“But what of my question? Whether you think I should try to persuade the General to go along?”
“I have no position on that, one way or the other...at the moment,” Abbott said.
Hobhouse stood up and addressed North directly, “Normally, my Lord, to leave a meeting such as this without your Excellency having first invited my departure would be the height of impertinence on my part. But I am increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of being a message bearer from you and the King to my client. My job is to defend my client, not to bargain with you about using him as a golden chip in your plans. With respect, may I take my leave?”
“Of course, Mr. Hobhouse. Be aware, though, that the Solicitor General was here this morning and informs me that he now has enough evidence to ask the grand jury to indict Mr. Washington for high treason and, unless I tell him not to, will have that accomplished within days.”
“I appreciate your letting me know that. Of course, a trial need not take place immediately upon indictment, isn’t that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“And so let us be clear, then, First Minister. If there is a trial, or when it takes place if there is one, are matters entirely in your hands.” Without waiting for a response, Hobhouse turned and headed for the door, which was opened by Hartleb—who had apparently been eavesdropping—even before Hobhouse reached it.
After he was gone, Abbott said, “I don’t think we are anywhere close to agreement, my Lord. And in any case, I cannot even begin to think about entering into an agreement until the rest of my delegation arrives. And until after you make a formal opening offer and we have the type of serious and detailed negotiations necessary to an agreement between nations.”
North smiled. “There is good news about your delegation. The rest of them arrived in London today. Here is a list of their names.” He took a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Abbott.
“Just arrived, or arrived many hours ago?” Abbott asked.
“This morning, I believe.”
Abbott managed to hide his irritation by reading quickly down the list. “Some of the names are familiar to me, but I don’t personally know any of them.”
“Two have described themselves to us as clerical—scribes and the like. And I suppose their presence in the delegation is intended to indicate the seriousness of the mission. For why would you need scribes unless there is going to be something important to scribble down?”
“That’s logical,” Abbott said. “Who are the others, if you know?”
“Henry Pierce and John Brandywine, who presented commissions designating them as deputy Ambassadors, subordinate to you. And one man, John Forecastle, who describes himself as Washington’s personal physician.”
“I see. But again...”
“You don’t know of any of them.”
“No.”
“Do you recognize any of those names as possibly being delegates to your Congress, Ambassador?”
“They are not.”
“The make-up of the delegation that has arrived is quite unusual for this kind of affair. I would have thought that at least one person sent would be experienced and high-ranking. No offence meant to you, of course, Ambassador.”
Abbott was about to respond with the diplomatic “no offence taken,” but at the last second decided to forgo it and asked simply, “Where are they staying?”
“At the same guest house where you were lodged when you first arrived.”
“I will need to meet with them.”
“When you have met them and had the opportunity for discussion among you, may I suggest we try to start a formal negotiation very soon?”
“Of course.”
“The odds of success are small, Ambassador, but for the moment, the cabinet is in my corner in terms of trying to end the war. But if we do not act soon, the forces of our corrosive politics will erode the consensus that now exists. Please let your delegation know that.”
“With regard to my delegation, my Lord, it is highly regrettable that I was not informed immediately upon their arrival. Very regrettable. I will take my leave of you now and go to see them without further delay. Perhaps I’ll find amongst them someone who can meet your expectation of high-ranking. Good day to you.” He was sorry there was no door to slam as he left.
40
Once outside 10 Downing, Abbott hailed a sedan chair and soon arrived at the guest house. He rang the bell and was greeted by Mr. Jarvis.
“Ah, Ambassador Abbott, how nice it is to see you again. How may I be of assistance?”
“I have just come from 10 Downing, where the First Minister informed me that more members of my delegation have arrived and are lodged here.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“If you could inform either Mr. Pierce or Mr. Brandywine that I am here, I should like to see them.”
“Of course.”
Jarvis led him to the parlour—the same room in which he had met with Burke—and bid him make himself comfortable. Abbott noted that he had not been offered anything to drink or eat. He was just to wait.
Time went by and neither Jarvis nor anyone else appeared. There was a large grandfather clock in the room, and, by its dial, almost half an hour had gone by since his arrival. He found himself becoming annoyed. As he was about to get up and leave in something of a huff, Jarvis reappeared.
“My profound apologies, Excellency. I had difficulty locating either Mr. Pierce or Mr. Brandywine, who have apparently gone to bed, even at this early hour. The long trip from Portsmouth has apparently tired them greatly.”
“What about the others?”
“Ah, I did locate the physician, Mr. Forecastle, and he asks if you could meet with the entire delegation day after tomorrow.”
“Whatever is wrong with tomorrow?”
“Ah, I could check, but Mr. Forecastle did mention that they must spend the morning unpacking and getting settled and that he hopes to see General Washington in the morning, being that he is his physician.”
“This is outrageous!” Abbott said.
