Coppermine (39 page)

“I can become a wolf or a raven.”

“Can we see?”

“Not tonight. It takes a day or two.”

“Are there unicorns where you live?”

Angituk explained the reference and mentioned the merry-go-round. Uluksuk smiled at them.

“Not a unicorn. Not a horse creature with a single horn, but we do have a fish with a single horn, and they are magic.”

“Can you ride them?”

“Maybe. That I have never tried. But there are stories of young girls who do.”

This image pleased the children.

“Do you really eat people?”

“No, not usually. But when we do, it is with great respect.”

With Angituk’s seamless translation, Uluksuk went on to tell the inquisitive girls about his own daughters and granddaughter, and what they liked to do, such as play tag and hide-and-seek, hunt for plover eggs, play rock houses, or search in the rocks and snowdrifts for
inyourligat,
the furry dwarfs, even though they feared them. Elizabeth, the younger, climbed up on his knee to listen to the stories of the spirits and creatures that lived in the North. Uluksuk loved telling the stories to these young ones, for he deeply missed his own children and grandchildren. And the best part was that this new audience had never heard any of his stories before.

A CIRCLE OF GUESTS
had collected near the big bay window. Nicole’s cousin Harold and his English friend, Lieutenant Wilkerson openly discussed the verdict.

“These men may have been found not guilty on a technicality, but they did kill the priests. With all due respect to our hosts, it is hardly a thing to celebrate,” Wilkerson pronounced.

Nicole offered, “I know my uncle is very upset by the verdict. He said it may not stand.”

Her words triggered an alarm in Creed. “Are you saying Justice Harvey is thinking this may not be the end of it?”

“That’s what he said.”

Wilkerson continued. “I can’t see how the verdict could stand. The message would be: you kill a couple of white men and they bring you south and throw a party for you. Then you go home. It would mean open season on white men in the North.” He turned to Creed. “Surely after all your efforts, Corporal—I mean Inspector—Inspector Creed, you don’t think they should be released?”

“It is not my job to assess the actions of these men and what should be done. They are truly from a different world.”

Wilkerson’s voice hardened. “Their world is now our world, and they better damn well adapt to it just like the Indians have and like all the Aboriginals have in all the territories of the Empire. We made them.”

“Often with tragic consequences.”

Wilkerson was surprised by Creed’s liberal sentiments. “The civilizing process is what the Empire does. It is the price Natives have to pay for peace, prosperity, and security.”

“I think only the peace, prosperity, and security of whites.”

“Would you have chaos?”

Creed wondered why Wilkerson had taken a dislike to him. “No. I’ve seen chaos, and I’m not partial to it. I’m only asking they be treated with tolerance and respect.”

“‘Tolerance and respect’ gets you nowhere. They must be shown the new order. They must be taught who’s boss!”

“But they really are just like children,” Mrs. Henry offered in defence.

“Again, with respect, Mrs. Henry,” Lieutenant Wilkerson continued, “I believe you’re naturally far too kind.”

It suddenly occurred to Creed that Lieutenant Wilkerson was interested in Nicole. He was playing to her by putting Creed in his place; with every other line his eyes glanced over to assess her reaction. But more perplexing, Creed noticed, was that Nicole seemed to be responding. Creed looked again at Wilkerson, finding the fashionable little moustache particularly irritating, and re-entered the fray.

“So you were saying, Lieutenant, the Empire’s history of brutal repression is the ticket?”

ANGITUK CAREFULLY WATCHED
Nicole in the circle by the window. She smiled at the men and blinked her eyes and held her glass of champagne up just so. Angituk plucked a glass from a tray and tried to hold it like Nicole. She blinked her eyes a few times and cocked her head and smiled with her mouth wide like Nicole. She took a swallow of champagne and then another. It was sweet and good. She took another, and soon the warmth was spreading through her. She had a sudden desire to be dressed like Nicole. Beautiful and elegant.

Angituk procured another full glass from a tray, hardly spilling a drop. She took a good swallow and sauntered over to join the gathering by the window. She came up quite close to Nicole and smelled her rich, flowery scent and examined her diamond earrings. She smiled at her.

“You have beautiful earrings, Miss Harvey.”

