It was well after six o'clock, and Jack had not yet shown up at Marie's house to take her to dinner, leaving her to wonder if she had been stood up.
Restlessly, she paced the parlor floor, pausing occasionally at the window to part the drapes and gaze out at the front gate. Each time, she saw no sign of the marshal; only the typical comings and goings of the town's residents on the main street beyond her gate. Letting the drapes fall back into place, she sank down on the lounge, only to get up again moments later.
Haunted by the transformation she had seen in Oliver in just a single day, she had been thinking back to those days in Paris when she and Jacques had spent time with him and his wife. Other incidents were coming to mind, events long forgotten, returning in a fresh perspective: His quick temper, especially with his wife, the bruises, and the broken bones. It had all seemed so insignificant in those days. How could she have overlooked the obvious? The answer was simple. Beatrice had attributed each one to her own awkwardness, and no one had been given reason to doubt her.
Moving to the window, Marie looked outside once again, and this time saw Jack jogging through the gate and up the walkway to the front porch. He paused to remove his hat and to quickly finger-comb his hair, then knocked on the door.
"Sorry I'm late, Marie," he said, breathlessly, when she opened the door. "I had to break up a dispute over a bunch of chickens, of all things."
Curiously, she reached out and plucked a chicken feather from his hair, and held it up for him to see. "Chickens?"
"Caroline Anderson was sellin' off some o' her chickens, and two women wanted the same layin' hens. You never seen so much bickerin'! I though they was gonna go to blows!"
In her store, Marie had seen women argue over bolts of cloth, the last strip of licorice, and the prettiest hat on display, among other things, so she could well imagine how a couple of women would be driven to squabble over the best laying hens. "I'm curious to know how you settled it."
"Split 'em up. Six hens each."
Marie smiled, approvingly. "Very diplomatic."
He shrugged. "Seemed the only fair way to settle it. Are ya ready?"
"Yes."
She pulled the door closed behind her, and they walked up the street together toward the saloon.
Marie glanced nervously at the people who milled about the streets and boardwalks, looking for the one face she did not want to see. When they reached the saloon door without encountering Oliver, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Jack escorted her though the saloon to the dining room, and selected a quiet corner table, and they sat down. Marie was unusually quiet, and after Dom had delivered their meals to them, Jack turned to the woman across the table from him.
"Marie, you wanna tell me what it is that's botherin' you?"
She averted her eyes, as if to conceal what Jack had already seen. "Is it that obvious?" she asked.
"I'll make a guess 'n say that it's that Englishman. What's goin' on with him, anyways?"
She shifted her gaze toward the door, looking at the cowboys and gamblers who filled the saloon area. She could feel Jack's eyes on her, waiting for an explanation that she found difficult to put into words.
When she did not volunteer the information he wanted, he asked, "You wanna tell me about that hombre?"
"He's someone from my past," she replied, evasively, still refusing to look at him. Her eyes sought out a picture on the wall behind him, concentrating on it instead of Jack's inquisitive face.
He glanced at her, sharply, clearly dissatisfied with her vague answer. "I already had that much figured out, Marie. Look, when he first came to town, it seemed like you liked him. Now, you act like yer uncomfortable with the man, not to mention the fact that he seems a bit possessive of you. Say the word, and I'll run him outta town."
She raised her hand, silently begging him to stop. He noticed that the hand was trembling and that her face was unusually pale. Finally, she sighed, as if defeated. "I'm not sure that's the answer, Jack."
"Then what is?"
She shrugged, still avoiding his eyes, desperately needing to tell someone of her fears, yet still resisting that need.
Jack continued to wait, indicating that he was not going to let the subject drop without an explanation.
"All right," she finally relented. "He was a friend of Jacques's." She paused, then changed her mind. "No, not a friend. More of an acquaintance. They did attend medical school together, and we did sometimes socialize with him and his wife. He talks about us being such good friends, but the truth is, none of us spent all that much time together."
"Frankly, Marie, I found it odd that you didn't recognize him right away."
"Well, he did not have the goatee back then, and besides, I spent more time with his wife, Beatrice, than I did with him. Oliver spent more with Jacques. He's probably the last person I expected to see out here."
"So, what's his story? I mean, Sally seems to think he's some kind of count or earl, or something."
