Two Crowns for America

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Is this true, Worshipful?” Dr. Franklin asked. “Does Mistress Wallace have such an ability?”

  “It is true,” Andrew said.

  “Well, then,” Franklin went on reasonably, “could we not simply accept the lady’s word of honor that she will not communicate what she has heard tonight? She is the wife, sister, and daughter-in-law of Master Freemasons, after all. And the offer of her oath was sufficiently specific that I believe she understands the gravity of what is at stake.”

  “I will concede that the lady has presented her case most eloquently,” the cool voice responded. “However, I must ask the Worshipful Master and my esteemed brethren whether we would even consider accepting such an offer if it had come from a male cowan. The issue strikes to the very foundation of the Craft, gentlemen. Let us not be diverted by the charms of our fair culprit.”

  Arabella shivered at his words, wondering whether discussion was now about to turn to the ancient penalties delineated in the oath she had heard. But before Andrew or anyone else could respond, O’Driscoll cleared his throat behind her.

  “If I may venture a suggestion, Worshipful,” he said, “we are, indeed, skirting the issue. The Craft gives us a most expeditious way to resolve this unfortunate incident. If Mistress Wallace is willing, I propose that we initiate her.”

  “What?”

  “It’s never done!”

  “Initiate a woman?”

  Over the chorus of protests and explanations, Arabella could hear a gavel rapping for order, echoing the pounding of the pulse in her temples. She, too, had been aghast at the notion at first, for it was totally outside normal Masonic practice to admit women. Considering further, however, she realized that O’Driscoll had, indeed, hit on the perfect solution. Initiation would bind her by the same obligation of secrecy that bound them all, invoking dreadful penalties if her oath should ever be broken.

  But she would not break such an oath, even if the penalties were not so appalling. And if O’Driscoll could persuade them to agree, the solution did, indeed, present a way out of their present predicament. If they were willing, she was willing to swear whatever oath they liked.

  “I’ll have order, please, gentlemen!” Andrew’s voice intruded, punctuated by several more raps of the gavel. “Brother O’Driscoll still has the floor. Order, I say, on your obedience to your Master!”

  Immediately the uproar died down, the last mutters trailing off at one final rap of the gavel.

  “Now,” Andrew said, the word punctuated by the rattle of wood against wood as he cast down the gavel. “We’ll have no further outbursts of that sort. Brother O’Driscoll, perhaps you would care to elaborate on your proposal.”

  “I would be pleased to do so, Worshipful,” O’Driscoll said. “As I was about to say, there is a precedent for dealing with this sort of thing—if I may be permitted to acquaint you and my worthy brethren with the details.”

  “Brother O’Driscoll, I shall be grateful for anything you might have to offer,” Andrew replied.

  Arabella could hear footsteps approaching closer behind her, and O’Driscoll’s next words came from directly behind.

  “Thank you, Worshipful. With your indulgence I should like to relate an incident that occurred in the Grand Lodge of Ireland, early in this century. The cases are not without their parallels, as you shall see.”

  “Proceed.”

  “At that time, as is well documented in Irish Freemasonry, there was living in the vicinity of Cork an ardent Master Mason, one Viscount Doneraile by name, surnamed St. Leger, who occasionally was wont to open Lodge in his home, with his three sons and several intimate friends in the neighborhood assisting—much as we have done here tonight.

  “As it happened, this Master had a daughter as well as sons: the Honorable Elizabeth St. Leger, who probably was not yet twenty at the time. One winter afternoon, Miss Elizabeth fell asleep while reading in a small library room adjoining the room her father used for Lodge meetings, unaware that he intended to hold Lodge there that night. Alterations were being carried out in the house, with the intention of connecting the two rooms by an arch, so large portions of the wall between the two rooms had been removed, to be reclosed only temporarily by setting some of the bricks back in place. Of course the room where Elizabeth slept was dark, so no one preparing for Lodge was aware of her presence.

