as tall as I am, and carries herself like a queen. She has a wonderful smile, brown eyes, and dark wavy hair. And I know her family. Know them very well.”
Cartier was astonished. “What a coincidence! How old is she, John A.?”
Macdonald replied. “She’s closer to thirty than she is to thirty-five.”
“What are your intentions, John A.?” Harry had lit another cigar as he stood before the fireplace. He judged that the evening was about to become longer than he anticipated. He was anxious to join his wife in bed upstairs, especially since at dinner she had given him their secret signal that her hands were lusting to have his body that night.
“My intentions? If the truth were known, I would take her to wife in an instant, if she would have me.”
“But you’ve only just met her.”
“Well, no … as I told you, I know the family. Her brother, Lieutenant Colonel Hewitt Bernard, is a member of my staff, and he and I once shared accommodation in Ottawa. When his mother, Madame Bernard and his sister, Susan Agnes, came to live with him in Ottawa, I saw a great deal of them. But at the time I had no eye for Agnes. As you may know, Harry, my dear wife passed away nine years ago, and since then I’ve been alone with my politics, my law practice — but without the comfort and care and love of a woman. I’ve also been alone with too much drink. But that’s changed. Since meeting Agnes, except for a tiddly moment of falling off the postillion tonight in the presence of my dear colleagues and a noble host, except for that, I have been the model of behaviour.”
“Indeed,” Galt agreed. “Your performance as a chairman of this London Conference …”
“You highly intelligent, perceptive colonials appointed me chairman unanimously!” Macdonald snorted.
“Yes, well, mark that down as an error. Anyway, your performance has been devoid of any blemish of drink — and the results have been spectacular. You’ve handled the sessions and all the sensitive personalities around the table with remarkable patience and leadership.”
“Alex, leave off all this bullshit!” George shouted. “I want to hear more about Agnes. John, you’d probably like to bed her, but what are the chances that an out-of-practice fifty-two-year-old like you could do such a thing in this highly moral, painfully Puritan age without marrying her?”
“And that, my dear George, is exactly my intent, to marry her if she will have me. That’s the rub. What if she refuses me? I’ve been with her three times since we met on Bond Street, always at dinner and always with her mother or brother or both in attendance. They watched me as if I were an ancient hawk circling to steal their most precious chick.”
“Who can blame them?” Galt roared, again slapping his knee with delight.
“Who can indeed?” John A. could only agree. “Well, chaps, I shall soon put the question. Thursday, to be exact. Agnes is dining with me. Not her brother, not her mother. Just Agnes alone. I’ll do it then. I’ll work up my courage and propose!”
The fatherly Cartier cautioned, “Just don’t work up your courage with drink, John.”
Macdonald allowed, “That would be the quickest way to lose my wonderful Agnes. I have enough handicaps as it is, God knows.”
“And George and I are two of them.” Galt laughed as he stood up saying to Carnarvon, “Well, sir, it’s been a long day.”
“But a productive one,” Lord Carnarvon told him, “and there are still more matters we haven’t covered this evening.”
Macdonald struggled to his feet. “Perhaps we can address them in the morning after breakfast?”
“Yes, of course. I’m anxious to talk with you in your capacity as Canada’s Minister of Militia Affairs about that military threat from the United States in general and the Fenians in particular.”
John A. straightened his long frame. “I bid you goodnight, Harry, and thank you for your gracious hospitality.” He held back a belch. “I shall be happy to give you an appraisal of the American threat, which continues unabated, and of those Irish madmen.”
4
December 12, 1866
London
Ever the consummate host, the Earl of Carnarvon had insisted on driving with his honoured colonial guests to the sparkling new railway station at Newbury. It would have been impossible for Henry Herbert to simply see his guests off from the front entrance of Highclere Castle.
So it was that on the morning of December 12 he escorted his three visitors to board the waiting train amid the whistling vapour clouds and pulsing puffing noises of the powerful steam engine as it vibrated with energy waiting to be unleashed like a racehorse to get on to the next stop.
Carnarvon had said farewell to Galt and Cartier, adding that he would see them in London on the weekend or by Monday at the latest, and admonishing the two ministers to ensure that the work of the confederation conference went smoothly.
Then he turned to Macdonald. “Now, John A., be a good chap and take care.” He frowned as he spoke in a low, not-to-be overheard voice. “Keep a watch out for the Irish, those abominable Fenians who want us out of Ireland. They’ve been infiltrating London, setting off bombs again, terrorizing the city.” Carnarvon’s face showed his concern. “Scotland Yard is doing its best, but the Fenians are killing prominent British citizens when they think it will assist the cause of independence.”
Carnarvon hesitated. “What I’m saying is that you should be very careful about your personal safety. You could well be a Fenian target.”
“In London?” Macdonald was incredulous, and the arching of his eyebrows showed it. “That can’t be! I mean, we’re thousands of miles away from the American Fenians. Surely they won’t attack us here in England.”
“And why not? Your presence here is well known. If the Fenians of Ireland — they’re in league with the lot in America — if they come after you and did you in, it would be a great victory that might well destroy the plans for Confederation, right? Let’s face it, John A., without you the plans would collapse.”
The call to board the train was ringing in their ears. Cartier and Galt were already settled facing each other in the first-class compartment.
“I understand what you’re saying, Harry, and I will keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
“Good. If there is anything, any problem, get in touch with Scotland Yard straightaway. And, John A., that’s wonderful news about Agnes.”
Macdonald climbed into the carriage and he pulled the door shut behind him. He then turned, lowered the door window, put on his grey stovepipe hat, and stuck his arm out the opening. Grasping Carnarvon’s hand as the first whistle signalled movement of the train, he shouted, “Thank you for that, Harry, and wish me luck!”
“You have it!”
From the time Carnarvon assumed the office of Colonial Secretary during the summer of 1866, Macdonald had been in constant communication with the new minister about the plans for Confederation and the Fenian raids. The two men were able to exchange messages rapidly by means of the magical transatlantic cable
