The Widow's Demise (6 page)

“I still say we got to draw the line at
Frenchies. Let LaFontaine find a riding in Quebec to elect him.
What are we to think of a guy who gets defeated in his own
county?”

“But I heard there were goons and dirty
tricks in Terrebonne.”

“There’s always goons and dirty tricks. It
goes with the territory.”

“I say we give a good listen to the speeches
today. Baldwin and Hincks are gonna nominate LaFontaine. Let’s see
if they can make a Frenchman into somebody we can vote for.”

“Yeah. We been Reformers all our lives.”

Marc moved to the other end of the bar where
another group sat around to tables pulled together. He sipped on
his ale.

“Surely they could’ve found somebody better
than Dingman.”

“Well, his wife is well-connected, eh?”

“With Baldwin backin’ the Frenchie, we’re
facin’ an uphill fight.”

“The man’s a Papist. That’s all we need to
know about him.”

“Dingman needs to remind people of that every
chance he can.”

“And wait’ll they hear the French are askin’
for reparations because of the Rebellion.”

“Imagine the nerve of rebels, of traitors,
asking for money because they got their barns burned during the
fighting.”

“And I hear that Baldwin is backin’ a plan to
have the capital moved from Kingston to Montreal. To Quebec!”

“Baldwin’s sold his soul to the Devil, that’s
for sure.”

“And they want to blab away in French in the
Assembly. They’ll ruin the English language.”

“Yeah, we’ve got to back ol’ Dingman, come
what may.”

Marc finished his ale. He walked back out
into the September sunshine. It was going to be a spirited
nomination.

***

Humphrey Cardiff found his daughter in her
sewing-room. Delores gave a start when he came in because he rarely
entered her private space.

“What is it, father? Is everything all
right?”

“I just had a most unusual conversation with
Perkins,” Cardiff said.

“Oh, I see.”

“He arrived on the doorstep, cap in hand. He
claims you sacked him yesterday.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “Yes.
That’s right.”

“But why? He’s a perfectly good footman and
general dogsbody.”

“I have recently found him
untrustworthy.”

“Untrustworthy? How, pray tell?”

“The man has been spying on me and telling
tales out of school. It’s that simple and I won’t have it.”

“But the fellow is married and his wife is
expecting a child.”

“That’s not my concern, I’m afraid. I have to
run this household as I see fit.”

“But really, my dear – ”

“When I came back to Rosewood, you promised I
would be mistress of the household, did you not?”

“That’s true, but – ”

“No buts. Either I am in charge of the
servants or I am not.”

“You are in charge,” Cardiff said with a huge
sigh. “But you’ll have to replace Perkins right away as I have a
very busy schedule coming up. I’m on my way to Dingman’s nomination
meeting and I’m running his campaign for election.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see to it.”

“I still think you’re being a bit harsh.”

“Is that all you wanted?”

Defeated, Cardiff left the room.

***

The square in front of the hustings was almost full.
The crowd was in a festive mood, anticipating the events to follow.
They were farmers, mostly from York County, but there was a
contingent of people from Toronto who had come out to observe the
proceedings even though they were not directly affected by the
outcome. Politics in the province was a blood sport, and the clash
of the two rival parties was never less than entertaining. On the
periphery of the crowd, women and children gathered around wagons
and took their picnic lunch. In the distance could be heard the
wheezy music of a squeezebox.

The proceedings began shortly after two
o’clock. All of the principals had arrived and were now seated on
the platform. Marc was seated beside Robert, with Hincks, Louis and
Gagnon on the other side. Humphrey Cardiff called the meeting to
order. Then he immediately launched into his nomination speech for
Tory candidate Arthur Dingman, who sat smiling behind him. He was a
small, undistinguished man with a neat moustache. Cardiff described
for the quieted onlookers a fellow who was nearly a paragon. He was
a staunch Tory, loyal to his Queen and country. He had served in
the militia that had helped bring the revolt to its heels. He was a
family man and long-time resident of York County. Being modest, he
had only agreed to run for office after being importuned by his
many friends. He wished fervently to join his fellow Tories in the
new Legislative Assembly to bolster the English presence there and
help provide a counterweight to the radical French contingent.
Cardiff did not have to say so directly, but it was apparent to
everyone listening that Arthur Dingman was everything Louis
LaFontaine was not. Furthermore, while Dingman was a Conservative,
he would strive to represent all of the people of the fourth riding
of York County.

