Sowing Poison (22 page)

Born thy people to deliver; born a child and yet a King …

One by one the others had joined in the words written so long ago by Charles Wesley. Lewis's was amongst them, but even as he sang, one part of his mind returned to the Elliotts.

Nate had never been near the woodlot. If he had waited for cover of darkness, he could probably have left the Elliott farmhouse and walked along the road without a soul seeing him, but there was always the possibility that some late-to-bed might notice him and report the fact after he had supposedly disappeared. He must have chosen to cross the marsh to a deserted section of the mainland at the other end of the lake. Gilmour seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Lewis had seen him searching there on the way back from Picton. It was but a short way across to the peninsula that jutted into the lake. What the plan had been from there was anyone's guess — Nate might well have intended to find a hidey hole in the cedar forest as Lewis had originally thought — or he might have simply kept going until he was well away from Prince Edward. As Lewis mulled this over, he decided that the latter was the most likely course.

He attempted to put these thoughts aside and direct his attention to the service. The old, familiar words of the Christmas story rang out, but they did little to divert him.

By claiming that Nate had been injured while cutting wood, Reuben had gained him travelling time. With all those people searching for him, any questions that Gilmour might have had about the incident would have looked foolish indeed. The fact that Nate had genuinely disappeared served only to reinforce Reuben's story.

He didn't know what to make of Clementine's arrival in Wellington. No one here had been aware of her existence. There had been no need for her to satisfy propriety by attending her father-in-law's funeral. Perhaps she had been the go-between. The transfer agreement had been unsigned. Had Nate arranged to meet her somewhere, at which point he would sign the document? She would return it to Reuben, and the money would change hands. Apparently the brothers didn't trust each other, and the document would have served as insurance for both. Lewis could think of only one reason for Clementine's announcement that she was prepared to wait for however long it took to see the estate settled in her favour — Reuben had reneged on the contract. With Nate truly dead, and in all probability this was the case, there was no chance that he could return at some later date and claim his inheritance. And if what McFaul had told Lewis was true, Reuben had every chance of walking away with everything. He no longer needed the surety of the agreement.

The lighting of the candles had begun. One by one the flames flickered and then burned brightly. Soon the room was bathed in their soft glow.

Hark the Herald Angels sing, glory to the newborn King!

The triumphant words signalled the end of the service, but not of the celebration. Soon hot cups of coffee and rolls would be passed to the worshippers, and Lewis would need to bring his mind to the present in order to convey his greetings to his neighbours. Beside him, Martha was singing loudly and flatly and this was finally enough to put a temporary end to his speculation.

Temperance House was nearly cleared of guests, everyone having gone home to their families for Christmas. The only two remaining in residence were Clementine and Horatio, who indicated that they would not, as had been expected, spend the day with Reuben. Even Sophie had deserted them — she would spend the day with her family, but would return the next morning to cook a Boxing Day feast.

Martha was delighted with the ribbon Lewis gave her, and demanded that her grandmother fix it into her hair immediately. Betsy unwound the braids the little girl normally wore and let the soft curls spill down her back, held back by a length of the green ribbon. Francis complimented her on her new style when they trooped into the dining room for breakfast — Daniel had decided that the Elliotts would feel less lonely if everyone ate their meals together — and then he brought out his present. Lewis realized with a start that it was no longer his place to provide the Christmas gift — that was up to Martha's father now.

She bubbled over with delight when she saw what she had been given — a beautifully carved Noah's Ark, complete not with camels and giraffes, but with pairs of animals that a Canadian child might be more familiar with — bears and raccoons and foxes — and even two tiny cats that peered out coyly from a window. It must have taken hours to make, and it must have been done in secret, late at night, for even Lewis had been unaware of the activity.

He was further put to shame, for Francis had provided a gift for Horatio, as well. It was a jig doll, in the form of a lumberjack, whose jointed limbs were constructed in such a way as to allow it to do a clattering dance as the board it stood on was pushed up and down. It was not so finely carved as Martha's ark, but Francis had painted it in gay colours and the boy seemed delighted with it.

Clementine thanked him rather tearily and Lewis reproached himself further. This woman had lost a husband, after all, and the boy a father. He had been so focused on her transgressions that he had forgotten her tribulations. Christmas was a time for peace and goodwill and he was glad that he had not taken any definitive action to reveal what he knew. He would let everyone enjoy the holiday and decide his course of action at a more appropriate time.

The noon meal was a simple one of sausages with bacon and cabbage, and again they all shared it in the dining room. The street outside was quiet, the shops closed and shuttered for the day. Little traffic went by — only a handful of pedestrians and a sleigh or two — although Lewis was surprised when the stage rumbled through in mid-afternoon, quite disturbing the quiet meditations each of them had sunk into after dinner. Supper was oyster stew made with cream and served with biscuits. By eight o'clock that evening the hotel was in darkness, everyone having retired to bed.

