Free Desperate Acts by Don Gutteridge Page B

agreed with an
appreciative smile that warmed Nestor more than the whiskey had.
“But hardly news any peeler would pay for.”
    “Ya never know. That’s my point. It’s the odd
bits an’ pieces you gotta keep collectin’ – till they turn out to
be useful, to somebody.”
    Duggan had nodded sagely. “Did this Itchy
fella happen to mention who the local gentleman was?”
    “He did. But that’s one name I’m keepin’
under my hat,” Nestor had said almost primly. “I ain’t in the
home-wreckin’ business, am I?”
    “Of course you aren’t. Here, you might as
well finish off the booze.”
    Nestor drank, and a mellow feeling of
fellowship and good will coursed slowly through him, rendering him
wonderfully drowsy. But before he had fallen asleep upon his arms
at the table, Albert Duggan had wheedled out of him the name of the
naughty local gentleman . . .
    That little tidbit had been dropped in
Duggan’s lap more than a month ago, and he didn’t see why tonight
should not prove just as productive.
     
     

FIVE
     
    Marc Edwards was as busy as he had ever been in his
life, and twice as happy. Another strategy meeting was slated for
Friday afternoon out at Spadina, the country home of the Baldwins.
Marc was charged with fleshing out some of the arguments raised at
the earlier meeting in a form suitable for various letters to the
newspapers, ones that could be assigned to sundry sympathizers
(suitably reworked, he hoped, to reflect the submitter’s own style
and views on the union question). At the same time, Beth’s
announcement of her pregnancy compelled them to sit down and
seriously discuss the expansion of Briar Cottage. They would need a
lot more room, that much was certain. They had the money to do
whatever they wished: Marc had an income from his adoptive father’s
estate in England, Beth had inherited money and property from her
former father-in-law, Joshua Smallman, and her ladies shop and
dressmaking operation were thriving. But they liked the cosiness of
Briar Cottage enough to dismiss any thought of building a grandiose
residence farther up Sherbourne on one of the park-lots there. So,
while one or the other used a spare toe to rock Maggie in her
wooden cradle, Beth and Marc sat at the kitchen table and drew
sketches – verbal and otherwise – of an addition to the rear of the
cottage.
    Nothing could be done until spring, but once
the decision to build had been made, it was impossible to pretend
that they could postpone the pleasures and anxieties of planning
and replanning. Their servant, Charlene, and her beau, Jasper Hogg,
were equally excited. Jasper was a talented carpenter and all-round
builder, but he worked intermittently and not often enough to feel
comfortable proposing to Charlene. When Marc suggested that Jasper
be engaged to do the lion’s share of the construction, using
whatever assistance he deemed necessary, the couple were
understandably ecstatic. And more helpful than was absolutely
necessary. Marc was not unhappy that he was often “called away” to
attend the fall sessions of the Court of Queen’s Bench in order to
observe the several trials going on there and learn as much as he
could about procedures in that august chamber – in the event that
Baldwin and Sullivan called upon him to represent them in a
criminal proceeding. Both Robert and his partner were too involved
in politics to take on serious cases, and Marc figured it would be
sooner than later when the call came for his services.
    How soon and in what guise he could not have
foreseen.
    ***
    About three o’clock on a crisp Friday afternoon,
with the taste of imminent snow on the breeze, Governor Poulett
Thomson and two of his military aides cantered up the forested lane
from Government House onto King Street. While such a demi-royal
entourage did turn a head or two, no particular importance was
attached to the movement of the mounted trio, as His Excellency was
often seen riding out into the countryside to take