merely hope. Thorpe’s demeanour intimated to Marc that the magistrate thought the favour was the least they could do for a man who had, despite the obvious shortcomings of his actions, fought at Pelee Island and Baby’s orchard with consummate courage and dedication. It was the putative treason, of course, that weighed most heavily upon the magistrate and the public, not the poisoning of a creature no better than a rat or a wolf.
“You would like us to leave right away?” Marc said.
“Good man,” Thorpe said, getting up. “The constables are waiting outside.”
They drove through the darkening streets at a sedate pace and without attracting much attention. Those on the sidewalks or trampled paths who did remark their passing seemed more intrigued by the sight of two constables perched like liveried postilions on the bench of the cutter than by the nondescript pair of gentlemen in the plush seat behind them.
“You must believe me, Lieutenant, when I tell you that I did not deliberately leave those two crates of ordnance at the fort near Windsor.”
They were moving west along Hospital Street towards Chepstow. The odour of woodsmoke from Walmsley’s clay works, a blacksmith’s stuttering hammer, and a donkey treading a creaking mill outside the tannery suggested that life in the city had found its customary groove once again. Snowflakes fluttering out of the early-evening darkness brushed their cheeks and melted there, like tears.
“I must admit, Colonel, that I did wonder about your endangering the lives of your own men and even risking the mission you had dedicated yourself to achieving in Essex.”
“I trusted it would not come to that. We knew from our intelligence that General Bierce intended attacking near Windsor or Sandwich, though we weren’t sure when. We knew that Caleb Coltrane was one of his officers. I planned to kill Coltrane in battle long before he got inland or near the fort I assumed we had emptied, or else die in the effort. Either way, the business of the weapons was moot.”
“But it turned out that it was your protégé who brought him in-alive.”
“Yes. At first I was delighted because Sergeant McNair was well trained and knew enough to strip Coltrane of his papers and bring them straight to me. The map to the fort showing the positions of the buried crates was among them, and I promptly destroyed it. But I suspected that Coltrane was cunning enough to keep back the coded letter.”
“Even though you tried to lessen its potential danger to you by having your wife write it in the guise of an adulterous confession.”
The colonel continued looking straight ahead. This near monologue was not about expiation but explanation, about setting the record straight.
“Yes. Coltrane began his ugly scheme by threatening to brand me a cuckold. Then he offered money to forestall my becoming a bankrupt. I had the map of the weapons cache to trade for cash. The letter was intended to deal with both. And the silly bugger was addicted to codes.”
He tried to smile at this but failed. “After his capture, I went to the infirmary and searched the major’s kit and his person but did not find it.”
“It was placed in his Bible by the medic.”
“Ah. Even so, I began to hope either that he would die of his wounds or that he no longer possessed the letter. But he recovered. We did not meet again until I heard he would be taken not to London but to Toronto, for a criminal prosecution. I volunteered to escort him, and when we got here, I suggested that I house the prisoner because both the military and civilian jails were full.”
Marc had picked up on something. “Wait: you say you assumed the cache at the fort had been emptied?”
“Exactly. When I heard what happened and had to enter it into my field report, I was devastated. You see, when we were ordered to remove the ordnance from the fort, I went around with my sketch and marked the spots with my sword in the earth. Poor Muttlebury missed the last two, and paid for it with his life. But it was I who was responsible for checking his work and counting the crates, and my only excuse is that I was distracted and anxious. I had supplied Coltrane with the map expecting him to find nothing at the fort. I was certain he and I were meant to settle matters on the battlefield.”