The Widow's Demise (5 page)

“If you’re suggesting a duel, I say bring it
on. We’ll find out whose intentions are honourable.”

“Pistols at twenty paces,” Macy snapped.

“On the cricket grounds at seven o’clock,”
Trueman said.

Having said their peace, both men continued
to glower silently at one another. If they regretted their haste,
they were not prepared to show it. Just above them, at her
sewing-room window, the Widow Delores watched the proceedings.
There was a smile on her face.

***

That evening the air was cool and refreshing. A
harvest moon shone brightly. Deep shadows played across the lawn
behind Rosewood. Into one of these stepped a dark figure. It moved
stealthily across to the back stoop. There it paused momentarily,
and then reached a gloved hand up and gently tapped on the door. It
instantly opened to reveal a woman swathed in a crimson robe. She
stretched out a hand and pulled the figure inside. The moon
continued to shine.

Horace Macy was just thinking about preparing for
bed when the knock came at his front door. He tucked in his shirt,
hauled up his braces and went to answer it. There on his porch
stood Constance Brown, his one-time fiancée. (They had been good
friends even before the death of Macy’s wife.) She was short,
slightly plump woman in her mid-thirties, with a mop of frizzled,
ginger hair and blue eyes, and tonight she looked somewhat
dishevelled.

“Well, aren’t you gonna ask me in?” she said,
staring him down.

Macy recovered his aplomb enough to reply,
“Of course. You are always welcome here.

She stepped inside, and Macy moved back to
accommodate her.

“It’s just that you startled me, Constance. I
wasn’t expecting anybody this time of night.”

“I’m sorry for the lateness of the hour, but
there are some things I just have to get off my chest.”

“I hope this isn’t about the engagement.”

“It is. And I’d like to sit down – if you
don’t mind.”

“But that’s all in the past,” Macy said,
following Constance meekly into the living-room and watching her
remove her coat and take a seat. He sat down beside her.

“I thought you would have come to your senses
by now,” she said, turning to look directly at him. He cringed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean that woman, that’s what I mean.”

“Delores?”

“Of course, Delores. Who else have you been
making a fool of yourself with?”

“Now, Constance. I know we were engaged once,
but I broke that off honourably – ”

“We were more than engaged, and you threw me
over for a fallen woman with bags of money.”

“Delores’s money has nothing to do with
it.”

“You thought I was worth pursuing till my
father went bankrupt.”

“That’s not fair, Constance. I just decided
that we were not meant for each other after all.”

“After a three-month engagement?”

“You know how sorry I was to have to break it
off.”

“How could I explain it to my friends? You
left me in a terrible state.”

“Better that than a lifetime of
unhappiness.”

“I consoled myself with the knowledge that
you would soon tire of a woman who is faithless and unreliable, a
woman of questionable virtue who would soon throw you over.”

“Well, that hasn’t happened. I just spent a
lovely afternoon with the lady.”

“Some lady. I saw her this morning out riding
with Lionel Trueman. And she was cozying up to him like some
shameless hussy.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t stand a chance against someone
like Trueman.”

“Well, he may not be around much longer to
challenge me,” Macy said with some pride.

“And why is that?”

“He and I are going to duel tomorrow
morning.”

Constance’s jaw dropped. “You’re crazier than
I thought.”

“The lady doesn’t think so.”

“Well, then, you’re welcome to her.”

Constance got up and put her coat on. “I see
I shouldn’t have come here after all.”

At the door she said, “That woman is wicked.
Somebody should do something about her.”

***

The sun rose on a clear, cool morning, except for a
touch of ground mist that was soon burned off. Horace Macy and
Lionel Trueman arrived with their seconds at the cricket grounds on
the north-west edge of town. The grounds were surrounded by mature
trees, which afforded the duellists a modest amount of cover for
the clandestine, and illegal, activity. Each man had brought his
own pistol, and the weapons were now being examined by the seconds.
Macy had brought his clerk with him, and Trueman a close friend.
The seconds pretended to scrutinize the weapons with an expert
eye.

