Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

“Why on earth have we been zigzagging allover town?”

“I wanted to be certain that the cab with thespotted horse was truly shadowing us.”

“What cab?”

“The one that just carried on down Broadway -as if he wasn’t on our tail.”

“They – whoever they are – want to makecertain we do leave town?”

Marc nodded.

A block farther up they halted in front of ahandsome brick building and the business it housed: ADAMS andDEWART-SMYTHE: Imported Wines and Spirits .

Eliza was waiting for them in the retail shopat the front of the establishment. Marc heard Brodie’s intake ofbreath, and smiled. Eliza’s dark beauty had changed little, exceptperhaps to have matured slightly in her favour. The bold black eyesand ebony ringlettes, in stark contrast to her milky complexion,would make the heart of a misogynist stutter.

“It is really you,” Eliza said, holding outher hand for the ritual kiss and making no effort to quell herexcitement. “And who is the stunning young man you have broughtwith you?”

Marc introduced Brodie, who stammered out agreeting but had no idea what to do with the lady’s hand or the bowhe had initiated but forgot to complete.

“How is Uncle Sebastian?” Marc said.

“The old dear is up in Boston making usricher,” Eliza said with an irreverent smile aimed at Brodie.

“Leaving you to mind the store,” Marcsaid.

“No need to worry, Marc, darling. You broughtyour own chaperone.”

Brodie tried to suppress a blush, making itworse.

“Ah, but I’m now a well-married man,” Marcsaid lightly.

“I know. So am I. A well-wedded woman, thatis.”

At this point, an inner door opened and a manentered. He was middle-aged, portly, be-whiskered, and round-faced- with large, placid eyes. He smiled at the visitors.

“This is Fenton Adams, my husband andbusiness partner,” Eliza said with a touch more emphasis on thelatter designation.

Introductions were made all around, and thenEliza said, “Fenton, my love, why don’t you show young Mr. Langfordthrough the cellars and have him sample some of that new Bordeaux,while Marc and I have a cup of tea and reminisce?”

“A splendid idea, love,” Fenton said amiably,and led a reluctant Brodie away.

When Marc and Eliza were settled in a cosysitting-room, not unlike the one they had often shared in Toronto,she stared across at him and said with mock sincerity, “I thoughtyou would be limping – at least.”

Marc showed his surprise. “So you know aboutthe rebellion?”

“I know a great deal – about a lot ofthings.”

“I didn’t know you had become Mrs.Adams.”

She smiled wanly: “A merger of interests, youmight say.”

“Related to Quincy Adams, is he?”

“Second cousin, thrice removed.”

“Forefather on the Mayflower ?”

“First mate, actually.”

Marc sipped his tea and then said, “It’s goodto see you haven’t changed.”

“We’ve both changed.”

“As we must, eh?”

“I hear your Beth is a beauty in her ownright. And that she’s about to produce a son and heir.”

“You have a paid agent in Toronto, doyou?”

“I don’t need one. We get regular visits fromimporters – all the way from Montreal, Toronto, Kingston – ”

“And you trade vintage wine for vintagegossip?”

“It seems like a fair trade. Where else wouldI get detailed accounts of your heroics at St. Denis, of yourrenunciation of the scarlet tunic, of your legendary investigativeprowess, of your flirtation with the Bar and radical politics -tales to keep a woman warm through the long, cold winter.”

“My, but my life didn’t seem that exciting atthe time.”

“It seldom does.” She looked down, then backup. Tears startled her eyes. “To our infinite regret.”

There came a clumping of footfalls in thehallway, and a moment later Brodie and Fenton Adams joinedthem.

***

That afternoon seemed to be the longest one Marc hadever endured. He and Brodie were holed up in their rooms, withnothing to do but wait. As far as they could tell, they had notbeen followed home by the mysterious taxicab, but then there weremany other means by which their movements could be tracked andrecorded. Everything now depended upon Annemarie Thedford agreeingto let Marc examine the secret documents for possible leads. Marcwas afraid that her loyalty to Dick and the imperative of herpromise to him regarding their possible use would override hisefforts to expose the people who had sponsored the assassination.Moreover, it seemed likely that those very people had learned ofthe documents’ existence and his mother’s role in the affair as awhole. If so, then she was in more peril than he or Brodie.

Anxious and frustrated, the two men spent amiserable afternoon together, and were much relieved when they wereable to leave the hotel at five o’clock to join Mrs. AnnemarieThedford in her suite for a cold supper before the evening’sperformance of The School For Scandal.

With Brodie present, the conversation duringthe meal was perforce general and not unpleasant. As a native NewYorker, Brodie was intensely interested in Annemarie’s banteringgossip about the rise and pratfalls of various prominent gentlemen,as well as news about the theatrical life of the great city, ofwhich Annemarie was a fount of knowledge, much of it amusing. Forthe better part of an hour, all three managed to keep up thepretence of normality. But at last the polite conversation began toweaken, and pall.

Into one of the awkward silences Marc said,“Do you have an answer for us?”

“I do. I’ve thought about little else allday.”

“And?”

“And I’ll let you look at Dick’s papers for afew minutes after the performance – in my dressing-room. Thenthey’ll go straight back into the safe.” She looked at him long andhard, unsmiling. “I’m trusting you to be discreet. Dick’s name hasbeen sullied enough already. If it’s blackened further, I may notbe able to forgive you – or myself.”

“Thank you. We all want the same thing forDick. The truth will be discovered and disclosed. That is apromise.”

Annemarie offered him a smile, but Marc couldnot read the thought behind it.

***

It was difficult to laugh at a play all about scandaland human hypocrisy in a city that seemed to personify it, but Marcfound himself doing so. As did Brodie beside him. For better thantwo hours Mr. Sheridan seduced them away from anxiety on the wingsof ridicule and the ultimate triumph of truth. A few minutes beforethe play ended, Marc, who was seated next to an aisle, whispered toBrodie that he was going to slip backstage and meet his mother asshe came off after taking her curtain-calls. He wanted to escorther safely to her dressing-room and make sure they were not beingwatched. Brodie could come along a few minutes later and standguard outside the door.

Marc sneaked past a dozing usher into thewings on the left side of the stage, and stood silently behind oneof the flats at the rear. A burst of applause alerted him to theplay’s conclusion, and he peered out at the line of actors steppingforward to accept the plaudits of the audience. Although Annemariehad had only a secondary role, her fame was not to beunacknowledged, and Marc’s heart swelled with pride as his mothertook two steps forward on her own and curtsied. At that moment,something made Marc look up – into the bright, gas-lit candelabrumthat illuminated centre-stage, and then beyond to the flies andscrims towards the complicated rigging that allowed them to beartfully manipulated. One of the stagehands was perched on acatwalk that ran the width of the stage about twenty feet above it.Marc froze. The fellow held a long-bladed knife in one hand and wasreaching out in an attempt to slash the rope attached to one of thebulky counterweights. The sandbag was poised directly above hismother.