Palace Council

by Stephen L Carter

  “They think I know where Junie is. I don’t, but they think I do, and, well, if they catch me—you get the idea.” Mellor shuddered. “Perry hid me from them. I told you that. But he can’t help me any more.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he and this third force have thrown in together. The Council has been decimated, but Perry is trying to put it back together.”

  Eddie had hold of the professor’s collar, but now released him. He was remembering the note he had found in Mellor’s flat in Saigon. Junie had wanted Mellor to stop them. Eddie had found the message confusing, but now he saw the trick.

  “You’re not the father, are you? Of my sister’s baby. It wasn’t you.”

  Mellor shook his head. “It wasn’t me. I was asked to step in and help.”

  “By the Council?”

  “Essentially.” His eyes grew fervent. “I believed in those days, Mr. Wesley. I truly did. I had the politics from my father. He taught me that the most important thing is reaching the right result. Fighting for justice with whatever tools come to hand. You have to understand that the group we’re calling the Council—well, it’s older than that meeting in 1952. The Council goes back fifty years or more. But its members were all powerful white men, until Burton Mount and my father—well, let’s say they integrated it. With this crazy idea.” The fire faded again. “They put their Project together. They designed Jewel Agony. They recruited your sister. And you know the rest.”

  “I don’t know the rest,” Eddie protested. “How did it all come apart?”

  “My father and Burton Mount were hoodwinked. They thought they were in charge. They thought the whole scheme was to achieve racial justice. They were fools, and so was I. The Council never belonged to them, and it never cared about justice. The third force was running things all along.”

  “And the search for Junie—”

  “She can stop them. Or they think she can. I’m not entirely sure why, to tell you the truth. I was never a true insider at the Council.” His hand was on the door. “I must apologize, Mr. Wesley. I seem to be out of time.”

  “Wait—”

  “I know you have more questions. The best way to get answers is to find your sister. As for me”—he opened the door—“I am now out of your life for good.”

  He faded into the mass of pedestrians, and was gone.

  Eddie drove across town and up through Rock Creek Park. When he pulled into his driveway, Aurelia was sitting in a rocker on the front porch, luggage at her feet.

  She stood up. “Gary sent the plane for me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Dick called.” Out of doors, she was unwilling to say his full name. “He said you needed me. He said I had to get down here fast. I called Gary. He knew where you were staying, and he sent the plane, and I took the kids to my neighbor, and, well, you said if I ever needed an autograph—Eddie, are you okay? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Would you like to see the house?”

  Inside, Aurelia tried to enforce her rules.

  But not for long.

  (III)

  THEY HAD A LOT to catch up on.

  Eddie had never told Aurelia about Benjamin Mellor, or what happened in Hong Kong, or the details of his suspicions about Lanning Frost and, more important, his wife. Aurie had never told Eddie about Kevin’s files, or his fears the year before he died, or the translations she had worked out with the help of Tristan Hadley. They compared notes and pooled resources and, in between, rediscovered each other. Emotionally as well as physically.

  “The presidency,” said Eddie at one point, marveling. “Lanning?”

  “Just like you thought.”

  “But he’s a dunce.”

  “Margot isn’t, and she’s close to Perry Mount.”

  Break in conversation.

  “I never thought of Richard Nixon as a matchmaker,” said Eddie at the next intermission.

  “Dick’s a romantic at heart.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I know men.”

  Another time, she asked what had really happened with Torie Elden. “I hurt her very badly,” said Eddie, honestly. “I found it impossible to pretend.”

  “If you hurt me very badly, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”

  They dozed. Played. Talked some more.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that,” each said, more than once, about their feelings as well as their evidence.

  Eddie swore he had never slept with Mindy.

  Aurelia swore she had never slept with Tristan.

  “I was tempted, though,” she confessed.

  “So was I.”

