“Perhaps I should go and knock on their door,” Marc offered.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to sound no alarm,” Sedgewick said quickly, colouring slightly. “You go ahead with your breakfast. I’ll slip up in a few minutes if they’re not down soon.”
“Yes, I hate to be impolite about it,” Pritchard said, “but we need to leave here within the hour if we’re to attempt Kingston.”
“Addie’s been upset with her husband over his boastin’ and his damn fool walkin’ out in his tunic,” Sedgewick said. “I heard them arguin’ about it last night.”
Among other things, Marc thought.
“She thinks he’ll get himself shot by vigilantes or else catch pneumonia.”
“I thought I’d catch my death last night,” Pritchard chortled. “How about you, Lambert?”
Charles Lambert continued to study his newspaper.
Just then they heard a clumping of boots on the stairs across the foyer, and turned as one to see Captain Brookner fully dressed and ready for his constitutional. No-one was particularly surprised that he did not greet them, but rather wheeled and headed away towards the side door.
“For Christ’s sake, Randolph, listen to your wife for once in your life!”
Sedgewick’s uncharacteristic outburst startled everyone, including Brookner, and brought Murdo Dingman motoring dangerously down the hall from his office. Sedgewick followed up his brief advantage by leaping up and trotting across the foyer to the hallway where Brookner had stopped and merely half turned to wait for him, in his customary haughty manner. The two began arguing, sotto voce, to the embarrassment of the breakfast table. Suddenly, Brookner pushed Sedgewick away and stomped out into the morning.
Red-faced and obviously unused to dealing with such situations, Sedgewick trudged dolefully back across the foyer.
“You did your best,” Pritchard said. “But a man must determine his own fate,” he added sententiously.
Sedgewick sighed and sat down. He was sweating.
Dingman decided it was time to defend the honour of the inn. “I can insure you, sirs, that the ground and previews of this establishment are as safe as a mouse in its hole. We are all loyalists in this township. We adulterate the young Queen.”
“For which I’m sure she shall be grateful,” Pritchard said with some amusement, “when she hears of it.”
Lambert looked up from his steady perusal of the Brockville Recorder and said to Dingman, “I could help you with that last will and testament now, if you have a moment.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Lambert. Mrs. Dingman’s been after me to do somethin’ about it fer ages, and when I learned you were a solicitor-”
“May we go to your office now?” Lambert asked with great politeness.
“Indeed, sir, indeed.”
Lambert got up, nodded to excuse himself, and then he and Dingman disappeared around the corner into the rear hall from which they could access the proprietor’s office. At that same moment, Adelaide Brookner came across the foyer towards them, looking, to everyone’s astonishment, flushed and flustered.
“Has he gone off?” she asked her brother.
She was a changed person, and they all stared. Her hair was dishevelled, her blue eyes underscored with black smudges, as if she had not slept or slept badly. Her mourning dress was rumpled, and the black scarf she used to cover the upper reaches of her bosom and neck had been stuffed carelessly in place and flung haphazardly under her chin.
“I tried to stop him, Addie, but he’s worse than ever.”
Adelaide gave her brother a grateful smile. Then she addressed Marc and Pritchard. “I apologize for my appearance. My husband and I, as you may well have heard, had an argument last night. I did not sleep well. I don’t think Randolph did either. We only woke up about fifteen minutes ago. My husband began dressing for his morning walk, and we quarrelled again. When he marched out, I just threw on my clothes. Foolishly, I still thought I might stop him or persuade you to-”
“No need for apologies, madam,” Pritchard said gallantly, though he was quite flummoxed by all this ungentlemanly and unladylike behaviour among the colonials. “I’ll fetch you some hot coffee.”
“That would be kind of you.” She sat down with a sigh beside her brother.
Marc was wondering what really had transpired up there last night. If Adelaide had lain awake, as well she might have after the altercation, then she may have seen the assassin shuffling along the ledge right past her window. Also, it was clear now that both husband and wife had been asleep during his investigation of the footprints on the landing and beyond.
Adelaide sipped at her coffee, bringing it all the way up to her lips, as if it were too much effort to bend down to it. Closer to her now, Marc could see the dried runnels where copious tears had fallen. She caught him staring.
“It wasn’t just the argument,” she said with quiet dignity. “I haven’t been able to weep for Marion since the afternoon of the funeral. Then, later last night, it all came pouring out.”
“Maybe I should go after Randy,” Sedgewick said to Adelaide. “We do need to leave very soon.”
“You’ll only antagonize him.”
“Then I’ll go along with you,” Pritchard said. “I believe I can make the man see reason. Neutral party and all that.”
Marc rose to join them.
“Please, stay,” Adelaide said, and Marc sat down.
The other two trotted upstairs to get their coats and hats, and came back down less than a minute later. They hurried out the side door.
Marc took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and request more hot food and fresh coffee. When Brookner came back, they would have to hurry him along. Lambert, apparently, was still closeted with Dingman, going over codicils and the like.
“The food will be right in. We need to eat well. It’s seventy miles or so to Kingston. You’ll no doubt be relieved to get home.”
Adelaide smiled, and swallowed hard. Her hands were moving restlessly in her lap.
When the food arrived, she poked at it listlessly. But it was obvious that she did not wish to carry on a conversation.
Some minutes later, the side door was flung open. Sedgewick stood in the doorway, waving for Marc to come over.
“I hope nothing’s wrong,” Adelaide said, getting up.
“Please, stay here, Mrs. Brookner.” Marc rushed over to Sedgewick. Pritchard was peering over his shoulder, white as an Easter lily. His jowls were quivering.
“Come with me quickly, Lieutenant,” Sedgewick said. “No time for your coat. Something dreadful’s happened.”
“Lead the way,” Marc said, fearing the worst.
Pritchard was apparently supposed to look to the lady, but whirled and followed them, in a total daze.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he gasped.
“Then go back and sit with Addie.”
“Oh, I couldn’t tell her, could I?”
Sedgewick sighed, and then decided simply to lead Marc directly to the dreadful happening without further conversation. They walked quickly past the barn and sheds, following the path into the woods that Marc had observed earlier. The recent snow, still falling faintly on the path, was marred by a number of bootprints and scuffs, from Brookner’s boots most likely, and those of Sedgewick and Pritchard having come after him and then retreated. They soon came upon the creek, frozen over and blanketed with the winter’s accumulation of snow. The path paralleled the curves of the creek for a hundred yards or so with spruce trees on their left and the creek-bed on their right.
“We followed his tracks-they were the only ones to come this far-right to this here bend,” Sedgewick was saying to Marc at his heels. “And then we heard the bubblin’ sounds of the spring-water Randolph mentioned last night, and we thought-”
“I can’t go a foot farther,” Pritchard said, halting behind them.
“The footprints stopped, got all muddled, as you can see, and I couldn’t figure out why they stopped so sudden. It was Pritchard who looked down there and saw him.”