Vital Secrets (17 page)

Tessa seemed about to lose her carefully constructed composure, but whether it was the result of hearing the word
laudanum
or the name
Rick
couldn't be determined.

“Who would do that?” she whispered. “An' why?”

“I intend to get answers to both of those questions. And you can help by telling me what happened after you and Rick went to your room.”

Tessa blushed a deep peony red, Madge Frank cleared her throat threateningly, but something in Marc's steady, unjudgemental gaze encouraged the girl to begin her story. As she recited it, she kept her eyes on the tea-mug in her lap most of
the time, peeking up only once a minute or so to make sure this handsome, kind-eyed officer was still listening and approving. In her own accented vernacular, Tessa's narrative jibed with Rick's at every essential point.

“So you were both seated on the settee, and you asked Marc to stay for one more drink?”

“Yes, I did. I was feelin' so mellow an' cozy and I didn't want things to end.”

“I forbid you to take this improper conversation any further!” Madge Frank had started towards the bed, her eyes black with indignation.

“Mrs. Frank, please stand outside the door and observe if you must, but if you say one more word, I'll remove you and shut the door.”

Madge huffed indignantly, but did as she was bidden. Marc hoped that he would not need her as an ally anytime soon. “Please go on, Tessa. I know this is very hard, but every detail you can remember may help Rick.”

He could see she wanted to ask him about Rick but dared not—yet. “I started to feel real sleepy and I saw Rick yawn, so I went over to the bed an' laid down on it, and I was so groggy I thought I was about to faint, but, still, I really wanted Rick to stay, so I … I started to lift up my shift—”

Madge Frank was heard clattering down the hall.

“And?”

“Nothin'.”

“Nothing?”

“I must've passed out.”

“But you woke up later?”

“Yes.” The memory of that wakening flooded back, whole and hurting. “But I was only half awake. There was a huge weight on top of me and a raspy breathin' in my ear. An' before I could say or see anythin', I felt a sharp jab between my legs and I cried out with the pain of it.”

“Did you know who … was doing this thing to you?”

“No,” she said, barely audible.

“I fainted dead away again.”

“Part of that was due to the drug, Tessa.” Two perfect teardrops had slipped out of her pale blue eyes and now sat, one on each cheek, glistening. “Could it have been Rick on top of you?” Marc asked quietly.

Amazement, then fear, filled her face. “Oh, no, it couldn't've been Rick. He would never do anythin' to hurt me. You can't think Rick did this?”

“No, I don't. But I had to ask.”

“Rick saved me from bein' murdered!” she cried with passion and a kind of defiant, childlike pride. “Mrs. Frank's told me about … about Jason.”

“Did you
see
Rick … save you?”

Tessa shook her head and shuddered. “I don't remember anythin' except cryin' out at the pain. Then I was driftin' in the dark, and all kinds of nightmares were scuttlin' through my head, and I saw Rick with a knife stuck in him an' he was all bloody and I screamed so loud I woke myself up—here in Mrs. Frank's bed.”

Marc sighed. “So you're telling me that you were unconscious from the moment you first cried out in pain, and thus can tell me nothing of what happened in that room after that point?”

“I only know what Mrs. Frank told me: that Jason was stabbed by Rick because he did that awful thing to me.” At this, she began to sob softly, and Marc went to the door and called Madge, who appeared instantly from around a corner. “She needs you, ma'am.”

“What's gonna happen to Rick?” Tessa cried out from the bed. “What's gonna happen to the company?”

“I don't know yet,” Marc said honestly as Madge bustled by him and took the girl in her arms, stroking her hair and murmuring in her ear.

As Marc left, he heard Tessa say like a lost child, “Get Annie. Oh, please, Madge, I gotta see Annie!”

A
S
M
ARC EMERGED FROM THE
F
RANKS'
quarters into the tavern, Ogden Frank was just unbarring the street-door across the room to let Cobb in.

“I hope nobody spotted you,” Frank said fretfully as he slammed the bar back into its slot.

