“The idea was to have some crony of theschemer take Chilton’s place. My job was to get Chilton out of theway and stow his baggage.”
“But that was on the coach, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Once Chilton passed out during thestopover, I went out to the driver and told him the man was quiteill and we needed his suitcases in here until we got him better andon his way again.”
“Very clever. What then?”
“I was to send a message to a Mr. Smith, careof The Cobourg Hotel, that ‘all was ready’.”
“Mr. Smith, eh?”
“By the next evening, the Wednesday, Chiltonwas in my quarters, deliriously drunk — ”
“An’ perky.”
“That, too. Brutus delivered the news inCobourg. And at ten o’clock that night, in the dark, this strangerarrives and announces that he is now Graves Chilton.”
“He didn’t give you his real name?”
“No, I swear. He had no need to, you see. Hehad the first instalment of my reward with him, and he assured meI’d get the rest of it if I managed to keep the real butler underwraps.”
“Why didn’t he just hop on the stage inCobourg at nine in the mornin’?”
“He needed access to Chilton’s belongings.He’d brought a suitcase full of his own butlering clothes, but whenhe rummaged through Chilton’s bags he discovered he was about thesame build. He was particularly interested in the various papers hefound among Chilton’s effects. In the end, he left his own stuffhere and went off with every scrap of the other fellow’s.”
“Off with Brutus the next day to catch themornin’ stage?”
“That’s what Brutus told me. I wasn’t theleast bit curious about the reasons behind all these shenanigans,even though I should have been, perhaps. But I’ve had to battlethis world tooth and nail on my own for more than twenty-fiveyears, and I’ve had to make myself as selfish and as watchful as Icould — even when I didn’t like what it did to me.”
Cobb sat back, vastly satisfied. He had notonly confirmed the presence of an impostor in Elmgrove, he haddiscovered how the ruse had been perpetrated. In the process he hadrescued the real Graves Chilton and, if the roadway stayed as itwas, would be able to deliver him, rumpled but unhurt, to hisrightful owner.
“What happens to me now?” Bessie askedquietly.
“Well, the way I see it, you did a greatwrong to Mr. Chilton an’ you did so without knowin’ what worsewrongs might be happenin’ in Toronto because of what you was doin’here.”
“I couldn’t give up The Pine Knot, could I? Icould take myself elsewhere, I always have, but — ”
“But what would Brutus do — without hishorses?”
She nodded slowly, and dropped her eyes.
“I guess it’s up to the butler in yerkitchen, isn’t it? You did nail yer shutters shut an’ you did lockthat door more’n once.”
Bessie smiled, and some of the fire returnedto her cheeks. “What’s he going to tell the magistrate, eh? That aforty-five-year-old woman pleasured him into a helpless pulp?”
Cobb loved the way she laughed with hereyes.
“You got a point there, and I don’t care afig one way or another about that business. But what I gotta know,an’ you gotta tell me, is the name of the so-called gentleman youspotted on that letter, the fella who set the whole scheme up an’oughta be in jail.”
“But I can’t do that, Cobb. I’ve kept my partof the bargain I made with him. I deserve to have the other half ofmy fee. Brutus and I, at long last, might own something nobody canever take away from us.”
“You got enough to keep the bank fromforeclosin’, ain’t ya?”
“I’ve already sent them a cheque.”
“You’ll haveta be satisfied with that,then.”
“Or?”
“Or else I’ll haveta drag ya to themagistrate an’ have ya charged with conspiracy an’ fraud — fer astart.”
“But I know nothing about what the ruse wasfor!”
“And I believe you. But will the magistrate?Yer Brutus was seen deliverin’ a fake butler to the stagecoach inCobourg — with Graves Chilton’s ticket in his hand and a sled fullof Graves Chilton’s bags. Who’s gonna believe you didn’t help theculprit make the switch an’ steal that luggage? Are you gonna blameit all on Brutus?”
Bessie Jiggins did not turn away, did not letthe colour drain from her cheeks. She stared at Cobb with a lookcomprised of admiration, fear, bemusement and affection.
“I have only one regret,” she said, “and thatis that I can’t remember how good we were when — you know — when wewere. . together last night.” Then she reached over,squeezed Cobb’s hand, and gave him the name.
***
Sunday morning for Marc was even longer thanSaturday afternoon and evening had been. He had arrived home theprevious day about two o’clock for a joyous reunion with Beth andMaggie. Both were in good health and high spirits. Now that she haddiscovered the wonders of upright locomotion, Maggie felt she hadto demonstrate every one of her new-found moves several times over.Beth had been free of cramps and false labour since Thursday andinsisted on bundling up and going for a walk down Sherbourne Streetto the lakefront. Here they watched the ice-skaters and bladedskiffs skimming over the frozen bay where the north winds had blownthe snow clear. But by the time they got home for the supper thatCharlene had prepared for them (and for her easily impressedfiancé), Marc was already fretting and wondering how Macaulay wasmaking out in his effort to distract the visitors from Quebec, andwhether Cobb had made it safely to Port Hope or Cobourg.
After supper, Marc had walked to The Cock andBull on York Street, where he found Nester Peck, Cobb’s snitch, andbribed him to track down Giles Harkness. When he got home, Charleneand Jasper unrolled the plans for the proposed addition to BriarCottage (for the humpteenth time), and made several suggestionseven more outrageous than previous ones. Marc had feigned interestas best he could. And while he wished nothing more than to drivestraight back out to Elmgrove to relieve Macaulay, he realized thatit was more important that he, like Robert and Hincks, make publicappearances and create, for any overly curious Tories, an air ofnormality about his movements and intentions. Thus, on Sundaymorning, while Robert and Hincks made certain they were observedwith their families in their pews at St. James, Marc and his lovedones made the weekly trek to the Congregational church on HospitalStreet.
After lunch, while Charlene and Jasper tookMaggie sledding, Marc brought Beth up to speed on the case. But thewalk to the church had tired her more than she would admit, and heheard her snoring softly in her rocker in the midst of a mostinsightful summation of the known facts and various conclusionsthat might be drawn from them. An hour later, he asked Jasper tohitch Macaulay’s horse to the cutter, kissed Beth and Maggiegoodbye, and headed out to Elmgrove.
He took a roundabout route, going west for ablock, then north, and finally circling back to King Street andpointing the horse eastward. At the estate he found Macaulay byhimself in the library. The Quebecers were in their rooms nappingor reading before afternoon tea was to be served at fiveo’clock.
“I feel I’ve just weathered the Battle ofWaterloo,” Macaulay sighed. “But LaFontaine has been as good as hisword. I’ve not heard a single complaint and no-one’s threatened toleave. However, as soon as they’ve eaten, they’ve asked for us allto assemble here — for the showdown.”
“And we’ve got nothing positive or new totell them,” Marc said gravely. “They’ll have no reason to sign ouraccord and little incentive to hang around Toronto waiting for aninquest that can spell nothing but trouble for them.”
“Cobb’s snitch wasn’t able to locateGiles?”
“Not yet. But if he is in the city,Nester will find him.”
Just outside the front window they heard ashout of “Whoa!”
“Thank God,” Macaulay said. “Robert andFrancis have arrived.”
“Someone else to share the gloom with, eh?”Marc said.
“I’ll go and say hello,” Macaulay said.
Marc sat by himself for a few minutes and,once again, tried to think of anything he or Cobb might haveoverlooked. Nothing came readily to mind. He got up and stared outat the snow-covered driveway, willing Cobb to appear. But, ofcourse, he didn’t. Perhaps the Quebecers would wait until it gotdark about seven o’clock before giving up on the police, and theReformers of Upper Canada.