The Widow's Demise (14 page)

***

“That’s a very interesting set of facts you’ve
dredged up on Lionel Trueman,” Marc said. He was dandling young
Junior on his knee as he spoke with Cobb in the parlour of Briar
Cottage. Squeals of laughter could be heard coming from the next
room. “It puts a third party in the vicinity, and the presence of a
third party is critical to my defense of Gilles Gagnon.”

“The timing’s a little off, Major, unless my
witness got it wrong. Or Gagnon.”

“I don’t think Gagnon did. He left Baldwin
House at seven-fifteen, and it’s only a ten-minute walk to
Rosewood. That puts him there close to seven-thirty.”

“I see. And Vera the maid says her mistress
went out a little before that.”

“Of course, there’s no reason why Trueman had
to throw the acid at five after seven. We only have his word that
he returned to his card game immediately. He could have lingered at
the side of the house, brooding and unobserved, until the lady came
out again at seven-thirty.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“It’s enough for me to work on for the trial.
My strategy always is to look for viable alternatives. And you’ve
given me plenty.”

“Would you put Constance Brown in with
them?”

“It’s far-fetched, but she could have been
wearing a man’s coat.”

“She seemed like a very determined person.
And she sure hated Mrs. Cardiff-Jones. I think she had a lot more
motive than poor Mr. Gagnon.”

“And there’s still this John Perkins to
question,” Marc said. “You’ve done a good job in shaking up the
alibis of the others. I’ve got more than I need, I believe, to
mount a strong defense. I should be able to get Gilles
acquitted.”

“You got time to work on it, what with the
election and all?”

“It’s been difficult,” Marc said, giving
Junior another jounce. “I’ve used the mornings mostly. In the
afternoons I hire a fast horse and patrol the back roads of the
riding looking for intimidators. I’ve seen quite a bit of action –
alas.”

“Made you feel like a major again, eh?”

“Well, I have had to brandish my pistol more
than once.”

“What’s the count?”

“Pretty much even. But a lot more farm
supporters are just finishing the harvest and will come in towards
the end of the campaign.”

“If they can run the gauntlet, eh?”

“It’s my job to protect them,” Marc said.
“And also to see Gilles Gagnon acquitted. Fortunately I’ve
persuaded a judge that Gagnon be granted bail. He’s due to be
released tomorrow morning.”

“Well, he’s in good hands,” Cobb said.

John Perkins lived at the west end of Queen Street,
near the edge of town. Cobb approached the half-log cabin and
rapped on the door. The door was opened a few moments later by a
young woman in bonnet and apron, who was very much pregnant.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she said
politely.

“I’d like to speak with yer husband. I’m
Detective-Constable Cobb and I’m here on a police matter.”

“He’s just inside. Please come in.”

Cobb stepped into the cabin. It was dark and
gloomy, a single, sparsely furnished room with a curtained-off
bedroom at the far end. A lone candle flickered on a rough-hewn
table, upon which sat a teapot and two mugs. Perkins was seated at
the table, his chin in his hands. He looked up when Cobb
entered.

“This is a detective from the police,” said
Mrs. Perkins. “He’s come to see you.”

“Police?” Perkins said, starting to get up.
“What next?”

“Please sit down, Mr. Perkins. My name’s
Cobb. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about the death of your
mistress, Mrs. Cardiff-Jones.”

“But I know nothing of that business,”
Perkins said, sitting back down.

“That’s what I’ve come to find out,” Cobb
said.

“Would you like some tea?” Mrs. Perkins said.
“It’s fresh.”

“That would be nice,” Cobb said.

Mrs. Perkins went to an open cupboard and
took down a mug. She passed Cobb a mugful of steaming tea.

“I heard the lady was murdered,” Perkins
said.

“She had acid thrown in her face and died
when she fell on a spike on her fence,” Cobb said, sitting down and
taking a sip of tea.

“That’s horrible,” Perkins said. “I had no
love for the woman after what she did to me, but nobody deserves to
die like that.”

“You mean firin’ you?” Cobb said.

Perkins looked startled, and a flash of fear
went across his face. “You know about that?’

“I do.”

“She fired me for no reason whatsoever. Said
I was spying on her, when all I did was answer a question from the
master – truthfully.”

