The Widow's Demise Read online

  “I didn’t like the way you were dancing with Lionel Trueman.”

  “But Lionel and I are merely good friends.”

  “It looked more than that to me.”

  “You worry too much, darling.”

  “You know I’m mad about you.”

  “I have become aware of that, yes.” She smiled and batted her long lashes at him.

  “You don’t take me seriously.”

  “How could I not?”

  “I want you for my wife, you know that.”

  “You mustn’t think of marriage so soon after your wife’s death.”

  “But it’s been a year and a half.”

  “That long?”

  “You must marry me.”

  “But I told you right from the start that one marriage was enough for me. I’m no longer the marrying kind.”

  “Then why do you lead me on?” A pathetic, pleading tone had crept into Macy’s voice. The orchestra beside them struck up a fresh tune.

  “I like your company, and you enjoy mine. Why can’t we leave it at that?”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not a man.”

  “Thank God for that,” Delores said, laughing. “Now I really must see to my duties as hostess. You’ve monopolized enough of my time.”

  “You’ll dance with me later?”

  “We’ll see,” she said, and waltzed away.

  ***

  Beth and Louis returned from their dance.

  “You cut a fine figure,” Marc said to Louis.

  “I danced a lot in my youth,” Louis said. Before all our troubles began.”

  “One should always make time for dancin’,” Beth said. She turned to Gilles Gagnon. “Do you dance, Gilles?”

  “A very little, I’m afraid,” Gagnon said.

  “My word,” Robert said. “Here comes our hostess.”

  Delores Cardiff-Jones was moving with deliberate steps across the ballroom towards them.

  “Messieurs Gagnon and LaFontaine,” she said, coming right up to them, “a very cordial welcome to our little fête.” She spoke in flawless French. “I was delighted to see you dancing, Monsieur LaFontaine. Would you consider it bold of me if I were to ask Monsieur Gagnon here to take a turn with me on the floor? I would be so honoured.”

  Gagnon actually blushed. “How could I refuse such a gracious hostess,” he said in a vain attempt to disguise his doubts. He reached out and took her hand. They moved into a set that was preparing for a reel.

  “This may be a first,” Louis said. “Gilles Gagnon dancing.”

  “Our hostess is a very persuasive woman,” Marc said.

  Marc, Beth and Robert watched with bemused detachment as Delores and Gagnon stepped into the reel.

  “Well, it is a French-Canadian tune,” Louis said.

  “I do hope you’re beginning to feel somewhat at home here,” Robert said to Louis.

  “People have been most kind,” Louis said, “considering all that’s happened between our two peoples.”

  “They’ll be less kind once the election campaign begins, I’m afraid,” Marc said.

  “I’m anxious for it to begin,” Louis said.

  “My, look at Gilles go!” Beth said.

  They turned their attention to the reel where Delores and Gagnon were spinning about, arms enlinked, a sheen of sweat on their cheeks, their eyes alive with the thrill of the dance.

  “Gilles has found himself a partner,” Marc observed.

  “It’s good for him,” Louis said. “He’s been stuck too close to me for too long.”

  The dance ended. Gagnon bowed deeply to Delores. Their eyes met, and locked. Gagnon led her back to her father, who was presiding at the head of the room. They exchanged words, then went over to the drinks table. Marc noticed Lionel Trueman nearby, stiff and trembling with some deep emotion. His eyes never left Delores across the room.

  ***

  The last dance before the food was to be served was advertised as a waltz, the relatively new and daring form of dance where the partners actually touched, hand to hip, and whirled in unison about the periphery of the floor. Both Lionel Trueman and Macy went up to Delores, and were politely rebuffed. Instead, she walked towards the curtain that walled off the powder room and paused beside a man who was standing there and who had been watching her cross the floor. He was a darkly handsome man of middle age, with brown eyes and black hair and a distinguished bearing. A woman, who may have been his wife, was seated a little ways behind him.

  Delores said something to the man, and he took her hand. The woman, from her chair, offered a protest.

