“So, as far as you know, he managed to walkthrough that minefield?”
“I think he did, mainly by taking on capitalcases like murder or attempted murder or armed robbery – and so on.He avoided civil cases, in part I’m sure because he thought thejuries would be suborned by the influence of Tammany or theirpolitical opponents.”
“But?”
“But when President Andrew Jackson, towardsthe end of his second term, finally destroyed the United StatesBank at the behest of groups like Tammany and Loco-Foco,states-first Democrats, the result was a run on all banks, thecollapse of paper money, and an instant economic depression.”
“I saw some of the consequences of that inDetroit last January.”
“Ten thousand workers in New York City losttheir jobs. The Common Council turned down a request for rentrelief because the rents for city-owned tenements, which werealready thirty-five percent higher than in Brooklyn across theriver, helped line the pockets of those in office.”
“How did your uncle get involved?”
“A group of once-prosperous tradesmen came tohim with a tale of having been bilked out of their meagre savingsby the New York and Albany Fire Insurance Company. When the ‘greatfire’ of the previous year threatened to ruin the company, itsdirectors declared bankruptcy, pillaged its assets, and went toTammany Hall for protection. One of them, Silas Biddle, fled toFrance, but the president, Paxen Wetmore, stayed put. As a formersachem in Tammany – they use Indian names for all their offices andparade up and down Broadway in Indian costumes – he felt himselfimmune from prosecution.”
“And Dick took on the case?”
“He did. He knew the jury would be pickedfrom Tammany ward-heelers, but his clients had provided him withincontrovertible evidence. That, in combination with his eloquenceand vigorous cross-examination of Wetmore, resulted in a hungjury.”
“So Wetmore got off?”
“Yes. Even if convicted, he never would havepaid restitution. Uncle told me, as we chatted together in ourcottage last fall, that Tammany’s control of the city council andthe state legislature permitted it to pass laws that inevitablyabsolved malefactors – after the fact. At worst, Wetmore would havebeen allowed to flee the country.”
“So Dick did not really hurt Tammany?”
“Oh, but he did. He told me that hiscross-examination of Wetmore had been harrowing and effective.Wetmore’s reputation was in tatters. He would stay out of jail, butthat was about all. You see, he was ambitious to run for statesenator as a Democrat.”
“And your uncle felt that Tammany might notforgive a lawyer who had taken one of their sachems down?”
Brodie stared out at the brilliant bluewaters of Lake Oneida. “They never forgive – or forget.”
Could such a desire for revenge have extendedas far as an assassination in Toronto? It now seemed possible.
Marc felt he had to press on: “Do you thinkthat Tammany Hall was responsible for your having to leave NewYork?”
“Yes, I do. But you have to believe me when Itell you that Uncle refused to explain the nature of his so-called‘disgrace’ or whether the decision to leave was voluntary orcoerced – then or at any time thereafter.”
“It’s clear that he never intended to tellanyone,” Marc said sympathetically. “But your leaving wasabrupt, was it not?”
“Yes. Celia and I were home on holiday whenUncle arrived one afternoon and announced that we had to go. Hesaid a friend would see to the disposal of our property, but thatwe ourselves had to leave before sunset. We were stunned. But wetrusted Uncle, and could not conceive of living without him. Wepacked our bags. The only explanation he gave us was that what hehad decided was for our own good – to protect us.”
“And I’m sure it was,” Marc replied. Butprotection from what? Was it merely the heinous nature of Dick’s“transgression” that might compromise his wards and their future,or was it the possibility that any attempt on his part to defendhis reputation might prompt Tammany Hall to put their very lives injeopardy?
“But I do need to know what he did,” Brodiesaid, looking directly at Marc. “Whatever it turns out to be.”
It was the next day, when they were back onthe canal proper, that Marc said to Brodie, “You are aware, aren’tyou, of the nature of the charges levelled against your uncle bythe rumour-mongers and bigots of Toronto?”
Brodie nodded, but said nothing.
“Is it conceivable that the fact that yourfather and uncle lived so closely together in that house for somany years, and accompanied you and Celia on outings and holidays -could that behaviour have given rise to rumours and falseaccusations, which your uncle’s enemies were able to exploit tobring him down?”
At first Brodie did not answer. Finally hesaid, “All I know for sure is that Celia and I had two fathers.Both of them adored us. In all the years I lived with them, I neversaw anything I shouldn’t have.” Then he added, “Love can’t becounted a sin, can it?”
“If it is,” Marc said, “we’re all lost.”
SIXTEEN
“Now that I’ve told you my life story,” Brodiesaid once they were safely aboard the Constitution atAlbany, “it’s time for a little reciprocity.”
So Marc told him a few details of his ownunusual upbringing on Jabez Edwards’ estate in Kent, his abortivefling with the law at the Inns of Court in London, his subsequentstint at the Royal Military School in Sandhurst, and some of hisexploits since his arrival in Toronto in May of 1835. Brodienaturally seized upon Marc’s involvement in putting down therebellion in Quebec, though the strange account of how Marcaccidentally found his real mother in Toronto was equallycompelling.
“She now lives in New York,” Marc said. “I’mhoping we’ll have time to pay her a visit.”
“So you do have a contact in the city?”
“More than one,” Marc smiled. “A young womanwhose hand I once thought to ask in marriage is also there: ElizaDewart-Smythe.”
“Ah, I see. And will I get to meet her,too?”
“Not likely. She and her uncle operate awine-importing business. Eliza and Uncle Sebastian moved to NewYork two years ago to set up an American branch of the familyenterprise. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“So what is the plan, Marc? Do we seek outsome of the families I know of through my days at prep school, ordo we go directly for the jugular?”
“First thing tomorrow morning, we show up onthe doorstep of Brenner and Tallman.”
“I suspect they’ll be in for quite asurprise.”
“That’s my hope,” Marc smiled.
***
There was still a quarter-hour of sunlight left whenMarc and Brodie found themselves in a taxicab rumbling up CatherineStreet from the wharf where the Constitution had docked.Brodie had given the driver, a surly fellow with a strange accent,explicit instructions regarding their route. When Catherine Streetended at the Bowery, they wheeled east onto Chatham and then ParkRow, which took them past the magnificent City Hall and itsspacious grounds. Reaching Broadway, they swung north, passed CityHall again, and then trotted down what had to be one of the greatthoroughfares in the world. Churches with soaring steeples andGothic pretensions, four-storied public buildings, colonnaded andbalconied hotels, majestic theatres, and innumerable shops withglass windows thick with the baubles and bric-à-brac prized by theprosperous. They crossed another broad avenue, Canal Street, andtwo blocks later turned east again.
“That’s where we used to live,” Brodie cried.“That gabled place – on the corner of Broome and Mercer.”
Marc sat back and let Brodie have the nextfew minutes to himself. He realized what kind of mixed andconflictive feelings that this intelligent young man must beexperiencing at his return to the place that would always – to somedegree – be home. He sincerely hoped that whatever indiscretionDick had been guilty of, it was one that Brodie could bear to face.At the same time, Marc was pretty sure that it was connected toDick’s death. Unmasking those who had used Reuben Epp as their pawnwas certain to expose an aspect of Dougherty that no-one whoadmired him was eager to see.