  “Imagine our young lady’s distress when she awakened later that evening to find a Lodge meeting in progress in the adjacent room—and not only a Lodge meeting, but a conferring of the Second Degree. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth even removed a few of the bricks, the better to see what was going on. Perhaps, until she realized the solemnity of the obligations being undertaken by the candidate, her natural curiosity held sway over what normally would have been good common sense, knowing that she should not be watching and listening.”

  Arabella dared not move a muscle, wondering whether they thought that was what she had done.

  “In any event,” O’Driscoll went on, “escape soon became Miss Elizabeth’s overweening concern—but the only way out of the little library lay through the Lodge room. Nonetheless, she made her attempt. As the concluding part of the Second Degree was being given at the other end of the room, she eased through the connecting doorway and crept softly along the shadows of the far wall, to the very door into the entry hall—only to be confronted there by a drawn sword: her father’s faithful butler, serving as Tyler, who must have been every bit as horrified as she.”

  O’Driscoll’s droll delivery produced a faint snort from Franklin’s direction, almost a smothered chuckle, and Arabella had to fight an almost irresistible urge to smile, at least. Had she not been in an almost identical quandary only minutes ago, young Miss Elizabeth’s plight was almost comical.

  “Her shriek of terror raised the alarm,” O’Driscoll went blithely on. “The Tyler seized her, the brethren bore her back into the tiny library room, and several remained there to keep her under guard while the rest retired to the Lodge room to decide what to do. In the end they agreed that, if Miss Elizabeth could be persuaded of the seriousness of what she had witnessed, only one course was open to them. That very evening Miss Elizabeth St. Leger was initiated an Entered Apprentice and bound by the same oaths and obligations shared by all Freemasons.”

  After a short, pregnant silence, someone off to the right cleared his throat.

  “Did this Lady Freemason ever function as such, Brother O’Driscoll?”

  “She did, indeed,” O’Driscoll replied, “and was a model of Masonic decorum and charity for the rest of her life. It is said that she often led her Lodge in processions, and that no one in need of help was ever turned away from her door empty-handed. When she died several years ago, brethren all over Ireland drank a toast to the memory of their departed sister. She is buried, I believe, at the cathedral in Cork.”

  “An interesting precedent,” the cold voice said. “You propose, then, that we should apply the Irish precedent to our present dilemma?”

  Two hands plumped themselves firmly on the back of Arabella’s chair, and she could feel O’Driscoll leaning over her, toward the speaker.

  “Indeed, that is precisely what I propose, Past Master.”

  O’Driscoll’s words set off another murmur of indignant comment, silenced only by the rap of Andrew’s gavel. Suddenly O’Driscoll’s voice was close beside her left ear, whispering silkily just below the hoodwink still tied firmly around her head.

  “Stand now, and ask for initiation,” he told her. “They cannot offer it; you must request it. Do it.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Arabella gathered her dressing gown more closely around herself and rose.

  “Please, may I speak, sir?” she said in the sudden silence her action produced.

  “You may,” came Andrew’s reply.

  “Worshipful, I beg you to forgive me if I do not frame my words in precisely the proper form, but I wish you to know that my heart is sincere even if my words fail. At this time I would make
formal request of you and these assembled brethren that I be admitted to your number as an Entered Apprentice, by whatever process is customary. I have always honored the Craft and have supported it by supporting the activities of the men of my family. I beg to assure you that my esteem will only increase, should you deem me worthy to be counted among your number. Also, by swearing the obligation of an Entered Apprentice, I will have bound myself to secrecy regarding what I have heard, in terms that none here, I think, can question.”

  She kept her chin high when she had finished, hardly daring to breathe. After a moment Andrew spoke.

  “Arabella Wallace, your petition is duly noted. Accordingly, I now must ask you, in due and proper form: Do you seriously declare, upon your honor, before these brethren, the stewards of this Lodge, that unbiased by friends and uninfluenced by mercenary motives, you freely and voluntarily offer yourself a candidate for the mysteries of Freemasonry?”

