"And how long have you owned this land, Mr. Kelly?" Meyers asked.
"My father bought it near 20 years back, in 1852. I've lived my whole life on this plot of land, but I still remember how proud he was to finally become his own man. To him, the deed wasn't about what he owned, it was about no longer being a tenant beholden onto anyone. That piece of paper was his most treasured possession the whole world." Mr. Kelly answered him.
It was hard to judge the man's age. His back was stooped from hard labour, and his face leathery from the sun. Yet his eyes remained lively, and they lit up with fierce delight to recount his little tale.
Over the past two days, Meyers had already heard similar stories from one farmhouse to another. Each owner recounted a history of poverty under tenancy, and then a near miraculous purchase of land, which allowed them to claw their way to a better life. He supposed "better" was a relative term, judging from the muddy little hovels these people graced with the name of home. He kept waiting to catch some resentment towards Canada, some suggestion these people were standing by for a chance to aid rebels in the fight for Irish independence. So far he hadn't. Either these people where all incredible actors who missed their calling for the stage, or they genuinely believed farming was somehow an enjoyable way of life.
He wondered if he might find darker sentiments amongst the tenant class, but he didn't yet have a plausible reason to speak to them directly. It could just as well be he'd gotten the wrong notion all together, and Allen had found some other staging point beside the farms. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse through the doorway to the kitchen. Two bedrolls lay in the corner.
"You and you're wife are the only ones who live here?" Meyers asked.
"Us and some hired hands," Mr. Kelly told him carelessly. "We haven't a barn, so we let them in our home so long as they're gone outside and out of the way by time the missus wants to make breakfast."
"Where are they now?" Meyers pressed.
"Out in the fields. Do you need me to fetch them?" Mr. Kelly offered.
"Yes, that would be helpful," Meyers said, trying not to seem unduly curious.
Mr. Kelly came back with his two employees in tow. Meyers recognized both men instantly. One he'd seen when he'd gone to meet Sager, now dressed in rough home-spun clothes like any labourer. Meyers slid his gaze away without making eye contact. It wouldn't help anyone if he blew both their covers so soon after receiving this assignment. It took a bit more effort to feign disinterest toward the second man. Allen Clegg stood by as if he had every right to be there. He even gave Meyers a little half-smile, as if greeting a friend.
On the surface, it all looked like a typical farm. As an agent, Meyers found these men a suspicious group. What might this simple farmer be hiding, to be worthy of the attention of not one, but two spies from different countries?
"Do you often hire extra hands so early in the year?" Meyers tried to casually edge his way into getting information.
"There's plenty enough work any time of the year, especially since my own blood's run off chasing some fool notions of the city." Mr. Kelly grumbled.
"Have you both worked here long?" Meyers risked speaking to the two "labourers" directly.
"I've been here a few weeks. I occasionally help out some of the neighbours, or run errands on Amherst Island on my day off." The Canadian agent said.
He'd been at the manor house the same day as Meyers by coincidence, then. Meyers disliked coincidences, but he couldn't see any threat in it, so he put it out of his mind.
"Since yesterday," If Clegg knew he was suspect, he didn't give any indication.
Maybe it was time to give him a little nudge.
"Your land hasn't been disturbed in any way of late, has it Mr. Kelly?"
"Disturbed how?" Mr. Kelly narrowed his eyes at him.
"There's been complaints of strange going-ons, people interfering with boundary markers and infrustructure. It's part of why we have to re-survey this area. One fellow even reported finding a stash of dynamite hidden inside his granary, but apparently when the Dominion Police came to investigate it had disappeared." Meyers said.
It was all a lie he fabricated to drop the name of a certain organization. The Dominion Police was created after Fenians assassinated the politician Thomas McGee, and were tasked with guarding against Fenians specifically. As far as Meyers could see, there was only one sort of person who had reason to hate them.
It wasn't Clegg who took the bait, but Mr. Kelly. "If it's them that says it, then they're just stirring up trouble."
The vehemence in the farmer's tone startled Meyer's a little. "Really? What makes you say that?" He asked, careful to keep his own voice bland.
"Those sorts ought to stay up in their fancy capital, rather than coming where they aren't wanted. We don't need anyone looking over our shoulders, asking where we've been and who we've seen." Mr. Kelly announced.
"'Those sorts' only do those things to protect you," Allen interjected.
Meyers found it curious that Allen chose to speak up for him. His counterpart said nothing, and merely waited to see how Meyers would let this play out.
"What we need protection from is the toff's thinking they can tell us what to do. Them's the only hardship we have in our lives." Mr. Kelly complained. "They near worked my father to death when he was trying to pay off tenancy, and they're still doing it to plenty of good folk today. I'd string up the lot of them, if it were up to me."
"Rather strong words," Meyers remarked, but didn't wait for a reply. "If you do see anyone causing trouble on your land be sure to let me know."
Mr. Kelly flared up even more, but as he opened his mouth Allen interrupted him again. "I'm sure we'd all be happy to help."
"Don't be making promises on behalf of other people, boy," Mr. Kelly growled.
"I'll keep in touch," Meyers promised. "Good day to you, Mr. Kelly." He tipped his hat on his way out, which only served to aggravate the man further.
Meyers didn't mind the attitude. Angry people tended to lash out. That his mere suggestion of viligance was enough to push Mr. Kelly over the edge gave him all the confirmation he needed. He sensed he'd already made himself a target to the man's ire, no need to over-play the part. It was only a matter of time before Mr. Kelly took action. As for Clegg, he hadn't reacted at all the way Meyer's expected, but his behaviour suggested his relationship to the farmer was more than a new hire. When Mr. Kelly made his move, he'd drag Clegg along with him. With any luck, Meyers could catch a Fenian and an American in one bag.
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Author's Note: The politician Thomas McGee was a real life person. While he believed in Irish liberation, he did not support the Fenians, who therefor branded him a traitor. He was assassinated in 1868.