  “I can’t refuse our hostess,” the man said, and followed Delores out onto the dance floor.

  “Who is that about to waltz with our hostess?” Marc said.

  “That’s Cecil Denfield,” Robert said. “He’s a lawyer in town. That’s his wife Audrey, sitting over there beside the curtain.”

  “She doesn’t look too happy,” Beth said.

  “Our hostess doesn’t take no for an answer,” Gagnon said.

  They watched as Delores and Cecil Denfield waltzed about the room. Denfield was a superb dancer. He stood straight and tall, his left hand holding Delores’s right hand with a balletic touch, while his right hand rested effortlessly upon her hip. And yet there was no doubt that they were severely conjoined – by the insistent, irregular beat of the music and their bodies’ synchronized harmonies. Their gaze was mutual and unwavering.

  The music and the motion of the dancers was rudely interrupted by the sound of a chair striking the floor, followed by the shattering of a glass. Beth was the first person on the scene. Audrey Denfield had fainted and fallen to the floor, toppling her chair and breaking her champagne glass. She lay in a tangled heap.

  Beth knelt down, careful to avoid the broken glass, and raised Audrey’s head. Beth began to fan her, while others now came up and crowded around. Someone produced a vial of smelling salts. Beth held it under Audrey’s nose. She coughed and opened her eyes.

  “Please, clear that glass away,” Beth said. By this time a servant had arrived and bent down to remove the glass, which had broken into several large pieces.

  “Are you all right, my darling?” Cecil Denfield said, making his way through the throng.

  “I – I think so,” Audrey said.

  Beth was moving Audrey’s arms carefully, and decided that nothing had been broken. “Can you stand?” she said.

  “I feel very wobbly,” Audrey said. She looked up at her husband. “Please, take me home, Cecil.”

  Denfield, with Beth’s assistance, got his wife to her feet.

  “I’ll call for our carriage, darling.”

  “Please do.”

  To the buzzing of the crowd, who were more than curious about the lady’s motive for fainting, Denfield led his unsteady wife towards the foyer. By now Humphrey Cardiff and his daughter had arrived on the scene to offer their condolences. Audrey did not look pleased to receive them.

  ***

  Marc and his party left the ball about one o’clock. The dancing, for the young and inexhaustible, would go on for another hour. Marc and Beth said goodnight to Robert, Louis and Gagnon, and headed home. A brilliant harvest moon lit up the storefronts along fashionable King Street.

  “Well, you got through a whole evenin’ without talkin’ politics,” Beth said, leaning against Marc’s shoulder.

  “Almost,” Marc said. “I must confess that Gilles and I did discuss the campaign for a minute or two while you were dancing with Louis.”

  “Shame on you.”

  “But you did enjoy yourself, didn’t you, even though you were determined not to?”

  “I admit I did.”

  “And so did Mrs. Cardiff-Jones, the merry widow.”

  Beth laughed. Then she said seriously, “But that one is trouble, I suspect.”

  TWO

  The meeting began sharply at eleven o’clock the next morning. It took place in the spacious parlour of Ba
ldwin House. As the day was warm, no fire burned in the fireplace with its façade of Italian marble and great oak mantelpiece. A portrait of Robert Baldwin’s distinguished father, William Warren Baldwin, hung over it. Baldwin senior had designed his townhouse and several other buildings in Toronto, architecture being one of his pursuits in addition to medicine and the law. His son confined himself to the law and politics. One of his great achievements so far was to effect an alliance between the radical rouge party of Quebec, led by Louis LaFontaine, and the Reform party of Upper Canada, now Canada West with the merging of the two provinces into one Canada. When the new united Parliament had met during May of this year (1841), the alliance had held, despite the absence of the French leader, who had been defeated in the riding of Terrebonne. That election had been marred by fraud and violence. But the coalition of leftist parties, French and English, had resulted in its being the largest single group in the Legislative Assembly, able to use its majority to favour those bills compatible with their platform and to defeat those bills of Governor Poulett Thomson, Lord Sydenham, that contradicted their views. The Baldwin forces had scored a major triumph by introducing a set of proposals for responsible government whereby the Executive – the Governor and his ministers (the cabinet) – would be subject to the authority of the major party in the elected Assembly. While these proposals were vetoed by the Governor, he felt obligated to introduce proposals of his own, which turned out to be not dissimilar to Baldwin’s. But Fate had intervened. On September 4 Lord Sydenham fell from his horse and was severely injured. He was not expected to live. Parliament had been prorogued as the death-watch began.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” Robert said, beginning the proceedings. “We’re here to discuss the nomination meeting tomorrow afternoon in the fourth riding of York, and to discuss the campaign in general.”

