Silent Time (24 page)

“Judging from the thickness I'd say there are a thousand sheets here.” William shook his head in amazement. “That's two thousand dollars.”

“That's just so much as Dulcie needs for four more years of school,” said Leona. “It said in the letter that it cost $500.00 a year.”

She looked at William, waiting for his next word or move.

“We need to think for a minute, Leona. Let's consider our options. First of all, even if I can sell the stamps on the black market, I won't be able to get full value for them. I'm guessing a thousand is as much as they'll bring.”

“That's two years' worth,” Leona said. “I'll worry about the rest when the time comes.”

“We could turn them back over to the government,” William said. “There may be a reward.”

“More likely a jail sentence, William, and you know it.”

William nodded. He could see that he had little choice. He could abandon Leona and Dulcie or else quickly develop a criminal mind. Strangely, once he'd made up his mind to it, he felt his courage rise. “I said earlier that Arthur Duke has struck us a serious blow. It's true, he has. But this is our chance to strike back.”

He thought he saw the trace of a smile on Leona's lips. “What can we do?” she said.

“It's going to be a tricky business to sell these stamps on the black market in St. John's. But there's one thing in our favour. They're not forgeries.
There's no way of telling them from the two-cents stamps already in circulation. Our problem is I don't know anyone who is in the business of buying or selling illegal stamps.”

“There's got to be a way,” Leona said. “My little girl needs schoolin' an' that's all there is to it. I'll take ‘em to St. John's myself if I have to.”

William looked at Leona with her long skirt and tight knit hair. He'd always been the one to act for her in the city. How could he refuse to do it now?

“No, I'll do it, Leona. Now that I think of it, I do know one man who might be able to help us.”

William slipped the cover back on the box. He noticed as he did so that exactly six stamps, one for each year of Dulcie's schooling, were missing from the top row of the first sheet.

Two days later William found himself completely immobilized in the stairwell of the Vail Building, unable to either carry on up to Percy Fearn's office or go back down the stairs again and leave. It would do no good to think further on the affair. He had turned it over and over in his mind all the way back from the Cape Shore, then called Fearn the minute he got home, and made the appointment for today. Still, a quick check of his pocket watch told him he was late.

There was nowhere else to turn. Percy Fearn was the only stamp dealer he knew, but how could he broach the delicate matter of an illegal stamp sale with the man? How much could he tell him? What sort of questions might Fearn ask, and how could he answer them without giving himself and Leona away? Should he risk telling him the entire story? Should he get Fearn to make the sale, or merely establish a contact? He was aware that the minute he broached the subject, Fearn would become either an accomplice or a potential informant. Which would it be? He came back to the stark fact that he had no one else to turn to and headed up the stairs.

The stamp box weighed heavily in his hand as he remembered Leona's dark eyes. He imagined the visions those eyes had seen, the terrible tragedy she must have relived time and again on the restless sea of her mind. She had struggled all those years, trying to keep some sense of life alive, until an unexpected grace came into her life and gave her cause to live again. Dulcie's grace had touched him as well, allowed him to mend his own brokenness. He remembered how the high cause of her education, the very making of her soul as Keats had called it, had gotten him through that difficult time after the war. He couldn't forget that now. He was the only one left to defend her and he would walk through fire to do it.

He reached the landing and saw Percy Fearn's office. He told himself he would know instinctively how to deal with the situation, steeled himself
one last time and walked through the door. He forgot to knock, but Fearn didn't seem to mind.

“William,” he said on seeing him. “I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up. Come on in, man, and take a seat in one of my fine chairs. Buy one on your way out, if you like, or better still why don't you order enough to redecorate your entire department. I'm sure Agriculture and Mines could do with a new look.”

“It's cuts they want to hear about today, Percy, not expenditures.” William slid into an armchair. “So, how is business?”

“Frankly, not good, but I hope you're not here to welsh on our deal. I'm still prepared to give it the rest of the year to see if things turn around.”

“No, that's not why I'm here,” said William, his hand touching the box of stamps he'd laid on the floor.

Percy gave the surface of his desk a couple of reassuring thumps. “Good! What can I do for you, then? You wouldn't give me any information over the phone. Why all the mystery?”

William stumbled on despite a lack of the inspiration he had hoped for on the stairs. “Percy, I need your advice, maybe even your help, your expert knowledge, say, in a … delicate matter.”

Fearn smiled, seeing William's obvious difficulty.

“You're a good man, William. I think you know you can trust me or you wouldn't be here. So let's talk candidly, shall we?”

William decided to tell him the whole story. He was just about to launch into it when the phone on Fearn's desk started to life with a loud ring. Fearn grabbed it up and said, “Yes, Noreen.” He paused, listening. “Really? Right now? All right. Send them up.” He hung up. “William,” he said. “Would you mind waiting in the inner office for a minute while I take care of this? For some reason the police are downstairs.”

Thanks to a clear border around the frosted glass in the inner office door, William was able to watch what was happening, and hear well enough, too. He saw two policemen enter. One was in plainclothes, the other in uniform. The plainclothes one seemed to be in charge. He handed Fearn an official-looking document and said, briskly, “Good day to you, Mr. Fearn. I'm Detective John Rossiter and this is Constable O'Reilly. We have a warrant to search these premises, as well as your home. We have proof that you are in possession of counterfeit stamps, and have reason to believe that you are also concealing the presses where they are being made.” He gave a quick nod to O'Reilly, who immediately started going
through a filing cabinet. William watched Fearn sink, stunned and suddenly pale, into his seat.

“You won't find anything,” he said. “I deal in stamps, yes, but I have never knowingly bought or sold a counterfeit stamp in my life. And I'm certainly not in the business of making them.”