A wan smile fleeted across Marie's face. "She's closer to the truth than she realizes. He's the first-born son of an English baron, but because his mother was not married to his father, the title passed to the first legitimate son."
"He said his ma was French. How'd they meet?"
"The baron traveled back and forth to France on various business ventures. He met her during one of those trips. When he found out she was expecting his child, he moved them to a cottage on his estate in Kent. Oliver was educated there. I think the baron really cared about her and her son, but he was expected to marry a good English girl, so he kept Oliver's mother as his . . ." She averted her eyes, as if ashamed to say the word. "As his mistress."
Jack chuckled, amused. "So, these English gentlemen ain't too discreet?"
"Well, behavior of that sort among the social elite is not regarded with quite the scandal as they are with the rest of the population. When the baron died, Oliver attempted to claim the title, but his half-brother's entitlement was upheld in court. They paid him off with a substantial amount of money, and banished him and his mother from the estate. They returned to France, and he enrolled in medical school."
"What about his wife? Did she become a nurse, like you?"
"No. Oliver would not allow her to pursue a career, and besides, she really didn't have the stomach for it. She stayed at home, which she was content to do. She told me once that she was born to be a housewife and mother. It's all she ever wanted." Her expression became very somber, as her mind's eye turned inward, toward the past. "I remember her veing very lonely, very depressed much of the time. I didn't really know why. I thought she was probably lonely. She and Oliver were only recently married, and he was busy with his studies, so she was alone much of the time."
"There were no children?"
"No. I think that might have helped keep her from being lonely, but . . ." She looked away, again, very uncomfortable with the direction her story must take, but desperately needing to confide in someone. "Jack, I think he may have killed her."
Jack looked up from his meal, his startled eyes indicating that this was unexpected. "Are you sure about that?"
"No. I can't be sure, but something has been bothering me ever since he told me she was killed in a fall from a horse, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I figured out what it was, last night. Jack, she didn't ride."
He shrugged. "Maybe she started riding after you left France."
"I don't think so. She was terrified of horses. And, that got me thinking about her, about things I had forgotten. After I had known her for awhile, I started to notice things about her."
"What kind of things?" Jack asked, softly, although he was beginning to comprehend the direction her story was going.
"Bruises, mostly. A cut lip, now and then. A black eye. She broke her arm, once. Oliver claimed she fell down the stairs, and she backed him up. She even laughed about it, claiming that she was helplessly clumsy. I saw the look in her eyes, Jack. I knew she was lying for him."
Jack lowered his gaze, sickened by Knapp's shameful behavior. "Did you tell Jacques about your suspicions?"
"No. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't really take them seriously at the time. She never admitted what he had done to her."
"I've seen it before, Marie. They hardly ever do."
"Why?" Marie asked, forcefully. "Why don't they want those animals put behind bars?"
"Because they know the law don't consider it a crime for men to punish their wives." He was startled by the hostility he saw in her eyes as she stared at him, accusingly. "Now, don't go gettin' yer hackles up. I know it ain't right, but that's how it is. I never raised a hand against my wife, and I got no understandin' o' them that do, but it happens, and there ain't nothin' the law can do about it."
"Then we have to change the laws!" she said, bitterly.
"And I'll be right there with you," he agreed. "But right now, we have to deal with this Oliver Knapp. What is it he wants from you? Why is he here?"
"He wants me to marry him and move to Vancouver."
He lowered his fork to his plate and stared at her with worried eyes. "What'd ya tell him?"
"I told him no, but he's applying pressure on me."
"What kind o' pressure? Has he threatened you?
She hesitated, reluctant to reveal to him that Oliver had left a minor contusion on her wrist when he had grabbed her that morning. The bruise was concealed from the eyes of other by the lacy cuff of her long sleeved blouse. If she told Jack about it, he would confront Oliver, and a serious altercation might ocur. "He keeps following me, telling me all the reasons why I should become his wife."
Jack was looking at her with a deep frown etched into his forehead. He knew she was withholding something. "Does he get forceful when he's givin' you all these reasons?"
"It's nothing I can't handle, Jack," she insited.
"Marie, if he's assaulted you, I can lock him up."