“So you had good cause to be mad?”

“Of course I was angry and upset. I’ve got a
wife who’s expecting a child this month and debts to pay off. And
the woman refused to give me a reference even though I’ve worked
there satisfactorily for eight years.”

“He won’t be able to get another job easily,”
Mrs. Perkins said, hovering behind her husband.

“I’m sorry about that. But you, sir, were
overheard threatenin’ to do harm to Mrs. Cardiff-Jones.”

“Who told you that?”

“Never mind about who. You said you’d get
even, isn’t that right?”

“He never meant it, did you, John?”

“I was very upset,” Perkins said. “I just
flew off the handle a bit, that’s all. In front of the maids. I
meant no real harm.”

“But the lady is dead shortly thereafter,”
Cobb said quietly.

The fear came back into Perkins’ eyes. “You
don’t think that I had anything to do with her death?”

“Where were you on the night of the
crime?”

Perkins tried to catch his breath. “I was . .
. I was home here. All evening. I was drinking a little, to drown
my sorrows.”

“And can Mrs. Perkins vouch fer you?”

“Liz was out visiting her sister.”

“I didn’t get back until ten o’clock,” Mrs.
Perkins said. “John was here. A little drunk. I put him to
bed.”

“So you were all alone the rest of the
evenin’” Cobb said to Perkins.

“Of course I was. We have no money to be
entertaining guests.”

“Were you mad enough to throw acid in Mrs.
Cardiff-Jones’s face?”

Perkins flinched. “I was not! Where would I
get acid?”

“At any apothecary’s.”

“Well, I didn’t. Why would I? When I had time
to cool off, I realized my best hope was to throw myself on the
mercy of Mr. Cardiff and ask him for a reference. He liked me a
lot.”

“But he fired you?”

“He didn’t want to, but
she
had
control over him.”

“Maybe he’ll take you back,” Mrs. Perkins
said. “Now that she’s dead.”

“I’ve got a glove here I’d like you to try
on, Cobb said.

“What ever for?” Perkins said.

“It was found near the body.”

Cobb pulled the glove from his pocket.

“But that’s a gentleman’s glove. It’d be a
month’s wages.”

“I need to see if it fits.”

“Very well.” Perkins pulled the glove
awkwardly towards his right hand. It slipped on easily.

“But it’s not mine!”

“We’ve never seen it before!” Mrs. Perkins
said excitedly.

“It don’t prove nothin’” Cobb said
placatingly. “But neither does it eliminate Mr. Perkins as a
suspect.”

“Is there any more you want of me?” Perkins
said.

“No, sir. That will be all. Thank you fer yer
cooperation.”

Cobb drained his tea, and left. He heard a
buzz of dialogue start up behind him. He felt sorry for Perkins,
but the man was still very much a suspect, with motive and
opportunity. Cobb went to the police quarters to write up his
notes. Then he went straight to Briar Cottage.

***

It was late in the evening when the meeting took
place in Baldwin House. Present were Robert Baldwin; his father,
Dr. William Warren Baldwin; Louis LaFontaine; Francis Hincks; and
Marc Edwards. They had come to discuss the progress of the election
and the release on bail of Gilles Gagnon the next morning. Louis,
who had just come from a late visit to his lieutenant, looked pale
and tired. It had been a gruelling campaign – before the voting and
during it. And the weight on his mind of Gilles Gagnon’s
life-threatening predicament was overwhelming.

“Thank you for persuading the judge to let
Gilles out,” Louis said to Marc when the meeting had been called to
order.

“There’s only a week till the trial,” Marc
said, “but I didn’t want Gilles to spend one minute more in that
dank place than was necessary.”

“There’s a lot of anti-French sentiment being
stirred up among the Tories,” Hincks said.

“And not just the Tories, I’m afraid,” said
Robert. “I’ve heard rumblings among our supporters in the
township.”

“That may account for the closeness of the
race,” said Marc. “What is the latest count?”

“Our scrutineers have it almost dead even. I
think we may be two votes up,” Hincks said.

“Well, a few of the farmers on our side are
still taking their crops off the fields,” said Robert. “They’ll
show up in the next few days and turn the tide.”

“I’ve heard rumours of worse,” Dr. Baldwin
said.

“Oh. What is that?” Robert said.