“Everything seems in order,” said the clerk
confidently.

“I agree,” said the friend.

“Each man will step off ten paces, then
turn,” said the clerk. “When I drop the handkerchief, each man will
fire.”

“And may the best man win,” Macy said.

“I trust you are prepared to die,” Trueman
said. “And my honour will be satisfied.”

“You are without honour,” Macy said.

“Gentlemen,” said Trueman’s second, “do not
restart the quarrel we are here to adjudicate.”

“Ten paces each,” the clerk said.

With their backs to each other and pistols
cocked, the two duellists began to pace away from each other,
counting the steps aloud. At ten they turned and held their pistols
up. A handkerchief fluttered in the breeze.

“That’s enough, gentlemen. Put the pistols
down.”

All eyes turned towards the new arrivals. It
was Detective-Constable Cobb in plain clothes and a uniformed
Constable Ewan Wilkie.

“This isn’t what you think,” said the clerk,
dropping the handkerchief.

“How do you know what I’m thinkin’,” Cobb
said, coming up to him but keeping a wary eye on Lionel Trueman’s
pistol. “But I know a duel when I see one.”

“Why can’t you mind your own business and
leave us be?” Trueman said.

“Illegal duellin’
is
my business,”
Cobb said. “And if you don’t want me to haul you off to jail,
you’ll put that pistol away right now.”

By this time Wilkie had reached Trueman, and
he took the man’s pistol and fired it into the air.

“Do the same with yours,” Cobb ordered Macy.
“And don’t go killin’ no birds.”

Macy, looking scared, shot his pistol off
harmlessly.

“Now get over here all of you. I got
somethin’ to say,” Cobb barked.

Macy and Trueman joined the seconds in the
middle of the grounds.

“I’m gonna pretend I caught you two havin’
target practice,” Cobb said, “if you’ll swear off this foolishness
fer good. If I’d’ve been a minute later, I’d be chargin’ one of you
with murder. One dead and one to be hanged. Is that what you
thought you were up to?”

“How did you find out about it?” Macy
asked.

“Your clerk got to boastin’ about it in the
pub last night, too close to one of my snitches. And lucky fer you
he did.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Trueman said.
“You’re not a gentleman.”

“And damn glad I ain’t,” Cobb said, ushering
the gentlemen off the cricket grounds.

***

When they reached Queen Street, Trueman and Macy
found themselves walking side by side.

“That was a close call,” Macy said.

“Cobb was probably right. One of us would
have been dead and the other a candidate for the gallows,” Trueman
said.

“Leaving the lady with neither of us,” Macy
said.

“And she
is
seeing both of us, isn’t
she?”

“I thought her intentions were all on my
side.”

“I thought the same. She led me to believe
so.” Trueman stopped walking.

“She is leading both of us on, isn’t she?”
Macy said.

“I believe so.”

“And who’s to say there are not others we
know nothing of?”

“You could be right. Have we both been
fools?”

“We’ve both been fools,” Macy said
bitterly.

“She almost got us killed,” Trueman said.

“Is it just a game with her?”

“Are we nothing but her pawns?”

“The woman has no conscience.”

“She’s using her money and standing in the
community to make fools of men.”

“Somebody ought to put a stop to her little
games.”

“Yes, and quickly.”

“Well, I’m through with her,” Macy said
emphatically. “Money or no money.”

Trueman nodded his agreement, and the two men
continued walking together, who just moments before had been
prepared to shoot one another.

***

The hustings, as usual, had been erected in front of
Danby’s Inn, the area as a whole known as Danby’s Crossing. It was
a mile north of the city and a quarter mile east of Yonge Street.
The inn was an elaborate two-storey affair with a wide verandah in
front. Completing the square were a general store and livery
stables opposite Danby’s, and on the eastern side a smithy and a
harness-maker. The inn boasted an elegant foyer and a bustling
tavern.