  He looked about the room at the seated gentlemen with some satisfaction. Present were Francis Hincks, Marc Edwards, Louis LaFontaine and Gilles Gagnon – stalwart associates all.

  “Any news on Lord Sydenham?” Hincks asked.

  “He’s not doing well,” Robert said. “He’s suffering badly, I’m afraid.”

  “What a tragedy,” Louis said.

  “For him and for us,” Robert said. “His proposals on responsible government represent the pinnacle of our hopes.”

  “Lord knows who his replacement will be,” Hincks said. “With the Tory government of Sir Robert Peel making the decision.”

  “Peel is a traditional Tory?” Louis asked.

  “Very much a reactionary,” Robert said.

  “Well, Lord Sydenham’s proposal is still on the table,” Marc said. “And when we get Louis elected, our coalition will not merely seem to be a reality, it will be.”

  “The current executive can’t last,” Hincks said.

  “And the next administration will be a LaFontaine-Baldwin one,” Marc said.

  “Which brings us to the election,” Robert said. “The nomination meeting will be held at the site of the poll, Danby’s Crossing, up north on Yonge Street. Hincks and I will give nomination speeches, to be followed by your address, Louis.”

  “The question before us,” Gagnon said, “is who will say what and why.”

  “I thought I would go into Louis’ background as a lawyer and an entrepreneur,” Hincks said, “with an emphasis on the positive role he played before the Rebellion.”

  “Do we play down the Rebellion itself.?” Gagnon said.

  “We need to emphasize that he was not a combatant,” Robert said, “that he supported the political aims of the revolt and played a significant role in the aftermath, working to free political prisoners and advising Lord Durham.”

  “Many of the people of York were involved in our rebellion,” Hincks reminded the group. “I don’t think we have to walk on eggs regarding the revolt itself.”

  “But there has been quite a backlash,” Robert said. “Especially when the Rebellion failed and the reprisals began. I think we should stress the positive and focus on the future.”

  “You can do that well in your address,” Louis suggested to Robert..

  “Yes,” Robert said. “I’ll do my best. I’ll outline the nature of our alliance and emphasize the biracial quality of it. After all, if the united provinces are to succeed, French and English will have to work together.”

  “Well,” Hincks said, “we’re offering the people a working model.”

  “A work-in-progress, eh?” Marc said.

  “What will you put in your address?” Robert said to Louis.

  “Gilles?” Louis said, turning to his secretary and good friend.

  “Louis will talk about his people, the reasons for their discontent, his struggle with them when they first viewed his discussions with the English as a form of treason, and how he has won many of them over and got them willing to invest in a possible future; that is, in this parliamentary experiment. He will also talk about the violence in his defeat in Terrebonne, and the depth of the opposition there in some quarters in Quebec. He will offer the voters of York the opportunity to be part of a brave, new future.”

  Gagnon spoke in French, not trusting his English.

  “I will also speak of our hopes for responsible government, for without it our experiment will not succeed,” Louis said in English.

  “Very good,” Robert said. “We have covered the territory, I believe.”

  “Anything to add?” Hincks said.

  “Yes,” Marc said. “I think we should not dwell on certain planks in our platform: like our commitment to move the Legislature from Kingston to Montreal. Or our plans to put forward a Rebellion Losses Bill.”

  “Agreed,” Robert said. “Those measures are not set in concrete anyway.”

