Late the following morning, Major General Isaac Brock and his staff rode back to Niagara. Within an hour, the senior officers from the fort had been ordered to assemble in Brock’s office at Government House. ‘Ordinarily we use the inn for these flying visits,’ said Macdonell when he and MacLea met in the street outside the big brick building. ‘It’s more comfortable and the general likes the beer. But for today’s business we need to make certain we are not overheard. How fares your… project?’
‘I need to talk to you,’ said MacLea. ‘Can we meet somewhere very, very private?’
Macdonell looked at him sharply. ‘After dinner,’ he said, ‘out by the burial ground. Anything else?’
‘Yes, and I’m glad I found you when I did. John, General Sheaffe hailed me in to ask what my orders were and what I was doing here. I’m certain Lawrence put him up to it. I had to think of something quickly, and so I told him my company was assigned to the Sackett’s Harbour attack.’
Macdonell nodded. ‘I’ll whisper it in the general’s ear. Oh, and this is for you.’
He handed over a brown envelope, sealed with a highly important-looking crest. MacLea opened it and drew out a draft on a Montreal bank for the sum of two hundred and fourteen pounds. It was more money than he had ever seen at once in his life. As a captain, he drew ten shillings and sixpence a day in pay; this was more than a year’s salary. He looked wordlessly at Macdonell.
‘Prize money,’ said the lawyer, smiling. ‘Your share from Fort Detroit. You’ll receive much more later, of course, once the Admiralty prize court gets around to valuing the President Madison. But this is a start. Now you can spruce yourself up, afford a new uniform, get a decent haircut. You might find women start looking at you twice.’
For MacLea, that was a little too close to the mark just at the moment. He followed Macdonell in silence into Government House.
Brock, big and imposing as ever, sat behind an oak desk in the oval office on the first floor. All his aides were there: Evans the brigade major, standing at one end of the table reading rapidly through a series of papers; Sheaffe, Claus and their officers, along with several militia officers including Boydell and MacLea, and Colonel Lawrence with Quincey, his senior captain. Neither of these so much as looked at MacLea and Boydell, standing to one side of the room.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Brock, ‘thank you for attending on me at such short notice. You can guess why I have summoned you. Today is the first of September, and the truce arranged by Sir George Prevost and General Dearborn is due to expire in three days’ time. Assuming that it is not renewed – and I do not expect it will be – we must be ready to attack at a moment’s notice.
‘Our target, as most of you will already know, is Sackett’s Harbour. The enemy currently have only one ship on Lake Ontario, the brig Oneida. However, a shipyard has been constructed at Sackett’s Harbour and more ships are being built, very rapidly. One unfortunate product of the Royal Navy’s blockade of the American east coast ports is that America now has hundreds of out-of-work sailors and shipwrights. Many of these men have been brought to Sackett’s Harbour, and we know the Americans intend to build an armada that will challenge our control of Lake Ontario.
‘But if we can destroy this shipyard, we will set them back at least until winter, and buy time for the Royal Navy and our Provincial Marine to build more ships of our own. I intend to strike swiftly and in overwhelming strength, to make certain of success.’
The other officers listened in silence. ‘The main force will be provided by Colonel Vincent and his body of the 49th Foot from Kingston, with the Provincial Marine vessels Royal George, Earl of Moira, Prince Regent and Duke of Gloucester. They will be supported by a strong detachment from this post. The two companies of the 49th here at Niagara, along with the Royal Americans and four companies of York and Lincoln militia, will also join the expedition. Captains Hatt and Boydell will be in command of the militia.’
‘Plus of course Captain MacLea’s Company,’ said Sheaffe.
‘Captain MacLea’s orders to join this expedition have been countermanded,’ said Brock smoothly. ‘MacLea, you’ll receive further orders shortly; you’re to stand by, if you please. Gentlemen, your force will embark on transports and rendezvous with Colonel Vincent to the north of Sackett’s Harbour. Colonel Vincent himself will be in overall command. The combined force will then make its way to the harbour, where it will land and destroy the shipyard thoroughly.’
‘What do we know about the defences there, sir?’ asked Captain Dennis of the 49th.
‘Everything,’ came the reply. ‘Evans, the map, if you please.’
The brigade major spread out a map on the table, and the officers crowded closer to look. MacLea saw a small fishing village with a large naval yard to the north-west protected by a fort and a blockhouse, and another blockhouse and a second, larger fort to the east. There was also a barracks, the size of which suggested a considerable number of troops were stationed there.
Evans pointed to the hatch marks on the map, along the line of the lakeshore east and west of the village. ‘These marks indicate very steep banks, almost low cliffs,’ he said. ‘An opposed landing here would be close to suicide. But we can land here, next to the yard and the navy barracks, where the ground is lower. The eastern fort, Fort Volunteer, will be engaged by our warships, which should quickly silence the enemy guns.
‘After landing, the infantry will push inland to the edge of the village and hold the perimeter of the yard, while our engineers demolish the yard and set fire to any ships they find. At a signal, the infantry will then withdraw to their boats and re-embark.’
‘But this other fort, Fort Tompkins, to the west of the shipyard,’ objected Sheaffe. ‘Its cannon will rake our boats at point-blank range as they approach. Surely our men will be cut to pieces.’
‘The guns at Fort Tompkins will not fire,’ said Evans simply.
They all looked at him. ‘How is that possible?’ asked Boydell.
‘Treachery,’ said Brock flatly. ‘The map you see before you, gentlemen, was provided by four officers of the United States Navy stationed at Sackett’s Harbour. They are members of the Federalist Party, opposed irrevocably to the war and willing to sell out their country in order to bring it to an end. I know, gentlemen; this is distasteful. But this is also war, and we must use whatever tools fit our hand.