Jarvis cleared his throat and said, “Actually, Ambassador, the problem is that two of them have the flux. Acquired on the ship, I’m afraid. They are required to spend much time with the privy, but hope to be better by day after tomorrow.”
Abbott was taken aback by the turn of events. He even momentarily regretted no longer being lodged at the guest house because he could have gone and knocked on their doors, their flux be damned. But since he was no longer residing there, there was nothing to be done. “All right, if it cannot be tomorrow, then let us make it day after tomorrow at 2:00 p.m.”
“I will let them know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.”
He returned to the Stevensons and arranged to borrow their carriage and driver for the next day. Between the arrogance of Lord North and his delegation’s apparent decision not to meet with him immediately under a pretext of fatigue, it had not been a good day. He hoped tomorrow would be better.
* * *
The next morning, he dressed down—a brown ditto (which was what Mrs. Stevenson had told him the locals called an outfit, all the pieces of which were a single, boring colour), no wig, no powder and no hat—climbed into the carriage and said to the coachman, “I would just like to be taken on a tour of London this morning, starting with London Bridge.”
“Do you want us to cross the bridge, sir?”
“No, please just pass by the north end of it. And if you would, please let me know what we’re seeing as we drive along. It would be very much appreciated.”
“Of course, sir.”
They had driven along for about an hour, with the coachman stopping the carriage from time to time, pointing out various landmarks. Abbott glanced to the rear from time to time and noticed that the same carriage seemed always to be behind them. When th
ey reached London Bridge, Abbott said to the coachman, “Excuse me. I’m feeling rather ill at the stomach suddenly. The motion perhaps.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. Is it the route we’ve taken? I know our roads can be rough and cause too much motion inside the coach.”
“No, no. I was often ill on the ship from America even with very little motion, and I seem not to be entirely over it.”
“We can stop for a while, sir.”
“I think better would be to just drop me right here, by the bridge. I can make my own way home later.”
“Are you quite sure, sir? I can wait for you.”
“Quite sure. I may take the opportunity to look into some shops.”
“Very good, sir.”
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and Abbott, after tipping the driver, said, “Please give Mrs. Stevenson my thanks for lending me her carriage and my thanks to you for driving.”
Abbott opened the door and stepped down. They were only a few feet from where the roadway began to slope upward to the bridge. He glanced quickly behind him, saw no one climbing down from any following carriage and immediately plunged into the crowd.
As he inched his way along, sometimes pushing people rudely aside to make progress, he kept glancing over his shoulder but could detect no one following him.
After spending considerable time on the south side of the bridge, where there were many shops, he hailed a sedan chair and asked the driver to take him back across the Thames via the Blackfriars Bridge, which was further to the south, and to drop him a few blocks from St. Paul’s.
Once he was dropped off, he took Mrs. Stevenson’s guidebook from his waistcoat pocket, walked slowly along and consulted it constantly as he stopped to admire various structures. Once he arrived at the cathedral itself, he craned his neck and looked conspicuously up at the dome, then went inside and examined the interior features of the church while looking down at the guidebook. Finally, he headed down the stairway to the crypt. After a bit of searching, he located the black marble slab that marked the grave of the cathedral’s storied architect, Sir Christopher Wren. He stood for a while, examining the crypt, consulting the guidebook (but no longer really reading it) and wondering how long he could stay there without attracting undue attention. As he was about to give up hope, a man of middle height and middle years with unpowdered greying hair, dressed all in black, came up beside him and said, “I am Joshua Laden. I hope you have not had to wait here too long.”
Abbott stood silent for a moment, considering the risk that his message had been intercepted, and the man next to him was not Joshua Laden. And did he even have immunity from prosecution? Given that his country was not recognized by the government, it seemed unlikely.
Finally, and despite that, Abbott said, “I am Ethan Abbott. You received my note, then?”
“Yes. And I know who you are. Your mission has been much in the newspapers. Who recommended me to you?”
“Charles Thompson. Do you know his middle name?”
“Yes, Elihu. I know him from two trips I made to Philadelphia before the Revolution began.”
“To which you are favourably disposed?”
“Yes. Because we here in England need to have our liberties restored, too. The right to vote must be extended to all men, not just to those of property. And members of Parliament must be elected from real towns, not from those of yesteryear that no longer have any people in them and thus allow the government to choose who will be elected.”
“You cannot vote?”
“No, I am not a landowner—a freeholder.”
“And yet you own a shop and employ people.”
“Ha! If my shop were north of London Bridge, I would be in the haberdasher’s guild and could vote. But as my shop is south of the bridge, I can do neither.”
“Our needs are in some ways similar.”
“Yes, and also the death penalty must be restricted to serious crimes, and not applied to petty things, as now.”
“You perhaps risk the death penalty for yourself just by meeting with me.”
