Unholy Alliance (16 page)

“You want me to head downstairs an’ start in
on them?” Cobb asked around a mouthful of mince tart.

“Yes. I’m setting up in the library. Meet me
for luncheon at one o’clock. That should give us time to complete
the interviews and jot down some preliminary remarks and
conclusions. Then we’ll go into the library and compare notes. With
any luck, we’ll develop one or two leads that will dictate our
afternoon activities.”

“I reckon we’re gonna
need
a little
luck, Major.”

***

Marc could not bring himself to treat Robert Baldwin
and Francis Hincks as murder suspects, so he asked Macaulay to
bring them into the library together. In addition to the matter of
the murder itself, the three friends and political colleagues were
acutely aware of the complications it would bring to their
deliberations here. However, as tempting as it was to plunge
directly into a discussion of these complications, they resisted
the urge admirably. Robert and Hincks sat down at one side of the
conference table and quietly faced Marc in his role as
investigator.

“Graves Chilton was found in his office early
this morning,” Marc began, “poisoned by some sherry he had drunk
that had been laced with laudanum. We have reason to believe the
laudanum came from the bathroom off the rotunda, and was removed
from there after seven o’clock last night. Although it is possible
that Chilton committed suicide, all the circumstances point to
deliberate murder, carried out by some person who shared a drink
with him some time after midnight.”

From their expression it was clear to Marc
that his colleagues had already gleaned most of this
information.

“You’ll need to know whether we saw or heard
anything pertinent to the matter,” Hincks said.

“Yes. We all had supper together at
seven-thirty, and then drifted to the parlour and billiard-room
shortly before nine, except for Tremblay and Bergeron, who went
into the northwest wing. A few minutes later I was called away home
– Beth is fine and the baby still due, by the way – and Macaulay
has assured me that everyone except the butler had cleared this
section of the house by ten o’clock. We presume Chilton tidied up,
then went to his office and opened up the estate’s ledger, though
it appears he decided to take whiskey from his flask rather than
work on the accounts. However, he may have been using a pencil to
make notes of some kind in the ledger, for we found evidence that
three pages had been removed from it, presumably taken away by the
killer.”

The sinister implications of these latter
actions were not lost upon Robert and Hincks, but Hincks said
simply, “I was exhausted and went straight to my room. I was asleep
by eleven and did not wake up until roused by the commotion this
morning. That isn’t a lot of help, I’m afraid.”

“I also went straight to my room, but I did
not sleep right away,” Robert said. “Louis and I had a frank talk
in the parlour – his English, thank Heaven, being better than my
French. When we learned that your Beth was likely in labour and
that you might not be able to rejoin us for at least a day and
perhaps not at all, Louis and I decided on a strategy to formulate
a written agreement to seal our alliance. We would each go to our
room and write out, as best we could, the main points of
convergence from our two days of talks – me in English, he in
French. If you did return, we two would meet with you for an hour,
have you go over the two drafts with us, and make a fair copy of
each. I would date and sign the French document, Louis the English
one. If you did
not
return, Clement Peachey from my chambers
would be conscripted to play your role.”

Marc wanted to talk about this intriguing
development, but said instead, “So, you were at your desk for some
time after ten o’clock?”

“I was – until about midnight. I left only
once to visit the water-closet a few steps down the hall.”

“Did you hear anything? Anything at all?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Just before
twelve, as I was about to get into bed, I heard footsteps in the
hall on the floor above me – one person, I’d say, walking slowly
down towards the stairway. What I actually heard was the creaking
of the floorboards under the hall carpet.”

“That’s very helpful, Robert. You see, we
think some person came to Chilton’s office about that very time. I
need to know who it was.”

“My God!” Hincks cried. “I hope you’re not
suggesting one of our Quebecers was involved?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Francis –
really. If someone from our floor or theirs was out for a stroll,
unable to sleep perhaps, they could be a material witness, could
have seen or heard something vital that will itself point us to the
killer. Without some hard facts to go on, Cobb and I are helpless.
So, Robert, could you tell from the sounds which of the rooms this
midnight stroller might have come from?”