‘These officers are supported by other officers and men in the garrison there. As our squadron comes into sight, they will occupy Fort Tompkins and spike its guns. I might add that they do so at considerable risk to themselves. They may be traitors, but they are also exceedingly brave men.’
He looked around the room. ‘Are there any further questions? Good. My staff will give you more detailed orders during the day. I return to York tomorrow. In the meantime, drill your men and be prepared. As soon as the truce expires, you must be ready for immediate action.’
After a hasty meal of beef and bread and beer at the tavern where he had drunk with Gerrard, served by the same disapproving barmaid, MacLea walked back towards Fort George. The fields of ripe corn around the town shimmered in the afternoon heat. Harvest had begun, and he could see men and horses working in the distance. He walked slowly past the church towards the burial ground, ranks of wooden grave markers surrounded by a white-painted fence. Some public-spirited citizen had provided a bench on a knoll nearby, and he sat down on this, removing his shako and mopping his brow as he looked across the river at Fort Niagara.
Macdonell arrived fifteen minutes later, tall in his scarlet coat. They were quite alone, and the church shielded them from view of the town and road. ‘Brock has changed his mind again,’ said the aide-de-camp. ‘He’s not leaving for York tomorrow, he’s leaving in an hour. We’ll have to be quick.’
‘He certainly stirs things up. John, should he have said so much about Sackett’s Harbour, and those men who are helping our cause? What if word gets out?’
Macdonell gave him a searching look. ‘Everyone in that room is trusted,’ he said. He paused for a moment. ‘Do you suspect one of them?’
‘I have been thinking about Colonel Claus,’ said MacLea slowly. ‘He seems to have a finger in every pie and he knows a great deal about what is going on in the army and the country. But I have no reason to suspect him of anything yet.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m worried about the Royal Americans too. Something is wrong there. I am keeping an eye on Captain Quincey.’ He smiled a little. ‘I did flirt with the idea of Lawrence as a traitor, and imagined him dancing on air with a rope around his neck, but that was just wishful thinking. I am more concerned that he is incapable of keeping his mouth shut. He is bound to go around boasting of the great victory that his troops will win, and how they will win it.’
‘But Lawrence will be leading his own men ashore in the face of American cannon. Even he must have the sense to keep his mouth shut. But I agree with you about Quincey. We did not invite him to the meeting. Why did Lawrence bring him, I wonder?’
‘Perhaps Quincey persuaded him to do so. Although your argument about Lawrence also holds good for Quincey; both will be risking their own necks if they talk… John, I have another idea as to who Polaris might be. I think it might be Madame Lafitte, the lady astronomer.’
Macdonell nodded slowly. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
MacLea told him what he suspected, ending with his visit to her house the previous day. ‘She was as good as her word, sent my watch back clean and looking like new and refused to take payment. But that means nothing, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Macdonell. ‘Very good, John. Very good indeed. I applaud you. You have put two and two together quite admirably, and in very quick time too. Only, my friend, I fear that in this case you have added up to five.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re quite right. Josephine Lafitte is an American spy. She came here in May of last year, and immediately began passing information to her employers in Washington. But what you don’t know, and of course you had no way of knowing, is that since last October she has also been in our employ.
‘The Americans still think she is their agent. In fact, she gives them only the information that we provide her. Her story is that when officers call on her to have their watches or spyglasses repaired, she engages them in conversation and picks up gossip. She claims General Brock himself as one of her sources of information, so her word is taken seriously.
‘Most of what she tells the Americans is true. We give her information that is harmless to us, but which will convince the Americans that she has access to high places. Then we slip in things that are not true, rumours that cannot be substantiated but which will make the enemy uncertain of our strength and plans. For example, thanks to her, the Americans are under the impression that two more battalions of regular infantry are on their way from the West Indies to Upper Canada. We create these rumours, and then pass them on through her.’
‘My God,’ said MacLea. ‘She’s playing a dangerous game.’
‘Yes,’ said Macdonell. ‘So far she has aroused no suspicion. But if these other agents, Polaris and his crew, find out about her, they would almost certainly try to kill her. She is a brave woman.’
‘I hope you are paying her well.’
‘Very well. Her business repairing telescopes and watches is a cover story. You will find she rarely charges a fee, especially if she likes you.’
She did not charge me, reflected MacLea. ‘Who else knows about her?’
‘The general, of course. Myself, Hammond, the deputy quartermaster at Fort George, and John Glegg, who visits her and gives her the information to pass to the Americans.’
‘Hammond? Where does he enter the picture?’ Hammond, Sam Paine’s deputy, was a small, ferrety man whom MacLea did not particularly like.
‘Hammond is her runner,’ said Macdonell. ‘He is in American pay too. She sends her letters through him, and receives instructions from him in return. He is her only contact with Washington. When she came to us, she gave us his name at once, and we arrested him. He too now works for us, knowing that we are keeping an eye on him and that if anything goes wrong, anything at all, we will hang him at once. So far he has been compliant. But as I say, it is only the four of us who know.’
‘And now I know too.’
‘And now you know too,’ echoed Macdonell. ‘I must say, you tracked her down quickly. I am impressed.’
‘But this doesn’t get us any further ahead. Although… she was in the American spy service, after all. Do you think she might know anything about Polaris?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ said Macdonell. ‘Spymasters tend to keep their agents in the dark about what other agents are doing, so that if an agent is caught he cannot betray the presence of the others. I doubt she is even aware of Polaris’s existence, and vice versa.’
‘I would like to talk to her all the same. Have I your permission to do so?’
‘If you think it is important.’
‘I do.’
Macdonell regarded him for a moment. ‘Be discreet, and be certain you have a pretext for visiting her.’
‘My watch is old and unreliable,’ said MacLea. ‘I imagine it can be induced to break down again. John, why did she do it? Why should a lovely young woman become a spy?’
