Governing Passion (15 page)

So I will sit tight, and do nothing but wish
you and your Reformers the best of luck in pursuing your goals.
Please feel free to write me again. I want to hear about your new
bride and would like news of that twin sister of yours, of whom you
spoke so often and so highly.

Until then,

I remain

Your friend

Henri Thériault

“Well,” Robert said into the absolute silence,
“you’ve caught his attention. I congratulate you, Christopher, and
Marc here for composing a letter persuasive enough to elicit this
response.”

“At least we’ve convinced him there’s another
route than Neilson’s ultra-nationalists,” Louis said.

“We came so close, though,” Hincks said.

“Is it worth writing him again?” Gilles
Gagnon said.

“I don’t know what we could add that we
didn’t put in the first letter,” Marc said.

“I could keep the next letter personal,”
Pettigrew said. “He obviously remembers our time together and what
I did for him.”

“It’s worth the effort,” Robert said. “I
suspect Neilson will keep sending agents to work on him. We need to
keep reminding him, through Christopher, that we English are not
all demons.”

“I’d be happy to do that,” Pettigrew said.
“He’s given me an opening with that last sentence, hasn’t he?”

“Perhaps he’s wavering more than he’s letting
on,” Louis said.

“Why don’t you invite him to meet you?” Marc
said, and was surprised at the sudden silence in the room.

“I mean, Christopher could suggest that he’d
like to meet on a personal basis, say, at a place somewhere neutral
between here and Chateauguay,” Marc added.

“Splendid idea,” Hincks enthused. “How about
Cornwall?”

“There’s a little inn just the other side of
Cornwall,” Marc said. “They could arrange to meet there. If we get
a letter off immediately, he should have it in two days.
Christopher could suggest that he intends to be there on business
anyway, and will simply wait to see if he shows up. They could be
together, if all goes well, in four days.”

“What have we got to lose?” Robert said.

“As long as our friend can take this time
away from his bride,” Louis said with a wry smile.

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Pettigrew
said.

“And we’ll send you along, Marc, to help with
the persuasion. If Thériault objects, you can just step aside
quietly.”

“All right,” Marc said. “It was my idea, so I
guess I really can’t say no, can I?”

Marc and Christopher Pettigrew were
instructed to go up to the young man’s room and begin drafting a
second letter right away.

Up in the room Pettigrew looked suddenly
forlorn.

“What’s the matter?” Marc said. “Don’t you
want to leave your fiancée?”

“It’s not that,” Pettigrew said. “Martha
would be very understanding about it.”

“It’s not your sister again?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve had another disturbing
letter. My attempt to reassure her she’s safe and loved apparently
had little effect. Would you mind reading the letter and giving me
some advice?”

“I’d be glad to,” Marc said. He took the
letter that Pettigrew picked up off his desk, and read:

Dear Christopher:

Once again you confess what, knowing you, I cannot
accept as the truth. You are not the only one in the Reform party
who can deal with this execrable Frenchman, and your including a
pathetic screed from one of those you bow down before was a
pathetic attempt to persuade me otherwise. Mr. Edwards writes well
and passionately, but then he does not know anything essential
about you or your bride to be. He does not know you have forsaken
the one to whom you pledged your love and lasting devotion. What
sort of witch must this Martha Todd be if she can beguile you so
and woo you away from the troth you made to me, and the promises to
remain at my side forever? It is all right for you on your own
there in Kingston because you have your gentlemen friends and your
inamorata. How could you allow such diversions to keep you away
from Toronto and me, who waits as patient as Penelope for her
soul-mate to return and make her well again?

Yes, the headaches have come on as severe as
they did when we were five years old and I was struck down, you’ll
remember, like a tree felled by lightning, and you refused to leave
the darkness of our room and my side even though the doctors
insisted on it. Please know that because of your absence, I was
semi-conscious for almost a day, moaning by myself in the dark of
my bedroom, knowing you ought to be in the adjoining room preparing
to offer me the only comfort against the pain.

I want you back in Toronto. I need you
desperately. I rant against that awful woman who keeps us apart and
me miserable. If I were a witch I would curse her.