“My wife and three children died in the smallpox two years ago. I would just as soon join them in heaven if it comes to that. And my nephew, whom I believe you met, will inherit my business.”
“He is young to inherit.”
“My brother will be his guardian till he is of age,” Laden said.
“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”
“Yes, there is a coffee house nearby that has a back room we can use.”
“Before we go, Mr. Laden, my Latin is poor. What does the epitaph carved above Wren’s tomb say?” He pointed to it and read it aloud, haltingly: “‘Lector, si monumentum requires, circumspice.’”
“It means, ‘Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you.’”
“Ah, and what do you expect your epitaph to say, Mr. Laden?”
“‘Stylish hats, reasonably priced’?”
They laughed together.
“And yours, Ambassador?”
“That depends on the outcome of my mission here. If I even have a marked grave, most likely it will say, ‘Failed his country in London.’”
“Pessimistic.”
“The situation is not good,” Abbott said. “Let us find that coffee house and put some plans in place.”
41
The place was called Daughters Coffee House and was only a few blocks from St. Paul’s. The ground floor of the building held a bookstore. The coffee house itself was up a rickety set of steps on the second floor. When they entered, Abbott beheld a large room crowded with perhaps two dozen men sitting at long, wooden tables, some intent on conversation, some reading newspapers and almost all drinking what he assumed to be coffee from a large, tapered mug. A few were smoking long-stemmed pipes, leaving the room redolent with the aroma of pipe tobacco.
Abbott felt drawn to sit down amidst them and discuss the events of the day, as if he were an ordinary Englishman. But he couldn’t, of course.
Shortly after they entered, a grizzled man with a head of grey hair, who looked to be in his sixties, approached them. He glanced quickly at Abbott, started slightly—Abbott assumed he’d been recognized—and said to Laden, “I think I have a place for you gentlemen that you will find amendable to your needs.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins.”
They followed Collins to a back corner, where a carved wooden door led into a small, square room with four upholstered, high-backed chairs set around a low, round table. Once they were seated, Collins said, “If you desire coffee, we have a new shipment, just arrived, of special Arabian.”
“I like the sound of that,” Laden said.
“I do, as well,” Abbott added.
“Good. I will bring you each a mug. May I also suggest some chocolate?”
“Yes!” Laden said. “I have a craving that needs to be satisfied.”
“I will fetch that, as well. In the meantime, I will leave you gentlemen to your privacy.”
After the door had closed, Abbott said, “Are you confident Mr. Collins will not report my presence here to government spies? I have begun to notice articles appearing about me in the newspapers, and I believe I have been followed on at least one occasion and possibly recognized when we came in here.”
“I have seen those articles. Even one describing your, ah, usual mode of dress and making reference to the fact that you stick out in the crowd above most other men. But not only will Collins not report you, he takes care to exclude from his establishment those who would.”
“He has an interest in our Revolution, then?”
“No, his interest is in complete independence for Ireland, but he sees the two as linked.”
“Isn’t it sedition to talk favourably about either?”
“The line between talk and sedition is a thin one. Right now, so lo
ng as you don’t try to gather people about you who try to do something about independence, or get up on a box and proclaim your ideas to a crowd, and so long as you take no action, the government will let you sit at a table here and discuss it until you are hoarse.”
“If questioned, I will say we did nothing more than discuss our mutual annoyance with the government,” Abbott said.
Laden smiled and said, “Ambassador, before we get down to discussing all of that, let me first ask you, do you think you were followed to St. Paul’s?”
“Perhaps initially, but I took precautions after that, so I think not in the end. And I wore less, ah, flamboyant clothes than usual, so I more easily disappeared into the crowd on London Bridge today. Although I can’t do anything about my height.”
Just then there was a knock on the door. Collins came in carrying a tray that held steaming mugs of coffee and two pitchers of warm chocolate. He set them all down on the table and asked if they needed anything else. They said no, thanked him, and he left.
“Now that the preliminaries are out of the way, what can I do for you, Ambassador?”
“General Washington is spied on inside the Tower, day and night. And reported on to the authorities. I would like to place someone I can trust within the Tower who can tell me what is being reported about the General and, specifically, to whom. And who goes there to try to see him. If that is possible.”
“I see.”
“Do you have a friend of America you could somehow place there?”
Laden paused and said nothing for many seconds. Abbott waited, understanding that Laden was trying to decide how much to say.
Laden poured chocolate into his coffee, took a sip and said, “Ouch! Too hot, scalding really.” He put the cup back down. “We already have someone in the Tower who can do what you wish.”
“I don’t need to know the person’s name.”
“I would prefer you do know it, so we don’t all step on one another’s toes. Her name is Mrs. Crankshaw. She serves coffee, cleans the cells and the like. She already reports to me what the General says and to whom. And who comes and goes.”
The Trial and Execution of the Traitor George Washington Page 22