‘You can ask her that too, if you like,’ said Macdonell.
He wanted to talk to her again. Suddenly it seemed essential that he do so, quickly. He wanted to find out what she knew; but also, he discovered, he wanted to apologise for having suspected her in the first place. And this of course was absurd, for she actually had been a spy, and still was. As Macdonell had said, he was perfectly right to suspect her. Yet he felt that in some way he had wronged her. She had been kind and helpful, and he had lied to her and treated her as a traitor.
He prepared to lie again. He needed a reason to visit her, and so back at the fort he wrote another note.
I cannot thank you enough for your kindness in cleaning and sending back my watch. It looks as good as new. I am sure that my father, who left it to me in his will, would not recognise it.
Alas, in my clumsiness I have already managed to undo all your good work. I have overwound the watch, and it has stopped entirely. It is I realise a great inconvenience, but would it be possible to call on you and ask you to mend it again? Perhaps this evening, if you are free? And this time, of course, I shall insist on paying your fee.
The letter went off by messenger. MacLea walked out of the fort in the evening light and strolled across the fields towards the campfires of his company.
He found Murray in good spirits. More recruits had come in, eager to take service under the man who had captured the President Madison; they had nearly fifty men under arms now, more than his original company had numbered. ‘I hear we may be going to Sackett’s Harbour,’ said the sergeant.
MacLea shook his head. They walked away out of earshot of the rest of the company, and he related the story of the meeting and most of his discussion with Macdonell, omitting any mention of Josephine Lafitte. He had still not confided his thoughts about her to Murray.
‘I don’t believe it is Claus,’ Murray said at the end. ‘We’ve been watching him from the beginning and turned up nothing. But there are others who still bear watching. Paine, for example, seems to know everything that is going on. As for the Royal Americans… Something is up there, we may be quite certain. The enlisted men have gone very silent; they no longer speak to our lads, or anyone else so far as I can see.’ Murray shook his head. ‘There’s something wrong there, all right.’
MacLea took off his shako and ran his hand through his black hair. ‘But we’re still no closer to finding out who Polaris is. A couple of days ago I thought I had discovered a trail, but it proved to be a false one.’
‘Oh?’ Murray raised his eyebrows.
‘Why don’t we change places?’ asked MacLea. ‘I’ll stay out here and drill the company; you go into the fort and chase spies. You’re bound to be better at it than I am.’
‘Linen sheets,’ said Murray contemplatively. ‘Claret in crystal glasses, china plates. I reckon I could stand it for a bit.’
Laughing a little, they parted company and MacLea walked back to the fort. Murray stood watching him disappear into the shadows, his smile fading a little. Once again, he had the strong feeling that there was something his captain was not telling him.
In Niagara, as the light began to fade, Marie the maid took the letter from the messenger and delivered it to her mistress in the drawing room. Josephine Lafitte read it with apparent calm, then turned to her writing table. ‘Is the messenger still here?’ she asked in French. The maid nodded. ‘Then quickly, take this to him. I am going to the observatory now. Please see that I am not disturbed.’
The maid disappeared. Slowly Josephine went to her workshop and then climbed the stairs to her little observatory. Here, in near darkness, she pulled the cords that opened the roof hatch and then sat down before the big telescope and put her face to the eyepiece. There was still a little light in the western sky, but in the east the stars were clear and cold.
She studied them for a while, watching the pattern of the constellations. The stars were familiar to her; they were like old friends. She came most evenings to look at them, for this was the one place in the world where she could normally find peace. But that evening, peace eluded her.
She knew who John MacLea was. She had investigated him after that meeting in July, and her first impression seemed right; he was just an ordinary militia captain. Then came the news of the fight on Lake Erie, and the rumour that he had challenged an Indian chief to a duel, and she began to realise that this was no ordinary man.
Then, unexpectedly, he had come to her workshop. Back in July she had felt a faint murmur of attraction. Yesterday, the attraction had been immediate and strong, and she had once come close to betraying her feelings. Now he was coming to see her again. She gazed into the telescope, but she could not concentrate on the beauty before her. After a time she leant back and sat still, gazing silently into the darkness.
That afternoon, Captain Glegg had called at her house. His manner, as usual, had been stiff and formal. She knew he did not approve of her; he was charged with ensuring her safety, but she had often wondered how hard he would try to help her if trouble came. ‘I cannot stay long, ma’am,’ he had said. ‘We are departing almost immediately. I have come on the orders of Colonel Macdonell to tell you that Captain MacLea has been made aware of your identity.’
Her knees had suddenly gone weak. ‘Was that wise? I thought the secret of my identity was to be closely guarded.’
‘I fear I cannot tell you Colonel Macdonell’s reasons, ma’am. But we can trust Captain MacLea.’
Oh, mon Dieu, she thought now as she stared into the night. I know I can trust Captain MacLea. It is myself I cannot trust… A wave of revulsion passed suddenly over her, and she felt almost sick. She knew she should have refused to see him. She should put this man out of her mind, never speak to him again, and yet she could not bear to do so. She recognised, very clearly, how powerfully she desired him; she had felt like this before, once. But this very attraction had revived the memory of who and what she truly was. All her guilt and self-loathing and despair boiled and bubbled up in the darkness around her.
Slowly and with immense effort, she steadied herself. She and MacLea would meet as civilised people; surely that was possible? She would talk to him, and answer his questions; he was bound to have questions. Perhaps there was a chance that they would only be simple ones, and the dark horror of her past would not be fully exposed. A sudden sob racked her body, and then she steeled herself again and rose to her feet. Dry-eyed, maintaining an outward calm, she descended to the house once more.