While Louis Fontaine, Gilles Gagnon, Francis
Hincks and Robert Baldwin rode up to the crossing in a brougham,
Marc came along behind on a sturdy mount he had hired from Frank’s
Livery in Toronto. Just in case there was any trouble, he wanted to
be mobile. Not that they were expecting any, since they had
received assurances from Humphrey Cardiff that all would be
peaceful. Besides, the nomination meeting included the candidates
from both the Reform and Conservative parties, and the crowd
therefore would contain supporters from both sides. It was in
everybody’s interest to have an orderly set of nominations. The
meeting was to start at two o’clock.

It was just after one when the brougham drew
up to the hitching-post in front of Danby’s Inn. Already the space
before the hustings was beginning to fill up. People, farmers and
their wives mostly, had driven, ridden or walked many miles through
the bush to be here. Not all of them would be voters – certainly
not the women – but all were interested in what the various
speakers would have to say. These were tumultuous times in the
history of the province. An armed revolt had taken place not four
years before – over deeply set grievances that could not be
addressed under a system of government where all the power lay with
the governor and his appointed minions. The Rebellion, here and in
Quebec as well, had settled little definitively, except to prompt
the British government to experiment with some fundamental changes
to its fractious colony. These included uniting the two provinces
into one (or two halves) with a single Parliament. The grievances
had not yet been dealt with, and responsible, cabinet government
had only been partly achieved. Moreover, it remained to be seen
whether these grievances – the Clergy Reserves question, the flawed
banking system, the blatant patronage and de facto rule of the
Family Compact elite, and the stagnated economy – would be helped
or hindered by tossing French and English into the same stew-pot.
Certainly, the alliance of LaFontaine’s
rouge
and Baldwin’s
Reform was a positive start. But of course it could only succeed if
they could get Louis elected to the Legislative Assembly. Robert
Baldwin had taken the fourth riding of York by two hundred votes
last April. He had high hopes that Louis’ campaign in the same
riding would be a cakewalk.

Danby himself was on the verandah to greet
them.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said. “Do come into
the lounge and take a glass of Champagne.”

“You go ahead,” Marc said to Robert. “I’m
going into the tavern to test the lay of the land.”

“All right, Marc. A good idea.”

“Your counterparts have already arrived,”
Danby said.

“Well, then, “ Hincks said. “Let’s go in and
say hello.”

Marc hitched up his horse and walked down the
verandah to the tavern entrance. Taking a deep breath, he went in.
The place was jammed. It was all smoke and loud voices, punctuated
by the clink of glasses and thump of flagons on the bar and tables.
The clientele was mostly farmers, and they were getting primed for
the nominations. Marc went up to the bar and ordered an ale. When
it came, he hunched over it, anonymous, and listened hard. Snatches
of conversation floated by.

“I’m no Tory, but I’ll be damned if I’ll vote
for a Frenchman. I don’t give a damn that he’s a pal of Robert
Baldwin.”

“Frenchmen are all the same. You can’t trust
‘em.”

“I heard what they did to their English
neighbours in Quebec.”

“Yeah. They burned barns and hay-stacks.”

“I even heard they cut the tails off horses
and cows.”

“And the poor buggers couldn’t swat the flies
off of them and went crazy and drowned themselves.”

“They couldn’t beat the English army so they
took it out on their English friends.”

“But the soldiers torched their churches,
remember.”

“Because they hid out the rebels in them and
used them to store arms and ammunition.”

“The priests were on their side all the
way.”

“Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.”

“And I’ll bet the Pope was in on it,
too.”

“But the French had the same grievances we
did.”

“They never had it so good. Looked after by
the Church from cradle to grave.”

“What about this LaFontaine? I heard he was
too much of a coward to fight.”

“That’s right. He never lifted a finger.”

“But he was on their side, eh? He used his
lawyer’s savvy to get the rebels out of jail after the Rebellion
was over.”

“And he went around making speeches
against
the union bill.”

“Does he know what side he’s on?”

“Why should we trust him?”

“But I’ve always voted Reform. And Baldwin
says we got to get the man elected – for our own good.”

“Well, I may decide not to vote at all.”