Robert thought about this. “Well, the
creaking started at my end of the wing, of that I’m certain.”

“Maurice Tremblay is in the room above
yours,” Marc said. “I’ll need to quiz him closely on the
matter.”

“He isn’t happy with our accord,” Hincks said
meaningfully.

“True,” Marc said, “but I’m not jumping to
any conclusions.”

“And a good thing none of us is,” Robert
said. “This incident could jeopardize everything we’ve achieved so
far – or do worse.”

“You’ve given me more than I expected,” Marc
said. “There is just one more thing. The doctored wine was an
expensive Amontillado sherry, not from Garnet’s cellar. Do you have
any idea where Chilton could have got it?”

They had no idea whatsoever. They had seen no
evidence that any of the guests had brought in their own supply of
spirits.

“Before we let you get on with the
investigation,” Robert said as he started to get up, “could we ask
whether or not you might find an hour sometime before the end of
the day to meet with Louis and me?”

“Yes, of course. How about seven o’clock,
here in the library? By then I hope Cobb and I will be close to
solving this case.”

“We need to get the documents signed,” Hincks
said, “in spite of these desperate circumstances.”

Marc sat back down and motioned for them to
sit again. “We have a more serious problem,” he said, “one I was
going to tell you about later today.” Reluctantly he informed them
of the coroner’s decision to give the police until noon on Monday
to charge someone with the murder before he made the incident
public and set a date for an inquest, in effect putting Elmgrove in
quarantine and threatening to expose its secret doings to general
scrutiny.

Hincks gasped at this last revelation. Robert
sank back in his chair.

“Well, then,” Hincks said when he had
recovered from the shock, “we’ll just have to get LaFontaine’s
signature on the accord before he and his colleagues learn of this
potential catastrophe.”

Robert put a hand over Hincks’s wrist.
“Francis, that cannot happen. The alliance we are seeking to build
can only work if it is founded upon absolute trust and pursued in
that spirit. Louis, Marc and I will go ahead with the business of
finalizing the documents, as planned, but when we’ve finished and
before any signature is appended, I’d like everyone concerned
brought in here and the coroner’s edict explained in full. Then
we’ll see what can be done.”

Hincks started to protest, but settled for a
deep sigh. “Damn. We were so close.” Then he brightened a bit and
smiled at Marc. “But you’re going to find us a murderer by seven
o’clock, aren’t you, my friend?”

***

Daniel Bérubé was next. As usual, he preferred
talking to listening. “My God, Edwards, I hope this dreadful
business doesn’t upset all our plans. We’ve got to get these
provinces moving again or we’ll all starve! Just the thought of a
decent set of canals and roads and a government interested in
making money instead of hoarding other people’s gives me the
shivers. I feel sorry for this wretched butler, of course, but
hundreds have already died for our cause and thousands more have
suffered terribly – ”

When Marc finally settled him down enough to
get a few words in edgewise, he learned that Bérubé, like Hincks,
had gone straight to bed following their billiards game and fallen
instantly asleep. He had heard nothing, and was very sorry he could
not be more useful.

Macaulay brought Erneste Bergeron in next.
While he looked worried, anxious even, the purple bags under his
eyes had disappeared.

“You slept well, then?” Marc inquired. “At
last.”

“Yes, sir, I did. I had to be wakened and
told the unhappy news about the butler. I am still in a state of
disbelief.”

“So you went to your bedchamber right after
supper, about eight-forty-five?”

“Well, I did and I didn’t. I fetched my
night-clothes and went into the bathroom to have a good relaxing
soak. The servants had left everything prepared, so I drew my own
bath and lay in it for a good half-hour.”

“You’ll recall that Mr. Macaulay mentioned
his wife’s laudanum as a possible sedative for you?”

“Of course. But I felt so mellow there in the
bath – and sleepy – that I decided not to avail myself of it, but
go straight to bed.”

“But did you by any chance notice whether or
not the vial of laudanum was on the shelf?”