  Around midnight, Aurelia decided she was hungry. She hopped out of bed. In the kitchen, they scrounged a meal from leftovers. As they ate, Eddie asked her why she had changed her mind.

  Aurie was smoking. She took her time.

  “I didn’t,” she finally said. “Not completely.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Dick said you needed me. Not wanted me. Needed me.” She lifted his right hand from the table, kissed his knuckles. “Kevin needed me before. You only wanted me. I need to be needed, Eddie.”

  His turn to think about it. “All right. I accept that. And I do need you, Aurie. Desperately, as a matter of fact.”

  “I noticed.”

  “That’s not the kind of needing I mean. Or not the only kind.” He took his hand back. “So, then, tell me. What part of your mind did you not change?”

  “I’m not going to marry you.”

  “Did I ask?” he said, crestfallen.

  “If I don’t warn you,” said Aurelia, smoking hard, “you will.”

  Eddie considered. “What if I said I don’t want you this way?”

  “You’d be lying.”

  (IV)

  IN THE MORNING, they sat in the kitchen and put their research together and, once more, kicked each other verbally for not having done it sooner. They even worked out a rough chronology. They wrote each event on an index card, then laid the cards on the table and switched them around until the order worked.

  Early 1950s: Burton Mount and Hamilton Mellor discuss the creation of a radical organization to scare America. Burton arranges a meeting at his summer home on Martha’s Vineyard to discuss this idea. Among the twenty men present are Philmont Castle, Matthew Garland, and, probably, Joseph Belt. All three are now deceased, as are Burton Mount and Hamilton Mellor.

  Early 1950s: Inspired by Milton’s Paradise Lost, the founders call themselves the Palace Council, and, sometimes, the Twenty. Their leader is the Author, Milton’s word for Satan. The first author is Burton Mount.

  Mid-1950s: The Council begins to bring in others, including Perry Mount and Kevin Garland, now deceased. Perry in turn brings in June Wesley, who is supposed to be one of the leaders of the radical organization, apparently because her commitment to nonviolence is expected to provide a moderating influence. She works closely with Phil Castle, who apparently helps pay for the creation of the radical group but later has second thoughts.

  Mid-1950s: Phil Castle is killed. The Council discovers that he left a testament behind, probably describing their activities. Kevin Garland is assigned to find the testament.

  Aurelia needed a moment. Eddie understood. He did not touch her. Still in bathrobe and slippers, he took himself off for a walk in the backyard. As far as he could tell, they were alone. When he returned, Aurie had used the bathroom and washed her face and looked, if not radiant, at least prepared.

  “Okay?” he said.

  “Let’s get back to work.”

  Late 1950s: The Council’s plans are slightly upset when Junie becomes pregnant. She gives up the baby for adoption. Hamilton Mellor’s son Benjamin confesses to being the father.

  “Wait,” said Aurelia. She tapped the page. “Mellor told you he wasn’t the father.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know to ask?”

  Eddie was deligh
ted at the chance to show off his literary knowledge to a professor of English. “Phil Castle loved literature. Langston told me. The note in Castle’s envelope said ‘Not as in a tragic age,’ right? And the first sentence of Lady Chatterley’s Lover is ‘Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.’ See? ‘Not as in a tragic age’ means that what happened in the real world is not what happened in the novel.”

  Aurelia was very fast. “In the novel, the lover of Lady Chatterley is the gamekeeper, Mr. Mellors.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. The opposite. If Mr. Mellors was the lover in the novel, then Professor Mellor was not the lover in the real world. That’s what the message means.”

  “Right again.”

  “Don’t give me that hangdog look, Eddie. I do this for a living.” She kissed him. “Okay. Very clever. Now, let’s get back to work.”

  1957: Junie vanishes with her friend Sharon Martindale. Both become members of the radical group now called Agony, or Jewel Agony. Junie is one of the group’s leaders from early on. Sharon evidently becomes a leader later.

  Late 1950s: Agony becomes active.

