Coppermine (44 page)

“You have been under a lot of pressure.”

“You do understand me.”

“Not easy sometimes.” There was a legitimate smile beginning there now. “I’m hoping it’ll get easier.”

“I’ll work on it.”

He gave her a full smile then, and she shook her head in exasperated amusement. “You know, I’m sure when you go out alone into that wilderness without civilized people to talk to, your brain reverts to some primitive state. Some regressive phase of basic animal existence. I hardly know what to do with you when you come home.”

“You’re very patient.”

“What choice do I have? I’m just pleased that this trial is over and we can now get on with life. There is something I wanted to talk to you about. You know the rumours are rampant that there are further advancements in store for you, and possibilities beyond the police force. Some say with a little polishing—maybe a little tutoring in elocution—you could pursue a future in politics. What do you think about that?”

“I … I don’t know. I’ve never considered public life.”

“Just think about it. And not just municipal, or even provincial. I’m speaking about federal. You could run for Parliament, darling. Go to Ottawa! I’d go with you. And I could help you so much. You know old Hindmarsh in the North Edmonton riding is close to retirement. He may not finish out this term. You don’t get opportunities like that very often. You will think about it, won’t you?”

“Yes. Okay. I’ll think about it. But I do have one request.” Her eyes were impatient at the interruption of her vision for the future. “I would like you to go to your uncle and ask him to recommend that the death sentence be commuted.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. This trial again!”

“All the Attorney General needs is your uncle’s recommendation and he can stay the death sentence.”

“My uncle doesn’t change his mind.”

“He will for you. He adores you. You see how the public is reacting. They love the Eskimos. If they’re hanged, there will be negative publicity. It will leave a bad taint over the whole case.”

Nicole listened, and recognized his point.

“But if the sentence is commuted to a prison term,” Creed continued, “the case will end happily. The press will say how the case represents both justice and compassion.”

Nicole was thinking about it.

“And that is a good note on which to start my new career. My campaign. Don’t you think?”

Nicole’s smile suddenly beamed. “Good boy! Now that’s the right kind of thinking. All right, then. I’ll see him at tea this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Nicole.”

Nicole rose and moved to the chair beside him and took his hand. “Now, I have another idea to inaugurate your campaign. We announce our engagement! Now, after the trial. Remember we agreed?”

It had been the other worry at the back of Creed’s mind.

“In fact, why don’t you come to tea? He’s always pleased to see you. We can talk clemency and politics and … marriage. And wear your civilian clothes. You’ve always looked good in a uniform, but it’d be a nice change. An introduction to your future.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Yes, of course,” she said with a sudden impatience that quickly passed. “This is all so exciting, darling. I knew we’d be good together.” Nicole leaned forward, put her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth with a passionate enthusiasm that surprised him.

THE TWO MILITARY POLICEMEN
arrived at the courthouse. They heard the hammers ringing out in the still air as the new scaffold was erected. There were a few Mounties on duty, and the one-armed captain approached Constable Faraday.

“Constable, I’m Captain Crosswell.” The little captain was British-born with a Yorkshire accent. “We are looking for John or … rather Jack Creed. He’s involved with the trial, correct?”

“The trial is over, sir. Finished yesterday.”

“Oh. Good, then. Where is Sergeant … or rather Corporal Creed? We’d hoped to have a chat.”

“At the detachment, I would guess, sir. If you head east, then straight down Jasper to 101A Avenue. Or he could possibly be at the hotel. The Macdonald. It’s on 100th Street, number 10065. Two blocks up and two to your right, sir.”

“Very well, Corporal. Thank you.”

“If I see him, what shall I say is the nature of the inquiry?”

“We just have a few questions for him. Carry on, Corporal, and thanks for the information.”

“Do you want to know the verdict, sir?”

“What?”

“The verdict. In the trial, sir. They were found guilty. The two Eskimos. They’re going to hang them.”

“Oh. Good show. Well done. Always excellent when the case ends well.”

