“He’ll be rarin’ to go,” Beth said,struggling to her feet.
“I’ll give you a précis, word by bloatedword,” Marc said, reaching for the latch. “That’s a promise.”
Beth waddled over to him and placed a hand onhis shoulder. “Do you think it’s wise fer Dick to make anappearance in that company?” she said with a concerned look.
“I don’t see why not, love. He goes for hisconstitutional every morning, and is greeted by a dozen or morepassers-by every day.”
“I know that. But those are the ordinary folkwho respect him fer what he did back in January at the Court Housefer young Billy McNair an’ Dolly. But accordin’ to what RoseHalpenny told me yesterday when she come here to make her weeklyreport, the so-called respectable ladies who gossip away to her inthe shop like she was a statue or a mute, are still spreadin’ uglystories about Dick’s life in New York.”
“Oh, I realize that malicious tales about whyDick had to leave New York aren’t ever going to stop, no matterwhat the man does. You can’t reform a blue-blooded bigot. But,believe me, the Benchers at Osgoode Hall have been looking intoDick’s record back home – remember that he was not disbarredthere – and when they are compelled to admit him to the Bar at theOsgoode hearing next week, that particular cloud will no longerhang over his head.”
“He won’t tell you what happened backthere?”
“No. Besides the fact that he considers it tobe a wholly personal matter, he also says that he has toweigh the effects of any disclosure upon Celia and Brodie. Heworships those two.”
“But ain’t the rumours worse?”
“Apparently he doesn’t think so.”
“I’m thinkin’ of what Rose told me, though.The worst stories they’re spreadin’ are about what they say he getsup to with his wards in that little cottage of theirs.”
Marc stared at Beth. His fingers let go ofthe door-latch. “I thought that brand of nonsense had stopped.”
“With the earl’s proposals stirrin’ upanti-Americanism an’ fear of aliens with ‘republic’ stamped ontheir foreheads, they’ve started up worse than ever. Rose said herminister at the Baptist church last Sunday preached a sermon aboutthe sins of Sodom an’ Gomorrah an’ the iniquities of the flesh -with pointed reference to ‘unnatural acts’ committed by ‘strangersin our midst’.”
“You’re not telling me that respectablematrons are chatting in Smallman’s about that sort oftransgression?” That Beth herself was aware of its nature, he hadlong since accepted.
“They find there’s a suitable quote from theBible to cover any sin, however unspeakable.”
“Well, don’t worry about Dick tonight. I’llbe right beside him the whole time.”
Beth smiled and held the door open for herhusband. “I hope you ain’t forgettin’ you don’t carry a sword anymore.”
Marc kissed her again, patted his dilatoryson in his cosy abode, and left.
Beth watched him until he vanished in thegathering dusk.
***
At about the same time that Marc was setting out forBaldwin House, two close-cloaked gentlemen were descending from oneof Toronto’s three taxicabs onto the boardwalk in front of thespanking-new, three-storey American Hotel on Bay below Lot Street.While the cabbie fumbled with their leather grips, the gentlemenwalked with a weary but nonetheless confident step into thebrightly lit foyer. They were looking neither left nor right, as ifit were the world’s responsibility to look at them. Thenight-manager, appraising the cut of their cloth and the shine oftheir boots with his practiced eye, bustled across the Persiancarpet to greet them.
“Gentlemen, welcome to The American Hotel.Though you have arrived late in the day, we do have accommodationthat you will undoubtedly find first-class.”
“After the journey we’ve had over the pasteight days, that will be a most welcome sight,” said the firstgentleman as he handed his cloak over to the minion who hadmiraculously materialized at his elbow.
“You’ve just got off the mail-packet fromNewark, then?”
“We have, sir,” said the second gentleman,“after a miserable day on the coach that got us there from – ”
“Buffalo?” the night-manager smiled.
“That’s right, but – ”
“I can pick out a Buffalo vowel in a crowdedroom, sir.”
Neither gentleman smiled in appreciation ofthe fellow’s talent or the accuracy of his detection, but perhapsthey were merely too weary to tend to their manners. For it wasobvious that these were proper and prosperous arrivals, whatevertheir origins. Each man was of middle height, impeccably suited,and boasted the comfortable belly and pink cheeks that suggested alife spent largely behind a desk. Both were fair, slightly balding,and green-eyed. They might have been cousins.
Sensing that polite chatter was likely toannoy more than ingratiate, the night-manager went about thebusiness of directing the porter to take care of the luggage(scant, considering the aforementioned eight-day journey), while hemotioned for his distinguished guests to sign in. He took note ofwhat they wrote down in his register:
Joseph Brenner, New York City
Lawrence Tallman, New York City
“So you’ve come all the way from New York atthis time of year?” he said, unable to resist a furthercomment.
“Alas, we have done so,” Joseph Brenner saidwith a curious mixture of rue and Yankee pluck. “But we haveimportant business here that could not be postponed.”
“Ah, I see. Then we shall make certain thatyou are made as comfortable and relaxed as modern conveniences andAmerican-style hospitality allow.”
As the strangers turned to ascend the stairsto their chambers, Lawrence Tallman paused and said to their host,who had trailed them at a discreet distance, “There is one thing,besides supper, that you might provide for us, if you can.”
“Please, sir. Just name it.”
“While we are here, we would like to pay asocial call upon a former acquaintance of ours, who we understandis now residing in your city.”
“I know all the respectable people inToronto, sir.”
“Good. Then you may know where we can find aretired barrister, a Mr. Richard Dougherty.”
The night-manager’s eyes brightened, then,slowly, lost their lustre. “I’m afraid I do,” he said at last.
TWO
Dougherty and Robert Baldwin were waiting for Marc onthe porch of Baldwin House, having dined together and shared adecanter of port and several cigars. They greeted Marc warmly, andthe trio set off at a leisurely pace for the legislature two blocksaway. The sun had set, but a hazy light lingered on the glassysurface of the bay to their left, and the deep chill of alate-March night was still hours away.
“Do you really think this McDowell chap candraw the fractious Tory supporters together to form a unitedfront?” Marc was saying.
“Some of the Reformers have been suggestingthat to me,” Robert said, stepping around a mud puddle.
“It’s hard to believe that mere rhetoric,however lofty, can paper over the divisions we’ve seen in theconservative camp lately,” Marc said. “I suspect it’s just fear ofthe possibility.”
“Nor ought you to forget that finespeech-making contributed mightily to the success of the revolutionin the United States,” Dougherty said. “Though I suspect thisMcDowell fellow is no Patrick Henry or Daniel Webster.”
“What do we know about this wunderkindMcDowell anyway?” Marc said to Robert.
“Francis Hincks tells me that he’s the scionof a wealthy merchant family in Kingston. An only child, and a bitof a ripper in his youth, if the gossip is anywhere close toaccurate. Articled law in Montreal, but was taken into the family’simport business, more to keep him under Papa’s thumb, they say,than to augment the McDowell fortunes.”