‘I am going to dress,’ she said quietly to her maid. ‘Lay the supper table for two. And open a bottle of claret, a good one, and be sure that it is thoroughly warmed.’ She turned away and walked straight-backed up the main stair to her bedroom, and so did not see the pity and sympathy in the little maid’s eyes.
I am sorry to hear of your troubles with the watch. If it was your father’s, it will be very dear to you. Come this evening at nine; I shall be ready to receive you.
MacLea read the message a second time, and then sat down to brush his uniform and polish his boots. Macdonell was right, his hair needed cutting. He looked at his reflection in the small mirror on the door of his pine wardrobe, and scowled. But the mirror reminded him of Miina, and that cheered him a little. He would make his peace with Madame Lafitte, and then he would be free to concentrate on his task once more.
He walked through Niagara, seeing lights glowing in the windows. Passing one of the larger houses, he heard someone playing a fortepiano. The taverns were busy too. The air had a slight edge to it, the warmth of the day succeeded by an evening chill. The night was very clear, the stars overhead bright and brilliant.
Promptly at nine, he knocked at the door. Marie the maidservant admitted him, curtseying and smiling. In the hallway of the house he smelled food, something far more delicious than the usual fare at the Fort George officers’ mess. The maidservant opened the door of the drawing room and stepped back and curtseyed again. MacLea stepped over the threshold and stopped as if he had run into a wall.
The room was lovely. It was decorated, not richly but in very fine taste. There were a couple of pictures, a cabinet with some beautiful china plates, an oak writing desk, a long settee made of dark wood and cushioned with yellow and blue silk. A little fire burned in the grate, keeping out the evening chill.
His hostess stood before the writing desk, her lips curved into a smile. MacLea looked at her. The plain smock and apron of yesterday morning were gone; tonight she wore a simple but extraordinarily elegant gown of ivory silk, high-waisted and with a high square neck too, leaving her arms bare. The dress was demure, certainly by the standards of the time, yet it only served to offset her breathtaking looks and the beautiful tone of her skin.
He that despite her smile, her dark eyes were watching him very seriously and intently. Once again, she was studying him. He bowed. ‘Madame,’ he said. ‘I must begin by apologising again. I have misled you. There is nothing whatever wrong with my watch. Thanks to you, it is working splendidly.’
‘I thought as much,’ she said quietly. ‘I read between the lines of your letter. Why then have you come?’
‘To see you,’ he said directly. ‘And to apologise. Madame, you may know me as an officer of militia, attached now to General Brock’s staff. Several weeks ago, I received a secret commission from the general. I am searching for people who are passing information about our army and its plans to the Americans.’
‘I see.’ Her voice was still soft.
‘A few days ago, I formed a suspicion in my mind that you might be one of those people. That was the motive behind my first visit to you yesterday. I have come now to tell you that I know I was wrong. I spoke to Colonel Macdonell today, and he told me in confidence who you really are.’
She said nothing, still watching him.
‘Madame,’ said MacLea, ‘I am ashamed of myself for suspecting you, and doubly ashamed for trespassing on your hospitality in such a deceitful manner. I hope you will forgive me, but I shall understand entirely if you choose to show me the door.’
Josephine felt her knees beginning to tremble again, this time with relief. ‘It is kind of you to tell me this,’ she said. ‘Colonel Macdonell has already sent word that you know my… secret. But, monsieur, there is no need to apologise, none at all. Of course, I am a spy. You were right to suspect me.’
‘But I did not know that you had joined our side.’
‘Does that make so much difference? A spy is a spy. I am still tainted.’
‘Not in my sight. To me… it means much to me to know that you and I serve the same cause. And… you do serve that cause, do you not?’
‘With all my heart,’ she said with sudden quiet passion. ‘I will never go back to America, nor will I serve America again, and I will resist American pride and arrogance so long as I have strength in my body. Captain, I am ungenerous. It was good of you to come and tell me this. I too am glad that we are on the same side.’
Now it was his turn to feel relief. They stood and looked at each other, neither sure what to say next. ‘May I tempt you with a glass of wine?’ she asked. ‘And have you supped?’
‘I have not. But, madame, I should not stay too long at this hour. There is your reputation to think of, after all.’
‘My reputation.’ Suddenly she began to giggle, a low, musical laugh that he thought sounded quite charming. ‘Oh, my dear sir. It has been many, many years since I have had a reputation to worry about.’
She crossed to the fire and unstoppered a decanter sitting on a low walnut table. Pouring two glasses of wine, she handed one to him. ‘Your health, Captain MacLea,’ she said, raising her own glass. ‘So, if I may ask, how fares your hunt for the spy?’
‘Poorly,’ he said. ‘I have to admit also that I came here tonight hoping that you might be able to help me. Does the name Polaris mean anything to you?’
‘Not beyond the star that shines in the sky,’ she said. ‘What do you think it might mean?’
He decided to trust her with a little more of the truth. ‘The name appeared in a letter we captured in Detroit. It appears to refer to an agent, either an American spy or, much more likely, a British or Canadian traitor working secretly for the Americans. My task is to find out who that agent is.’
She thought for a moment. He noticed again the little lines at the corners of her eyes. ‘I wish I could help you, but I fear I know nothing. I had never heard of Polaris until now.’
‘You keep watch on what happens in Niagara,’ he said gently.
‘Certainly I do. I keep an eye on everyone who comes and goes, especially around headquarters. I do this for reasons of my own safety, you understand, in case the Americans learn the truth and send someone to… find me. But there is no one who has given me cause for suspicion.’
She paused and sipped her wine. ‘Now that I know of this new problem, I will think again. If I learn anything that would help you, then I shall of course contrive to let you know.’
‘I would be most grateful if you would.’