She was sorely tempted to let him do just that, but she also knew that Jack couldn't hold him in jail forever, and when he got out, he would be more vicious than ever. "No, Jack. Just let it go. I'll deal with it."
"Marie, he could be dangerous," Jack pointed out.
Unconsciously, she rubbed the sore spot on her wrist where he had grabbed her. She was more than aware of that fact. "I'll be all right, Jack."
"Well, jus' the same, I'm gonna be stickin' close. Maybe he'll give up 'n go to Vancouver."
She nodded, appreciatively. "All right."
At that moment, Clive Bennett and Grace Upton entered the room. Clive spotted his two friends, and gave a nod of greeting, then shifted his gaze to the other tables, seeking a private one.
Marie lowered her gaze, feeling very depressed. Not only was she being stalked by Oliver, Clive apparently had become enamored by the new schoolteacher.
Clive spotted Jack and Marie, and made his way through the maze of tables and chairs to join them. "Forgive my manners last night," he apologized. "I failed to introduce the two of you. Marie Dumont, I'd like you to meet Miss Grace Upton, Bordertown's new schoolteacher."
Marie noticed the way Clive beamed with pleasure at the young woman at his side. She forced a smile to her face. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Upton."
"And I, you," Grace responded, studying the older woman carefully. Marie Dumont was decidedly beautiful and exotic with her beautiful blonde hair and intriguing French accent. "Tell me, will you have any children in class?"
"Yes. My ward, Lucy."
"I'll look forward to meeting her." She glanced at the marshal. He was still unshaven, but had at least cleaned himself up somewhat. "Marshal, it's a pleasure to see you again."
"Miss Upton," he responded, politely. "You two are welcome to join us. We got plenty o' room, here."
"No thanks, Jack," Clive replied, his eyes searching for an empty table. "I think we'd be more comfortable by ourselves." He nodded toward a nearby table. "There's one." He took Grace by the elbow to guide her toward it.
"It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Dumont," Grace said over her shoulder as she followed Clive.
"Nice meeting you," Marie responded, watching as the Mountie and the teacher sat down at the table. Clive was smiling and laughing at some private humor that Marie had not heard. She returned her gaze to her half-empty plate, no longer hungry for her dinner. She picked up her fork to make the effort, then laid it down on her plate again, and pushed the plate back, experiencing an overwhelming desire to get out of there. "I want to leave, now, Jack."
Jack felt his heart sink with the awareness that Marie was troubled by the attention Clive was bestowing upon the new schoolteacher. For some time, now, he had suspected that Marie favored Clive over him, but he did not want to believe it. Now, that reality was staring him in the face again. "All right, Marie," he said, softly. "I'll walk you home."
She could see that he was not quite finished with his meal, and did not want to wait for him. "I'll be all right, Jack. I'll see you tomorrow."
She scooted her chair back before he could react, and she walked briskly from the room.
Jack's eyes fell upon his plate, suddenly experiencing a lack of interest in the uneaten food that remained. With a sigh, he pushed back his plate, and yanked the napkin from the collar of his shirt. Then, he rose from his chair, and walked out of the saloon.
He paused just outside the door, his eyes intinctively turning toward the direction Marie had taken to return home, and saw that she had been detained in front of the mail office by Oliver Knapp. He had a firm hold of her wrist, and appeared to be intent on his conversation with her.
With a frown, he cocked his head slightly as he approached them, trying to hear what was being said between them. Finally, he heard Marie's voice rise in frustration.
"Leave me alone, Oliver!"
"Knapp!" Jack said abruptly, startling both Oliver and Marie.
They turned toward him, and Oliver instantly released Marie's arm with an expression of guilt. Marie backed away from him, rubbing her wrist with her other hand.
"The lady told you quite plainly to leave her be. For your continued good health, I would recommend that you abide by her wishes." His hand rested lightly on the handle of his pistol, a distinctly threatening gesture that Oliver did not fail to comprehend.
Oliver raised his hands as if in surrender, and he took a step back from the woman. "This is a private matter, Marshal Craddock," he said, defensively. "It does not concern you."
"I'm makin' it my concern," Jack responded, his voice menacingly quiet.
Marie saw the way Jack's fingers were stroking the handle of his pistol, and she recognized the expression on his face. She had seen it before, and it frightened her. "Jack," she said, her voice quietly reproachful. When he did not answer, she repeated, "Jack!"