The serenity of Christmas Day did not survive long into Boxing Day. Sophie bustled in early with a list of orders for them all, for although there were no overnight guests besides the Elliotts, a number of people had inquired about coming to the hotel for dinner, drawn by the glowing reports of the tasty meals served there. The dining room would be quite full, and everyone was fully occupied in attempting to follow Sophie's frequent and precise instructions regarding the preparations for the feast.

Lewis and Martha were put to work setting the tables. They took all of the tablecloths outside to shake them free of crumbs and sponged away any stains they found before the cloths were laid again. Sophie had suggested that the middle of each table be adorned with pine branches and candles, an embellishment that Lewis was dubious about, but which Daniel found appealing.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “that would make the room look lovely. This is a first-class establishment, after all, and our guests will expect no less.”

Lewis thought Daniel was getting a little above himself with this description, but when he saw the result of their efforts, he had to admit that the room looked nice and that the greenery added a festive touch.

He and Martha were standing in the doorway admiring their handiwork when the front door was flung open. It was Reuben Elliott, and he appeared to be in an agitated state.

“Good morning,” Lewis said, but Reuben failed to make a civil reply.

“Is Mrs. Elliott in her rooms?” he asked in a very abrupt manner.

“Yes, I believe so,” Lewis replied, and Reuben went bounding up the stairs.

Something was apparently very wrong, for over the course of the next ten minutes everyone who was downstairs could hear voices raised in argument. Lewis wondered if he should go upstairs and intervene, but he had only just decided to do so when he heard Reuben stamp down the stairs again. He left without a word, and slammed the front door as he went, making the glass rattle and the bell ring crazily.

“I wonder what that was all about,” Daniel said.

Lewis shrugged. It had not been possible to hear what was said, other than a word or two here and there, but it was clear that a further complication had arisen in the Elliott plan. He had no time to think about it, though, for at that moment their first dinner guests arrived and he was kept busy taking their coats through to the small parlour and seeing them to their tables.

The meal Sophie had prepared was sumptuous.

The opening course of fish chowder was followed by a salmi of wild duck, which in turn led to the main dish of Christmas ham, which Sophie had drenched in maple syrup and studded with cloves, accompanied by roasted potatoes, candied carrots, and a piquant mustard sauce. Lewis attempted at one point to count the number of side dishes that were presented — the cold room appeared to have been emptied of its contents and he noted everything from coleslaw to pickled beets — but he kept losing count as he passed them to the guests.

For dessert there were several varieties of pie, including mincemeat, but the
piece de resistance
was without doubt an extraordinary plum pudding, served with a choice of either hard or caramel sauce, which was set alight just before it was served to the guests. Lewis decided not to inquire too closely as to the form of liquor required to accomplish this. It was, after all, Christmas. Besides, the flame would have the effect of burning off all the alcohol anyway.

He would not have been surprised if Clementine had kept to her rooms after the upset of the morning, but she and Horatio both appeared at the appointed time and took their places at a table. Horatio dug into his food with great gusto and put away an enormous amount, but his mother seemed pale and distracted, and merely picked at each course.

As he cleared away her unused dessert plate, Lewis leaned in close.

“I don't mean to pry, but we couldn't help but be aware that there was some unpleasantness earlier. Is everything all right?”

The sly, cat-like look appeared on her face. “Yes, you do mean to pry, and no, everything isn't all right, but thank you for asking.”

With this rebuff, Lewis shrugged and moved to the next table.

Slowly the dining room cleared out, the guests groaning with a satisfied pleasure. With the customers provided for, it was now time for the family to eat, and Sophie revealed that she had held something back. As well as ample helpings of everything they had served in the dining room, she had prepared a succulent goose pie just for them. Just as she was taking it out of the oven, Francis and Daniel helped Susannah into the kitchen and arranged her as comfortably as they could at the end of the table, her leg supported on a stool with a cushion. It was the first time she had been able to join them for a meal since her accident.

We have many things to be thankful for this Christmas
, Lewis thought as he led them in saying grace. Then he settled in to eat, which he did until he was sure he would never want food again, yet he kept reaching for “just another nibble” of the toothsome fare.

Daniel was ecstatic at the compliments he received from their diners, and kept repeating the most flattering of them, but by the time they had finished eating, everyone else was exhausted. Daniel and Lewis helped Susannah back to her room, and by the time they returned, Francis was already helping Sophie with the dishes. Betsy was hobbling and Martha was yawning, so Lewis suggested that they go home for a couple of hours of quiet time, which he sincerely hoped would translate into naps for them all.

