Outcasts of River Falls (26 page)

Chapter 20

Happily
Eve
r
After

Kathryn arrived in Hopeful as the bell at St. Michael’s
Church tolled ten o’clock. She tied Nellie up and was surprised to see a crowd of people in front of the jail. Sergeant Prentiss stood on the boardwalk, trying to calm the unruly mob.

“They killed Ed Meltzer, Sergeant!” One angry man called.

“She’s as guilty as that no good Highwayman!” Another
shouted.

“Bring her out here, we’ll show her what we do with murdering half breeds!” A helpful citizen suggested.

Kathryn was disgusted and very frightened. What if this mob rioted and broke into the jail to get Aunt Belle?

Again the sergeant called for order. “You folks calm down. Nobody’s doing anything crazy, you hear me?”

Avoiding the scene, Kathryn edged down the alley to the back door leading to the cells. She said a short prayer that the hair pin she’d jammed into the mechanism still held. As she turned the knob, she was rewarded as the back door opened and she saw Aunt Belle sitting on her pallet. Kathryn put her finger to her lips. “Where’s Blake?” she mouthed.

Aunt Belle pointed toward the front of the building and whispered hoarsely. “At the window.”

A trickle of sweat ran down her back as Kathryn stealthily made her way along the narrow hallway that led to the constable’s office. It struck her that if Constable Dung was wearing his jacket, this whole plan could go up in smoke. This fear disappeared when she saw Blake, in his shirt and suspenders, peering out the front window, watching as his boss valiantly tried to control the angry crowd.

Why wasn’t he out there supporting his fellow officer, she wondered, then realized how foolish the question was. Cyrus Blake wasn’t about to put himself between a mob and Aunt Belle. Kathryn added
coward
to the long list of character flaws she’d assigned to the despicable constable.

In his office, she spied his greasy field jacket, still slung over the back of the chair. She slipped the shipping receipt with the station master’s signature verifying the information into a pocket and then returned to the cells.

Aunt and niece exchanged conspiratorial smiles; then Kathryn left the jail, carefully removing the hair pin from the lock as she went.

As she walked around to the front of the building, she could hear the clamour of voices and it was much louder than before. Kathryn stood at the back of the angry mob and had never felt so alone. Scanning the crowd, she prayed JP had been successful and that Claude had taken the bait.

There was the jarring sound of shattering glass as a rock was hurled through the window of the jail.

Sergeant Prentiss cursed as he saw his constable standing behind the broken window. “Cyrus, get out here, man!”

Kathryn knew the constable well enough by now that she was sure he would put on his jacket, the one vestige of authority he had, before venturing out.

Sure enough, moments later, he emerged clad in the jacket now with a grubby lanyard hanging limply, and swaggered forward like he was the salvation of the sergeant and a gift to humanity.

Kathryn knew the moment had come. The lives of her aunt and the Highwayman hung in the balance. Taking a steadying breath, she called out. “Sergeant Prentiss! I need to talk to you.”

The crowd turned to stare and she heard a couple of men mutter
half-breed
and
road allowance trash.
Pushing rudely past a disgruntled gentleman in a long coat and fancy hat, Kathryn forced her way to the front, then faced the crowd.

“My name is Kathryn Tourond. My Aunt Belle had nothing to do with this robbery and murder and more than that, the Highwayman is innocent of the charges as well!”

The mob fell silent, and then a man’s voice was heard. “Yeah, if you believe that, then I’m King Edward.”

There was laughing as another voice added, “What a surprise, a dirty breed sticking up for another dirty breed.”

Sergeant Prentiss motioned for the crowd to be quiet. “Kathryn, I know you want your aunt to be free. What you need to remember is Constable Blake has proof the Highwayman did this crime and Belle was caught consorting with the outlaw.”

“That squatter is guilty as sin and she’ll pay with her neck!” This suggestion brought resounding approval.