‘But the problem, Captain, is that I work alone. I am a watcher, no more. I report directly to Washington through a single intermediary, whose name you probably know. I am deliberately kept in the dark about other American agents operating here. Which,’ she added drily, ‘from Washington’s point of view is a good thing. Had I known more, I would have told all to General Brock and his staff long ago. So, Washington is wise to be careful. Tell me, what led you to suspect me?’
He sighed. ‘It sounds completely lame now. Just a coincidence, which in my mind took on meaning it did not have. I thought of telescopes and astronomy, and that reminded me of Polaris, the North Star. Do you know, I thought perhaps you used telescopes to spy on our men and their movements.’
She smiled, her eyes suddenly warm. ‘You thought intuitively,’ she said. ‘That is no bad thing in this game. But I do not think my telescope would be of much use in spying on our troops. It is rather large and rather obvious, for one thing.’ She paused, and then said on impulse, ‘Would you like to see it?’
He stared at her. ‘I would. But please bear in mind that I know nothing about telescopes, or astronomy.’
She laughed. Setting down her glass, she led the way to the rear of the house. Here she lit a lamp and then opened a doorway onto a steep stair.
‘Be pleased to follow me,’ she said.
The observatory was a simple square room with plain painted walls. In the lamplight he saw several shelves of books and sheaves of papers. In the middle of the room was a big gleaming brass tube some seven feet long, fixed to a table on a heavy cast-iron bracket and pointing upwards. In the roof overhead there were several hatches, which could be opened and closed by means of cords on pulleys.
‘My word,’ he said softly as he looked at the telescope. ‘Yes, I take your point. You would look rather conspicuous carrying that through the streets of Niagara. This is not like any telescope I have seen before.’
She laughed, and gave the gleaming bronze a gentle caress. ‘This is a six-inch refracting telescope,’ she said. ‘It uses two lenses, a primary and a secondary. Light refracts through one lens to the other to create the image that I see in my eyepiece. The principle was perfected long ago by a Frenchman named Mersenne. This particular type is called a Herschelian telescope, named for Sir William Herschel, the Astronomer Royal.’
‘It must be a very powerful instrument.’
‘Actually, this one is quite small. The secondary lens is only six inches in diameter. As I said yesterday, I am now building a telescope with an eight-inch lens. Even that is small by comparison with some. Sir William has built a telescope with a primary lens more than four feet in diameter. The focal length of that machine – that is, the length of the tube – is more than forty feet.’
‘My word,’ said MacLea again. He did not know what else to say.
‘I have had the immense privilege of looking through that great instrument once or twice. To see the stars through its lenses is like looking into the face of God.’
A gentle drift of her perfume came to his nostrils as she spoke. ‘I am lost for words,’ said MacLea in wonder. ‘And you study the stars?’
‘Mostly I look for comets.’ She reached up and pulled on a cord to open a hatch, and pointed into the inky sky. ‘There is the constellation Andromeda,’ she said. ‘See there; that is Alpheratz, the brightest star. That next star is Mirach. There is a dark space just below Mirach, do you see? There, three years ago, I found her.’
MacLea looked at her face, glowing blue in the starlight, and saw her transformed. ‘My comet,’ she said. ‘I was the first person ever to see her. She is only a little comet, but she is mine. She is called Josephine, and is recorded in the catalogues as such.’
She turned to look at him, her face still radiating happiness. ‘She is long since gone now, passed from the view of even the most powerful telescope. But comets are faithful; they always return. One day, perhaps when I am an old lady, she will come back to the night sky and I will greet her once more. I look forward to that day.’
She took him down to supper. In a little dining room with painted floral wallpaper that must have been imported at vast expense from England, they ate purée of spinach, lightly cooked chicken with a béchamel sauce, and a little almond cake decorated with a few violets crystallised in sugar, food as light and elegant as the woman herself. ‘Is your maid also your cook?’ he asked.
‘She is. She is an angel.’ Josephine smiled. ‘So far this evening, monsieur, you have asked all the questions. May I now have a turn?’
She asked where he came from, and he told her about his Jacobite family background and how he had grown up in Scotland with a father who was determined that his son should have a good future and not be tempted down the paths of political adventure that he himself had once followed. Donald MacLea’s business had prospered for a time, but the outbreak of war had nearly ruined him, and on his death his debts and credits cancelled each other out. ‘The watch was my main bequest,’ MacLea said. ‘Poor Father. He tried so hard, but events far beyond his control ensured his failure.’
‘Hence the army.’
‘In part. I admit also that I was young and wanted to see the world. I saw it too, in all its glory and hideousness.’
He described the battles in Holland and Spain and Egypt, and he told her frankly of the duel he had fought and its consequences. Her long-lashed eyes watched him, and he thought he saw sympathy in them. ‘You are quixotic,’ she said. ‘You feel impelled to help those who cannot help themselves.’
MacLea mulled this over. ‘My sergeant once said much the same thing,’ he said. ‘He pointed out that this often leads me to do foolish things and then get into trouble. He thinks I should change my ways and be more sensible.’
‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘It is part of you. Change that, and you would change the essence of yourself as a man.’
‘So I should go on getting into trouble?’
‘Something tells me, monsieur, that whenever you get into trouble, you will also find a way of getting out of it. So you took your bounty and decided to make start a fresh life in Canada.’
‘Indeed. I told General Brock that I wanted to see a new land grow and take shape, one that would be free of at least some of the vices of the old world. It sounds like a foolish and romantic notion, but when I search my heart, I find it is still true.’
She smiled at him. Her eyes were utterly compelling, he thought. When he looked into them he could feel his heartbeat quickening. ‘And you never married,’ she said. ‘Why not?’
He considered his words. ‘The right woman never came along,’ he said finally. ‘I am not averse to the idea of marriage, but the practice of it eludes me.’
Josephine laughed. MacLea felt a sudden pang of guilt. ‘I am sorry, I am being insensitive. I should have remembered that you were once married. Did… Have you been widowed for long?’
