Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

As the news affected the Quebecers mostdirectly, Marc spoke in French, trusting that Robert, Hincks andMacaulay would get the gist of his remarks. “I want to thankeveryone here for their patience and cooperation,” he began. “Whatyou deserve to know is that Constable Cobb and I have workeddiligently all day to track down the person or persons who poisonedGraves Chilton. We have developed some promising leads, which Icannot specify for obvious reasons, but I must be frank and tellyou that we will not be making an arrest any time this evening. Infact, our investigation may take us as far afield as Burford, avillage beyond Brantford, and require another day or two — atbest.”

“Are you saying we’ve got to stay here untilSunday!” Tremblay cried, and looked as if he were ready to punchanyone within range of his fists. “That’s outrageous, and absurd!You told us this morning we were not suspects! If not, then whyshould we be asked to hang about here?”

“ Are we suspects?” inquired Bérubé,who had entered the parlour with the smile of a satisfied merchanton his face.

“It’s not that you are or are not suspects,”Marc said. “It’s something else. Our coroner, Dr. Angus Withers,has given the police until Monday noon to come up with the murdereror else he will call for an inquest later next week. He has alsoagreed to keep Chilton’s death under wraps, in deference to thedelicacy of the situation here, but in turn has declared all of usat Elmgrove, guests and staff, to be potential witnesses at theinquest.”

“You’ve got to be joking!” Tremblayspluttered.

“We cannot be put on a witness-stand,”Bergeron said, “before the public — in Toronto ! Everythingwe’ve been doing here since Wednesday will be known! We’ll all beruined!”

“ If we aren’t all discovered andexposed before then,” Bérubé said as his plump cheeksreddened. “How long can we stay here without somebody noticing us?”

“The news of these — these negotiations willget back to Montreal long before we do!” Tremblay said, looking tohis colleagues for support. “Our enemies will be laughing up theirsleeves. Your Tories here will do the same.”

“Try to calm yourself, sir,” Macaulay said inhis fractured French.

“Kiss my arse!” Tremblay shouted in perfectEnglish. To Marc he said with slightly less vehemence, “You cannotkeep us here. Your coroner has served us no subpoenas. We shalldepart first thing in the morning.”

“There are no subpoenas, and won’t be untilMonday noon,” Marc said, “because Mr. Macaulay and I made agentleman’s agreement with Dr. Withers.”

“ Your agreement, not ours!”

“Perhaps we should leave,” Bergeronsuggested, “while we can.”

“What’s another day?” Bérubé said with asideways glance at the unsigned documents.

“We’ve been told that this so-called alliancehas to be based on trust,” Tremblay carried on, “but what kind oftrust is it when gentlemen’s agreements are made behind our backsand we are told we are not suspects when it’s obvious we are?”

“Maurice, restrain yourself,” Bérubé said.“Please.”

Robert, who had got the import of these angryremarks if not their precise wording, looked over at LaFontaine andsaid, “Louis?”

LaFontaine stood up. The room fellsilent.

“There is no need for any of us to panic,” hesaid calmly. “My colleagues and I will be safe here until Sunday,and have been treated with kindness and generosity. I, too, sharetheir concerns about public exposure at an inquest. As a lawyer, Ialso am cognizant of the imperatives of a criminal investigation.As the crime was committed here, everyone in this house has to beconsidered a suspect, whatever his station. And that is as itshould be. After all, it is precisely the unearned privileges andautomatic entitlements of the established elite that we have comehere to oppose, so it would be the plainest hypocrisy for any of usto claim immunity simply because we are gentlemen.”

He paused while Marc quickly translated andhis followers stared at him with a kind of wary reverence — eventhe fiery Tremblay.

“A deal has been struck with the coroner,” hecontinued, “chiefly to protect us and the deliberations we havedistilled in those documents over there. We shall honour it byremaining here until Sunday evening, and offering the police ourfull cooperation. At that time, if there has been no charge laid, Ipropose we all meet again here in this room — to weigh ouroptions.”

“What about the accord?” Bérubé said.

“It cannot be signed this evening. The risksare too great for all of us. If we are exposed before Monday, thedocuments will have to be burned. With luck and God’s will, Sundayevening will see a murderer charged and an historic alliance sealedwith our signatures.”

At this stage, Marc felt that even Godwouldn’t lay odds on that happy outcome.

***

Garnet Macaulay joined the wake in the library assoon as he had seen his guests comfortably settled in thedining-room, where hot soup and cold chicken had been laid out. Heglanced at the pile of papers that Marc and Cobb were shufflingidly.

“At least we’ve got till Sunday night,”Macaulay said, sitting himself down with a world-weary sigh. “Didyou mean it, Marc, when you said you had some promising leads?”

“We did, Garnet, but they’ve fizzled out. I’mtrying to persuade Constable Cobb here to go home and get a goodnight’s sleep, and we’ll all start fresh in the morning.”

Cobb was riffling the pile of Marc’s noteslike a deck of cards. “While you were deliverin’ the bad news, Iread through everythin’ you jotted down here, Major, an’ there’sonly one small item I’m puzzled about.”

“Only one?” Marc said.

“Way back near the beginnin’, you mentionsome reference letters from the butler’s betters back inEngland.”

“Yes,” Macaulay said, “I showed them toMarc.”

“I don’t see ‘em amongst these papers.”

Marc looked up quickly. “They’re in a drawerin my room. I glanced at them and then promptly forgot aboutthem.”

“Hard to see why they’d be important,”Macaulay said reluctantly.

“Yeah, we’re cluckin’ at straws, ain’t we?”Cobb said.

“Nevertheless,” Marc said, “we’d be remiss innot going over them line by line. I’ll go and get them.”

Three minutes later Marc returned and droppedhalf a dozen letters on the table. “Let’s start reading. You neverknow.”

They each took a letter and began.

“This fella should’ve been cannon-ized , not murdered,” Cobb muttered. “I don’t believewhat I’m readin’ here!”

“This one’s the same,” Macaulay said. “Yousee why I quit reading these after the first two or three? I justwrote Sir Godfrey and said, ‘Send the paragon to me!’”

Marc muttered his agreement with thesesentiments, but a minute later cried out loud enough to make Cobbjump.

“What is it?” Macaulay said.

“It’s a routine letter from a TheodoreMontgomery about Chilton’s stint at his estate last summer.”

“Sir Theodore? He’s a high-court judge,”Macaulay said.

“Then I guess we ought to believe what he’swritten here at the end of a lengthy paean of praise. Listen tothis: ‘Graves Chilton is the most competent, thoroughly honest andtrustworthy servant I’ve ever had the pleasure of employing. Let meknow when he’s available again. My only complaint is that everyonce in a while the light from a chandelier will bounce off hisbald pate and damn near blind you! (ha! ha!)’.”

“‘Bald pate’?” Macaulay said, as if he hadmisheard the phrase.

“That’s what it says,” Marc replied, thetruth having already dawned upon him.