“Oh, yes. It was there all right. I had it in
my hand, but put it back.”

So, Marc thought, Priscilla Finch was telling
the truth. The killer must have removed the drug some time after
nine-thirty – possibly much later and just before heading up the
main hall to Chilton’s office.

“One final question,” Marc said. “We’re
hoping to trace the source of a bottle of sherry found at the scene
of the crime, a vintage Amontillado.”

“Was that where the poison was?” Bergeron
asked, going suddenly pale. Perhaps the grim reality of the
butler’s death had just struck him, unawares.

“Yes. But we don’t know where the Amontillado
originated as it didn’t come from our host’s cellar.”

“I’d like to help, Mr. Edwards, but I don’t
have the foggiest notion where the butler could have got it.”

Bergeron had nothing more to add, but he had
been helpful. Moreover, like Bérubé, he had given no indication
that he was being treated as a suspect. For which Marc was
grateful.

***

Maurice Tremblay was not pleased to be ushered into
the library by Garnet Macaulay. Even before he sat down, he glared
at Marc and said, “We were not told you were a policeman as well as
a translator.”

“I am neither a policeman nor a translator,”
Marc said evenly. “As you know I am a barrister who speaks French
and supports the Reform party.”

Something close to disdain appeared in
Tremblay’s eyes. “I heard one of the servants refer to you as the
Hero of St. Denis. You are a soldier, a British soldier. You fired
your weapon at me two years ago. For all I know you may have
murdered one of my friends there.”

Marc was taken aback by the vehemence of the
accusation. He kept eye contact with Tremblay as he replied, as
calmly as he could, “I
was
an officer in the 23rd Regiment
of Foot. I fought in the battle at St. Denis, not out of conviction
but because it was my soldierly duty. I did not have several
fingers blown off, but I was severely wounded. I resigned my
commission. I changed my life. And I am here this week with
my
friends and
your
allies, Francis Hincks and Robert
Baldwin.”

“All that may be so,” Tremblay said, his
sneer softening just a little, “but right now you are a policeman
who sees before him a possible murderer.”

“You are not a suspect, sir, but a potential
witness who may help Constable Cobb and me solve this case and
salvage the political achievements we’ve made since Wednesday. And
I am not a paid policeman or investigator. I am occasionally
seconded by the police to assist them in murder cases, as I was
this morning. I could hardly say no, especially in circumstances
where tact and judgement may be essential.”

“Very well, then. Proceed with the fiction
that I am merely a witness. I have nothing to hide in any
event.”

“I didn’t suppose you had. Now, first of all,
tell me what you did when you left the dining-room at
eight-forty-five last night?”

“I thought this incident took place after
midnight?” Tremblay said warily.

“Did you go right to your room?”

“No. If you must know, and I fail to see how
it’s any of your business, I went up to my room for the purpose of
preparing to take a bath.”

“But Erneste beat you to it.”

“Not exactly. He looked as if he needed it
more than I did – he hadn’t slept much in three nights. I patiently
waited until he had finished, and then ran my own bath.”

“A little past nine-thirty?”

“Probably.” Tremblay’s lip curled as he
added, “Where is this going, Edwards? The butler wasn’t drowned,
was he?”

“He was poisoned with laudanum from a bottle
removed by the killer from the shelf above the bathtub. Did you
notice whether or not it was still there?”

“You think I may have removed it, waited till
the rest of you nodded off, and then went straight up the hall to
the butler’s office and induced him to swallow it?”

Marc was beginning to seethe at these rude
and contemptuous remarks, but held his temper long enough to say,
“Please tell me whether you noticed it there while you bathed.”

“I didn’t notice it and then again I did not
not-notice it. In short, I haven’t the slightest idea whether it
was there or not.”

If Tremblay were telling the truth, then the
last person to confirm its existence on the bathroom shelf was
Bergeron, about nine-thirty. “Let me ask you another question,
then. You were back in your bedchamber before your other two
colleagues retired about ten o’clock. Did you see or hear anything
later on? Any sound or movement in your hallway?”