ANGITUK WALKED
to the hotel going over what she would say to Creed. She had seldom asked for anything in her life, but she was going to ask for this. There had to be a way to make this work. It was not just something she had imagined. He had told her he loved her, and when she remembered what he had said and how he had looked at her, she knew it was true. Now that the trial was over, there was nothing keeping them here. She wanted to leave this unhappy place. There was happiness and anticipation now in her plan, in finally telling the world who she was and what she wanted and going after it. And what she wanted was Creed.

Angituk entered the hotel foyer and popped her head into the dining room doorway. She cast a glance around the room and immediately recognized Creed at a table with his back to her. She started forward but stopped when she saw Nicole sitting beside him. She was smiling at Creed. And then suddenly she leaned over the corner of the table with her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. They kissed as she and Creed had kissed, and Angituk froze there in the doorway. She watched as the embrace continued; saw the satisfied, possessive expression on Nicole’s face over Creed’s shoulder. She saw Creed touch her cheek. She turned and fled.

CREED WENT FIRST
to the detachment to find Cowperthwaite and ask about civilian clothes. He had nothing suitable for high tea with the Justice. Cowperthwaite’s two suits were too small for Creed, but Trooper Sedgewick, who was away on a patrol, had a fine-woven wide-lapelled suit. Cowperthwaite retrieved it in stores and it fit Creed perfectly. He showered and shaved at the detachment, tied the black bat-winged bow tie before the mirror, and put on Sedgewick’s oxford shoes.

Creed had not seen Angituk all day and he decided to go by the hotel. He would buy her dinner later and talk of all that had happened. He hoped to be able to tell her of his success with the Justice and the appeal for clemency. He wanted to make her laugh and to ease the pain and worry that had so obviously plagued her during the trial. His pulse quickened at the thought of her and the desire was suddenly intense, to see her and tell her of his plans.

Feeling a little in costume in Sedgewick’s suit and shoes, he entered the hotel, turned left in the foyer, and started down the hallway toward Angi’s room. He saw them immediately: two military police, knocking at his door. Creed kept his head down, maintained his stride, and made a quick left turn down a convenient service hallway. Behind piles of trunks and baggage, he listened.

“Sergeant MacKay! JOHN MACKAY! Open up!”

Creed stood there, his head against the brocade wallpaper, staring down at the red carpet, his head dizzy, trying to think. They had found him. He had to get away. He heard them knock again on his door, and Creed escaped down the hall and through the kitchen into the empty service yard to decide what to do next. These men were the recurring nightmare that had haunted him for two years. These were the “dark spirits” Uluksuk had spoken of. It must have been the early photographs in the newspapers. Someone had identified him. They had found him and come to take him back.

It seemed impossible. Would the army use up its dwindling resources on searching for one deserter across an ocean and on the far side of a continent?

Yes. They would, to make an example of him. And he was far more than a deserter.

So should he run? He’d have to think about that. He had to do one last thing, though, before he did anything else.

WHEN CREED ARRIVED
for tea on the spacious veranda at five minutes past four, Nicole was already with her uncle, their wide wicker chairs close together. They rose to greet him when he arrived. A gentle breeze off the river kept the bugs down as the maid brought the tray of tea and scones and oatmeal cookies. Justice Harvey was pleased to see him. His courtroom
gravitas
lifted to reveal the kind and friendly man underneath. They began by discussing the bright future ahead.

“You know, a life in politics can be a fine thing. The country is growing and it needs strong guidance,” the Justice told him, his enthusiasm rising. “Men like yourself in positions of power are essential.”

“Thank you, Justice Harvey. I’m very flattered.”

“Old Hindmarsh in North Edmonton has a strong following, but he’ll soon step down. He has no sons or seconds-in-command to speak of. I think he’d like you. We’ll have him over for dinner.”

“I’d enjoy meeting him.”

Now, for Creed, public life as an option had ceased to exist. The only two options in Creed’s life were to run or to surrender, and the time for making that choice was narrowing quickly. Creed finally came right out with it.