Cobb ignored him, and brushed by towards Marc so abruptly he sent the roly-poly little man a-wobble. Cobb looked as if he had dressed in the dark with one hand: his coat buttons were misaligned, his shirt was inside out, and his
helmet sat precariously on one side of his head. But he smiled gamely at Marc, who himself would not have passed muster at parade.

Before Marc could speak, Cobb said, “I've checked the alley: there's no sign of footprints or a ladder bein' underneath the windows.”

Marc nodded and said, “I've got news.”

“I've never known you not to,” Cobb said.

They sat down at a table, and Cobb removed his coat to reveal a portion of Dora's breakfast preparation on his vest.

“Do you want to tell us something?” Marc called out to Frank, who had stopped wobbling and was now loitering near the door to his quarters.

Frank came close enough to say with a certain spiteful glee, “I heard him an' the woman shoutin' at each other yesterday morning.”

“Who and what woman?” Marc said.

“That Thea creature an' Merriwether—jawin' away at each other in the dining-room when they thought nobody was listenin'.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I couldn't tell fer sure, but I'd say it was a lovers' quarrel.”

“And how did it end?”

“The woman screamed somethin' like ‘I ain't gonna take it no more!' an' she come streakin' past me bawlin' her eyes out.”

“Thank you, Ogden. I appreciate your assistance. Is everything all right with those upstairs?”

Frank looked pitiably grateful and flashed Marc a fawning smile. “They've had their breakfast, but it's put Madge in a fearful rage. Do you think we'll be able to go ahead with the show tonight?”

“I'll let you know right after noon,” Marc promised.

“I gotta open the taproom at one o'clock,” he said. “Lucky fer us, nobody's stayin' in the hotel rooms above us except my two housemaids.”

“Let's keep it that way, shall we?”

Frank nodded as if he were a co-conspirator, then waddled away to deal with his much-put-upon wife.

Marc proceeded to give Cobb a brief account of what he had found at the bottom of Merriwether's trunk.

Cobb arched an eyebrow, whistled through his teeth, and said, “Couldn't we ever get us a plain an' simple murder? Now we got politics muddled up in it.”

Cobb was alluding to last year's investigation, and Marc was reminded of a remark Beth had made then that in Upper Canada everything was politics. “But politics or not, Cobb, we've still got to find evidence to clear Rick of this crime.”

“Assumin' he didn't do it.”

“I'm assuming that,” Marc said, staring at the constable.

Cobb didn't react, but merely said, “Ya had a chance to talk to the girl yet?”

Marc gave him a summary of his interview with Tessa.

When he had finished, Cobb said, “Well, Major, that don't seem to be a lotta help to Hilliard.”

“It's worse than that. She's convinced he did it in defense of her honour—such as it is, or was. And he's still besotted with her.”

Cobb frowned. “Then we better keep her away from him.”

“Right now I'm anxious to interrogate the rest of that bunch, but you can see the immediate problem we have.”

Cobb nodded. “Ya gotta tell Sir Francis Bone Head about them guns.”

“Yes. And I'm positive that what I saw last night was only the sample referred to in the note from the buyers.”

“Where would the rest of them be, then?”

“My best guess is that there are more trunks with false bottoms. The one in Merriwether's room was improvised—handmade, I'd say.”

“Well, Major, I saw this crew come off the boat from Burlington last Friday with enough baggage for a regiment or two.”

“They were planning to try out a number of playbills, here and in Detroit and Chicago. Where would they be storing the props and costumes not in use?”

“Frank's got a big shed and ice-house out back.”

“Then let's have a peek.” Marc rose stiffly out of his chair.

“You look like ya slept on a sack of potatoes,” Cobb said.

“T
HEY'RE ALL LOCKED
.” M
ARC SIGHED, SURVEYING
the six steamer-trunks they had found in Frank's storage-shed.

“I've never found that a problem,” Cobb said. He fished
about in his greatcoat pocket and drew out a ring of keys of varying shapes and sizes. “This one usually does it fer these kinda trunks.” He bent over the nearest one, jiggled the chosen key as if his fingers had suddenly developed palsy, muttered what was either a curse or an incantation, and then, with a decisive twist, exclaimed, “Aha!”