"It's all right, Marie," he assured her without taking his eyes off the Englishman. "You can safetly go home, now. I'll jus' detain this gent for a spell. And Marie? Make sure you lock yer doors and windows, all right?"
Marie was vividly worried, and her expression reflected that worry, but she did not argue. Turning, she resumed her walk toward her home. Halfway there, she snatched up her skirts, and began to run.
"So, what are you planning to do, Marshal?" Oliver asked. "Arrest me?"
"It's mighty temptin'," Jack admitted.
"On what charge?"
"I'm sure I can think o' somethin'. Like maybe assault."
"I never harmed her!" Oliver declared.
"You had ahold o' her wrist," Jack reminded him.
"Just to get her attention. I didn't hurt her."
Jack never took his eyes off Oliver's face. "I'm gonna give you fair warnin', Knapp, and I suggest you take it to heart. I don't tolerate people harassin' the people o' my town. You got that? Now, when she tells you to leave her be, I expect you to leave her be."
Oliver rose up to his full height, but still fell several inches below that of the marshal. "I do not take orders from some American mongrel!"
"You'll take orders from this one," Jack told him. "Besides, you ain't exac'ly a pure-blood yerself, are ya?"
Oliver's face turned purple. "She had no right to tell you anything about me!"
"Who says she told me anything about you?" Jack asked. "I have ways o' findin' out the things I need t' know. Remember that, Knapp. I may be an 'American Mongrel', but I know what goes on in this town!"
Oliver glared at the marshal for several moments, just to show that he was not afraid of him, then he turned and strode back toward the boarding house.
Jack watched him until he entered the building, then he completed his walk to the office he shared with Clive. It was empty, of course, as Clive was still dining with Grace Upton, so Jack sat down at his desk and withdrew a sheaf of wanted posters from his desk drawer. He spent the next hour studying each poster carefully, examining the sketched faces of the wanted men who were portrayed, and carefully reading the biographies and physical characteristics. He was beginning to feel a sense of pride that his reading skills had progressed to a level where he could apply them to his job duties. He could make out almost all the words on the posters, and he was discovering that if he concentrated on them, he could actually figure out many of the more complicated words on his own.
On the posters, he found no one matching the description of Oliver Knapp, but he knew in his heart and his soul that the Englishman was not the man he had initially presented. For some reason, he was hiding his true self. He was not wanted in the United States, but Jack could not help but wonder if he was wanted in his homeland. Was that the true reason why he had crossed the ocean and come to North America?
Returning the posters to his desk drawer, he reached up to the earpiece of his wire framed reading spectacles, intending to pull them off, then changed his mind as another idea formed. The Dominion of Canada was part of the British Empire, and it suddenly occurred to him that if a man was wanted in England, he might also be wanted in Canada.
Moving to Clive Bennett's immaculate desk, he opened and closed each drawer until he found the neatly organized file folder containing the names and faces of the men who were wanted in Canada.
Casting a guilty glance at the closed door to Clive's private accommodations, although he knew that Clive had not yet returned, he sat down at the corporal's desk and began thumbing through those posters, searching for the face of the British gentleman whom Jack was convinced was no gentleman at all.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the sound of papers being turned as Jack scrutinized each and every face and description in Clive's Wanted file. Finally, he turned over the final page, and leaned back in the chair. Knapp's face was not on any of the Canadian posters, either. Defeated, he closed the folder, and returned it to Clive's desk drawer. As he returned to his own desk, he pulled off his reading glasses, carefully folded the earpieces, and inserted the spectacles in their protective cover.
He sank down in his own chair just as Clive opened the front door of the office and stepped inside. He started to make a comment about Jack's late presence, then refrained when he saw his associate's serious expression.
"Is something wrong, Jack?" he asked.
"Clive, you got any more wanted posters 'sides them that's in yer desk drawer, there?"
Clive glanced quickly at his desk, as if the piece of furniture had somehow been violated. "You were prowling in my desk?"
"Now, don't gettin' yer skivvies all twisted around," Jack responded with one of the many American slang terms that he used to irritate the corporal. "You might do yerself an injury."
