by Mark J Rose
“Go ahead,” she said. She could feel Jefferson linger as he considered her in his backward stare.
Jefferson lifted the canvas to take stock of the titles arranged there, and a bright smile filled his face. “Are all the shelves this impressive?” he asked with respect.
“Some,” Grace replied. She fought back a smirk and kept herself from shaking her head until he had turned his attention back to the shelves. He was leaking charm again, and she reminded herself, as she had done many times in the past, not to succumb. Rachael’s assessment of Jefferson was entirely accurate, and her suspicion was justified. Jefferson’s enthusiasm was sincere, but flattery and allure always accompanied his fervor. His passion managed to seduce everyone around him.
Jefferson moved his hand across the spines of the volumes. He’d touch those that held some significance. “Marcus Aurelius…and you have the Englishmen,” he said. “Locke, Bacon, Newton.” He moved to the next shelf. “Another for the Scots. Frances Hutcheson, Adam Smith—I’ve heard John Witherspoon speak.” Jefferson pulled a volume off the shelf. It was The Treatise of Human Nature by David Hume. He looked at her with his flecked grey eyes “Are you familiar?”
“‘Tis my library after all,” she replied.
Jefferson opened the volume. “With Hume?”
She shrugged.
“Does reason govern human behavior?”
“Men think so,” Grace replied. “Hume believed ‘twas passion.”
“And you?”
Grace merely smiled.
Jefferson returned it to the shelf and pulled another volume. “Speaking of passion,” he said as he held it for her to read the cover: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
“My husband oft quotes Lord Hamlet,” Grace said. “I sometimes question his obsession.”
“Certainly, Lord Hamlet is in almost everything he says and does.”
“You see tragedy in my husband?” Grace asked, intrigued.
“Humanity and its suffering,” Jefferson declared. “It frustrates him.”
“As it does everyone,” she replied.
Jefferson shrugged. “Some. Most have their families or their religion. They are happy, but who knows?”
Grace remained silent and looked back at him questioningly.
Jefferson frowned. “Don’t pretend that the scriptures comfort you or your husband.”
Grace raised her eyebrows at Jefferson’s perception. “Matthew believes they should,” she replied. “He becomes caught, it seems, on every word. But no, they almost never comfort him.”
“Maybe Lord Hamlet was scowling at the Bible as he turned the pages and exclaimed, ‘words, words, words!’” Jefferson smiled. “Matthew would cure the human experience if he could only discover the potion in his laboratories. He’s an alchemist in his manner, but surely you’ve seen that.”
“He oft insists that he’s no wizard,” Grace replied. She said this with humor since she had heard Matthew make this clarification a number of times to a number of people.
Jefferson glanced down at the book in his hands and put a sly grin on his face. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
“My husband’s medicines have saved many,” Grace replied, “but it has not been through magic or his consultation with the stars.” Her reply was enough again to make Jefferson inspect her intellect. The seduction repeated in his eyes and it made her look away.
“I’ve heard him pray,” Jefferson said.
“You do not pray, Mr. Jefferson?”
“Not so specifically,” he answered. “And certainly not to cure humanity of ills that can never be cured.”
Jefferson hefted the leather-bound book in his hands and flipped the pages as if he was verifying that the plays were all in there. “Are you familiar?”
“Not so much as my husband or father,” she replied. “For Father during his last years, ‘twas Henry V,” she explained. “I fancy though that sometimes he memorized less for his own passion and more to foil my husband’s ruminations.”
“You make me jealous not to have been akin to such a duel,” Jefferson replied, “though I’d not have wished to take sides.” He smiled and again gazed profoundly at her. Grace was willing to meet his gaze long enough to map the crinkled lines around his eyes that screamed intellect and to discern the hazel flecks that interrupted their grey. Maybe she was uncomfortable with his stare, the one that screamed of impropriety and woke her body unconsciously and unexpectedly.
Her husband’s confidence in Jefferson had never been justified in Grace’s mind. Matthew was willing to ignore or did not see the insecurity in a man who always needed to judge his status by those around him. Grace saw it as Jefferson’s greatest weakness and the one thing that held his powers of seduction at bay. There was no denying Jefferson’s abilities when it came to ladies, though; he had been at the center of at least two scandals that Grace knew. Jefferson’s recent marriage to Martha Wales Skelton had done nothing to shrink the net of allure that he cast to everyone around him. Simply put, Jefferson was tall, handsome and charming, and so Grace fancied that more chaste women than she could fall victim to his captivating grin.
Grace went to speak again, but Jefferson put his finger up to silence her and then paged back through the book. He gave her a challenging smirk. “Men of a few words are?”
“The best men,” she finished.
He paged again. “Every subject’s duty is the king.”
“But every subject's soul is his own.”
Jefferson paged through the book again. “This above all.”
“To thine own self be true.”
“You know The Bard well.”
“You did pick the most elementary passages.”
“Your intellect truly astounds me.”
“For a woman, you surely meant to add,” she replied.