  1959: Junie gives birth to a second child.

  Early 1960s: The Council becomes concerned that the testament has not been found. Kevin Garland says the Project is out of control.

  1960: Matty Garland is killed.

  1963: Birmingham attack is the first action by Agony to take lives.

  1965: Kevin Garland is killed in an explosion. The target might have been Senator Lanning Frost. It might have been Kevin. The authorities say Agony took the credit. Sharon Martindale denies to Eddie that Agony was involved.

  Aurelia needed another minute. This time she asked Eddie to stay with her. They wound up walking the yard together. She said it reminded her of Ithaca. She pointed to a scrawny tree, its trunk gray-white.

  “It’s a birch. A dwarf birch. A birch tree can’t survive by itself, Eddie. You need a grove of them. Otherwise, it’s going to die.” She licked her lips. “It’s so lonely out there.”

  “We’re not birches, honey.”

  “I think sometimes we are.”

  Back to work.

  Mid-1960s: Junie Wesley is expelled from Agony after renouncing violence. She disappears to look for her children. Agony goes into decline.

  Late 1960s: Remnants of Agony are folded into Weatherman. The weakened Palace Council comes under the sway of what Benjamin Mellor calls a “Third Force,” presumably Margot Frost, carrying out her late father’s wishes with the aid of Mr. Collier. Perry Mount hides Mellor in southeast Asia, but later joins the Third Force.

  Late 1960s: Eddie is tortured in Hong Kong, probably by Perry Mount, to discover whether he knows where his sister is.

  Late 1960s: Congressman Byron Dennison urges Aurelia to get back together with Eddie.

  “Enough,” said Aurelia, drained.

  “Enough,” Eddie agreed, scarcely doing better himself.

  That night, they went to dinner and a movie, dating publicly for the first time. Nobody recognized them, and Eddie found himself vaguely disappointed. In bed later, Aurelia told him she had to get back to Ithaca. “I have to think of some way to tell the kids.”

  “Kids tend to figure things like this out for themselves.”

  Aurelia stretched against him. Her body was warm. Her voice was sleepy and complacent. “You can drive me as far as New York. I’ll fly from there.”

  “I can drive you all the way.”

  “I could also fly from here. But we’re stopping in New York for a reason.”

  “What reason is that?”

  “To pick up the testament.”

  Eddie sat up. “You know where it is?”

  “So would you, if you did crossword puzzles.”

  “Where is it?”

  “You’ll find out when we get to the city.”

  No matter how hard he tickled, she refused to tell.

  CHAPTER 59

  The Testament

  (I)

  “YOU’RE A SILLY MAN,” said Aurelia, turning the seed pod over and over in her smooth fingers. “Did you know that, dear?”

  “It’s been said.”

  “I’m saying it again.” She put the pod down on top of the note. They were sitting in the study of the apartment Eddie still maintained at 435 Convent Avenue. They had left in the late morning in Eddie’s Cadillac and arrived in Harlem just past four. Eddie was all set to go hunting, but Aurelia, amused, had told him they could not get the testament until dark.

  Why not? he had asked.

  Because we have to break in, she answered, eyes twinkling.

  Now she said, “You should have guessed for yourself, Eddie. You’re supposed to be the one who reads history. Why didn’t you show this to me in the first place?”

  Eddie stood in the window, looking out at Harlem. None of his old crowd remained. Langston Hughes had died while Eddie was in Vietnam. He often wondered why he kept the apartment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Which first place are we talking about?”

  Aurelia smiled. “The note,” she said, tapping the paper. “His wife has it.”

  “I know what the note says.”

  “And I know who his wife is. I even know who he is.” A beat. “Which you obviously don’t.”

  Eddie came back to the table, sat down, took her hand. She was wearing one of his robes, and seemed uncommonly brown and beautiful. A package of Virginia Slims lay between them.

  “Please tell me,” he said, and Aurelia found herself impressed by his ability to be gentle after all the years of searching.