‘I have never married,’ she said, still smiling. ‘It is a ruse. As a widow, I command sympathy and respect, at least in some quarters.’ Her smile faded. ‘Not in all, however. There are women in Niagara who will cross the road to avoid meeting me.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’
‘It is a part of life. There is nothing to be done. Many others are friendly, the rector and his wife in particular. Perhaps they do regard me as a fallen woman, but they never let it show. I have a few friends. It is odd, to live here in this community and to be known and respected as a fellow citizen, even if only by a handful of people. That is something very new for me.’
She regretted that she could not offer him a cigar, and he said he did not smoke. In the drawing room, she poured two small glasses of brandy. ‘French,’ she said, ‘smuggled at vast expense into Cornwall. The cask is nearly finished; I hope I shall be able to find another.’
They sat down together at opposite ends of the settee, and he raised his glass to her. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I left the fort to come here in a state of considerable trepidation. I really did think you would show me the door.’
Josephine laughed again. ‘Trepidation?’ she said. ‘The brave John MacLea? I cannot believe it.’
He smiled, surveying her and listening to the beat of his own heart. Slowly her face became still, her beautiful eyes gazing into his. Suddenly his scalp prickled a little. The mood in the room had changed, and something ominous had entered the air. So engrossed was he in her face that he did not see the goose bumps coming up on her arms. She was taut as a bowstring now, steeling herself to do what she must.
‘I have enjoyed this evening,’ she said, ‘and your company. But now I must ask you a very great favour.’
‘Name it,’ he said.
‘Please do not come here again. Please do not see me again. I beg you to do this, for your own sake as well as mine.’
He sat for a few moments without moving. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. ‘Madame, if you truly desire this for your own sake, then I will of course obey your wish. But for my sake? I must beg you to give me some explanation. In truth… I do not wish our acquaintance to end. Not like this.’
She faced him, her despair increasing. She had known he was strong; it was his strength that had attracted her. And she could feel her own weakness, feel it physically in the blood pounding in her veins and the mists that were gathering behind her eyes. She knew now that she wanted nothing in the world so badly as she wanted him.
Yet she must drive him away. She would suffer for this, but what was one more hurt to add to the misery that was already hers?
She tried to find words. ‘I am not… a fit acquaintance for a man such as yourself,’ she said, and was aware at once of how lame this sounded.
‘Do you mean the gossips of Niagara? Do you think I give a fig for them?’
‘Oh, monsieur, monsieur. You are making this very hard for me.’ She bowed her head suddenly, fighting back tears. ‘You must go. Please.’
‘Madame, you are in great distress. I would dearly love to help you, if I can.’
Slowly she raised her head, and as her eyes looked into his, he felt his heart turn over in his chest. ‘You cannot help me,’ she said. ‘I am beyond the help of any man or woman.’
‘Will you let me be the judge of that?’
‘Believe me, I am far beyond redemption. Sometimes, as I sit here talking to you, or walk in the streets of Niagara in the sunlight, or watch the night sky through my telescope, I feel as if I am just another woman. But I am not a woman at all. I am a creature of the shadows.’
He looked at her with incomprehension. ‘Will you tell me?’ he asked softly. ‘If it pains you too much to recall old memories, then you must say so. But I truly wish to ease your pain.’
Oh, mon Dieu! a voice screamed in her mind. Make him go away, before it is too late. Instead she folded her hands hard in her lap and said, ‘You wish to hear my history? Very well. I will tell it to you. And when I have done, you will rise and walk through the door and we will never see each other again. And that is as it should be.’
She paused for a moment, staring into space. He sat as if in a trance, watching her. ‘So then,’ said Josephine. ‘Here is my story.
‘I was born in New Orleans, as you have probably guessed. The year was 1784.’ That made her twenty-eight, MacLea thought, five years younger than himself. ‘My mother was a free coloured woman. No one knows who my father was. I barely knew my mother, who died when I was four; my memories of her are dim shadows only.
‘I was taken into an orphanage in New Orleans, and there I was well cared for. At quite a young age, it was discovered that I had an aptitude for mathematics. I became fond of puzzles, and I also learned to play chess quite well. The nuns who reared me and taught me encouraged all of this, and marked me down as one of their own. It was decided that when I was grown I should take holy orders, and dedicate my talents to the service of God.’
She paused for a moment, her eyes dark and unseeing. ‘Then he came. He arrived one day at the convent to make a gift of money, and asked about the pupils. When told of me and my talents, he expressed a desire to see me. I remember that first meeting so clearly. He was tall, and handsome, and beautifully dressed. He spoke to me seriously, treated me with respect. I was nineteen and on the verge of taking my vows as a nun. I had seen very few men, and none like him.
‘He called again. The nuns, knowing I had made my choice to stay with them, saw no harm in it. He played chess with me, and congratulated me when I defeated him. We sat and spoke of chess for a long time, and he told me of the great chess masters of France whom he had matched against. Talking to him, I began to realise there was a world beyond the walls of the convent.
‘He continued to call on me, and I fell in love with him. He seemed the most beautiful creature God had ever created, and he treated me with such kindness that I was captivated. In my naïveté I even imagined that he was an angel. He offered to marry me. The sisters tried to persuade me to stay, but I was adamant that I would go. This man was my world now.’
The knuckles of her clenched hands had become white with strain and she was shivering softly. ‘We left New Orleans at once, sailing for London. He began to tell me about himself; I was so besotted that I had never thought to question him before. He explained that he was American, though of French background, a wealthy planter with great estates. But he no longer cared about his estates, he said. His one desire now was to take me to Europe to show me the sights of the great cities and courts. I was so excited I could barely think.
