Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“The equal representation clause passed -with a considerable majority,” Peachey told Marc with evidentsatisfaction. “All the bloated rhetoric produced no more than threeor four defections.”

“So that leaves the provincial debt clauseand the permanent civil list?” Marc said.

Peachey grinned. “Not quite. The temptationto have Quebec assist us in writing off ourseventy-five-thousand-pound debt was too great. That clause passedunanimously – by voice vote!”

“Enlightened self-interest, I’d say.”

“The debate on the civil list should peterout tomorrow afternoon. The reactionaries are fearful that apermanent, centralized and efficient civil service will encroach ontheir local privileges and sinecures. But it will pass, providedthe coalition we’ve forged holds up as it has thus far.”

“So the entire bill could be passed by latetomorrow?”

“Yes. But that’s not the end of it. TheTories have dreamt up a series of amendments and, if they fail,hope to append a number of attachments which, if approved by amajority, will distort the bill’s intention and make it impossiblefor the Governor to approve.”

“Such as?”

“That English be the sole language of recordfor both houses. That the capital of the new dominion be Toronto.That no known rebel be allowed, ever, to stand for parliament. Thatthe property qualification for the franchise be raised to excludethe riff raff. There’s even a suggestion that resident aliens,about a quarter of our current population, be denied the right tovote or hold office.”

“Good lord. So it looks as if this thingcould drag on till Monday or Tuesday?”

“More than likely. But we’ve weathered thestorm to this point, eh?”

We have, Marc thought, though for BrodieLangford the thunder and lightning were just beginning.

***

Marc and Beth agreed not to discuss the trial oversupper. Charlene had propped Maggie in the wooden chair Jasper hadbuilt as his gift to the baby, and then headed across to check onEtta, who was recovering her health but not her spirits. Bethtalked about the addition to their family, expected some time nextApril or early May, and once again offered suggestions about whatsort of rooms could be built onto the existing stone cottagewithout diminishing its charm. Maggie appeared to be intrigued bythe discussion, contributing an occasional gurgle.

They had just about reached a consensus whenthere came a single rap on the front door, after which it was flungopen by the hand of Constable Cobb.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” he panted atBeth and Marc as they emerged from the dining-area. “But I gotnews.”

“What is it?” Marc said quietly. But hispulse was racing.

“Itchy Quick’s been spotted near his shack.If we leave right now, we may be able to catch him there.”

And Itchy was the only one who might knowwhere Nestor Peck had got to.

“It’ll take me a few minutes to hitch up thehorse,” Marc said, reaching for his hat and coat.

“No need, major. I come here in a cab.”

***

The cabbie whipped his animal smartly, and theydrove north up to Duke Street, then east a block to Berkeley. Herethe going got much rougher, as north Berkeley was largelyundeveloped, the road becoming little more than a rutted path cutthrough scrub-bush and swamp. Marc thought that either the wheelswould fall off the vehicle or he would. But Cobb kept urgingthe cabbie to continue on at a breakneck speed.

“Faster, Abner! There’s a pound in it ferya!” he hollered up to the wide-eyed driver on the bench, thenlooked over at Marc and whispered, “If ya got one handy.”

“We may not get there at a ll ,” Marcshouted above the din of the rattling wheels and shudderingundercarriage. “What’s the hurry?”

“I figure them two scoundrels’ve spent all ofDuggan’s loot an’ slunk back into town. An’ we need to talk to ‘embefore they find some other hole to crawl into!”

As it turned out, they had no need to hurry,for a quarter-mile south of Itchy’s shack, they met the fellowhimself, trundelling as briskly as his cumbersome body parts wouldallow. He flagged them down from the edge of the road. His round,fleshy face was beet-red with exertion and excitement.

“I was just comin’ ta fetch you, Cobb!” heyelled up at the figures in the cab.

“An’ we been comin’ to find you , youskedadellin’ son of a bitch!” Cobb replied. “Where the hell’ve youbeen fer two weeks?”

Itchy recoiled at the slight, but it tookthree or four panting breaths before he could retaliate. “I – Ibeen visitin’ my sick papa in Newark. Is that a crime?”

“I don’t believe ya.”

“I come to get you, Cobb, to try an help thelaw, an’ all you c’n do is insult me an’ my poor papa.”

“I doubt you ever had one.”

Marc stepped down and stood between Itchy andCobb. “What is it you’ve got to tell us, Itchy? Do you know whereNestor Peck is?”

“’Course I do. I found him in my kitchen whenI got back there about noon, didn’t I?”

“Ya mean when you an’ him stumbled in there,”Cobb persisted.

Itchy kept his agitated gaze on Marc. “He’sin a bad way, Mr. Edwards. I spent all afternoon tryin’ to helphim, but I just seem to make things worse. Please, come an’ seewhat you c’n do.”

“We’ll take the cab,” Marc said. To Abner hesaid, “Have you got room for me up there with you? We need to getthis man aboard. And there’ll be two pounds in it for you.”

Abner nodded enthusiastically, and Marc leaptup beside him. Itchy climbed warily up on the leather seat andsqueezed his bulk in next to Cobb.

“Yer papa really sick?” Cobb said.

“Got the quinsy somethin’ terrible,” Itchysaid.

They started to jounce again, and no morecould be said.

***

Several bone-jarring minutes later the cab came to ahalt at a scruffy laneway that drifted into a clutch of cedars,where Quick’s shack stood facing the world at eccentric angles.Itchy tumbled off the seat and lumbered off down the path, withMarc on his heels.

“You better stay here an’ wait fer us,Abner,” Cobb said to the driver. When Abner opened his mouth toobject, Cobb said, “You want yer two pounds, don’t ya?” Then Cobbsped after the other two.

Without saying a word, Itchy pushed open theflimsy door of his house and stumbled into the main room,illuminated only by the natural light falling through two smallwindows. With Marc and Cobb close behind, Itchy went through acurtained doorway into what had to be his bedroom. And there,perched on the edge of a rough bedstead, his skinny buttocks justbalanced on the wooden side-slat, was Nestor Peck. He was as nakedas a plucked pullet. And trembling all over. And emitting a lowbabbling sound that might have been a moan or a plea. His face wasswollen twice its size, the lips blackened and puffed. His eyeswere open but rolling up and down in their sockets – unseeing.

“Jesus,” Cobb whispered, “the poor bugger’sflipped his wig!”

Before Itchy could stop him, Marc reached upand drew aside the burlap curtain covering the lone window in theroom. Cold, late-day sunshine poured in. And they could now seethat Nestor’s pale, leprous skin was dotted everywhere by inflamedand suppurating sores. Cobb fell back against the commode, gagging.Marc’s stomach lurched, and he closed his eyes against the horrorof Nestor’s mutilated body.

“I been tryin’ to get him to lie down or takesome tea or just talk to me – ever since I found him here at noon.But he’s just been sittin’ there, gabblin’ like a loony.” Itchy hadtears in his eyes.

“He ain’t said a word?” Cobb said.

“Just a few, when he first seen me. All Icould make out was he’d been livin’ in a hut with some trapper wayup Yonge Street. An’ run over somethin’.”