  She picked up the pod again. “This is a burr, Eddie. You know, a burr? Like Aaron Burr? The Vice President a hundred fifty, hundred sixty years ago?”

  “So?”

  “Oh, honey. How could you live in Harlem for so many years and not know? I thought everybody knew. Aaron Burr was the second husband of Madame Jumel. He stole her fortune.”

  He dropped her hand. “Madame Jumel? You’re saying—”

  Aurelia nodded, delighted at her coup. “Castle’s testament is hidden in Jumel Mansion.”

  (II)

  THEY STOOD on Jumel Terrace, across from the shuttered townhouse that had once belonged to Shirley Elden, where a thousand years ago Harlem society had celebrated Aurelia’s engagement to Kevin, and Eddie had walked out in a huff and discovered Philmont Castle’s body. The cobblestone street was empty. The mansion loomed white and silent in the darkness. It was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, the pikes very sharp. They had searched for breaks in the fence and found none, meaning they would have to climb. Old Harlem tales insisted that the house was haunted by the ghost of Madame Jumel. Standing on the sidewalk as mist swirled around them, they found the tales harder to dismiss.

  Why had he not thought of the mansion before?

  This was where Castle had been killed. He had not, as Eddie thought, been dumped here after his murder. He had been followed onto the grounds by whoever strangled him. The killer plainly had no inkling of the testament, or he would have searched that very night.

  “I have to go first,” said Aurelia.

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s no way I can boost you over the fence.”

  So Eddie boosted her, and she snagged her sweater on one of the wrought-iron spikes and had to tear it to jump down. He scrambled up after her, leaped, landed badly, and hurt his ankle. They stood inside the fence, sheepish grins on their faces. “Some secret agents we are,” said Aurie.

  A swoosh of movement made them turn, but it was just a night bird, swooping low as it foraged.

  “We need to calm down,” said Eddie. “Nobody knows we’re here.”

  “We hope.”

  They followed the stone walk to the mansion, studied its foundation by flashlight, selected a basement window. Eddie picked up a heavy tree branch.

  “What if there’s an alarm?” said Aurie.

  “Then we abort.”

  “That
should be fun, trying to get back over the fence with the police on the way.”

  Eddie looked at her. “It’s a little late to bring that up.”

  “And you were a little late showing me the burr.”

  In response, he struck the window. It shook but did not even crack. He laughed nervously, tried again. Same result.

  “The branch is too long,” she said. “You don’t have any leverage.”

  “What?”

  “You were never a vandal, Eddie.” Even in the darkness he could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s the problem with having a dad who’s a pastor. Vandals use small objects. You can’t break a window swinging a branch. Either kick it in or throw a rock.”

  “Why didn’t you suggest this before?”

  “Because you’re the kind of guy who’d try it your own way no matter what I said.”

  About to snap back, Eddie smiled. She was right. He found a rock, threw it, missed. He kicked and made a tiny crack.

  “Harder,” she ordered.

  “You’re bossy.”

  “Get used to it.”

  He kicked again, harder, then a third time. The glass did not shatter. Not at first. Instead, the whole window fell in, crashing to the basement floor with enough noise to wake the dead. Or the neighbors, if there were any.

  They waited, shivering.

  Then Eddie said, “This time I’ll go first and then help you down.”

  Aurie peered into the darkness. “I think that’s a good idea,” she said.

  (III)

  THE BASEMENT TURNED OUT to be just a basement. Ancient and musty and dank, yes, but containing what any basement did: a furnace, a water heater, endless pipes along the ceiling, few of them insulated. Boxes were stacked here, extra furniture there. Several trunks stood near the stairs, stacked head-high.

  “This is a perfect hiding place,” said Eddie, despairingly. He ran the beam of his flashlight around the space a third or fourth time. “It would take us a week to go through all this junk.”

  “Fortunately, we don’t have to.”