‘That first night on the ship, he took my virginity. He could not wait for marriage, he said; my beauty was too much for him to bear. We would be married as soon as we reached London. I trusted him and was content, and we were lovers every night of the long voyage. When we reached London, I was overwhelmed by the beauty and richness of the place. My lover took a handsome suite of rooms in a house off Piccadilly. He bought me fine clothes, shoes, hats, fans. He took me to promenade in the park, to the pleasure gardens to hear music. My love for him increased still further. Each time he walked into a room and smiled at me, I felt a glow like the warmth of sunlight. Yet still we did not marry; because I was a Catholic, he said, there was a matter of licences. We needed to be patient, for just a little longer.
‘He was often absent, out on business affairs. When I asked about these he said I would not understand them, that they would bore me. Again I trusted him and was content. Then he began to entertain his new friends and associates. We held soirées in our rooms, and he taught me to act as hostess to wealthy men in high positions. We began to be invited to other houses, I as his acknowledged mistress. This was not the cream of society; this was the shadow world, where men dined with their mistresses and gambled for high stakes, playing cards or betting on cockfights. Yet I was still so full of excitement that I did not see the sordid side of it, not at all. I did not recognise that many of the brilliantly dressed women were courtesans. I was so innocent.
‘Then one day he called me to his study. His friend the Duke of So-and-so wanted to sleep with me. I should be flattered by his attentions, he said; the duke was a rich and powerful man. I said I did not find the duke at all attractive, and he himself was the only man for me. He took my hand then, and knelt at my feet. The truth was, he said, he badly needed the duke’s favour in order to promote a particular business venture. If I would do this for him, this little thing, it would help us both to secure our future. He hinted that the duke could also be useful in obtaining the licence we needed to marry. Just this once, he pleaded. For the love of him, would I do this?
‘For the love him, I did it. But of course, it was not just once. It was again, and then again, with the duke and then with others.
‘He whored me out,’ she said, and the contrast between the brutality of the words and the light, soft, sad voice in which she spoke them caused a stabbing pain in MacLea’s chest. ‘I became his little gift to his friends and associates. And then he drew me in deeper. I learned that he was not a businessman at all. He was a spy for the American government. He did not say, but I think he probably also spied for the French as well. The friends with whom he drank and gambled never knew that he was pumping them for information.
‘Now he began to use me in his work. I talked to the men I bedded, teased them into confiding in me. Twice he asked me to steal papers that he knew were concealed in the houses of my… patrons. Often too he brought me letters in cipher and asked me to decode them. With my gift for mathematics, I could do so easily. I did all of this willingly, for still in spite of everything I loved him. Even when I became pregnant and he begged me to have an abortion, saying that the time was not yet right for us to have a child, and I saw what might have become a baby flushed from my body like so much waste and then was sick for days; even then I loved him.
‘I spent three years with him. I do not remember exactly when my love turned to hate, but I know I woke one morning and realised that the man in bed beside me was a devil, not an angel. I told him I was leaving him. He laughed in my face, and pointed out that I was implicated in his crimes. If I ran away, he would inform the authorities that I was a spy. I threatened to unmask him in turn. “Do not threaten me, you little slut,” he said. “No evidence against me will ever be found. It is your pretty neck that the hangman will break, my sweet.” From that moment, the mask was down. He no longer pretended he loved me or cared for me. I was his chattel now, his slave, and he began to use me like the brute he truly was.
‘I knew then what I had done. I saw the sins I had committed, and I knew that I was being punished for them. I hated myself utterly. But oh, mon Dieu, I hated him more. For the moment, I had to stay, for I had no doubt that he would betray me as he said. I continued to whore for him, I continued to steal for him and to break codes for him, but I began to plot my escape, and my revenge.
‘First, I needed money. Some of my clients gave me gifts; he always insisted I handed these over to him, but I managed to conceal some. Once or twice I stole from my clients while they were sleeping; just a little, not enough to be noticed, and this too I concealed. Then I began to memorise and secretly make copies of the dispatches I decoded. Finally, I took to following him secretly when he went out, and thus I learned how he transmitted messages through a courier who smuggled letters in and out of France. I lived in fear as I did all this, for I knew that if I was discovered, he would kill me.
‘One day when I knew he had gone to meet the courier, I wrote an anonymous letter to the authorities, gave them our address and told them where to arrest him and the courier. I hid the copies of the dispatches I had made at various places in our chambers so they would be found when the police came to search. Then I packed a bag and fled. I lived for six months in rooming houses, moving from one to another each week, seldom going out of doors in case he should somehow have escaped and be searching for me; or in case he had betrayed me and the authorities intended to arrest me.
‘My money began to run low. I heard another woman in my rooming house discussing with a friend how she had taken a job as a lady’s companion, and how these posts were sometimes advertised in the newspapers. I began to buy newspapers and to respond to advertisements. I was lucky. I was contacted almost at once and interviewed for a post as companion to a lady of advancing years. The agent who interviewed me was dubious about my colour and warned me that the lady could be prickly and difficult. I said I did not care. He asked me if I had any aptitude for mathematics, and I demonstrated to him that I did. He was impressed and forwarded me to my employer, Miss Caroline Herschel.’
‘Herschel?’ said MacLea. It was the first word he had spoken since she had begun her narrative. ‘The lady astronomer?’
‘The very same,’ she said. She looked up and smiled, and he saw how the lines at the corners of her eyes had deepened. ‘I worked for her for four years, and in those years I found a measure of happiness. Oh, she was prickly, she was difficult. She once threw an inkpot at my head, and then declared that if she had hit me it would not matter, for my colour would not change. But in her own strange way she grew to love me, I think. Early on, she found out that I had a secret past. I could not bear to tell her the whole truth, but I did confess that I had been the mistress of an unpleasant man and was now hiding from him, and that he would not stop until he tracked me down.