Come home. And write me no more lies. They
double the pain!

Your twin sister,

Christine

“You see, sir, how my absence torments her. I don’t
see how I can do anything but get the first coach back to
Toronto.”

“She does sound desperate, but if she’s been
having these headaches since she was little, they are obviously not
life-threatening. They sound like migraines to me.”

“That may be so, but they are exceedingly
distressful.”

“Has she servants to take care of her?”

“Mrs. Baldridge, a long-time widow, has been
with the family ever since Christine and I were tots. She was
really a nanny to us, and she dotes on Christine. And Gulliver is
our butler, who keeps the house running smoothly. He’s also very
protective of my sister.”

“Well, there you are,” Marc said. “She’s got
people who care around her.”

“But they’re not me, are they?”

“My honest opinion, Christopher, is that your
poor sister does not want you to marry. These letters are really
about Miss Dodd, whom she sees as bewitching you.”

“But I’ve been honest with her all along. As
I mentioned to you, I even told her that Martha looks like
her.”

“And she was not amused, right?”

“She flew into a rage. I thought, foolishly,
that she’d be flattered.”

“But you
are
determined to get
married?”

“I am.”

“So going back to Toronto, even for a few
days, is not going to change that fact. It’s more likely she’ll see
your return as a sign of weakness, and press you harder not to
marry.”

“You may be right. And Martha and I intend to
go to Toronto right after the wedding – Christine has refused to
take part – and then we’ll all be together.”

“So you need to stick it out here, don’t
you?” Even though he was making an argument he believed to be
right, Marc still felt guilty about pressuring the lad.

“And I am needed here, aren’t I?”

“You’re essential to the success of our
plans.”

Pettigrew smiled. “And my sister is loved and
safe in Toronto, isn’t she?”

NINE

They were all in the anteroom of the police quarters
at the rear of the City Hall: Cobb, Wilkie, Christine Pettigrew and
Chief Bagshaw. The latter had just arrived, having been wakened
just after falling asleep. He was drowsy and shivering as he came
into the room, and was shocked to find a young blond woman seated
between Cobb and Wilkie. Wilkie had got a roaring fire going in the
stove, and Cobb had found in the constables’ room an extra cloak to
throw over the trembling shoulders of the girl. A tea kettle
whistled on the stove.

“What on earth’s happened?” Bagshaw said,
though it was plain that he saw readily enough what had
occurred.

“Another attack, sir,” Wilkie said.

“And unsuccessful this time,” Cobb said,
pointing out the obvious.

“Our police whistles may have saved the
lass,” Wilkie said.

Bagshaw glowered. “But four of you up there
couldn’t prevent the attack!”

“No, sir,” Wilkie said.

“The culprit got clean away?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Was he seen?”

“We were waiting to question the young lady
till you came,” Cobb said. “She’s had a terrible fright.”

“I’m much better now, Constable,” Christine
said. “You’ve all been very kind.”

“I’ll make the tea,” Wilkie said.

“Can you tell us your name?” Bagshaw
said.

“Christine Pettigrew.”

Bagshaw blanched. “You live up in Birch Grove
with your brother, Christopher Pettigrew?”

“That’s right.”

Bagshaw now realized the enormity of what had
just happened. A young woman of social standing had been attacked.
The stakes were raised yet again.

“What were you doing in a place like Devil’s
Acre?” Bagshaw said gently.

“Well, sir, I decided to pay my cousin a
visit. She lives on King Street past York.”

“At ten o’clock in the evening?”

“I sent her a note saying I was coming, and I
got delayed at home.” Christine was still trembling now and then,
but otherwise seemed quite composed. Wilkie handed her a mug of
tea.

“But you have a carriage and a driver.”

“I do, of course. But I felt like a walk.
It’s only fifteen minutes or so.”

“But we’ve had three murders in the last ten
days.”

“I’ve always felt safe on our streets,
especially with our constables on duty.”

Wilkie smiled at the compliment.

“But Devil’s Acre is not on your route, is
it?”