“There is one thing that remains heavy on my mind, sir. I feel the need to ask once more if you could find it in your heart to recommend clemency for the Eskimos.”

The Justice shifted in his chair and frowned as he considered Creed’s request, but before he could answer, Nicole waded in as Creed had asked her to.

“You see, Uncle, our concern is about the negative public response to the hangings. You saw how popular the Eskimos are. Jack’s image could suffer. I think the citizens would be much more positive about Jack as a public figure if he represented justice tempered with compassion. Don’t you think?”

They made the argument from different points of view; clemency would be better for everyone.

“Consider your own legacy, sir. Do you want to be known as the justice who sentenced the Eskimos to death? I would think the priests themselves would advocate mercy.”

After the initial resistance, Justice Harvey softened finally under Nicole’s persuasive pout, and her hand on his sealed the bargain. Creed marvelled at the speed with which she’d convinced him. He unfolded a blank telegram form.

“I don’t mean to rush you, Justice Harvey, but perhaps you could compose a telegram to the Attorney General. I can take it to the telegraph office. I think in this case there is no time to waste.”

“I think it would be a wonderful gesture, Uncle. I would be so pleased.”

With no more prompting from Nicole, to Creed’s surprise and relief, the Justice complied. He even used Creed’s argument that it was an example to the Eskimo people of both the just and the compassionate nature of the white man and it set a moral tone before the nations of the world. Creed thanked him with all his heart, and after a few more minutes of friendly chat, avoiding the subject of marriage, he left to get to the telegraph office before it closed.

Creed stopped at the garden gate and looked back at them, still at tea, talking intently. He was ashamed of his duplicity and his deception toward both of them. It was only a matter of hours before they knew all about him—who he was, what he had done. It crossed his mind then, as he looked back at them, all that once could have been. Before the Coppermine. He smiled bitterly to himself at the irony: he had gone north seeking anonymity and had found fame, which would soon become infamy.

He waved to them then turned and, with the telegram in his pocket, walked briskly back into town.

AS CREED ENTERED
the telegraph office, Captain Crosswell and his corporal arrived at the Royal North West Mounted Police offices. Faraday had reported the presence of the military police and their interest in Jack Creed, and this had stimulated much speculation at the detachment. Where was Creed? The captain introduced himself to Worsley and asked to see him in private. Cowperthwaite stood near the door to listen.

“I’m afraid Inspector Creed is off duty.”

“Inspector? He’s done all right for himself.”

“He’s one of our most valued officers.”

“Yes, well … And it’s Creed he calls himself? We saw it in the papers in London. That’s how we picked up his trail. They published a photograph of him with the Indians.”

“Eskimos.”

“Yes. I was the one who identified him. His real name is Sergeant MacKay. Sergeant John MacKay.”

“All right. And what do you want with him?”

“We have charges. Rather serious charges against him. We have papers for his extradition.” The little captain took them from his breast pocket and quite deftly with his one hand opened them in front of the Superintendent for his perusal.

“And what are the charges?”

“Murder and desertion.”

On the far side of the door Cowperthwaite was in shock.

“Very serious,” Worsley agreed. “I take it this was the murder of an officer?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. He strangled his CO to death in the trenches in the middle of an action and then deserted.”

“That can’t be the Creed I know.”

“I’m afraid it’s true. He killed his CO.”

“He must have made Creed quite angry.”

“This is no matter for humour, Superintendent.”

“Of course not. Where will you take him? Where will he be tried?”

“The court martial will be in Belgium, probably Ghent.”

“And if he were convicted, what sort of sentence?”

“Not for me to say, but …” The captain knew it was imprudent to speculate, but he could not resist the temptation. “This sort of thing, this serious, in times of war—they’ll want to set an example. Similar cases in the spring resulted in the firing squad, immediately after sentencing. Fairly standard.”

“I see.”

“So I’ll need your co-operation. In fact I must insist on it.” He unfolded another piece of paper with equal dexterity before Worsley. “This is from your Commissioner in Ottawa, ordering you to co-operate in every way.”

Worsley looked at the paper. “Very well.”