Don Gutteridge - Turncoat

“It sounds as though you’re well into the second act of this tawdry little tragicomedy,” Child said affably. “Or should it be called a fairy tale?”

Marc ignored the jibe. “When you gave that heartfelt speech in front of Mr. Mackenzie last night, I realized just how fanatically you felt about loyalty and about playing by the rules. Your family has served eight or nine kings through thick and thin, dispensing justice and upholding laws even when they didn’t agree with them. You can’t be half a patriot any more than you can be half human.”

“This is not even news, let alone evidence.”

“I also got a glimpse into the depth and vindictiveness of your temper when, after tolerating the peccadilloes of Mad Annie for years, you incited a herd of vigilantes to burn her out. It’s also possible that you got wind of Connors and O’Hurley operating hereabouts again. It wouldn’t do to have one of them blabbing on about Joshua’s involvement in smuggling-raising questions you wanted left alone-so you decided to eradicate the whole lot of them at one fell swoop, despite the dubious legality of the operation.”

Child looked abruptly up at Marc, held his eye, and said, “I imagine murder might be viewed in some circles as legally dubious.”

“Yes, surely. But not when it comes to the treatment of seditionists or spies, not in circumstances where authority feels itself besieged or in a state of apprehended insurrection. The unobtrusive removal of a dangerous turncoat becomes a kind of noble service to the state, to be sanctioned-lauded even-after the event, should it ever become public knowledge. And when that ‘noble’ act eliminated a man who stood in the way of your gaining his property, then it was doubly serendipitous.”

“You seem to have forgotten that Mrs. Smallman would inherit her father-in-law’s estate. If so, why would she sell, eh?”

“But I have not forgotten that you were the man’s solicitor. You knew he had no will, and that there were possibly relatives in the States with a claim on the estate.”

“The chances of finding them would be slim.”

“True, but as a lawyer, you knew you could delay the probate until Beth Smallman was forced to sell her farm-to you.”

Child smiled cryptically, poured himself another brandy, and said, “Why did you ever abandon the bar, young man?”

“Words are no substitute for action.”

“Agreed. Well, you’ve established a plausible motive for me, but I must say that I’m still unable to envision my leading a friend-turned-enemy into a deadfall trap while sitting in this chair sipping brandy, much as I am now. Did I have a three-mile-long piece of string to trigger the trap or a siren song only poor Joshua could hear?”

Like the accomplished barristers he had seen in high flight at the Old Bailey, Marc decided it was time to prick the complacency of the witness in the box by playing the first of his trump cards. “I have just come from interviewing Miss Marsden. It didn’t take long for her to break down and admit that she had lied to the sheriff when she swore that Elijah Chown spent the whole of New Year’s Eve with her.”

A corner of Child’s left eye twitched once-that was all. “You had no authority to trespass on my property and intimidate my servant,” he said, but it seemed more a pro forma objection than righteous umbrage.

“I have Sir John’s warrant authorizing this investigation, along with his detailed memorandum of instructions,” Marc said, tapping the pocket of his frock coat. “And when Miss Marsden saw the governor’s seal, she soon decided to tell me the truth.”

“If that is so, then I advise you to interrogate Elijah, not me. I fail to perceive what motive that deranged soul might have had to waylay and murder the man he worked for, whose daughter-in-law he protected as if she were his own child. In any case, Elijah is no concern of mine.”

“Ah, but he is. He is in every way your man. It was you who brought him here from Toronto, ostensibly to help Jesse and Beth to survive on their farm.”

“Indeed it was. He was the relative of a friend in the capital, addled but good-hearted, and knowledgeable in farming here. It was an arrangement that suited everyone involved.”

“And I have no doubt that your motives were less than altruistic. You needed someone you could control close to that scene, and such a gesture would be sure to disguise your true motive. And if need be, Elijah could be persuaded to be unhelpful.”

“You are inordinately cynical for so young and inexperienced a gentleman. But remember, when Jesse couldn’t pay Elijah’s wages, I did so,” Child said with serene detachment. “That is, until Beth found out. When Joshua came, she was able to pay the man properly.”

“Yes, and by then Elijah had become attached to Mrs. Smallman. But when you needed to, you made sure he realized where his loyalties lay. He owed his living to you. He took a shine to your cook. He spent more and more of his free time over here. Furthermore, I’m certain you have some more tenacious or threatening hold over him, something so compelling that he would do your bidding even if it entailed murdering Beth’s father-in-law.”

“And precisely how were such an improbable duo able to execute a scheme to assassinate a harmless dry goods merchant?” Child was looking relaxed and bemused again. No hint of a twitch. “Your fantasies are far more entertaining than Holy Communion at St. Peter’s.”

“I can only speculate on the details, but from the evidence available, I’ve been able to set your scheme reliably in outline. What I surmise happened that night was this. You decided that Joshua must be confronted and your suspicions put to him-man to man. Even if he could successfully dispute them, you likely intended to pressure him into selling the farm to you by threatening to ruin his reputation with vicious innuendo. After all, he couldn’t prove that the ‘J. Smallman’ on the smugglers’ list you confiscated was not him. You sent a servant with a note that contained some message designed to lure him out, even on a snowy New Year’s Eve. Beth thought it was an invitation to your soiree, but it was something more sinister.”

“But why did I not merely summon him here into my presence and have it out in this very room?”

“You did not do so because you had already determined that if he could not satisfy you of his innocence of sedition, you would execute him on behalf of the Crown-for its sake and to satisfy your own greed. That is why the double motive here and the explosive nature of your character are so relevant. For you, nothing could absolve a turncoat or exculpate a Guy Fawkes with a grenade in his fist. And your lust for land and status is without bounds.”

“And this Elijah chap is supposed to have joined me in my murderous crusade. Just like that?”

“I think you decided to confront Joshua in a secluded spot, interrogate him, and then, if necessary, have Elijah dispatch him-out where no one would think to look. Oh, they’d find his horse, all right, miles from the deadfall, but I believe the body would have been dragged along the lake ice and dumped into the snow half a township away. The bears and wolves would scatter the bones. They might never have been found, or identified.”

“You do have a florid imagination. You should take up novel writing: the three-volume Gothic variety.”

“As it turned out, you didn’t need to do any of that. Elijah established his alibi with your besotted cook, then slipped out and rode one of your horses to the smugglers’ cave at Bass Cove, a place you’d likely heard about from Durfee or one of the other longtime residents of the area. His instructions were to wait there for Joshua’s arrival, and then to keep him there, by force if necessary, until you came yourself to begin the inquisition. Elijah may appear old and addled, but he’s neither. He’s a muscular farmhand who can and does read. A knife or pitchfork would be all the weapon required to intimidate the older and weaker man.”