The trunk yawned open.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the two men opened each of the trunks in turn, carefully removed the contents, pried up the false bottoms in three of them, and found what they were looking for. There were twelve U.S army rifles in addition to the two in Merriwether's room, and several boxes of ammunition. They replaced the contents with equal care and relocked the trunks.

Back inside, Marc said to Cobb, “It's possible the others know nothing about the rifles. But we can't be sure. God knows what the governor will decide to do. In any case, I want some time to question the actors before Spooner gets here, so I'm going to give you this incriminating note and have you go up to Government House with it. That and the news of the guns out there in the shed should occupy Sir Francis and Spooner for a little while, time enough for me to see what I can do to help Rick.”

“You're not worried about the guns?”

“Of course I am. We are probably facing some sort of planned insurrection—high treason for those involved. But
I'm just a soldier now, Cobb, and I'm content to leave these entanglements to the governor and his aides.”

Cobb's grunt indicated his skepticism about the latter claim, but he did not comment further. “I'm on my way, Major.”

“Would you mind asking Wilkie to bring Jeremiah Jefferson down here to the dining-room before you go?” Constable Wilkie had arrived late at seven-thirty to rouse Marc and place himself on the landing with a stool, a candle, and a copy of this week's
Constitution.

“The mute? I thought you'd want to see Beasley first. Seems to me he's the one that's got the goods on Hilliard.”

“Very true. But Beasley's already outlined his account to you and Spooner. I need to question the others closely to see if I can find the discrepancies in it. If I don't, it's going to go badly for Rick.”

“I'll wake up Wilkie an' put him to work, then,” Cobb said, pleased with this modest attempt at levity.

J
EREMIAH
J
EFFERSON SAT OPPOSITE
M
ARC WITH
the air of man who was concerned with the unpredictable turn of events but innocent of any direct involvement in them. Nonetheless, his past experience with authority had left a residual wariness in an otherwise open and unsuspecting face. Mrs. Thedford had apparently done more than merely shelter him from the
slave-catchers, Marc thought: there had been some kind of miraculous rehabilitation.

The interview was conducted by a combination of questions and answers being written on the slate placed between them, and of gestures, lip-reading, and accompanying facial expressions.

Your tooth is better?

Vigorous nod and display of gum-gap.

It kept you awake after the play?

Yes. Couldn't sleep.

Did you see anyone come up the stairs after the others were asleep?

No.

Did anyone come back down the hall and go down the stairs?

No.

Did you see Mr. Beasley come out of his room?

Yes. He scared me.

He looked frightened? Worried?

Yes. Running.

You followed him?

Not right away. He started banging on doors.

What did you do?

Clarence and I banged on Mrs. T's door.

Did she answer?

No. We went into her bedroom.

Was she awake?

No. Earplugs. Shook her.

Then you all went to Tessa's room?

Yes. Terrible.

Marc then took Jeremiah detail by detail through what he saw there: Rick still holding the sword, Tessa unconscious, blood everywhere, Mrs. Thedford running out with Tessa in her arms and Jeremiah following, then being sent to rouse the Franks, helping Madge and Mrs. Thedford get Tessa downstairs and away from the dreadful scene.

Thank you. You've been very helpful.

Say thank you to the doctor for me.

T
HE INTERVIEW WITH
J
EREMIAH HAD BEEN
helpful, perhaps, but not to Rick Hilliard's case. So far, the various accounts meshed in every important detail. Marc decided to see Dawson Armstrong next, not because he expected the dipsomaniac actor to provide credible evidence about the crime, but because he was the most likely among the members of the troupe to have detailed knowledge of Merriwether's background and behaviour. Despite what he had told Cobb, Marc was eager to discover all he could about the gunrunning operation. In addition to being a loyal subject of the newly crowned Queen Victoria, he had a personal stake in seeing that no citizens' revolt erupted in Upper Canada—with farmer and soldier staring each other down, weapons at the ready.