Nicole glanced at the boy, distracted from the conversation, a little irritated. “Thank you.”

Angituk gave her a smile. She finished the second glass and took a third, holding it high in her fingers as she had seen Nicole do. Nicole gave her an odd look then focused again on the men, who were engaged in a heated discussion. Wilkerson barely remained civil.

“You know, Inspector, there was something I was meaning to ask you. You said you were in the Second Canadian Battalion at the second battle of Ypres in ‘15 with the Fourth Princess Louise regiment. But Harold here has a friend in the Princess Louise, the quartermaster, so he knew everyone’s name, and I asked him about you. He was quite sure there was no one with the name Creed in the regiment.”

Angituk continued to admire Nicole’s white dress. It was the most lovely thing she’d ever seen. She wondered again how she would look in such a dress. She leaned over toward Nicole.

“I think your dresh is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“It was a very large regiment,” Creed told the lieutenant, trying to maintain his patience. “Many of us, myself included, went to the Princess Pats just before Ypres. What was the name of your friend? The quartermaster.”

“It must have cost a king’s ransom,” Angituk continued.

“Au contraire.
Quite reasonable, really,” Nicole replied coolly.

“You don’t say. How do you like that?” Angituk swayed unsteadily. She was using phrases from magazines she’d been reading. “I would give my eye teeth.”

“Fitzgibbon. His name is Fitzgibbon.”

Angituk did not register the woman’s irritation with her and carried on. “Where might one get their hands on a shweet little number like that?”

“Montreal.”

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”

Nicole’s expression darkened.

“But what I’m curious about is just where you were wounded. What was the date of your discharge?”

“And your hair is so …” Angituk put out her hand to touch Nicole’s golden curls. “How do you get the curls sho big?”

“What exactly are you getting at, Wilkerson?”

Nicole pushed Angituk’s hand away. “Don’t touch me!” she said, sharply enough to draw the attention of those nearby.

Angituk staggered back a little, caught herself, and then lurched forward. To Nicole’s horror half Angituk’s glass of champagne slopped down the front of her dress. Nicole stepped away from her, furious.

“You stupid, drunken little half-breed! Get away from me!”

“I’m so sorry …” Angituk took out her handkerchief to wipe off the front of the dress.

“Get away!” Looking down at the stain spreading across her bodice and waist, Nicole gasped in disgust. Creed and Wilkerson moved forward in unison with handkerchiefs ready, and glared at each other.

“Come to the powder room, dear,” Mrs. Henry offered.

Nicole stormed out of the room.

“Let’s have some lively music, shall we?” Mrs. Henry ordered over her shoulder, and followed Nicole.

Harold Harvey went quickly to the gramophone and with a hefty crank a symphonic version of the popular “The Sunshine of Your Smile” flooded the parlour. A young couple started dancing. The conversation between Creed and the English lieutenant was over. Creed turned and went after Nicole.

CREED STOOD ALONE
in the dark hallway outside the locked door of the powder room. He could hear Nicole and Mrs. Henry speaking inside. After a moment Mrs. Henry came out and put a hand on his arm.

“She’ll be all right, Inspector. It’s coming out.”

When Mrs. Henry had gone back into the parlour, Creed called through the door. “Do you need any help, Nicole?”

From beyond the door: “It’s not polite to talk through powder room doors. Have you lost all your manners? I’ll just be a minute.” The voice was softer, less angry.

He was anxious to ask her more about what Justice Harvey had said concerning the trial verdict but decided not to push it. He felt a presence and turned to find Angituk standing in the shadows.

“She’s not sho pretty when she’s mad, ish she?”

“Shhhhh. You shouldn’t drink any more champagne.”

“
Au contraire.
I require more now I’ve spilled it all over your lady love.”

Angituk walked up to him and gave him a goofy smile. She put her strong hands on either side of his face, pulled him toward her, and kissed him hard on the mouth. He hesitated and then for a moment he responded, pulling her to him, feeling the length of her body against his and matching the eagerness of her mouth and tongue. Just as suddenly, he stopped. He glanced toward the entrance to the parlour, where laughter and music could be heard. The door to the powder room was just a few feet from them and he gently, reluctantly, pushed her away.

