been a year since Dr. Wilkinson died.”
“Very hard to believe,” I said. “I think of him so often. I went to the cemetery this morning.”
“Ah,” Jenny said softly to me. “Now I understand your tears.”
This time I did not deny them.
“I will go to visit his grave this afternoon,” Bridget said. “I only wish there were flowers, something I could take.”
“I shall come with you, Cousin, if I may,” Jenny said. “You wrote to me so often of Dr. Wilkinson that I feel as if I, too, knew him.”
“And in my letters did I tell you the colour of his hair?” asked Bridget, trying to smile.
“Nae, I don’t think so. But you did tell me of his peculiar manner of speaking and how you and he would go dancing. And how much he loved your buttermilk biscuits. Oh, I wish I could have met him, Bridget.”
“So do I,” Bridget said. “But that can’t be. However, allow me to introduce you to another good friend, Ted Maclntosh. Perhaps we can pretend this is the first time the two of you have met, and you can begin all over. Ted, this is my little cousin Jenny. She recently arrived from Inverness, travelling with Mrs. Fraser’s mother who has come to visit her first grandchildren. Jenny is to be nursemaid to Mrs. Fraser’s twins.”
“A nursemaid?” I said. “So you don’t have infants of your own?:
“Of course not! Although it seems foolish to pretend that we have never met, I’ll play the game to please my cousin. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. MacIntosh, but yours is a ridiculous suggestion. I am far too young to have children. Indeed I’m not even married—or affianced.”
“Please, don’t take offence, Miss Jenny,” I said quickly. Please do not take offence again was what I meant, though.
“Nae, I shall not. But should you not also say that you’re pleased to make my acquaintance?”
“Of course. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Good,” Bridget said. “That’s settled, and your disagreement forgotten. Now, Ted, sit with us and have something to eat.”
“I am hungry,” I said.
“Ted is often hungry, Jenny, as you’ll learn if you spend more time in his company,” Bridget explained with a smile in my direction.
“Actually I’m ravenous,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting. “Though earlier today I didn’t have much of an appetite.”
“You not hungry?” Bridget said. “What on earth could have caused that unusual occurrence?”
“A small matter of a murder, I imagine,” a voice behind me said.
We all jumped, and I rose hastily to my feet. Mr. Walkem and Henri Tremblay had come into Wake Up Jake’s, unnoticed by the three of us. Now they stood close to our table. It was Mr. Walkem, the lawyer, who had spoken. He bowed toward Bridget and Jenny. “Excuse me, ladies, for speaking of such distasteful matters, but you’ve no doubt heard of the morning’s events.”
“Yes,” Bridget said. “Yes, we’ve heard.”
The lawyer bowed again. “Distressing for all concerned. Your young friend, Ted Maclntosh, found himself in the middle of an unpleasant scene. No wonder he couldn’t eat.”
“But the boy has found his appetite again,” Henri Tremblay said, staring at me. “The stupid thing he did—taking the side of the Chinamen against me, a white man—is perhaps how he worked up an appetite.”
Once more the restaurant fell silent. Not even the clink of a glass disturbed the hush. I didn’t know how to answer the Frenchman, or if I should reply at all. I sat down again, praying Mr. Tremblay and his lawyer would leave us alone. But that didn’t happen.
“Have you no tongue?” Mr. Tremblay asked. “I remember you speaking freely to your Chinese friends.”
“I took no sides,” I said. “And now I want to order some food. I don’t think I have anything to say to you, sir.” My hands were shaking, but my voice stayed calm. I thrust my hands into my pockets, hoping no one would notice the tremors.
“Mr. Walkem,” Bridget said, “I believe this man is your client. Was he not just accused of murder?”
Both men nodded. “Ah, the coroner’s jury did find that Ah Mow met his death at the hands of a person or persons unknown,” said Mr. Walkem. “But though it’s unfortunate that my client is to be tried for that deed, it’s well-known he’s of good character and could never have harmed anyone. It’s a terrible mistake, and the stories of those Chinamen who claim to have seen what happened will soon be proved to be blatant lies. Mr. Tremblay is innocent.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said boldly. Both men glared at me.
“Indeed it does,” Mr. Walkem said. “After the inquest, the magistrate said publicly that he regretted the painful duty he had to perform, that of committing Mr. Tremblay for trial at the next sitting of the Supreme Court.”
“But there won’t be a trial for months, not until a Supreme Court circuit judge comes here again,” Bridget said. “So why is a man who is charged with murder allowed to wander the streets? Why isn’t he in jail?”
I had wondered the same thing. From the little I knew of the workings of the courts, anyone charged with such a serious offence was usually kept in prison until his trial.
“The magistrate was agreeable to Mr. Tremblay being released on bail,” Mr. Walkem said. “I didn’t even have to present any character witnesses, as the magistrate himself is well acquainted with Henri and said that he felt it would be a travesty if such an upstanding citizen were to spend months in jail awaiting trial.”
“Innocent men shouldn’t be locked up,” Henri Tremblay muttered. “And I am innocent.”
“Of course you are,” Mr. Walkem said. “Even the chief constable and the magistrate know that.”
“Oui. Je suis innocent,” repeated Henri Tremblay. “It matters little what the heathens say. Or what a hungry boy who is almost monsieur le docteur says.” Then he looked directly at me and laughed.
Five
I didn’t see Henri Tremblay after that, not for many weeks. People said he had left town for the winter. After a while, talk about him and the murder of Ah Mow ceased.
I was relieved I didn’t have to see the Frenchman, or even hear about him. He reminded me of another man who had once laughed at me, cruel laughter that I heard in my nightmares for many years. The other man had been tried as a murderer, as Mr. Tremblay would also be when the judges of the Supreme Court next came to the Cariboo. But since Henri Tremblay’s laugh didn’t haunt my nightmares, I could almost forget about him.
Besides, I was too busy to worry about the Frenchman. Pa and I were working hard in the carpentry shop. Everyone, it seemed, wanted something built or repaired in time for Christmas. We seldom