  She squared her shoulders resolutely.

  “I do.”

  “Brethren, we have now before us the petition of Mistress Arabella Wallace,” Andrew went on. “The request is irregular because of her sex, but so are the circumstances also irregular. To that end I think it not amiss if our consideration of the petition is likewise irregular, in that I shall ask at this time, in the presence of the petitioner, whether anyone present feels unable to make a decision in this matter. She has the tongue of good report; her character is above reproach. I also can attest that her loyalty to the Craft, through her support of her husband, her brother, and myself, is unquestionable. Other than the gender of the petitioner, has anyone anything to offer that might cause us to look unfavorably upon her petition? For what is unknown to the many may be known to the few.”

  Arabella’s ears strained at the silence, but not a sound intruded.

  “Then we shall take the vote,” Andrew’s voice went on. “Brother Wallace, would you please distribute the tokens for the balloting? Mistress Wallace, you may be seated.”

  She sank onto her chair again, still trying to sort out the random sounds around her as someone—presumably Simon—made a circuit of the room. When his footsteps had returned to his place near the door, movement stirred in Andrew’s direction again.

  “The brethren will now come forward in order of seniority and cast their ballots,” he said quietly, “recalling that a white ball elects and a black ball rejects.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Arabella was familiar with the method of balloting. Its origins lay in the mists of antiquity, before the written word. By the sounds, as the balloting proceeded, she guessed the balls to be of wood or ivory, clicking hollowly into a wooden container. She found herself trying to count the clicks as the votes were cast but gave up after ten, when she realized that either there were many more men present than she had dreamed, or else each man was also discarding his unused ballot into a second container.

  She waited numbly until, at length, Andrew announced, “The vote is unanimous for the candidate. I therefore direct the Tyler and the Senior Warden to escort the candidate from the Lodge and properly prepare her for initiation.”

  So quickly was it decided. Before she could even breathe a sigh of relief, O’Driscoll’s hand was under her elbow, bidding her rise. She got shakily to her feet, glad of his support, turning at his direction to walk out of the room at his side. They paused just outside; and as soon as the door had closed behind them, it was Simon who pulled off the hoodwink and took her in his arms, to hold her wordlessly for a moment before drawing back to look at her in approval, hands resting on her shoulders.

  “My God, how I do love you, Arabella,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly.

  She might have burst into tears of relief at that, for it seemed the immediate danger now was past; but O’Driscoll was watching, eagle-eyed, and recalled them to the task at hand.

  “Here now, none o’ that,” he said gruffly, laying aside his sword and scanning her up and down appraisingly. “You’re a game lass, m’girl, but for a while there I wasn’t sure the General was going to play along. Let’s not give him a chance to change his mind.”

  “The—General?” Arabella breathed, wide-eyed. “You mean, W—”

  Simon laid a forefinger across her lips and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, my love. You’re doing fine, and he won’t change his mind. But Sean is right. We have to prepare you. First of all, no metal.” He briefly ran his fingers back into her hair, then down her shoulders and lightly along her sides.

  “Good. No hairpins, no ear bobs, no stays. And the buttons on your gown are bone, aren’t they?”

  She nodded wordlessly.

  “The wedding ring will have to come off, Major,” O’Driscoll said.

  Her wedding ring? She looked at her husband in dismay. “But Simon, I’ve never—”

  “I know you’ve never removed it,” Simon said, taking her hand and gently beginning to work the ring off, “but you must do so tonight. I promise to guard it with my life and to place it back upon your hand when all is done. Metal is forbidden because it’s symbolic of wealth; and all who enter the Lodge must enter as equals, ‘poor and penniless.’ ” He kissed her empty finger as the ring came off, then slipped the gold band onto the end of his little finger.

  “It also has to do with the ancient notion that metal was considered ritually unclean,” he went on, “and that during the building of the Temple at Jerusalem was heard no sound of ax, or hammer, or tool of iron. Further, it’s an assurance that the candidate carries no weapon. All of the preparation has a meaning, my love. No other metal, I trust? It could invalidate the initiation, if we’ve overlooked any.”