“Birch Grove is about a quarter of a mile
away, off Jarvis Street north. I came down Jarvis and decided –
foolishly, I now see – to cut through the corner of Devil’s Acre to
save a little time.”

“And you got lost in that maze of
alleys?”

“Yes. I couldn’t believe how fast I got
turned around.”

“This may be painful, ma’am, but tell us what
happened in there.”

Christine took a swallow of tea and held the
mug in both hands. “Well, I was walking along, peering right and
left, when I heard a thumping of footsteps coming up behind me. I
turned to look back and – ”

She paused and took another sip at her
tea.

“Go on when you’re ready,” Cobb said
quietly.

“I looked back and this large dark shape was
coming at me. Its right hand was raised. There was a knife in it.”
She shuddered at the memory. “He lunged at me and I fell backwards.
I heard myself screaming.”

“And that – ”

“That seemed to scare the man, for it was a
man, a tall man with a big black greatcoat, a fur hat and big black
boots. He paused and raised the knife again. I screamed. I heard a
police whistle somewhere. He did, too. And he took off.”

“Did he speak?”

“No. Not a word.”

“Did you see his face?” Cobb asked, and got a
glare from his superior.

“No. It was too dark. I saw only that it was
a man.”

“Did he run off the way he had come?” Cobb
asked.

“I’m not sure. I was terrified. I couldn’t
scream again.”

“We didn’t find any bootprints,” Cobb said to
Bagshaw. “But that’s because the whole area was covered with our
own tracks.”

“And if those tracks had been where they
should have been, Miss Pettigrew would not have been shamefully
attacked!” Bagshaw retorted.

Wilkie looked at the floor.

“Well, we did foil him, sir,” Cobb said.

“Wilkie, I want you to take Miss Pettigrew
back to Birch Grove. And don’t try any short cuts!”

Wilkie escorted Christine out of the
room.

“Well, Mr. Detective, are we any further
ahead?” Bagshaw said, standing closer to the stove.

“We’ve got the description of the fellow
repeated,” Cobb said. “It jibes with Pugh’s.”

“That’s not a lot, is it?”

“We know now he’s right-handed.”

Bagshaw snorted. “So we’re looking for a
six-foot, big-booted gentleman or would-be gentleman who’s
right-handed?”

Cobb grimaced. “It’s not much, is it?”

***

Cyril Bagshaw was right about the stakes being
raised. On the afternoon following the latest attack, Bagshaw was
summoned to the mayor’s office, where he was given a good
dressing-down by Mayor Kennedy and two aldermen.

“We’ve doubled the size of your force to
allow you to patrol our streets day and night,” the mayor ranted.
“And suddenly we’ve had three murders and a near-murder, all within
an area no bigger than a city block. Get your troops out there and
catch this maniac!”

Bagshaw took the criticisms quietly, but he
was boiling inside. The mayor was right, though. His troops had
failed him. And especially that fellow who called himself
detective. “I’d like permission, sir, to end this detective
experiment. I’d like to put every man on the street.”

The Mayor’s gaze narrowed. “It seems to me,
Bagshaw, as if what we need on this case is more detecting, not
less. Move Cobb around as you see fit, but he remains our detective
– for now.”

“Yes, sir.” He’d move Cobb around all right!
“We’ll catch this fellow soon. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t want guarantees, sir, I want
results.”

And with that Bagshaw was summarily
dismissed.

***

Cobb found himself on night-patrol with Brown,
Rossiter and Wilkie. For two fruitless nights they pounded up and
down the alleys and lanes of Devil’s Acre. So effective were they
that hardly a soul ventured into the gambling dens and brothels.
Madame LaFrance came out on her stoop and shook her fist at them.
The snow was hard-packed where the constables walked, so that the
big-booted maniac could have come and gone without his spoor being
noticed. But, of course the murders had occurred on every third
night, so it was with much more expectation that the four patrolmen
met at eight o’clock that evening at the police quarters. Chief
Bagshaw was waiting for them. He came out of his office with a
laundry bag in his hand.

“What’s up?” Rossiter said.