“I don’t need men,” January pointed out, once again. Provine didn’t seem to grasp his need. In fact, he never acknowledged it. “I need to transport my goods to Baltimore. I would like you to approach Mr. Ledford for me.”
“There are other shippers,” Provine said.
“Not men who are friendly to our cause. Ledford is discreet. He has a network in place.”
“Ledford is a valuable man,” Provine noted, almost incidentally.
“Yes. I know,” January said.
Provine skillfully slipped away from the object of the discussion. “Mr. January, I’m sure you will find a shipper with Mr. Ledford’s level of sensitivity. Unfortunately, Mr. Ledford, and I concur with him on this matter, is reluctant to involve himself with Confederate activities unless he knows the participants well. I could advocate you and your need, truly I could, and I will. You have my word on that, but he is wary of such efforts.”
“Except those proposed by you?”
“He is cautious,” Provine confirmed. “I will speak to him, but I have little hope that he will accede to your wishes.” The landscape captured his attention. “It truly is breathtaking. Not like that hated swamp. I tell you, between the heat and pestilence, Richmond could claim ten years from a man’s life.”
“Will you speak to Mr. Ledford for me?” January asked. “We have very little time.”
“I have a house picked out. In the Upper Town. You must come and visit me.” Provine grew sympathetic. “I will speak to Ledford. I can promise you nothing, but I will convey to him your need for his assistance.” His interest drifted. “I lived in one tiny room in Richmond. In the summer the air stank of sewers and in the winter it was choked with wood smoke.”
“We all had to endure,” January said, signaling for Goodwin. They watched in silence as Provine and his companions climbed into one of the sleighs. In a few minutes the vehicle had disappeared over the white landscape, the only evidence of its passage the thin shadows of its runners.
“His men aren’t happy with him,” Goodwin said.
“They have company,” January said, taking a cigar from Goodwin, followed by a lit match. He waited for the cigar tip to glow before continuing. “I have to have Ledford. He is the only trader I can trust. I cannot get those items south without him.”
“Will Provine represent you?”
“Provine—” the word followed by a burst of smoke “—is far more concerned with establishing his home in Quebec City. I suspect he feels if he does nothing, he will suffer no harm.” January said, “What of those two? Will they come to us?”
“Yes. They can be bribed, although they don’t know it.”
They walked to their sleigh, and as January stroked the horse’s mane, he asked, “Can you do it? All of it?” It was complicated, he knew. Perhaps far more so than Goodwin was capable of understanding. He was intelligent, and with time and examination there wasn’t a machine he was incapable of comprehending. But this was more than machines, and Wilmington proved that control was not always possible.
“Yes,” Goodwin said. He added, “I know as much as he did. I’ve got copies of everything. I never let a thing pass that I didn’t ask questions. What about Provine?”
“‘Either betray’d by falsehood of his guard, Or by his foe supris’d at unawares.’”
Goodwin waited patiently. He never understood how a grown man could dress up and pretend to be someone else.
“Kill him,” January said, his talent unrecognized.
Chapter 9
The American Consul’s Office
Quebec City, British Canada
Tooke introduced Fitz to Abel Chamberlain, the American Consul to British Canada. The harried man spoke a few words of greeting to Fitz, drew Tooke into his office for an extended visit, and left Fitz to his own devices in an anteroom. A young man, a secretary of sorts, felt sympathy for the stranded officer.
“They might be a while,” the man said. “Mr. Chamberlain is particularly vexed today.”
Fitz, irritated at being abandoned and tired of trying to find a position where his arm didn’t hurt, said, “Why is today different from any other day?”
“The British are landing more troops. Can I get you a refreshment?”
Fitz remembered the company of soldiers forming ranks in the train station, a swath of bright red against the dull bodies of the train cars—greatcoats, packs, blanket rolls, white leather belts and harnesses—these men had come to stay. “How many troops?” he asked.
“Five to ten thousand. Relations are very strained, you know. We’ve all been given orders not to antagonize the British in any way.”
“Oh, good,” Fitz said. “I am particularly adept at not antagonizing people or foreign governments.” The secretary, catching his caustic tone, offered a polite smile and disappeared behind a desk covered with papers.
Tooke retrieved Fitz, led him to an unimposing office near a set of stairs, and sent for coffee.
“Mr. Chamberlain is distressed,” Tooke said as he hung up their garments and slid behind his desk.
“The British army.” Fitz supplied the reason for the counsel’s fear. He didn’t realize how tired he was from the trip. Or maybe it was his concern for Asia, or the fact that he seemed never to have been without this wound. He knew he needed rest—four hours of good, deep sleep would refresh him.
“How did you know?”
“The young man told me. And I saw a company in the station. He has every right to be frightened. The British army has a habit of treating its rivals badly. I’m sure there’s a fair amount of diplomatic square dancing going on, trying to keep the two nations from coming to blows.”
“Yes,” Tooke said. “Mr. Chamberlain was insistent that we do nothing to jeopardize the fragile relationship between the American government and Her Majesty’s government.”
“Mr. Tooke,” Fitz said, feeling a bit devilish, “I am the soul of propriety. You were about to tell me about the Southern agents in the city.”
Tooke recalled the conversation in the carriage. “Oh, my, yes. We know of three—Sorrel, Provine, and Locker. They have never been active. A common rumor is Provine prefers the company of society to the intrigues of conspiracies. I’ve never met the man.”
“Those three? No one else?”
“None have caught our attention. Of course there is always talk. Most natives up here, French and English, detest Lincoln and distrust the North. It’s fashionable to make demonstrations on behalf of the South.”
“Demonstrations?”
“Parties celebrating Southern victories, dinners with mock Southern regalia decorating the dining room. The Januarys dedicated a performance to the brave men of the South. Their Southern antecedents are well known. Maryland, I believe.”
“Has Abbott ever been seen in the company of these people?” Fitz asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
A knock on the door interrupted