"Jack, in case you haven't noticed, this," he gestured to the marshal's cluttered desk, "is your domain." He gestured to his own desk. "That is my domain. I would appreciate it if you would confine yourself to your own area, please."
"This is important, Clive, and you weren't around to ask."
Clive sighed, heavily. He knew he would have to go along with whatever was troubling the marshal. "All right. Just what is it that is so important that you felt it gave you the right to paw through my desk?"
"That Englishman. Somethin' ain't right about him. I want to find out if he's wanted for anything."
Clive could not suppress a slight smile, believing he understood the true source of Jack's suspicions. "Are you sure you're not just jealous because he's a friend of Marie's?"
"He ain't really her friend. He went to medical school with Jacques. I got a really bad feelin' about him, Clive. About them wanted posters. You got any that ain't in yer desk, there?"
"Sorry, Jack. The ones that are filed in my desk are the only ones I have, except those we hve tacked up on the walls for the public to see." He went to his desk and sat down, then opened his drawers one by one to verify that they had not been pillaged, then relaxed when everything seemed to be in order. "So, what is it that you think this man did?"
"I don't know that he did anything, but I just have a gut feelin' that he ain't what he seems."
"Marie doesn't seem to share those feelings," Clive pointed out, drawing a sharp glance from the marshal. "In fact, when they were dining together last night, she seemed quite happy to be with him."
"That was last night," Jack told him. "Things have changed since then." He told Clive about the incident that had occurred after dinner.
Clive shrugged. "Maybe it was just as he said. Maybe he just took her wrist to stop her."
Jack was getting annoyed, now. "You know, Clive? If yer head weren't so distracted by that new schoolmarm, you'd be thinkin' the same way I am."
Resentment flamed in Clive's eyes. "Leave Grace out of this, Craddock. It's my responsibility to see that she gets settled in properly."
"Yeah? Well, it seems to me that you're enjoyin' that responsibility enormously."
Abruptly, Clive got up from his desk. "I've got rounds to make," he said, shortly, as he strode to the front door. Even though the days were warm, the nights were cool, so he lifted his jacket from its hook by the door, and made his departure, leaving Jack to contemplate his own worries.
Jack continued to sit at his desk, trying to think of a solution to his problem. By the time he heard the front door of Clive's quarters open, signaling that the Mountie had returned from his rounds, he still had not solved the mystery of Oliver Knapp.
He yawned. It was time to make his own rounds, and then retire for the evening. He blew out the lanterns, then lifted his jacket from the peg by the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he remembered that he had left his hat on his desk, and returned to get it. When he returned to the door, he was startled by a dark object that moved past the half-drawn window shade.
Jack lifted the side edge of the shade, and peered through the glass. Even in the dim glow of moonlight, he recognized the dark suit and derby hat as those belonging to Oliver Knapp. He was walking up the boardwalk toward Marie's house. As Jack watched, he noticed that Knapp kept glancing furtively about, as if he did not wish to be seen.
Jack slipped quietly from the office, and followed, keeping far enough back that he could blend into the shadows if Knapp chanced a glance behind him. He was walking carefully, trying to keep his footsteps from thumping too loudly on the boards. Everything about his actions was suspicious, and because he was moving into Canada, Jack briefly considered the idea of involving Clive, but quickly dismissed the notion. Clive did not believe him to begin with, and would probably just foil his surveillance. He passed by the corporal's door without stopping.
At the crossroad in front of Marie's picket fence, the Englishman came to a halt, and stood in the middle of the intersection for several moments, gazing up at the house, focusing intently on Marie's bedroom window.
Behind him, Jack melted into the shadows at the edge of a building and waited, peering around the corner, speculating on whether or not Knapp was contemplating the idea of breaking in to the house. He almost hoped he would try, just so he could have the pleasure of hauling him into jail.
The Englishman stood still for a short time, then moved toward the stable.
Briefly, Jack wondered if the man intended to steal a horse, but when he reached the stable, he did not go inside. Instead, he went around the north side of the building, and Jack lost sight of him.
Quietly, Jack jumped off the boardwalk without using the access steps, and ran across the street. Remaining close to the building, he circled the south side of the stable, emerging near the paddock behind it. There, he stood still, his eyes searching the darkness for the other man.
