“But aside from the fact that the work mightset back his progress or that he may turn out to be more of aburden than a help to us, what is there to worry about in thelarger sense?”
“You saw the man out there today. Evenwithout the presence of children, who do set him off in dramaticfashion, the fellow loves to play pranks and practical jokes. Andmy four children and two young maids will be right next door. I’mafraid he will materially disrupt the work of chambers at a timewhen you, I and Francis must begin devoting all our energies to thecoming elections and maintaining our alliance with Louis.”
Robert was alluding to Louis LaFontaine, theleader of the radical rouge party in Quebec, and to thesecret alliance that he, Marc and Francis Hincks had hammered outlast winter. As the date for the proclamation of the united colonyapproached and the elections that must ensue shortly thereafter,Robert, as leader of the Upper Canadian Reformers, was spendingmore and more of his time writing to and visiting ridings acrossthe province. He was hoping to drum up support for the nominationof strong candidates, ones who would also show a willingness towork with their French counterparts as the struggle for aresponsible form of government continued. Increasingly he had beenasking Marc either to accompany him or had been going off on hisown as far afield as Windsor or Cornwall. That left Robert BaldwinSullivan as the lone barrister in the firm and Clement Peachey asthe sole solicitor. And while Robert didn’t need the moneygenerated by his law practice (the family was well off), he wasloath to give it up. For although he was the only man whomReformers of all stripes trusted, he had not sought leadership nordid he enjoy it. Always he saw himself doing his duty and thenretiring to the more peaceful satisfactions of his chambers.
“No need to worry,” Marc said with moreassurance than he felt. “Let me take your uncle under wing when hearrives in town. I’m not due for any travel until the end ofOctober. In that way you’ll be free to move about as you’re needed.I’ll see to Uncle Seamus in the city while you and your parentslook out for him in the country.”
Robert smiled, as fully as he ever did. “Iwas hoping you would say that. I don’t know what I would do withoutyou.”
“I’ll accept the compliment after the event,”Marc said.
A pre-emptive squeal from Maggie in thecrowded foyer drew Marc back to his primary duties. “My daughtersays it is time to go home.”
As they were settling in the brougham -Brodie, Diana, Maggie and Junior – Beth turned to Marc with a smallshudder and whispered, “Did you see the look on that girl’s facewhen Seamus touched her?”
TWO
Some four weeks after Eliza Baldwin’sbirthday party, Constable Horatio Cobb found himself on an unusualerrand: he was walking north up Frederick Street in the “old town”to visit his boss. The day had begun normally enough. He hadarrived at the police quarters in City Hall about seven o’clock tocheck in and begin his day-patrol, had nodded to Gussie French, thepolice clerk, and was surprised when that earnest fellow, whorarely returned his nod, looked up, frowned, and shoved a note intoCobb’s hand – before going back to his hen-scratching. “It’s fromthe Chief, so you better read it,” Gussie had muttered withoutpausing for a comma. And it was. Chief Constable Wilfrid Sturgesrequested his presence as soon as convenient at his house onFrederick Street above Newgate. Cobb knew the house – awhitewashed, clapboard cottage ringed by the flower patches thatwere Mrs. Sturges’s lifeline to the Old Country she had neverreally left – but he had never been inside of it. Sturges, or Sargeas he was affectionately called after his rank in Wellington’sarmy, kept his private and professional lives separate. Cobbadmired him for it. Cobb admired him for everything. But why wouldhe be summoned to the man’s home? Sure, Sarge had been having arough time with arthritis and gout, and spent much less time in hisoffice than he used to. But he always made it to police quarters atleast three times a week, giving him lots of time to speakprivately with any of his constables, should he have need to. Infact, he and Cobb had been alone for an hour yesterday when Gussiehad been called home over the noon hour to deal with hisobstreperous son.
But a summons was a summons. And it was aglorious Indian summer day in early October, perfect for a casualstroll up Frederick Street. He had even spotted his friend andsometime co-investigator, Marc Edwards, driving his buggy alongKing Street with Beth at his side. He would have been heading forthe chambers of Baldwin and Sullivan and she for her shop fartherwest on King. Both of them gave him a wave and a cheery “Goodmorning!” and he had tipped his helmet like a proper gentleman,knowing that the Major, as he called him, would appreciate theirony of the gesture.
Cobb came to Sturges’s cottage, ducked underan arbour and its last frail roses, and rapped on the frontdoor.
***
“I wanted to have an uninterrupted chat with you,Cobb, well away from the rabbit ears of Gussie French and anyoutside interruptions.”
“You know I’ve never turned down a chat,”Cobb quipped, hoping against the odds to lighten the atmosphere inthe room. They were seated cheek by jowl in the Chief’s den, whichwas not much bigger than a water-closet. A warming sun through thetiny southeast window provided the only heat and a single candlethe only additional light. Sturges was seated in a plush chair withhis right leg stretched out upon a leather hassock with horsehairstuffing sticking out all over it. His swollen right foot wasthinly wrapped with gauze, but its red and painful puffiness couldbe seen clearly – and felt. Some days the gout prevented Sturgesfrom walking altogether, and even on a good day he now got aroundgingerly with the aid of a cane. It made Cobb shudder, not merelyat the undeserved suffering this man was being asked to bear but atthe sort of decrepitude and indignity that awaited everyoneunfortunate enough to live too far past middle age.
“You don’t mind coffee in themornin’?” Sturges said solicitously.
“Oh, no, not at all. Yer missus has been mostkind.” Cobb winced as he realized how much he sounded like MarcEdwards, Esquire.
“Good. Good.”
Cobb sipped at his cooling coffee andsquirmed in his lumpy chair in a futile effort to getcomfortable.
“You are happy with your work?” Sturges saidafter an anxious pause.
“’Course I am. Can’t think of anythin’ elseI’d like to do.” Are you happy with my work? was theresponse Cobb wished to make. Was Sarge leading up to firing him?Demoting him? He began to sweat.
“Glad to hear it.”
“I figure I’ll be workin’ on patrol till myfeet give out,” Cobb said, instantly regretting the remark.
Sturges chuckled, something he needed to domore as it instantly invigorated the character in his face – ahigh-browed, full-cheeked, essentially cheerful face with eyes thathad seen too much horror on the Spanish peninsula but still had theurge to dance in their sockets if given the chance. “You wouldn’tbe thinkin’ of a change, then?”
Cobb flinched, rattling his coffee cup in itssaucer. “I’d like things to stay where they are,” he replied, “orthe way they useta be – when you could run like a greyhound.”
“Don’t we all?” He leaned forward, grimacingat the effort. “But I’m thinkin’ of a change fer the better. Surelyyou’ve heard the men talkin’ about me retirin’?”
“They’ve been mutterin’ about that when youain’t nearby, but I don’t toll-or-rate such talk. You’re theChief.”
Sturges heaved a theatrical sigh. “And I’dlike to be chief forever. But I asked you here to tell you, firstup, that the wife and I have come to a decision on the matter.”
Cobb was shocked and flattered – both. “Yamean you’re gonna quit?”
“I’m goin’ to retire on half-pay, as thegentlemen officers say, like I did when I left the army and joinedPeel’s patrolmen back in ’twenty-nine.”