“I said what I intended.” Jefferson had a calm expression on his face, and she saw, maybe, a hint of respect there. “I know now of your father’s and husband’s passions, but still nothing of yours. What play is your favorite?”
She held Jefferson’s eyes, attempting to push down his aggrandizement and thinking that it would take more than this simple creature and his two years at William and Mary, for her to yield to this duel of wills. “Of course ‘tis the ‘Taming of the Shrew,’” she answered.
He looked back at her for an explanation.
Grace put the most seductive look on her face that she could muster and then she met Jefferson’s eyes. “I’m overwhelmed by Katherine’s willingness to surrender to the passions of a charming, smart and commanding man.” Grace smiled heartily and flirtingly and saw Jefferson’s fair complexion take a pronounced red hue. She was immediately satisfied and ashamed of what she had done. He’d not soon speak down to her again, but it made her question what it was within her that required her to demonstrate anything at all.
Jefferson recovered directly, and the smile returned to his face. When the moment between them had passed, she motioned for him to follow her to the dining room and she waited for him to join her. Jefferson reached up, made a space for the volume and slid it solidly back onto the shelf. He spent one last moment scanning the books as if he was hoping to discover some clue there. He glanced up past the ceiling for longer than a moment, almost as if he was saying a prayer, before he turned to follow Grace to the dining room.
Chapter 5
Where’s William?
The Taylor family was already having a conversation around the dinner table when Thomas Jefferson and Grace entered the room. The Taylors stood as Jefferson walked around the table to shake or kiss hands. There were plenty of sincere smiles, and it was clear that Jefferson relished his role as a son of Virginia. Much like Matthew, he had built fame during the last couple of years as a firm advocate for the colony. Jefferson was a flirt, to be sure, but he was also a charming dinner guest, and Grace suspected that those two were connected. Either way, he was a friend to the Millers, and much to Grace’s chagrin, Scou
t liked him.
Servants in livery brought trays from the kitchen when they had taken their seats and filled their plates with a meal of beef, carrots, and potatoes. Once they had passed the bread, Grace said, “Mr. Jefferson, would you do the honor?”
“I would, m’lady. You must forgive me, though, should I forget a line.” He bowed his head.
Almighty God, Who has given us this good land for our heritage, we humbly beseech Thee,
We desire to prove ourselves a people mindful of Thy favor.
Bless our land with honorable ministry, sound learning, and pure manners.
Save us from violence, discord, and confusion,
Save us from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way.
Defend our liberties, and fashion us into one united people,
Though we are the multitude brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues.
In a time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness,
But, in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in Thee to fail;
We ask all of this through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.
Tears welled up in Grace’s eyes. She looked at her mother and saw that she was also wiping away tears. “Mr. Jefferson,” Grace said. “You honor our table.”
“This fine estate and family deserve no less,” Jefferson proclaimed.
“I do not know how anyone can resist such flattery,” Grace’s mother, Mary, said. “I too appreciate your blessing.”
“The pleasure is mine, madam,” Jefferson replied. “I am honored to be invited to dine and singularly thankful to not suffer eating alone at my estate. Speaking of, where are William and his lovely family? I expected to debate my favorite Tory.”
“We rarely see him,” Jonathan replied, scowling. “He’s across the ocean, no doubt, long since given up the title of Virginian.”
“Do not judge your relation so harshly,” Jefferson warned. “The Old Dominion runs deep in him. In the end, though, we are all British subjects.”
“And yet no Virginian sits in Parliament,” Jonathan replied.
“Maybe your brother can, someday, be such a man.”
“He’d have no use for us if that time ever comes.”
“Jonathan!” Mary exclaimed. “What would your father say?”
“He’d tell my brother to stay away from the bloody English and return to his farm.”
“Jonathan!” Grace repeated. “We have company.”
“Mr. Jefferson’s aware of my brother’s loyalties. ‘Twill be no surprise to him.” Jonathan sat back in his chair and raised his hand to wave them off. “William shall follow his passions and so shall I.”
“Let us change the subject then,” Jefferson offered. After an awkward silence, Jefferson asked, “How are Richmond’s coffee houses these days?”
“They are the only places where verity can be heard,” Jonathan replied.
“And which verity is this?” Jefferson asked.
“The British troops we support are a pox on this land.”
“The Crown believes differently. ‘Tis certain we’ve not managed to muster any sort of militia to provide for our own defense.”
“A militia is a simple thing. I am sore weary of old nobles, thousands of miles away, telling me what is best. I’ve had my fill of soldiers on this farm. It makes me ill to gaze upon them.”
“I’m acquainted with many of these old nobles,” Jefferson said. “They are lettered and influential, and ‘twill take an equally lettered treatise to shake their hold on our affairs. When do you begin at William and Mary?”
“I have not decided whether I will go,” Jonathan replied.
Jonathan’s mother gasped at his statement. “After all Dr. Franklin did to gain your admittance?” she said.
“I never wanted to go,” Jonathan declared. “I’ve more to do for the cause.”
“And which cause is this?” Grace asked, parroting Jefferson.
