The Drowned Man by David Whellams Page B

this disclosure are honorable. The goal of the South is not to undermine the stability of the Canadas, rather mine is to alert you to the impending threat from separatists in your midst.”
    Although there were two more letters to go, Peter already felt sickened. A man was murdered for this? For a dusty artifact of questionable origin?
    Nicola handed over her draft of letter number two. “The three have to be read together,” she said.
    Jacob Thompson purported to speak for the other two official Confederate commissioners to Canada from Richmond. His letter, as reconstructed by Nicola, made it clear that Sir Fenwick Williams had contacted him about Booth’s claims within a day of receiving the first missive. Thompson — her notes were especially spare on this point — denied that Booth was an agent of President Jefferson Davis, and called upon Sir Fenwick to ignore the fanatical actor. He went on, in fawning prose, to denounce the alleged activities of “Separationists” aimed at drawing “Europeans” into “such factionalism.”
    The third letter consisted of the salutation and a final paragraph, with a blank middle, and reminded Peter of the redacted text of a disingenuous response to a Freedom of Information request. Williams replied to Booth in a note sent care of St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, and dated October 26, 1864. Nicola appeared to have devoted extra effort to the last paragraph, in spite of her disclaimer of a poor memory. The letter seemed little more than a half-hearted thank-you note, but Sir Fenwick had added a gratuitous flourish, stating:
    Her Majesty’s Command will not tolerate the insurrectionist actions of French radicals in Canada at any time. Without commentary on the merits of your cause, which I feel compelled to say is in a state of military decline, I can assure you that I will oversee the suppression of the French cause here.
    â€œI’m sorry they aren’t complete,” Nicola said.
    You should be sorry
, Peter thought. The recreations were no better than fragments, and who knew what spin she had added. “How did Greenwell get hold of the letters?”
    A waft of meat-scented air invaded the study from outside. Peter understood that he had to move faster.
    â€œGreenwell’s a shifty character but extraordinarily well connected in the rare books community,” Nicola said. “On this point, I believed him. He tracked down the letters over a period of three years. He found two of them in family collections in Montreal. Serendipitously. The other he got through a dealer contact in Virginia, or somewhere. The chain of ownership was clear, nothing nefarious.”
    She protested too much, Peter reasoned. He still doubted their provenance. He decided to provoke her.
    â€œAnd they were worth only $10,000?”
    Her hesitation was momentary. “Between you and me, Chief Inspector, Leander was fearful of a lawsuit from the Quebec Government. It isn’t always easy to prove you haven’t committed theft. He wanted to sell.”
    Peter found that he enjoyed prodding the consul general. “So you weren’t afraid of a similar challenge in the courts?”
    â€œThese letters are part of British colonial history. They belong to us. Archives is satisfied of their provenance, and I intended to ship them at once straight to London.”
    â€œYes, but . . .”
    Her voice rose. “A claim from the Quebec Government? Yes, and the Americans and possibly the Booth family, too. But Canada East and Canada West were under undisputed British supervision at the time, until three years later when Canada won its independence. The head of British Forces was a party to all three letters. Williams was in charge of all military units in Canada and he frequently acted for the governor general. Montreal served as headquarters for both the Army and the GG . The letters belong to us. The Queen is the head of state here and we are