It was sometime in the middle of theafternoon when the idea struck him: if he couldn’t resolve themystery of who had aided and abetted Reuben Epp, then by God hewould find out what was going on at St. James. That the Poor Boxhad been rifled – twice – was one fact. That someone haddeliberately, in the night, done the rifling was another. And thatConstance herself was up to no good was a safe assumption. Dora hadtold him at breakfast, before the jibe at his nose, that tomorrowafternoon there was to be a christening held at St. James andpresided over by the bishop-in-waiting. The unfortunate infant wasthe scion of one of Toronto’s wealthiest families (“That’s all weneed,” he’d said to Dora, “another little Family Compacter.”) Thatcombination, of Dr. Strachan and conspicuous wealth, was sure todraw three or four hundred well-wishers to the ceremony. ConstanceHungerford and Mavis McDowell would doubtlessly have their Poor Boxwithin easy reach. If the thief were to follow his customarypattern, he would strike sometime late Wednesday evening or earlyThursday morning. And this time Cobb intended to be ready.
Later that afternoon, when he spotted MissyPrue sweeping the stoop at the rear entrance to the vicarage, hesidled up to her. And while she batted her eyelashes at him, he puthis proposal to her. Yes, she would gladly help him catch the thiefwho had so upset the missus. And yes, she would tell no-one. Itwould be their secret. Cobb left, whistling. The major – ona wild-goose chase in New York and unaware of the babe just born -would be proud of his apprentice’s deductive powers, his coldlogic, and his low cunning. Cobb was certain that, by Thursdaymorning, at least one of the mysteries would be brought to asatisfactory conclusion.
TWENTY ONE
“We’re going to take the scenic route,” Marc said toBrodie as they got into the cab in front of The Houston Hotel. “Thecabbie is puzzled, but he’s put my bizarre instructions down to theeccentricities of a foreigner.”
Instead of heading up to Broadway and movingstraight down to Park Place, they turned west, and soon foundthemselves zigzagging through the Greenwich area. In broad daylightthe devastation of the great fire was even more apparent than ithad been early Sunday evening: everywhere they bore witness tocharred walls, tangled timbers, makeshift shanties and dilapidatedtents. The consequences of the economic collapse that had followedthe great fire could be seen in the shambling and starved figuresof men on every street corner, who stared at the passing carriagewith hollow and malevolent eyes. Brodie wondered why they had comethis way, but said nothing.
Ten minutes later they emerged onto Hudson, awide thoroughfare, and followed it until it ended at Read Street,where they swung east again and came out onto Broadway. They passedthe City Hall and its pleasant park and arrived, at last, at ParkPlace, where they turned east again. Brodie could no longer holdhis peace.
“Why on earth have we been zigzagging allover town?”
“I wanted to be certain that the cab with thespotted horse was truly shadowing us.”
“What cab?”
“The one that just carried on down Broadway -as if he wasn’t on our tail.”
“They – whoever they are – want to makecertain we do leave town?”
Marc nodded.
A block farther up they halted in front of ahandsome brick building and the business it housed: ADAMS andDEWART-SMYTHE: Imported Wines and Spirits.
Eliza was waiting for them in the retail shopat the front of the establishment. Marc heard Brodie’s intake ofbreath, and smiled. Eliza’s dark beauty had changed little, exceptperhaps to have matured slightly in her favour. The bold black eyesand ebony ringlettes, in stark contrast to her milky complexion,would make the heart of a misogynist stutter.
“It is really you,” Eliza said, holding outher hand for the ritual kiss and making no effort to quell herexcitement. “And who is the stunning young man you have broughtwith you?”
Marc introduced Brodie, who stammered out agreeting but had no idea what to do with the lady’s hand or the bowhe had initiated but forgot to complete.
“How is Uncle Sebastian?” Marc said.
“The old dear is up in Boston making usricher,” Eliza said with an irreverent smile aimed at Brodie.
“Leaving you to mind the store,” Marcsaid.
“No need to worry, Marc, darling. You broughtyour own chaperone.”
Brodie tried to suppress a blush, making itworse.
“Ah, but I’m now a well-married man,” Marcsaid lightly.
“I know. So am I. A well-wedded woman, thatis.”
At this point, an inner door opened and a manentered. He was middle-aged, portly, be-whiskered, and round-faced- with large, placid eyes. He smiled at the visitors.
“This is Fenton Adams, my husband andbusiness partner,” Eliza said with a touch more emphasis on thelatter designation.
Introductions were made all around, and thenEliza said, “Fenton, my love, why don’t you show young Mr. Langfordthrough the cellars and have him sample some of that new Bordeaux,while Marc and I have a cup of tea and reminisce?”
“A splendid idea, love,” Fenton said amiably,and led a reluctant Brodie away.
When Marc and Eliza were settled in a cosysitting-room, not unlike the one they had often shared in Toronto,she stared across at him and said with mock sincerity, “I thoughtyou would be limping – at least.”
Marc showed his surprise. “So you know aboutthe rebellion?”
“I know a great deal – about a lot ofthings.”
“I didn’t know you had become Mrs.Adams.”
She smiled wanly: “A merger of interests, youmight say.”
“Related to Quincy Adams, is he?”
“Second cousin, thrice removed.”
“Forefather on the Mayflower?”
“First mate, actually.”
Marc sipped his tea and then said, “It’s goodto see you haven’t changed.”
“We’ve both changed.”
“As we must, eh?”
“I hear your Beth is a beauty in her ownright. And that she’s about to produce a son and heir.”
“You have a paid agent in Toronto, doyou?”
“I don’t need one. We get regular visits fromimporters – all the way from Montreal, Toronto, Kingston – ”
“And you trade vintage wine for vintagegossip?”
“It seems like a fair trade. Where else wouldI get detailed accounts of your heroics at St. Denis, of yourrenunciation of the scarlet tunic, of your legendary investigativeprowess, of your flirtation with the Bar and radical politics -tales to keep a woman warm through the long, cold winter.”
“My, but my life didn’t seem that exciting atthe time.”
“It seldom does.” She looked down, then backup. Tears startled her eyes. “To our infinite regret.”
There came a clumping of footfalls in thehallway, and a moment later Brodie and Fenton Adams joinedthem.
***
That afternoon seemed to be the longest one Marc hadever endured. He and Brodie were holed up in their rooms, withnothing to do but wait. As far as they could tell, they had notbeen followed home by the mysterious taxicab, but then there weremany other means by which their movements could be tracked andrecorded. Everything now depended upon Annemarie Thedford agreeingto let Marc examine the secret documents for possible leads. Marcwas afraid that her loyalty to Dick and the imperative of herpromise to him regarding their possible use would override hisefforts to expose the people who had sponsored the assassination.Moreover, it seemed likely that those very people had learned ofthe documents’ existence and his mother’s role in the affair as awhole. If so, then she was in more peril than he or Brodie.