  The butler arrived at this point with coffee and cakes. When these were served, Robert addressed the group once more. “Our second item of business is the campaign itself. The poll at Danby’s Crossing will be open for two weeks. The hustings will remain there throughout that period.”

  “I suggest we look at the tally at the end of the first week and organize another meeting there,” Hincks said. “And of course my paper will be thundering away on our side.”

  “We need to bring in the reluctant voters,” Marc said.

  “But what if the opposition has its goon squads about the polling area?” Robert said. “We could be inviting violence with another meeting.”

  “Could we not meet with Dingman’s manager and work out some peaceful ground rules?” Louis suggested.

  “We tried that in Terrebonne, remember?” Gagnon said.

  Louis grimaced.

  “But this isn’t Terrebonne,” Robert said. “Passions are not enflamed here.”

  “They may be,” Hincks said. He pulled out a newspaper clipping. “I take it none of you has seen this screed in the Gazette?”

  “No. What is it?” Robert said.

  “I’ll read it out loud,” Hincks said, and began:

  Dear Reader:

  I am writing this more in sorrow than in anger, but it is something that has to be spoken aloud, before it is too late. As you may have heard by now, in the upcoming by-election in the fourth riding of York, the candidate opposing Mr. Dingman and running for the Reform party is one Louis LaFontaine. The most pertinent aspect of this circumstance is that Mr. LaFontaine is a Frenchman from Montreal. What is a Frenchman doing running for office in an English-speaking community? Are we expected to learn his gibberish in order to understand what he may have to say?

  And what a Frenchman he is! The man is no ordinary citizen. He is a former rebel and an incendiary. He stumped his misbegotten province last year denouncing the terms of the Union Act and demanding impossible rights for a people who took up arms against Her Majesty and all that she stands for. He spoke on behalf of these wretched rebels, and after they were justifiably defeated, he worked his lawyer’s wiles to get them out of prison, where they belonged. He is now the self-styled leader of a radical French faction, t
he rouge party. Using all of his French cunning, he has succeeded in pulling the wool over the eyes of such staunch Upper Canadians as Robert Baldwin, pretending to be a partner in a coalition made in Hell, that is until he has managed to get a foothold in our new Legislature, after which he will do nothing but promote the interests of Quebec and Catholics and the French tongue – to the detriment of all loyal English citizens of Canada West. So persuasive has he been that Mr. Baldwin has relinquished his seat in York in order to pacify the excessive demands of LaFontaine and his French fanatics.

  Citizens beware!

  Yours faithfully,

  Humphrey Cardiff, Attorney-

  General for Canada West.

  “My God,” Robert said. “That confirms our worst fears.”

  “Cardiff is managing Arthur Dingman’s Tory campaign,” Marc pointed out. “He’s abusing his cabinet post big-time.”

  “This will certainly influence the local people,” Gagnon said.

  Louis sighed. “We may have another Terrebonne on our hands.”

  “I think we should meet with Humphrey Cardiff,” Marc said. “What harm can it do?”

  “I agree,” said Robert. “Why don’t Marc, Gilles and I go and see him today or tomorrow?”

  “After all,” Hincks said with a wry smile, “the fellow is the chief lawman in the province.”

  “And a Tory,” Robert sighed.

  ***

  Lionel Truman had a great deal to offer any woman considering marriage. First of all he was a respectable gentleman. His job at the customs house brought him prestige and a steady income, and required little effort on his part. This left him lots of time to pursue gentlemanly activities. Secondly, he was by all objective accounts handsome and personable. His principal drawback, as he himself saw it, was that he was not rich, not even well off by local standards. He lived in modest rental quarters on north George Street, and his suit was no more than a year out of fashion. But, serendipitously, the lady in his sights just happened to be wealthy herself, having inherited her first husband’s fortune. They would make the perfect match. Unfortunately the lady was being particularly coy, pretending to resist his blandishments and keeping her passion for him well in check. But time was on his side; his pursuit was dogged, and would bear fruit.