“What was all the excitement this morning?” Betsy asked as they walked across the yard.

“I'm not sure,” Lewis replied. “Mrs. Elliott didn't want to discuss it. Something was certainly amiss though, wasn't it?”

“Something always seems to be amiss with that woman,” Betsy replied. “I don't know if she makes it so or if it just happens all on its own, but she appears to find herself in one difficulty after another, doesn't she?”

Betsy didn't know the half of it, Lewis thought, but he was too tired and full to think much more. As soon as they reached the house, Betsy went to lie down on the kitchen bed while Lewis fed some wood into the stove. When he had stoked the fire to life, he turned and discovered that Martha had climbed in beside her grandmother and they were both sound asleep. Yawning mightily, he, too, went to bed.

It was dark when Lewis awoke. He had neglected to draw the curtains before his nap, and the full winter moon had climbed quite high in the sky, shining through the window upon his face. This must be what had pulled him from his deep sleep. He had completely missed the supper serving, he realized, but then he remembered the Boxing Day feast they had had earlier and that Sophie had intended to simply lay out the leftovers and let everyone pick at what they most felt like eating. He stretched and sat up, not sure if he wanted to get up and go for a walk or indulge himself in the luxury of throwing another log into the stove and going back to bed. Years of hard habit won; he would go out. A little exercise would make it all the easier to go back to sleep later.

Betsy and Martha were still curled together on the kitchen bed. As silently as he could, he tended the stove, then slid his feet into his boots, put on his coat, and slipped outside into the crisp, starlit night. The cold air bit deep into his lungs as he stood on the stoop and located his old winter friend, Orion. He had never managed to find a book about the stars, as he had intended to do so many years ago, and there remained too many of the twinkling lights that he couldn't identify. He liked to watch them nonetheless; they reminded him of the beauty of creation and how his own significance paled in contrast. He chuckled a little to himself. Not a bad thing for any man to come to the realization that he was so small.

He was brought back to earth by a noise across the street — a shout and a peal of laughter. The Donovans were hosting a party, no doubt one of many around the village. He hoped it wouldn't get too loud, and that Betsy could continue her peaceful slumber inside. He was about to set off toward the main road when he saw a crowd of men at the corner. He stepped back into the shadow of the doorway. There was something ominous about the way they moved, creeping silently along. As they drew closer, he recognized several of them. They had been present at the Orange Lodge meeting held at the hotel, and the fact that they were travelling in a group spoke of ill-intention. As the Donovans were the only Catholic family living on this short street, Lewis suspected that the Donovan house was about to be the target of whatever the Orangemen had planned. He stepped out of the shadows.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he called out in a loud voice. “Best of the season to you.”

They stopped. Lewis could see that some of the men had rocks in their hands, and two or three of them carried guns.

“It's a fine night to be out walking, isn't it? I myself ate far too much dinner and now I need a little fresh air to clear my head.”

“Out of the way, preacher,” one of the men growled. “We have no quarrel with you.” The man's hat was pulled far down over his face, but Lewis recognized his voice. It was the lodge master. This was no impromptu foray, then. It was not born of high-flown words uttered over too many glasses of whisky. It was a planned attack. Lewis felt a shiver of fear, not for himself, but for his wife and grandchild sleeping peacefully in the kitchen. This could easily get out of control.

“I have no quarrel with any man,” he replied. “And even if I did, I could scarcely indulge in quarrelling at Christmas now, could I? After all, it's the season of peace and goodwill.”

He said this as loudly as he dared without alerting the Orangemen to the fact that he was attempting to warn the Donovans.

“Peace and goodwill to Protestants,” someone at the back of the crowd shouted. “The rest of them can rot in hell!”

To Lewis's relief this shout brought the desired result. The Donovans' front door was thrown open and Mr. Donovan appeared, backed by several of his burly houseguests.

“What's going on? What's the meaning of this?”

The Orangemen muttered and shuffled their feet. They had been hoping for a sneak attack and seemed unprepared for a direct confrontation.

Lewis held his breath as they wavered. They might back down yet.

And then someone lifted his arm and threw. The stone hit squarely in the middle of Donovan's chest, and that was the signal for the rest of them to attack. More rocks pelted the house, breaking a window, and one man fired his gun into the night. Donovan's guests piled out of the house, their fists swinging.

Lewis realized that he could do no good by joining the fray. He ran down the street toward the centre of the village. He needed to rouse the constable. As he ran, he hoped that Betsy would have the good sense to bolt the door and stay inside. He had almost reached the house he was looking for when a horse galloped up to him. It was Archibald McFaul. Lewis quickly explained the situation.

“Are you fetching the constable?” he asked.

Lewis nodded.

“Good man. I'll go on and see if I can put a stop to this.” And he galloped off.