May 1794
John White pulls on the tight breeches that are currently fashionable, adjusts his waistcoat, and reaches for the black frock coat decorated with gold braid. Looking at himself in the pier glass he bought in Hamilton’s emporium, he is satisfied. The gold braid will distinguish him from the bumpkins whom he will undoubtedly meet on his way to Navy Hall. Since that scurrilous ditty appeared, he is anxious to seem dignified and above common scandal.
Yvette is visiting her Chippewa family today. As he descended the ladder from his bedchamber in the loft earlier in the day, he noticed that she had left him a stew of whitefish, Indian corn, carrots, and potatoes in a pot on the hearth. It’s still warm now, and he spoons some onto a plate.
There’s a knock at the door. He answers it to find Miss Russell on his front stoop. “Come in, ma’am,” he says, “though perhaps I should warn you that Yvette is not here now, and we may find ourselves the topic of Mrs. Jarvis’s gossip if she gets wind of this meeting. There may even be another ditty in the town square.”
Miss Russell blushes and stammers. “Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . I should come at another time? I see you are dressed to go out.”
“Perhaps you should forget my last stupid remark and come inside now. We can talk at the table here, and you might like to sample some of Yvette’s stew.”
“Am I holding you back from business with the Governor?”
“He can wait. After all, he has kept us all waiting for his return for several months. But I do not wish to seem hard. He and Mrs. Simcoe have had a sad loss this winter with the death of their baby. There are many days when I think of my own little William and my separation from him . . . I grieve . . . though our separation is but temporary.”
“Mrs. White and your children will join you soon then, sir?”
“Perhaps. I can say no more at the moment.” He looks around the room. “This house, though adequate for my needs, is scarcely large enough for my wife and three children.”
There is a long silence. White notices Miss Russell’s blush. Her breathing seems laboured, and her hands are trembling.
“You are upset about something, ma’am. Can we talk?”
“I believe you know Mrs. Small, sir?”
“Yes, of course. One cannot help but know everyone who is in any way connected, however remotely, with the governance of this province.”
He watches as Miss Russell takes a deep breath. “There are rumours about her, rumours about her, Mr. White, that perhaps . . . perhaps . . . you have not heard.”
My God, is she about to confront me with my affair with the woman? Best to brazen it out. “I know little about her, though as you know, I have had several dinners with her and Small for which your brother was kind enough to lend me his horse. And without that damned nag I might never have met her.
Miss Russell’s words come out in a rush. “People be telling me that she was once the mistress of Lord Berkeley of Berkeley Castle in Gloucestershire. He tired of her, and to get rid of her, he paid Mr. Small a mighty sum of money to take her off his hands.”
“Ah.” So that explains her connection with Berkeley and Small’s grandiose life-style. “Why do you repeat this gossip to me, Miss Russell?”
“Because . . . because . . . I wanted you to be wary of your to-ings and fro-ings with the woman. You have been a friend to me and—”
“Unnecessary advice, ma’am. But undoubtedly well intentioned. I thank you.”
He says no more, sure that anything he might say at this point would make everything worse. The silence deepens. At last, Miss Russell stands up. “I have bothered you with common gossip, sir. I apologize.” Her face grows alarmingly red. “But I am told the woman has procured black snakeroot from the Indians.” She pauses for a minute, then adds in a strangled voice. “You must know what that indicates.”
“You might better have told this story to Richard Tickell. His liaisons with the lady were . . . well, I shall say no more. It’s only common gossip, as you call it.”
Miss Russell departs, muttering more apologies.
I think I pulled that one off well enough. But I am glad Miss Russell told me the rumours and that I got myself rid of the woman without contracting the clap. Black snakeroot, my God. I might have been accused of fathering a child if she had not aborted the foetus. A narrow escape all round. Time for celebration.
He pours himself a glass of Yvette’s dandelion wine. Amazing how much I’m getting to like the swill. He finishes off a second glass, looks at his pocket watch, and decides it’s time to take off for Navy Hall. Just as he’s put the cork back in the bottle, there comes another knock at his front door.
Dammit. Now I will be late for the Gov, and he doesn’t take excuses well.
This time it’s his friend Osgoode standing there smiling at him. He looks as if he has rushed from somewhere. His face is flushed and the wig he always wears is askew, so that a tuft of his fair hair slips out over his ear.
“Good day,” White says. “This is a pleasant surprise. Come in and join me in a glass of our favourite tipple. I was headed for Navy Hall, but the Gov will just have to wait. My conference with the Chief Justice will be sufficient excuse.” He holds the door wide open and motions his friend inside. “How was the circuit this time?”
“S..s..same as ever, endless hours with my derrière on King’s Bench, listening to hapless victims defended by hopeless lawyers. Glad I am that you were not with me to hear the palaver those idiots s..s..spewed forth.”
“By God, Osgoode, I swear I’ll get rid of the incompetents in the judiciary even if I have to kill them off one by one. But there’s surely a brighter day ahead. David Smith and two other men are studying law with me now, and perhaps by the time we do the circuit together again, things will be better.”
Osgoode’s blue eyes cloud up. “Oh, my friend, there will be no more travels together. That’s why I rushed over here now, though I’m just off the batteau from Kingston. To tell you that I’ve been appointed Chief Justice of the Province of Lower Canada. I leave in thirty days for Montreal and Quebec.”
For a moment White is speechless. Then he puts his arms around his friend’s shoulders. “Congratulations. I suppose that’s what I must say now. But it’s not what I feel. To tell the truth, I feel such a total loss. How am I to survive the dismal days ahead without your company?”
“Let us s..s..sit down for a moment and think back to that s..s..sunny day—not all that many months ago—when you and I walked from Gananoque to Kingston. Then you told me you had never been happier—”
“I remember. I felt like that bronze statue of the satyr—”
“Free, ready for new adventures . . . What has happened, friend?”
“So much. Penury because of my stipend that never arrives from the Colonial Office in spite of the Gov’s admonitions to the bastards . . . the broken judicial system in this place . . . the spiteful revenge that Jarvis and his wife took upon me . . . “ I can’t say a word to anyone about that wretched liaison with Mrs. Small.
“All difficult to bear. But let us think now of happy things. I sent a note to the Governor recommending that you take my place as Chief Justice of Upper Canada. My pay comes through regularly, you know that, and in addition to increased wages, you will have the prestige of being the Great Poobah on King’s Bench. Think of it, man. Does it not s..s..seem grand?”
More than I could ever have dreamed of. He clasps his friend’s hand. “How can I thank you?”
“By turning yourself into Mr. S..S..Satyr again. That will be my recompense.” Osgoode stands up. “Come, let us walk together to Navy Hall.”