“Independence,” Jonathan replied. “Virginia and the other American colonies are destined. God has ordained it!”
“Do not speak so simply of such things,” Jefferson replied. “The laws that have suffered this family to attain their prosperity should not be cast aside for light and transient causes.”
“And if the laws are unjust?” Jonathan asked.
“‘Tis rare, indeed, to encounter a fellow who has run afoul of the law who does not think he has been incriminated unjustly. A lettered man would lay a new foundation before abolishing laws that function better than most. Else, new chains will quickly replace those he has fought. Your greatest prosecution, this day, should be to further your education. Know what other men have already proposed.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes and resumed eating. Jefferson, too, looked down at his plate.
“I oft wish to talk only of art, music, fine horses or maybe theater at this table,” Grace said, joking.
Jefferson gave her a knowing smile. “Your husband has accepted a role in the governing of the colony. Discussing statecraft in the Miller household should be as natural as breathing the air. I am reminded, how are your plans coming for hosting the Royal Governor?”
“The invitations are ready to be sent,” Grace replied. “It should be a gala occasion.” She glanced at her younger brother, but Jonathan continued to inspect his food.
Chapter 6
Sir Ferguson
There seemed to be no end to the obstructionism that the average English official was willing to practice to stand in the way of progress. Patrick Ferguson reminded himself to stay calm. He knew the Crown was trying to squeeze every bit of revenue out of English businesses to stay afloat. Some of their procedures made sense, but often, like today, they were complete and utter bureaucratic nonsense. The only consolation was that he’d watch this economic debacle from the sidelines. Patrick had sold all his positions at the peak and was entirely invested in hard assets.
“Can I help you with anything?” Patrick asked. The inspector was younger than most of the men they had crawling through his shipments and Patrick had no desire to intimidate some underling trying to do his job.
“Um, I think I have it, Sir Ferguson,” the man replied. “We’re almost done.”
“I’m not sending these crates anywhere else,” Patrick said. “You know that, right?”
“Sorry, yes sir,” the man replied. “Still, they must be stamped and recorded. You may speak to Lord Cantor if you believe there is some impropriety.”
“My shipping manager already has spoken to Cantor,” Patrick said. “I didn’t believe him when he told me how long this took.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the inspector replied. He motioned for Patrick to step back so he could check another crate.
“Gah!” Patrick said, moving aside. “Don’t let me delay you.”
The inspector continued examining and stamping the crates with a fist-sized red crown to mark its inspection. He’d then use the same red to paint a number under the crown and finish by recording this number in a ledger along with a simple description of the crate’s contents. Patrick eventually shrugged and walked away. He was already late for his meeting with Nathan Trent, his secretary, and chief foreman. Anyway, this delayed shipment of muskets didn’t matter in the scheme of things. His factory was running at full capacity, and all kinds of machines were rolling off the assembly line at a rapid pace. No bureaucrat could divert him from his goals.
**********
When Patrick got back to his office, he sat at his desk to check off items from the list he’d prepared at the start of the day. These last items demonstrated that his plans were at the very edge of fruition. He’d built a mass production line that would make Henry Ford envious. When it became necessary, he’d convert his factories to turn out weapons to fuel British power and bring about a peace to last a thousand years. The young government inspector he had just met was reminder enough, though, of his present and future struggles. Bureaucracy and nepotism remained his biggest hurdle. Da
mn nobles!
His breech-loading flintlock, alone, should have been enough for audiences with the most influential men in the military, but jealous war profiteers had thwarted him at every turn. Patrick had done his best to ferret them out, but even he had not predicted the sway that these men wielded within the British government and how quickly they could ostracize. They had acted decisively to destroy his character among the career military men.
Gaining back his credibility had been frustratingly slow even with the money he was willing to spend. He knew, though, that it was only a matter of time before they’d be buying his weapons and his influence. In the interim, Patrick was building a cadre of determined men to run a business empire with the financial power to change the world. Despite some superficial reservations, Nathan Trent was of the same stock. He was the perfect man to staff Ferguson Industries. Ferguson’s company would soon possess the advantage that was necessary to bend government at will and help Great Britain lead Europe into a millennium of peace and prosperity. There’d be no world wars, and the globe would finally see its utopia.
Patrick took a moment to rub his headache away and then reached for the new letters that were on his desk. The second letter he opened was a report from his spies. They were pleased to inform him that Mr. Matthew Miller had booked passage on an American frigate, the Norfolk, sailing out of Hampton Roads. Mr. Miller would be arriving in London very soon, and the thought filled Patrick with anticipation. Since he had begun the treatments, he had precious few surprises left in life. There were four people, though, who were only shadows, even during his most intense visions. One shadow, he knew, was somewhere close and another arrived in London within the month. The game was afoot.
Chapter 7
Nathan Trent
Nathan Trent and Patrick Ferguson were sitting in Ferguson’s office across his large Mahogany desk.
“Well, Mr. Trent, who do we have today?” Patrick Ferguson asked.
“Former captain of an East India merchant vessel. Lost his commission six months ago. He’d be a capable supervisor of the line.”