Cardiff sat down to polite applause from the
minority section of the audience. The majority were farmers who, if
they had not actively supported the Rebellion, were nonetheless
sympathetic to its aims: they were stalwart adherents of the Reform
party. It was now the turn of Francis Hincks. He was recognized
instantly by the crowd, and applauded. As editor of the
Constitution
, his voice was well-known throughout the
area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, five years ago this
province, then Upper Canada, was in a state of turmoil. The
Seventh Report on Grievances
had just been issued by the
Legislative Assembly and ignored by the governor and his executive
council. The parliamentary system was deadlocked. Governor Head
dissolved the Assembly, and he himself, against all tradition and
direct advice to the contrary from London, participated in the
subsequent election. The Tory victory did nothing but drive the
grievances further underground, until, at last, frustration boiled
over into outright armed revolt. The British government, having put
down the Rebellion, finally decided to act decisively. Lord Durham
was sent out here to recommend practical political solutions. The
result has been the creation of a new dominion, comprised of
English and French provinces. Our first Assembly has already met.
And with the aid of Lord Sydenham, who now lies close to death, the
outlines of a system of responsible government were established. To
the astonishment of all, French and English Reformers formed a
working coalition that resulted in a productive session of the
Legislature. All that remains is for you to elect Louis LaFontaine
to that body so that he can lead the Quebec wing of the coalition,
and continue to right the many wrongs of the past. I know you will
do your duty.”

Hincks sat down to sustained applause.

“Up with Reform!” someone shouted.

“No truck with the French!” came a response
from near the back of the crowd.

The second nominator for Arthur Dingman now
stood up and undid most of the effectiveness of Cardiff’s speech by
droning on incoherently for fifteen minutes. Dingman himself was
squirming by the time the address staggered to its conclusion.

It was now Robert Baldwin’s turn. The
applause was so overwhelming that he had to start several times
before he could actually get himself launched. He began with the
candidate himself, extolling Louis LaFontaine’s many virtues in
simple and direct terms. LaFontaine was above all a leader, a man
who stuck to his principles, and one of these was a desire to
establish a form of responsible government. Moreover, he was a true
reformer with a progressive economic and social policy. He wished
to cooperate with his English-speaking counterparts to help build a
new society on the northern half of the continent – neither wholly
British nor wholly American. He was a man for the future.

The applause was thunderous. And Louis stood
up amidst it, smiling.

“No truck with the French!” came a lone voice
from the rear.

Louis spoke for twenty minutes in plain,
straightforward English. He reviewed the steps by which the
coalition had been formed. He downplayed his own role in the
affair, giving Robert Baldwin much of the credit. He said how
profoundly moved he was – so soon after an armed revolt – that he,
a Quebecer, could stand for election in a riding won by said Robert
Baldwin, a riding which was one hundred per cent English. He
promised to work with his English-speaking counterparts to develop
a just and prosperous Canada.

There were cheers and one or two
catcalls.

Arthur Dingman then got up to respond to his
nominators. He was partway through a plodding address when there
was a sudden commotion over to the side of the hustings near the
verandah in front of Danby’s tavern.

“You tell ‘em, Arthur!” someone shouted.

“We don’t need the French tellin’ us what to
do!”

“Down with the rebel bastards!”

“Let the man finish!”

Dingman had stopped in mid-sentence and was
staring at the source of the interruption. Marc moved uneasily in
his chair and craned to see who was doing the shouting.

“We don’t want no Frenchman representin’ us
in Kingston!”

