on liberal quantities of butter. “Haven’t had butter in a while. I told the Inspector it was all a misunderstanding, and no harm was done.”
“He accepted that?” I asked. The soup was potato and cabbage. Common enough, but with a dab of butter and a splash of milk—fresh milk—added to raise it above the ordinary.
“He said he’d been a lad once, dreaming of joining the NWMP.” Sterling looked at Angus, soup spoon hanging in the air, halfway to his mouth. “He also said he’ll allow a boy one indiscretion. But not more than one.”
I collected the empty soup bowls and served the roast, potatoes and vegetables, feeling quite domesticated as I did so. A proper wee Canadian housewife. But, like Marie Antoinette playing milkmaid at Le Petit Trianon, it was only a game.
Sterling and Angus told me about their expedition to the Creeks, and I was glad that I’d never have to go there— Dawson was dirty enough for me, thank you very much. But I was pleased to hear once again that Ray’s friend from Scotland had confirmed his account of their activities on Sunday. Angus asked about the murder investigation, and Richard said it didn’t seem to be going anywhere, but Angus was not to repeat that to anyone.
To my horror, there weren’t enough clean dishes on which to serve the pie. We’d used the small plates for the bread. I surreptitiously wiped smeared butter and scattered breadcrumbs off the plates, attempting to hide my sloppy housekeeping behind my body. I need not have bothered. They wouldn’t have noticed if I’d brought in a bucket of sand and scoured the crockery in the middle of the table.
Conversation turned, as it usually did, to people we all knew. Sterling told us that the man who dressed as if in his dreams he wanted to be an Indian fighter, really had been an Indian fighter. But not what most of us thought of in those terms. He had been captured by Indians as a child, raised by them, and remained fiercely loyal to his adoptive family to the point of fighting alongside them against the American Army.
“Wow!” Angus said. His eyes lit up, and I suspected that the Indian Fighter would be facing a long day of storytelling some time soon.
“The excitement over Sam and the saving of the Vanderhaege sister soon died down,” I said, slicing thick slabs of apple pie. The scent of cinnamon rose into the air with every movement of my knife, and I breathed it in, content in my peaceful domestic setting. Apples in the Yukon in June! Truly a miracle. There wouldn’t be much, if anything, left from the money I’d given Mrs. Mann to shop for the dinner.
“Usually does,” Sterling said. “Soon as it’s replaced by something else. Good pie, this.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Collins have been all over the United States,” Angus said. “Did you know that Mr. Collins worked on a cattle ranch in Montana?”
Sterling turned to accept a dented tin mug from my hand. Our fingers met, and he jerked his hand back as if it had touched the hot stove instead. I placed the cup in front of him, feeling the heat rise into my face. The Mountie looked up at me through long, thick black lashes.
Angus chattered away. “I’d like to be a real cowboy. Don’t you think that’d be exciting? They’ve lived all over the United States. They’re from Virginia, but they travelled to Louisiana after they got married. Sam couldn’t get work there. He told me that black men took all the work, ’cause they didn’t get paid as much as a white man. Doesn’t seem fair, to anyone, does it, sir? He fell off a horse and hurt his back so he couldn’t ride any more, then they went to California.”
“Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mrs. MacGillivray.”
“Fiona, please.”
“Fiona.”
“I asked him why they didn’t go back to Virginia, where they had family, and Mr. Collins said that the war was on, and he didn’t want to have to take sides.”
“You must thank Mrs. Mann for the meal. Not me.”
“I will.”
“That would be hard, wouldn’t it? To be forced to take sides.”
“More tea?”
“No, thank you, Fiona. I’d better be going.”
“If you have to.”
“I do.”
He got to his feet, and I took his hat and coat down from the hook. We walked to the front door, where he stood clutching his hat in his big hands. “Thank you for a lovely evening. May I say you look particularly beautiful tonight. That’s a delightful dress.”
“Thank you.”
“Good night. Fiona.”
“Good night, Constable.”
“Richard, please.”
“Richard. Good night.”
I stood in the doorway and watched him walk up the path. He reached the road and turned to smile back at me, a shy embarrassed little smile. Then he continued down the street.
“Do you know Constable Sterling lived in Saskatchewan when he was a child?” Angus said when I returned to the kitchen. He helped himself to another generous serving of apple pie. “Saskatchewan has got to be the most boring place there is. Remember when we crossed the prairie on the train? Nothing but mile after mile of grass. I bet he was glad to get away and join the Mounties.”
“Good night, Angus. If you finish that pie, pour water into the dish so it’ll be easier for Mrs. Mann to clean tomorrow.” I’d told Ray I was going to take the entire night off, so I drifted off to my room, where I slept the whole night through without even a dream.
Chapter Forty
The next morning, as I left the Savoy to do the morning banking, I saw a familiar, and unwelcome, figure marching determinedly down the street in my direction. I fled back into the saloon, waving at Not-Murray standing behind the bar and mouthing, “I’m not here”. Skirts in one hand, bag of money in the other, I galloped up the stairs and stood on the landing, listening, trying not to breathe too loudly.
“Is Mrs. MacGillivray in her office?” Sergeant Lancaster.
“Nope.” Not-Murray.
“Sure she is,” Helen said cheerfully, walking into the saloon from the gambling hall with her mop and bucket. “I caught a glimpse of her running up the stairs. Must have forgotten something.”
I’d hoped that if I was able to avoid my suitor for long enough, he would give up the pursuit. Clearly, I wasn’t to be so lucky.
I lifted my head high and drifted elegantly back down the stairs, lugging the moneybag.
“Sergeant Lancaster, what a pleasure to see you. Unfortunately I can’t stay to talk, I must get to the bank immediately.”
“I just passed the Commerce, Mrs. MacGillivray, and folk are lined up down the street a good way. No point in you hurrying. I was hoping,” he coughed lightly and looked at Helen and Not-Murray and the handful of early drinkers, all of them watching us, “you could spare me a few moments. For a private conversation about the matter that we…ah…discussed the other day. I’m right pleased to hear your son’s back, by the way. Although if you want my opinion, Inspector Starnes should have drummed Sterling out of the force for causing you such distress.”
“Thank you for the warning, but I never wait in line at the bank. If you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll escort you. We can talk on the way.” His brass buttons and high boots were polished to a shine the like of which I hadn’t seen since leaving Vancouver.
“Very well.” I looked over my shoulder as the sergeant hastened to hold the door. Helen grinned so broadly, I wondered if she’d deliberately set Lancaster on me. Not-Murray and the customers returned to more important matters.
“Allow me, Mrs. MacGillivray.” Lancaster reached out and tried to