Solemn Vows by Don Gutteridge Page B

Grievances, an anti- government tirade written by a committee of the Reform- dominated Legislative Assembly. Major Burns took a seat off to one side beneath a mullioned window that caught the full force of the midmorning sun.
    “As for this business about Crazy Don—”
    “Dan, sir,” said the major.
    Sir Francis hid his irritation in a tight smile. “Crazy Dan, then—”
    “Would you like me to go over the events, sir?” Marc asked, as several beads of sweat formed between his shoulder blades and began to trickle down his back. “I made notes on them before I arrived here this morning.”
    “Not necessary, lad. As far as I am concerned, the book is closed on that unhappy adventure.”
    “But, sir, you have not yet heard my version of the story—”
    At that moment there came a discreet tapping at the door and, before anyone could protest, the governor’spersonal servant, in full livery, slipped silently into the room, slid a silver tea tray on the desk before Sir Francis, and stepped silently away again.
    “Coffee, Major?” Burns nodded. “Marc?”
    Marc was about to decline when Sir Francis said, “Of course, you will. I hear that Mrs. Standish serves only weak tea for breakfast.” He poured three cups of coffee and placed on each saucer a tiny, jam-topped scone.
    “I do intend to hear all about what happened yesterday from your own lips,” Sir Francis said to Marc between nibbles on his scone. “From all accounts, it was an exploit worth the telling.”
    “And there is a perfectly logical explanation for the tragic consequences—”
    “That is true. And you will perhaps be surprised to learn that I already know all I need to know about how and why Crazy Dan was shot.”
    Major Burns, his fingers stiffened by pain, spilled his coffee into the saucer.
    “Major Burns and I—who rise with the sun—have been in this office since eight o’clock this morning, closeted with two sleepy magistrates and a clerk who took depositions from each of the ensigns involved. They were hauled from their quarters one at a time and thoroughly interrogated here. Each of them signed a sworn statement relating his version of the events. We had hoped to include Lieutenant Willoughby, but Mrs. Standish told my messenger that he wasindisposed.” Sir Francis frowned over the word, attempted a rueful smile.
    Marc was about to explain the cause of Willoughby’s indisposition but saw that Sir Francis considered it of no immediate relevance.
    “The upshot of those interviews and affidavits is that the magistrates came to the conclusion that the death of this wretched creature was unfortunate but, in the circumstances, justified. No blame is to be assigned, and there is no need to drag Dr. Withers in for a formal inquest.”
    “Is that wise, sir?”
    For a moment Sir Francis looked nonplussed, then said, “It is not a question of wisdom, Lieutenant, but of justice. A man fled a murder scene brandishing a gun. He had more than ample opportunity to stop and explain himself if he knew himself to be innocent. Upper Canada is not the republic to the south of us, where lynching and vigilante action are commonplace and condoned. This same man, as attested to by eight loyal officers, pointed a musket at you from ten paces. Were they to let him shoot you first, then release their volley? Especi ally when they swore upon this Bible that the order they heard was ‘Fire!’”
    “I think the young man is referring to the possible political fallout,” Major Burns said quietly as soon as he was certain that Sir Francis had finished.
    Sir Francis feigned astonishment, though his features were so nondescript that a casual observer could see onlyextreme shifts in emotion. Marc had already noted that Sir Francis used the natural calmness of his face and demeanour to telling effect in heated discussions. You had to watch his eyes carefully. “And what political fallout might that be? It was the magistrates who did the questioning, as is