Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Janet Kellough
many still call it that, and with some reason, though it’s not nearly so bad as it was.” The shop door opened and Varney excused himself. “Why, look, Elsie,” he called back. “It’s Mr. Simms. You’d best get another teacup.”
Lewis knew of Isaac Simms. He was a peddler, and their paths had crossed on several occasions, although they had never exchanged more than a few words of greeting. He knew that the man had a reputation for fair dealing and seemed to be well-liked everywhere he went.
Whatever transaction the peddler had with Varney was quickly concluded, and he was invited to join them in the parlour. Lewis thought that Simms was probably very successful as a peddler. There was a general air of affability about him, and an open face framed by sandy brown hair. His high forehead denoted intelligence; the width of the brow promised honesty. He would have the pennies winkled out of a farmwife’s hand in a moment, leaving her well satisfied with her bargain, Lewis figured.
They exchanged a few pleasantries while Mrs. Varney poured more tea, and then Lewis attempted to turn the conversation to the subject of his new congregation.
Simms had distracted the Varneys from church matters, however; they were eager for news, regardless of how bad it might be. Though the towns along the front had easy access to newspapers — there was one that published regularly from nearby Picton — the Varneys, as was the case with most people, placed little reliance on the truth of anything they read in these. The papers were too apt to propound their own points of view, and support their owners’ politics. It was preferable to gather intelligence from those who travelled the colony with regularity, most notably peddlers and itinerant clergymen like himself who often had the facts first-hand and could dispute or confirm the printed version with authority. Unlike himself, Simms proved to be an informative source.
“Lount and Matthews are to hang, Governor Arthur will make sure of that,” he told them. This was consistent with what had been reported in the more radical papers. “Thousands are to be transported or banished.”
It was clear that Lieutenant-Governor Arthur was bringing the full force of the law to bear on those who had risen against the government. Across both Upper and Lower Canada, people were being arrested with little apparent regard for whether they had actually borne arms or had merely expressed an opinion. Lewis doubted that there would be as many transportations as Simms claimed, but the peddler spoke with great conviction and it was evident that the Varneys believed every word. Whatever the truth of the details, it was clear that the rebel leaders, Mackenzie and Papineau, had sown a crop of woe for many.
After the failure of the rebellions, both of the leaders had evaded capture in spite of the enormous rewards offered and had fled to the United States. Papineau seemed to have melted into nowhere, but the mad little Scot, Mackenzie, had set himself up on Navy Island, just above Niagara Falls, proclaiming himself the head of “a new republic.” American agitators had been quick to supply him with food, arms, and men.
“I shouted hurrah when our soldiers seized The Caroline and sent her plunging over the falls,” Mrs. Varney said. “That’ll starve the rebel out.”
The Caroline was the ship loaded with provisions that had been plying its way from the American shore to Navy Island. In a daring raid, British troops had fired her and then set her adrift, to howls of outrage from the Americans, who claimed that since the seizure had taken place in their territory, their sovereignty had been impinged, and that reprisals were called for. Simms had with him a copy of the newspaper from Cobourg detailing the latest events, and he was happy to share it. Someone had written a poem to commemorate the destruction of The Caroline and the paper had printed it. Mr. Varney insisted on reading parts of it aloud:
“And that the very gallant act
Of Captain Andrew Drew,
Whose name must be immortalized —
Likewise his daring crew.”
“Whatever would we do without brave young men like Captain Drew?” Mrs. Varney exclaimed, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. “My goodness me, we’d be at the mercy of the rebels!”
These fine sentiments were lost on Lewis, as the name Drew meant nothing to him. Still, he supposed it was a victory of sorts for British troops and should therefore be lauded.
“Listen to this, Mother.” Varney chuckled as he went on:
“The captain and his gallant crew,
Whose names I wot not all,
From Schlosser cut the steamboat out,
And sent her o’er the Fall.
Oh then the Yankees stormed outright,
And spoke of reparation.
A mighty flame then rose through
this Tobacco-chewing nation.”
“Hee, hee, hee,” Varney wheezed. “Tobacco-chewing nation, that’s a good one, isn’t it now?”
“Well, that will put paid to all Mackenzie’s nonsense,” Mrs. Varney said. “Fancy the Americans helping such a rogue.”
Lewis declined to comment on the affair and discounted the Varneys’ statements. Now that the rebellion had failed, everyone claimed to be an ardent supporter of the status quo, and there was nary a person around who would own up to being a Reformer.
“Britain is sending a new man out to investigate what’s going on. They say he’ll hang everybody,” Simms reported.
“Serves them right,” Mrs. Varney said.
Lewis waited patiently during a protracted discussion of just what the new governor might or might not do, and whether or not the Americans really meant to invade Canada again, until it appeared that Simms’s news was exhausted. When it seemed that nothing further could be added to the rumour mill, he gently turned the conversation back to matters of the church.
The Varneys, their tongues loosened by temporal gossip, happily filled him in regarding the spiritual state of the neighbourhood, detailing who could be counted on to support him and ease him into a new place. Mrs. Varney was quick to regale him with the personal details of everyone they discussed. He was beginning to realize that she was that most reprehensible of creatures, the village gossip, but decided that for the moment the failing could be useful. The people she described seemed to be solid, respectable citizens, and she spoke of an encouraging group of young people who regularly attended meetings.
He wanted to ask her about the girl with the chestnut hair —to inquire as to who she was, and whether or not she was a Methodist. But then he realized how unseemly his questions would sound. A man of forty asking after a young girl like that might be taken the wrong way.
“We are fortunate to have two artists in our ranks,” Mrs. Varney informed him. “The Caddick brothers. One of them paints miniatures and will do a portrait for you in a minute. The other is more interested in scenery. Both of them can write the entire Lord’s Prayer on the head of a pin. It’s most amazing.”
Lewis’s mind had been drifting and he had only been half-listening to the prattle, but with mention of the pins, he started, nearly spilling his tea. He had seen just such a pin once before — nestled in the folds of his dead daughter’s bodice! At the time he had wondered at the novelty of it, but with so much else to contend with, he never expected to discover where it had come from.
“The Caddicks really are gaining a reputation, thanks in part to Mr. Simms here,” Mrs. Varney continued.
Simms nodded. “Aye, it’s astounding how well those little pins sell. Occasionally the Caddicks sell one of their paintings in town, but it’s those pins the people in the backcountry like.”
Lewis was told that the older Caddick brother, Benjamin, peddled these artistic wares along the front, in the settled areas. But in an attempt to broaden the market, the brothers had apparently commissioned Simms to take some of their stock as well. The younger boy, Willett, went out occasionally, but according to Varney he hadn’t the personality of his brother and more