He’d been captured by the rebels and taken to a makeshift prison in Châteauguay early that Sunday morning. Peering through a narrow slit in a boarded-up window, he had seen Marc teach military drills to the Châteauguay men and drill them daily for the rest of the week. Finally, the magistrate went on, shuddering dramatically as he seemed to remember the horrors of Saturday, November 10, Marc took him and the other captives to the main prison in Napierville.
“We were all important men,” he went on, preening a little, it seemed, for the benefit of the officer-judges. “Men like Mr. Ellice of Beauharnois, as well as myself. Yet we were herded onto a cart like cattle, gagged and handcuffed.”
Sophie bit back a giggle as she wondered how anyone could handcuff cattle. Mr. McDonald, however, didn’t seem to notice that he had said anything ridiculous. “I will remember that morning to my dying day.” His voice wavered pitifully. Probably, Sophie thought, so that everyone could imagine how horrible an experience it had been. He paused, then pointed dramatically at Marc. “And that man, there, was in charge of the convoy. He personally walked beside the cart. Every now and then he spoke. Every time he did, it was an insult to me and my queen.”
“He’s lying,” Sophie whispered fiercely. “He has to be.”
She hadn’t cared much for the man until that point. But when he’d mentioned Mr. Ellice’s name, her dislike escalated into something like hatred.
After her papa became engaged to Lady Theo, she’d met a lot of people like this Mr. McDonald. They floated around the fringes of English society. Generally, they would ignore her. That is, until they found out her connection to Lady Theo and, of course, to Lady Theo’s brother, the Earl of Hornsby. Suddenly, she became their new best friend. Everything she said was clever. They laughed at every joke she made, told her she looked beautiful. She’d smile and try not to let her irritation show. Lady Theo had told her that was the way a true lady behaved but, inwardly, she despised them.
She looked at Luc. Surely, she thought, he has to realize the magistrate’s testimony could mean the hangman’s noose for Marc. This wasn’t a silly attempt to borrow guns. Mr. McDonald had told the officer-judges that Marc drilled men to fight; he acted like a rebel when he commanded the Napierville escort. Luc should have been worried out of his mind. Instead, he smiled as Mr. McDonald added details to his story.
When the magistrate finished, the prisoners began, one after another, to cross-examine him. He waited for their questions with a supercilious smile. Sophie thought it was his way of letting them know that he understood more law than they did. The magistrate also seemed to take great delight in pretending that he didn’t understand French, answering some questions with a dismissive shrug, others sarcastically. He was cruel as well, Sophie thought. One man had a stutter and it took him a long time to get his question out. McDonald answered them in French. Even Sophie, with her poor knowledge of the language, realized that he mocked the man by imitating his stutter.
Finally, Marc stood. Both Luc and Sophie leaned forward on the edge of their seats. In stark contrast to the prisoner before him, he analyzed the testimony against him systematically. “Mr. McDonald, did you really see me drilling men on the village square on Sunday the fourth? Is it possible you could have been mistaken, seeing that you had only a narrow slit to look through?”
The magistrate raised an eyebrow. “I was not mistaken. I saw you drill the men, just as I’ve testified.”
Marc tried unsuccessfully a couple of times to get him to change his story. “Tell me then,” he went on, seeming to give in, “why are you so positive that I was in charge of the group that escorted you from Châteauguay to Napierville the following Saturday? How is it possible that you didn’t see me between the Tuesday and the Saturday?”
Mr. McDonald smiled contemptuously. He looked first to the officer-judges and then back at Marc. “Just because I didn’t see you doesn’t mean that I couldn’t hear you,” he replied. “And, when you seemed away from the village, I assumed you were off fighting Her Majesty’s forces somewhere.”
Marc refused to be shaken. “Sir, was I or was I not in the village on the Thursday and Friday?”
“You were in the village for part of the time.”
“How do you know that, Mr. McDonald?”
“I know it because I saw you.”
“And on the Saturday, are you sure you are not mistaken? Remember, sir, you are still under oath. Are you positive that I commanded the men who took you to Napierville?”
This time the magistrate made no attempt to hide his contempt as he looked first at Marc and then at the officer-judges. “How many more times must I tell the court this? You were the man who walked beside me, taunting me the whole way.”
Marc obviously sensed the officers’ patience running out. “How can you be so certain it was me?” he asked hurriedly.
General Clitherow raised his gavel, but Mr. McDonald plainly was relishing his chance to be the centre of attention. “Because,” he replied, grandstanding once more as he pointed at Marc. “You, sir, have a face that once seen is not easily forgotten.”
Everyone laughed and Marc blushed. That last bit, about Marc’s good looks, Sophie thought, was the only part of the magistrate’s testimony that sounded true. Marc was exceptionally good-looking.
After Mr. McDonald was excused from the witness box, he strutted towards a seat in front of Sophie and Luc and sat there, smiling complacently. He had done his job. Deep in her heart, even Sophie wondered why Marc had challenged him by asking so many questions. He must have realized that the answers made his conviction more certain. Certainly, his cross-examination had not shaken the magistrate at all.
Luc’s smile, though, was wider than ever. “Why are you so happy?” she whispered. “What on earth do you have to smile about?”
Before he could answer, General Clitherow adjourned the court for luncheon. Everyone stood as the officer-judges left the room. Then Mr. Christie turned towards Luc and Sophie. “May I take you to lunch today?”
Sophie frowned, not sure if Lady Theo would approve. Luc, though, had no hesitations. “Sir, we’d be honoured if you would be our guest. We have a private parlour reserved at Orr’s, which is, I believe, your hotel.”
During lunch, while Luc told funny stories about his school, she distracted herself by looking around the private parlour. It was almost a replica of one at Rasco’s. Did every parlour in Montreal hotels look the same? she wondered. Well, not exactly the same, but they all seemed to have the same decor. At Rasco’s the striped wallpaper above the wainscoting was blue, to match its prized Wedgwood Willow patterned china. Here, at Orr’s, the wallpaper’s stripes were a soft wine colour and cream.
When Mr. Christie laughed, Sophie switched her attention back to Luc. The morning’s testimony should have scared every wit he had, she thought sourly. Instead, it appeared to have made him deliriously happy. Sophie wasn’t sure how to react. She didn’t understand his manic need to laugh or joke. Neither, apparently, did Mr. Christie. After the dirty plates had been cleared and tea and cakes brought in, he cleared his throat.
“You seem very cavalier about this morning’s testimony, young man. I thought you might need consolation. Instead, I find myself entertained.”
Luc sobered almost immediately. “I’m sorry. I feel desperately sorry for Mr. Cardinal and the others. I do. But, I’m so happy for Marc. He told a friend that he was going to set a trap and I think Mr. McDonald walked right into it. Otherwise, Marc would never have repeated the questions.”
Sophie thought back to the magistrate’s testimony.