“We can’t do this. Not here.”

“Then come with me.” Angituk spoke in a breathless whisper. “I want you.”

“For God’s sake, Angi,
shhhhhhh.
Look, I think Uluksuk and Sinnisiak are still in danger, and a scandal won’t help things. And Nicole could be the key to protecting them. When she comes out, you should apologize … again.”

Angituk looked at him, both hurt and amused. She reached up and touched his lips with her fingertips, then stood back from him a little unsteadily. “You really don’t know what you want, do you?”

The door to the powder room opened and Nicole was surprised to find them both there. Angituk turned toward her.

“Miss Harvey, I am dreadfully sorry. That was very clumsy of me and I apologize.”

“That’s all right. Try to be more careful next time.” She dismissed her. “Jack?”

She raised her white hand expectantly and Creed took it. They walked toward the parlour. When Creed glanced back, Angituk made a sour face at him. It covered the pain she was feeling. The champagne was wearing off. She watched them until they disappeared through the doorway. Enough of this, she thought.

She went into the cloakroom to find her light coat. She heard a shuffling and a sigh. She turned on the dim electric light to find Sinnisiak and the pretty girl from across the table lying on the coats. They looked at her, startled. The girl’s hair was dishevelled and Sinnisiak had a happy expression. Angituk turned out the lights again. She put on her coat and old fedora and headed for the front door.

Twenty-One

Angituk crossed the river at the 106th Street Bridge and made her way north toward Jasper, the cool night air clearing her head. She tried to put Creed out of her mind and focus on her quest. It was late and the streets were quite deserted as she crossed Wellington Terrace and returned briefly to the hotel to change her clothes. She took off the pinstriped suit and slipped into her jean trousers, checkered shirt, and old fedora. She put a light patina of ash on her face and assumed the shoulders-up, eyes-down, slightly rolling gait of her male persona.

Standing on the narrow boardwalk, Angituk double-checked the address written in pencil on the little piece of paper in Cowperthwaite’s meticulous hand. Dooley’s Bar on 98th Street. A lamppost illuminated its dark green exterior and two drunks counting out their pennies. A third was relieving himself in a puddle in the middle of the unpaved street. No one gave her a glance as she went into the bar where she hoped to find her father.

It was loud and smoky and dark inside the bar, and Angituk stepped to one side to look around from under the brim of her hat. Miners and tradesmen, a few soldiers, and a couple of farmers sat at tables served by an elderly waiter. The only three women in the place wore bright dresses with old-fashioned crinolines underneath and had faces heavily made up and lots of curls in their hair. They sat with the men and laughed and smiled and patted the men on their arms or knees. As Angituk watched, one of the ladies took a shy farmer in overalls upstairs. His face was red and he glanced around nervously, but he followed her when she took his hand.

Her father—or at least a man named Angus McAndrew—lived upstairs, and Cowperthwaite had made a phone call for her to determine that he was the bartender on Thursday nights. There was no one behind the bar when she first entered, but then a big man came out from the kitchen. He was yelling back at the cook.

“I said stew, not goddamn soup, you crazy Chink. Get me four goddamn bowls of stew. And bread.
Now,
for Chrissake!”

Angus McAndrew stood behind the counter scratching the few days’ growth of beard on his chin. Angituk instinctively lowered her brim and looked away. She could feel his eyes settle on her for a moment and then move on. Then he was looking at the piano player.

“Hey, Beethoven. Something faster. Let’s hear some goddamn ragtime. You’re putting us all to sleep, you stupid wop.”

Angituk’s heart sank. She had hoped her father was a kind man. She walked up to the bar.

Angus McAndrew fixed his angry eyes on Angituk as she approached. “You a breed? We don’t serve breeds in here, kid.”

“I’m looking for Angus McAndrew.”

“Oh, you are? And what’s he to you?”

The Chinese cook came out with a tray of bowls of stew and put it on the bar.

Angituk asked, “Are you Angus McAndrew?”

“Why? Did he win the Irish Sweepstakes?” The big man laughed at his joke and slapped the cook too hard on the back, but even he laughed a little. McAndrew’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this about? Who wants to know?”

“A friend.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life, you little shit. Now get out of my place.”