“There’s talk on the street of a big
demonstration against Gilles and the Quebecers,” Dr. Baldwin said.
“To be held outside the jail.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing we’re getting
Gilles out of there at nine o’clock in the morning.”

“He’ll be safe here in Baldwin House,” Robert
said.

“Perhaps we’d all better go to fetch Gilles
tomorrow,” Hincks said. “Just in case any of the protesters decide
to show up. They may have got wind of Gilles’ release.”

“A good idea,” Louis said.

“We can take our brougham,” Robert said.

“How is the defense shaping up?” Louis asked
Marc.

“I’ve been given lots of evidence that points
to three or four other suspects, and I intend to use it with all
the skill I can muster,” Marc said.

“That’s good enough for me,” Robert said.

“Meanwhile, Detective-Constable Cobb is
striving mightily to find the real killer – despite the objections
of his superior.”

“He’s a good man,” said Robert.

“The best,” Marc said.

***

The sun rose the next morning in a cloudless sky. It
shone brightly on the east wall of the jail and upon the broad lawn
in front of it. The jail and matching Court House next to it were
two of the proudest public buildings in the city. But this morning
the public, or a particular part of it, had something on its mind
other than admiration. Long before nine o’clock, the streets and
alleys leading to Church and King were marked by the presence of
men who walked stealthily and steadily towards the jail. They did
not speak to one another as they converged, but there was about
them a purpose and a will. And it did not bode well.

By quarter to nine the esplanade in front of
the jail and Court House was jammed with outraged citizens. Some
carried placards proclaiming “Death to the Frenchman,” “Hang
Gagnon,” “No Bail for Killers,” and “Frogs Go Home.” The jailer,
sensing trouble, sent for the police, and Constables Phil Rossiter
and Ewan Wilkie arrived shortly thereafter.

“Shall we try to move ‘em?” Wilkie asked
Rossiter. They were standing in the front doorway surveying the
crowd, who in their turn were hurling impolite suggestions to the
police.

“Not as long as they’re peaceful,” Rossiter
said. “I don’t see no weapons.”

“I spotted a club or two, near the back,”
Wilkie said.

“Come to protect the murderer, have you?”
someone shouted.

“We’re here to see that justice is done!”
someone else cried.

“We’ll let the judge decide that,” Rossiter
hollered over the general din.

Just then a black brougham pulled by two
horses wheeled onto the path that circled in front of the jail and
surrounded the crowd. In it were Louis LaFontaine, Robert Baldwin
and Francis Hincks; on the driver’s seat sat Marc Edwards. The top
was folded down, exposing them all to the sudden shouts of derision
from the gathering.

“Go home, LaFontaine!”

“Nothin’ but the noose for Frogs!”

Very slowly the horses nudged their way
through the crowd, its members parting reluctantly before the
horses’ progress. At this point a jailer appeared at the door with
Gilles Gagnon. A great whoop of anger rose from the assemblage.
Wilkie and Rossiter stepped forward towards the brougham as it drew
up before the door.

“Get in, quick!” Marc said to Gagnon.

The crowd began to push in on the vehicle.
The horses snorted and grew restless. Gagnon stepped between the
two policemen and into the rear seat of the brougham. Suddenly the
carriage began to rock back and forth. Hands reached over the doors
and grasped at the occupants.

“Hang the frogs!”

This single cry quickly became a chant, and
the brougham rocked dangerously.

“Do something, Wilkie!” Marc cried. He was
using the reins to snap at several grasping hands.

Wilkie and Rossiter drew their
truncheons.

“Make way!” they hollered, stepping into the
mob and swinging their weapons.

Marc cracked the reins over the horses’ backs
and they plunged forward. Wilkie and Rossiter had managed to clear
a vee in front of the team, and they were able to begin to move
ahead. Once they got some momentum up they were able to force their
way through the mob and out onto King Street.

“Follow them!”

“On to Baldwin House!”

“We’d better get there before they do,”
Hincks called up to Marc.

“Are you all right, Gilles?” Louis said.

“I’m fine,” Gagnon said. “But I’ll feel a lot
better when we’re safe at Baldwin House.”

As they turned west on King Street, the mob
streamed after them, leaving Rossiter and Wilkie bruised and alone
in front of the jail.