“Mr. Fearn, we're already aware of at least two fakes that you have, excellent forgeries, that were likely done right here in St. John's.”

“How could you possibly know if I have forgeries or not? I haven't put any of my stamps on the market.”

“No? Well, based on an anonymous tip we received, we did a little digging into your affairs and discovered that you have entered into a rather unusual contract with your landlord, the Honourable W. J. Cantwell, in which you are using the forged stamps as collateral. That, sir, is fraud.”

“There's nothing wrong with any of those stamps,” Fearn protested, although he was looking increasingly doubtful and distressed.

The detective pulled a letter from his inside coat pocket and tapped it with his finger. “That is not the opinion expressed in this letter to the authorities from Harmers of London.”

“What?”

“When they reviewed your collection some months ago, Mr. Fearn, they found that some of the De Pinedoes you sent them were forgeries and elected to notify us. Since we are investigating a counterfeit ring in the city, we asked Harmers to play along until we got to the bottom of it. I think we're just about there.”

Now Fearn took on the look of one who knew that he had been utterly abandoned. Meanwhile, Constable O'Reilly completed his search of the filing cabinet and opened the door to the inner office.

“Sir,” he said, indicating with a nod that Rossiter should come take a look.

Rather than be a sitting duck, William stepped forward into the room.

“Minister Cantwell?” Rossiter said, with a surprised look. “Well, well. You're here at a good time, sir. You've no doubt overheard that this matter affects you very directly. We'll need your permission to open the safety deposit box that contains the evidence in this case.”

“I'll grant it, of course, but I believe in Mr. Fearn's honesty. Even if the stamps you speak of are forgeries, I won't be pressing charges.”

“The Crown will be taking care of that, sir. All we need is access to the evidence.”

Then O'Reilly called from the inner office. “I think you should come see this, sir.”

William despaired to see Leona's stamps lying open on the small mahogany desk.

“Do these belong to you, Mr. Fearn?” Rossiter asked.

“No. No, I swear,” he said.

All three looked at William who simply said, “I want to speak to a lawyer.”

“How about that, O'Reilly?” said Rossiter, with a wry grin. “I think we got two birds with one stone today. First, we cracked the counterfeit ring, and now we've nabbed the guilty party in the stamp robberies from the museum.”

William spent the night in jail. The next day he stood before a judge and was charged with larceny for the stamp robberies. He posted bail for his immediate release, but waited a week before he quietly left town one day to go to the Cape Shore.

He wanted to be with Leona and Dulcie. Word of his arrest would have reached them already. Radio and newspapers were both carrying the story of how the notorious stamp robberies had been solved and how a minister of the government had been arrested and charged. He wanted to tell them himself what had happened. He needed to explain how his final attempt to keep their dream alive had failed.

After he grimly manoeuvred the Model T down Knock Harbour Hill, he looked up to see the mother and daughter standing in the yard. It was somehow clear to him that they'd already heard the news.

Dulcie was there. One day last week Leona had gone into her room and scribbled the words
Mr. Cantwell in trouble
on a piece of paper. So, at his arrival, she'd bravely pushed her own disappointments aside and come down to lend her support.

Once they'd gathered in the parlour William explained the situation. “I'm not really in any serious trouble. I'll just need some time to clear my name. Still, I sent my resignation as minister to Governor Anderson this morning.”

“So what will happen now?” Leona asked.

“Not much. There probably won't even be a trial once they find out the stamps weren't stolen from the Newfoundland Museum. Ironically, Arthur Duke will likely be the one to explain their correct origin. Of course, they'll be confiscated immediately.”

“Where will you say you got them?”

William shrugged. “I don't know. I'll say that I was asked by someone, who obviously prefers to remain anonymous, to return them to the Government. I just happened to stop into my office building on the way along, that's all. No one can prove any different.”

Leona still looked doubtful.

“Don't worry,” he said. “They'll have no choice but to let me go.”

“Will they come after me then, do you think?”

“No, Leona. Arthur Duke finally has his precious stamps back. What more could he want? The terrible thing is that they were our last hope of Dulcie going back to school. I'm sorry.”

He looked at Dulcie. He knew that she had likely read her own name and the word “school” on his lips and that she could also read the disappointment on his face.

“I've failed her,” said William. “Everybody and everything I represent has failed this girl.”

This time, Leona's hand came across the table and took his. “No, William. You did the best you could. We all did. Me, you, Dulcie – we're just going to have to carry on now as best we can.”

William thought he saw a new clarity in Leona's eyes. Could it be that with nothing left to hide at last, she also had nothing left to fear?

Dulcie was trying to remember a word she learned in speech class; a push of air through closed teeth stopped by the tongue and the slow closing of lips.
St-am-p
. She'd just read that word on Mr. Cantwell's lips and it had awakened a memory of something she'd nearly forgotten.

Was Mr. Cantwell in trouble over stamps? It occurred to her that the ones she'd found in the settle that day might be his. She got up and unlocked the parlour chest, found the stamps and handed them to him.

William gingerly removed the stamps from Dulcie's fingers and read their red-inked inscription with utter disbelief.

“Where did you find these?” he said to her.

“I find there,” she said, pointing to the settle where he was seated.

William burst out laughing. He laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.

“Let's everybody handle these very carefully,” he said, finally, and laid the stamps on the table where Dulcie and Leona looked at them with increasing curiosity. Then he started doing a little dance around the room. He even took Leona by the hands and got her up out of her chair.

“What's going on, William?” Leona asked, still not knowing whether to laugh or cry herself at this point.

“These are very special stamps, Leona,” he said. “Very valuable stamps. They must have belonged to Sir John Crawford. He was given a block of four as minister. I had some myself but I sold them a long time ago.
That's the only possible explanation. I'll be damned if the old warhorse hasn't saved us in the end.”