“I know who stole that money!” Kathryn shouted over the tumult.

Constable Blake glared at her. The malice in his face was frightening and Kathryn felt her knees weaken.

Sergeant Prentiss was genuinely interested now. “Everyone is innocent until proven guilty, Kathryn, and that includes Belle. If you have new information, I need it. Who is this thief?”

She swallowed, then straightened her spine and spoke in a clear, strong voice. “Constable Cyrus Blake stole that bank money and framed the Highwayman so that he would take the blame.”

Blake snapped forward like a striking cobra. “You lying little half breed!”

Pandemonium broke out and several people jostled Kathryn, one man with yellowed teeth shoved her backward and she almost fell.

Sergeant Prentiss motioned for silence. “Cyrus was a friend to Edward Meltzer, Kathryn. He came in on his day off to help Ed guard the payroll. And we have hard evidence; we have the knife belonging to the Highwayman.” His voice was calm and reasonable, almost agreeable, but she could hear the scepticism in it.

Cyrus Blake wasn’t about to let her accuse him. “I got the blade, alright, and I think this thievin’ squatter should see it.” He stormed back into the jail and returned seconds later with the knife which he held up for the crowd to see. “Still stained with an innocent man’s blood!” he shouted, and the crowd howled.

“That’s not the Highwayman’s knife!” Kathryn protested. “Blake is a murderer or is an accomplice to murder. He most certainly masterminded the theft.”

Sergeant Prentiss took the knife from Blake and shook his head sadly. “Ed was a good man.”

This was not going as Kathryn planned. She scanned the faces in the crowd and saw that no one believed her, worse; she now heard several voices saying that she was probably in on it too and should be thrown into jail along with her aunt.

A gasp rose from the back of the crowd, then a murmur that increased in volume. Kathryn peered over the heads of the onlookers.

Striding jauntily down the street, a red chapeau with a shiny black feather bobbed toward the crowd. The hat sat atop a smiling young man with eyes that twinkled at her.

It was her Prairie Puss-in-Boots and he wasn’t alone.

With him was Madame Ducharme, old Kokum, leaning on her cane, and walking proudly beside her was a tall, raven-haired and extremely handsome man Kathryn had never seen before. He was dressed in black and on his left hip was an ivory handled knife for all to see. One arm had a bandage and Kathryn remembered the shot that had been fired when the rendezvous had been raided.

Behind this vanguard was a large parade of people.
Some Kathryn knew and they all appeared extremely de
termin
ed. There was Pierre and Francis, with Joseph striding beside them. Next came Madame Garnier and her husband along with JP’s mother and her brood of boys tagging behind. A thin man with bright red hair sticking out from his head had to be Henri Beauchamp, and with him was a tiny black-haired woman and eight young children, half with carrot hair and half with their mother’s black braids.

All the Métis in the district must have come and Kathryn wondered what had changed their minds. And more surprising was that in the crowd, she recognised some citizens of Hopeful, white citizens, including Mr. and Mrs. Jones, proudly carrying baby Louisa who waved a chubby arm to the crowd. Then she saw JP’s triumphant face and she knew who the silver-tongued persuader had been.

The parade stopped as Kokum stamped her cane on the street, sending up a tiny cloud of fine silvery dust. “We’re here to demand justice. Belle Tourond is innocent as is my son,” she laid a loving hand on the tall stranger’s arm, “Gabriel Ducharme, whom you know as The Highwayman.”

A murmur swept through the crowd as everyone talked at once.

“There’s your murderer and thief, Sergeant!” Constable Blake pointed an accusing finger at Gabriel Ducharme.

The venom in Blake’s tone was easy to hear and Kathryn remembered how the constable had lost his ear.