  She shook her head, watching with bewilderment as he eased her back a few steps so she could sit on a bench against the wall, kneeling at her feet to uncover her slippers. O’Driscoll, she noted with gratitude, had turned discreetly away.

  “Now, right heel slip-shod and left knee bare,” Simon said, as he removed the right slipper and began rolling down that stocking. “This has to do with contact with the floor, when you kneel to take the obligation. It’s related to standing on holy ground. And your right arm must be bare to the elbow, too; just push the sleeve up on that side.”

  As she complied, fighting to keep from trembling now, he removed the right stocking altogether, so that the right foot was bare, then rolled the other stocking down around her left ankle, folding the edge of her skirts back so that both feet were visible.

  “Sean,” Simon called over his shoulder, “will you witness that she’s complied with the right-heel, left-knee requirement, or must she demonstrate that in Lodge?”

  Arabella felt herself blushing furiously, but when O’Driscoll turned to glance briefly at her feet, his expression was one of bland detachment.

  “I’ll vouch for the lass,” the Irishman said, shifting his gaze squarely to Simon’s. “I—ah—believe it will also be permissible for you to vouch that the left breast has been bared at some time in the past, enabling you to state that the candidate is, indeed, a woman—which has to be the major purpose for that requirement, if you think about it. Besides that, we’ve agreed that her sex doesn’t matter, in this instance.

  “The other purpose has to do with presenting the blade at the breast, of course, but I—shouldn’t think that a few layers of muslin constitute any particular impediment.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I wonder how they dealt with this in Cork.”

  His droll afterthought almost made Arabella smile, despite the awkwardness of the situation. She also realized that O’Driscoll’s words had given her at least a clue to part of what was going to happen when she went back inside. If she had harbored any misgivings before, it now became quite clear that the Irishman was on her side, trying to put her at her ease and make the best of truly difficult circumstances. He gave her a faint smile and a nod as he and Simon each gave her a hand to help her to her feet, and she found herself smiling shyly in return and murmuring a word of thanks.

  He
busied himself with shaking out Simon’s cravat then, readying the hoodwink while Simon himself gently undid the top buttons of her dressing gown. Arabella found herself stiffening a little under his ministrations—for though O’Driscoll had given dispensation from the requirement to bare her breast, she still would be entering a roomful of strange men, clad only in the gown and her night shift.

  Annoyed with herself, Arabella made a conscious effort to relax. Whatever was she afraid of? The neckline of her shift was no lower than the gowns she wore in the evening. Not even the wildest of speculations about what Freemasons did behind closed doors had ever suggested anything untoward—no nights of debauchery and wild orgies, no deflowering of virgins or ritualized rape. And it was not as if Simon would allow any man even to glance at her with other than respect, and certainly not right here in her own house! As Simon looped the cravat across her eyes once more, she was even able to smile a little at her imagination gone totally out of control.

  Again she helped him by holding it in place while he wrapped it several times around her head and knotted it behind, taking slight comfort in the dark refuge it provided—the ostrich believing itself safe from danger, because it cannot see the danger approaching—illusion, but a useful one. As Simon shifted his attention to readjusting the cable-tow around her neck, she lifted her chin and made herself drop her hands to her sides, determined not to shame him by any show of cowardice.

  “There. I think we’re ready,” Simon finally said, presumably to O’Driscoll. “Arabella, just follow the promptings you’ll receive along the way. You needn’t worry.”

  You needn’t worry. That was fine for Simon to say, who was not having to go through whatever was in store for her, Arabella thought, as he and O’Driscoll took her arms to either side and led her back toward the library door. At the same time another part of her noted, quite dispassionately, that Simon knew precisely what was in store for her and not only had experienced it himself, at his own initiation, but had put others through the same experience. If he said she need not worry, he certainly knew what he was talking about.