‘Strangely, that softened her towards me. She resented and hated most men. She had been crippled as a child, and never grew to her full height. She was full of bitterness at the world that had left her deformed, looked upon by men with pity or scorn. All the passion she might have given to a husband or a lover, she poured into her astronomy. And she was – she is – a great woman. Some say she is more gifted than her brother, the Astronomer Royal.
‘At first I was a mere companion, someone to fetch and carry for her. Then she began to use me to help with mathematical calculations. She taught me to grind lenses and make telescopes. She taught me about the night sky, made me memorise the names of the stars and the constellations. I helped her in the observatory, stayed as her companion through the long, chilly nights. I brought her soup to keep her warm, and took notes for her. I shared her delight whenever she found a new comet, for comets were her passion. She taught me to use the telescope, and sometimes for an entire night we would change roles; I would scan the stars and she would take notes.
‘It was on one of those nights that I found my little comet. I was so excited, and I remember she embraced me. “This is yours, my dear,” she said. “I will claim her as my discovery, so as to protect you; your name will not be made public. But she will be entered in the records as the comet Josephine. It will be our little joke together.”’
The light began to die in her dark eyes, and MacLea tensed in anticipation, for he could guess the rest of the story. ‘Then he came back,’ she said. ‘He had escaped arrest and fled to France. How he tracked me down, I will never know. He did not contact me directly, but two years ago his agents wrote to me. I was offered a choice. I could return to his service and do his bidding, or my identity would be revealed to the British authorities, along with evidence that would surely see me hang.
‘I left Miss Herschel’s service. She wept at my departure. I took ship to Montreal, where my instructions awaited me. I was to go to Niagara. A house – this house – was rented for me; the owner is a wealthy merchant who has gone to America. I doubt he will ever return. Money was provided to set me up. A slave girl was given to me too. I committed my first act of rebellion then, and freed her at once.’
‘That is Marie?’ said MacLea softly.
‘That is Marie… I came here, became acquainted with Lieutenant Hammond, received my instructions and started to spy. I hated it, but I thought I had no choice.’
‘What changed your mind?’
‘The discovery of a letter,’ she said quietly, ‘which I was not meant to find. Although the Americans had been generous in outfitting me, the pension they paid me was very small. I protested to Hammond that I could not make ends meet. He passed the message on. The next sealed packet of instructions that arrived for me contained a letter that had been meant for him.’
She rose and crossed to the writing desk, opened it, removed a drawer and pressed a spring to reveal a secret compartment. From this she drew forth a letter, a single sheet of paper. Returning to the settee, she handed it to MacLea. He read, a chill running down his spine.
This is to advise you that there will shortly be a change in the courier service. New couriers will make themselves known to you using the usual passwords. You do not need to reward them; their fees will be taken care of at this end.
As for the complaint about money, I have no patience with this. She is paid well enough. Tell the black bitch that if she doesn’t like it, we’ll send her back to the plantations, where she belongs.
Yours,
Peter S. Beauregard (Colonel, Army Ordnance Survey)
‘I know that name,’ said MacLea quietly.
‘Yes,’ said Josephine. ‘He is now the head of the American spy service, and he controls me and every other agent in Canada. He is the man who seduced me and who used me, and who ruined me. When I read this letter, I realised that all the time we were together, he had seen me as no more than a slave. Once again my shame and anger gave me courage, and it was then that I approached General Brock and offered to turn my coat.
‘And now you know all my secrets. I am a whore, a thief, a liar and a traitor. You offered me the hand of friendship a few moments ago. But surely you see now what kind of woman I am, and why there can be no friendship between us.’
He rose to his feet, and he saw the agony very plain in her face. ‘You have called yourself a series of names,’ he said. ‘But when I look at you, I see none of those things. I see a brave woman who has suffered, who has endured terrible evil and yet come through. You called me brave earlier. But I do not know a man who could survive what you have been through.’
She looked up at that, and found his green eyes fixed on her face. They seemed to be boring holes in her soul. ‘The hour is late,’ she said, hoping he had not noticed that she had begun to shiver again.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I must go.’ He could not think what else to say.
With the last of her strength, she controlled the shivering and walked him silently to the door. There he turned, and on impulse took her hand in his and kissed it softly. It was the first time he had touched her.
‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘And be sure of this. I am your friend, and you will see me again.’ Then he closed the door behind him and was gone.
Josephine swayed, and then collapsed on the floor of the hall, sobbing softly and helplessly. It was several minutes before Marie found her and helped her upstairs, where she gave her laudanum and gently put her to bed.
There was no peace, of poppy or otherwise, for John MacLea as he walked back through the night to Fort George. His mind was full of confused, fractured thoughts. Through them, one idea came clearly. So many monstrous things have been done to her, but does that make her monstrous? No! She has suffered in ways that I cannot imagine.
How do I make her understand that her story did not repel me? How do I tell her that on the contrary, I feel nothing but pity and sympathy? How do I tell her that the sorrow in her voice came near to breaking my heart?
He looked up at the stars, at the dark space in Andromeda where her comet had been found. Another thought came, and it left him feeling deathly cold. Andromeda, in the Greek myth, was a beautiful woman who had been chained naked to a rock as a sacrifice, to be devoured by a monster.
Josephine was useful to the Americans as a watcher. But she was also there as a decoy. If Beauregard learned that the British were hunting for Polaris and were close to discovering his real identity, then the finger of suspicion would be pointed at her. She would be sacrificed in order to divert attention from Polaris.
She is in danger, thought MacLea, greater danger than even she knows; and the closer I draw to Polaris, the greater that danger will become. I swear to you, he said silently, *that so long as there is breath in my body, I will help you and protect you. You have suffered enough for one lifetime. No more harm shall ever come to you. *
In silence, his heart aching, he walked through the night back to Fort George.