The tall stranger stepped forward. “I am the Highwayman. I am also
not
the one responsible for the bank robbery or murder of that guard.” He went on in his own defence. “I was forced to act under cover of darkness as I knew the Métis rights were being trampled and they would get no help from the law.” Here Sergeant Prentiss had the decency to look ashamed. “I also knew that Constable Blake would try again to kill me if it were known that his first attempt, when he shot me in the back, had been unsuccessful. I had to stay hidden so that I could continue to help my people.”

The sergeant’s calculating gaze took in the wounded stranger. “We have proof that it was the Highwayman committed the robbery and killed the guard in cold blood: eyewitness testimony from Constable Blake – and this murder weapon.” He showed the stranger the knife with its fancy antler handle.

Gabriel removed his own knife from its sheath and held it up. “And yet, Sergeant, I still have my knife with a true ivory hilt. Ivory is a rare commodity, and I have never seen a second blade like this.”

The sergeant mulled this over. “You know, I’ve never seen one either...before today.” He shot Blake an inquiring look, but the constable only scowled back.

“And there is another reason I could not have committed that crime, Sergeant Prentiss.” The man Kathryn now knew was Gabriel Ducharme continued. “On the night of the robbery, I was with Belle Tourond. She can verify this.”

“We’d best get Belle out here, Cyrus. Go fetch her from the cells.”

Reluctantly, the constable disappeared into the jail and appeared moments later gripping Aunt Belle by the arm.

He shoved her forward and even from where she stood, Kathryn could see the angry red welt where his fist had been.

“Belle, this man,” the sergeant tipped his head toward Gabriel, “says you and he were together the night of the robbery. Is that true?”

Kathryn saw her aunt’s face light up when she saw Gabriel. “Yes, Sergeant, we were.”

“I don’t mean to be indelicate, Belle, but was he with you all night?”

Belle blushed prettily. “Until dawn.”

“She’s lying to protect her buck,” Cyrus Blake scoffed.

“It’s true,” Gabriel stepped forward. “We have a witness, at least for part of the night: Father Blanchet, who married us at midnight in St. Michael’s Church.”

This revelation sent more waves through the crowd.

The sergeant took his Stetson off and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Well, that does put a fine edge on things.”

Kathryn was stunned. Aunt Belle married! To this stranger, this.... She watched the two of them, love written on their faces and her heart went out to them.... This
Bandit du Grand Chemin,
this Highwayman. She felt giddy. Her aunt beamed at her as she blew Kathryn a kiss.

Kathryn remembered the sleeping draught her aunt had given her the night of the robbery and wondered if there had been another brew, maybe in the tea, to give her the headache in the first place.

Then a conversation she’d had with her aunt came into Kathryn’s head in which Aunt Belle made reference to
her Gabe
as though he were still alive.
He is the best man she’d ever met
and how
she cherishes every moment with him
and they
have a destiny together.
That’s what had clanged – the tenses were wrong – present instead of past. Although it had struck her as strange at the time, in the light of the man’s miraculous resurrection, it made perfect sense.

Aunt Belle and the mysterious Highwayman were a fairytale right out of one of her books. It was perfect – except for one little detail. The real thief had yet to be exposed. They weren’t home and dry yet. Kathryn needed to finish what she started. “Sergeant Prentiss, there is proof that the Highway
man, I mean, Monsieur Ducharme, did not commit the rob
bery.” Her voice was barely heard above the noise.

JP shouldered his way through the mob of town’s people and stood beside Kathryn. He then stuck two fingers in his mouth a let out an ear-piercing whistle. There was immediate silence.

“Much better,” he said as together he and Kathryn faced the sergeant.

Kathryn prayed her plan would work. An old expression danced in her head:
the end justifies the means.
She knew the ending she wanted would require some devious means and what she was about to do was about as devious as one could get.

“I believe that Constable Blake stole the money. He is currently shipping it out of Hopeful on the noon train. The constable is sending it back east where he will take up a lavish residence and live the privileged life of a wealthy gentleman after he has made sure the wrong people pay for his crime and the case is closed.” Even to her, it sounded scandalous.