“Shut up and let the man speak! He’s
your
candidate!”

A pistol shot punctuated this exchange.

“Murder!” somebody screamed, a woman’s voice
from one of the wagons.

A scuffle now broke out near the tavern.
Several clubs were abruptly produced.

“They’re armed!”

The scuffle was spreading. Fists were flying,
clubs wielded. It was soon a full-scale donnybrook. Several of the
candidates’ supporters jumped up onto the platform and formed a
cordon around them. Marc leapt off and tried to bull his way
through the milling throng to the site of the disturbance. He was
pushed rudely aside. It was then that he noticed a man fleeing
around the far side of Danby’s Inn. Marc made it over to where his
horse was hitched, and mounted it. Behind him the riot continued
apace.

When Marc got to the other side of the inn,
he saw the fleeing man clamber onto a horse and trot away down the
road towards Yonge Street. Marc gave pursuit. The fellow never once
turned to see if he were being followed, so Marc was able to get
almost upon him before his horse’s hoof-beats were heard. The
fellow swung around just in time to see Marc come up beside him and
grab his horse by the bridle. They both slowed to a stop.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” the fellow
said. He had a shock of brown hair and a scraggly beard. His eyes
were bead-like and furtive.

“I’m interested in that pistol you’ve got
tucked into your belt. I trust it’s been recently fired.”

“That ain’t none of your business. Now let me
go or you’ll be sorry.”

“What’s your name?” Marc said, pulling the
fellow closer.

“I don’t have to tell you nothin’. Now let
go!”

“I’ll let go when you tell me your name and
admit to firing off a pistol in order to start a riot.”

“Go to Hell!”

Marc reached over and grasped the fellow by
the collar, choking him. “Who are you?”

The beady eyes darted here and there.
Gasping, the fellow said, “I’m D’Arcy Rutherford. What’s it to
you?”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Marc said, and
released his grip.

So, Humphrey Cardiff had not kept his word.
It was going to be a dirty tricks election.

Delores slipped on her robe and followed her lover
down the dark hallway. He knew the route well by now. He paused at
the back door and she fell into his arms for one last embrace. For
a precious moment she relived the passion that had taken place in
her bed a few minutes ago.

“I must go,” he said. “I’ll be missed.”

She released him reluctantly. He stepped out
into the night. She turned and made her way slowly back down the
hall. The letdown she felt after each encounter had already begun
to happen. Try as she might, she could not avoid it. It seemed
somehow necessary. For although she lived for these night-sessions
with her lover, she preferred, in the daylight, the company of
Lionel Trueman and Horace Macy. What was wrong with her? Was she
two women? Was it not abnormal to wish never to marry again? Yet
here she was with two suitors and one lover. Certainly her father
was puzzled and disturbed, though he did not, and would not, know
of these late-evening assignations. Only Vera, her maid, knew of
them, and she was discretion itself. The subterfuge was made easier
by the fact that her father slept in the other side of the house
and was a notoriously sound sleeper. Vera was both shocked and
fascinated by her mistress’s behaviour, but she could keep secrets.
And now that John Perkins was fired and gone, Delores felt even
more secure.

She reached her bedroom. The silk sheets,
which had felt so heavenly on her bare flesh a while ago, now
looked merely rumpled and soiled. She didn’t remove her robe, but
lay down on the bed and curled up in the foetal position. She was a
long time going to sleep.

***

“Finish your breakfast, love,” Marjorie Snow said to
her husband John. “You’re not in that much of a hurry to vote.”

“The earlier the better,” Snow said. “I’d
like to avoid the goons, if I can.”

“There hasn’t been any sign of them, has
there?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but the poll has been
open only two days.”

“You’re planin’ to take the buggy?”

“I could walk it, but the buggy is faster and
safer.”

“Do you really think the Reformers will
straighten out the banks, and help us out?” She poured John another
cup of tea.

“It’s our only hope. Our mortgage is due in a
week, and I’ve got to get an extension.”