Finally, he saw him, a dark shape standing in the middle of the cemetery amid the grave markers. As before, he was gazing toward Marie's house. Her windows were dark, indicating that she and Lucy had both retired for the night.
Jack moved closer, creeping quietly toward the cemetery, careful not to draw attention to himself. For a long time, he stood in the open and watched Oliver Knapp. Knapp was so intent on watching the house that he was completely unaware of the fact that he was being observed. After a long time, the Englishman reached into hs pocket and withdrew a cigarette, which he placed between his lips. He then opened a box of matches and struck one to light his cigarette. In the flash of light from the match's flame, he glimpsed the unexpected figure of a man standing no more than six feet away.
Oliver jumped, and the cigarette nearly slipped from his mouth. Anger quicky replaced his initial jolt of fright when he recognized the individual, and he snatched the cigarette from his lips, dropping the match to the ground. The flame flickered, and died. "Marshal Craddock," he said, angrily. "Do you make a habit of spying on private citizens?"
"Do you make it a habit of spying on other people's houses in the middle of the night?" Jack retorted.
Even though he knew he had been caught in an infraction that was considered unseemly, he attempted to pretend that it was not as it appeared. "I was just out for a stroll, and decided to visit the grave of my old friend, Jacques."
"Doctor Dumont's grave is about six paces behind you," Jack told him, approaching him until he was within a few feet of the other man. "You've been standin' in that same spot for more than ten minutes, starin' at Marie's house. You wanna tell me what yer up to?"
Oliver struck another match and lit his cigarette, and exhaled a puff of pale smoke, fighting to control the rush of annoyance that made him want to strike out at the lawman. He shook out the flame, and dropped the match to the ground. The marshal's gaze was severe, directly in the eyes, and made the smaller man uncomfortable with its intensity. Oliver looked away. "As I told you, Marshal. I'm out for a stroll. My walk just happened to carry my this direction. Would you care for a smoke?"
"I gave it up. Marie don't like it."
"Aw, yes. Most women don't care much for it, but that is of little concern to me. I don't allow women to tell me what I may or may not do."
Jack ignored the implication. "What is it you want here, Knapp?"
"I'm here to visit a friend."
"Somethin' tells me she don't regard you as much of a friend, especially after that little incident earlier this ev'nin'."
"Yes, well, things got a little out of hand. Regardless, it was a private matter between Mrs. Dumont and myself," he added, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It wasn't any of your business, Marshal."
"Threats against the citizens of this town are my business."
"There was no threat involved, Marshal. Just a little misunderstanding between her and myself."
"The only misunderstanding seemed to be on your part. She quite plainly told you to leave her be."
"She didn't really mean that, Marshal. See, that's the thing about women. They don't usually say exactly what they mean. It's up to the man to decipher what it is they want. She's putting up a convincing front, but I know she wants to go with me to Vancouver. She wants to be my wife."
"That ain't what it sounded like to me."
Oliver gazed at the marshal for several moments, wondering why Marie tolerated this uncivilized ruffian. "She's a beautiful woman, Marshal, but why don't you just admit that she's out of your class? She'll never be yours."
Jack held his gaze with no change in expression. "Well, there is one consolation in that, and that is that she won't never be your's, neither."
"That's where you're wrong, Marshal. She will be mine."
"Unless you got business out here on the street, I suggest you return to the boardin' house."
"Unless I'm mistaken, Marshal, this is a free country, and I am free to walk about as I please."
"Unless I'm uncomfortable with the direction that walk is takin' you."
Oliver Knapp and Jack Craddock glared at one another through the darkness for several moments, then Oliver decided to back down. "Very well, Marshal. I suppose it is time for me to retire for the night."
Jack nodded, silently, but made no move to leave.
Oliver dropped the cigarette to the grass, and ground it out under the toe of his shoe, then began walking back toward the boarding house.
Jack followed, and began his rounds, but came to a halt on the boardwalk in front of the bank, where he could see Oliver Knapp's room on the second floor of the boarding house. A light was shining inside the window, and he could see the Englishman's silhouette on the curtain as he prepared for bed. Satisfied that he had gotten the message across to Knapp, at least for the moment, Jack completed his rounds, and made his way back to his own cabin.
GO TO CHAPTER SEVEN