Free Turncoat by Don Gutteridge Page A

uppermost in your thoughts.”
    â€œStill, we were preparin’ a small party, with the Huggangirls, Emma Durfee, Thomas Goodall. We’d even asked Elijah to join us, but he’d already dashed off to visit Ruby the cook up at the squire’s.”
    â€œPhilander Child’s cook?”
    â€œYes. Father felt strongly that we had an obligation to these kind people, whatever our own sorrows might be. About six o’clock, right after milkin’ and supper, one of Mr. Child’s servants came to the door and said they were expectin’ Father at the gatherin’ of the Georgian Club—”
    â€œI know about that,” Marc said. “Had your father forgotten about the New Year’s celebration up at Child’s?”
    â€œHe said—rather mysteriously, I thought—that he was through with all that frivolousness. I know he’d missed a few meetings of late, and he seemed to be growin’ a bit weary of their whist games and political chatter, but I was still surprised when he suggested that we plan our own celebration. Anyway, he sent the servant back with a polite refusal, and we started to get ready for some mulled wine and a few treats Father’d brought us from Cobourg.”
    â€œDid he seem upset or agitated?”
    â€œNo. I could see he was sad, of course, as I was, but we were both tryin’ very hard not to be. Mary Huggan and her sisters were due to come over at seven. Father’d even hauled his violin out of the trunk.”
    â€œWhat happened, then, to call him so suddenly away from all this?”
    â€œI can’t say for sure. Just before seven, he went out to check on the animals for the night.”
    â€œA regular routine?”
    â€œYes. Once in a blue moon Elijah gets into the liquor and so Father always checked the barn with him, or on his own, before comin’ in for the evenin’.”
    â€œAs he did that night.”
    â€œI can only assume so. Father was gone a little longer than usual, I think, but the girls had arrived at the front door gigglin’ and carryin’ on, so I can’t say for sure. But when he did come in, he was a changed man.”
    â€œDescribe him, please, as precisely as you can.”
    â€œAs I told the magistrate, he was excited. Not pretendin’ to be happy as he’d been before. ‘I’ve got to go out, Beth, dear,’ he said. ‘Just for half an hour or so.’ When I looked amazed, he smiled and told me there was nothin’ to worry about …”
    Despising himself, and beginning to feel more than a little resentment at the predicament in which Sir John had so cavalierly placed him, Marc forced himself to ask, “Did he have a note or letter or paper of any kind in his hand or on his person?”
    â€œNo. But he said he’d gotten a message, an important one that could change all our lives for the better.”
    â€œThose were his exact words?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “I’ve been unable to forget them.”
    Marc pressed on lest his nerve fail him utterly. “But you saw no letter, and he never said or hinted who had sent this message to him?”
    â€œI told the inquest that I heard what could’ve been paper rustlin’inside his coat. But he’d been doin’ the year-end accounts earlier in the day and so there was nothing surprising about that.”
    â€œThe surgeon says no papers of any kind were found on him.”
    â€œI know. I could’ve been wrong. I was so shocked to hear him say he was headin’ out into that awful weather and just abandonin’ his guests, I wasn’t thinkin’ too straight.” She sipped at her tea, found it unconsoling, and said, “But he seemed genuinely excited. Happy, even. I heard him ride out on Belgium twenty minutes later.”
    â€œIf there was a note, with instructions about a rendezvous and some bait to lure him to Bass Cove, could anyone else