Two Crowns for America

by Katherine Kurtz

  Two days later, in a handsome parlor office in a Boston town house, the prince laid out his proposition over tiny cups of thick, strong coffee.

  “I would not ask this of you if I were not convinced you are an honest man, and that you share my own zeal for this American cause,” he concluded. “I assure you that I seek this treasure on behalf of its rightful owner. And there is every reason to expect that the treasure eventually would be used in the support of the war effort.” Which was true, whether Charles Edward Stuart or Washington eventually benefited from the funds. “I am, of course, prepared to go to London.”

  Eli Levi nodded slowly. He was a big, powerful man in the prime of life, with only a trace of silver showing in his neatly trimmed beard and mustache and in the side curls clubbed back with the rest of his thick black hair. Apart from the distinction of a small black skullcap, almost invisible against his hair, he looked little different from any other prosperous banker in Boston; but his influence was felt across an ocean. As part of the financial network centered on Haym Salomon, now working out of Philadelphia, Levi helped broker most of the funds starting to funnel across the Atlantic to finance the war. Vast sums had already been lent to the United States government on pure good faith, much of it from Salomon’s personal resources and mostly without interest. Levi was no less capable, and no less a friend of the fledgling United States. He was also distantly related to the Ba’al Shem of London by marriage.

  “You are, of course, aware that this request is hardly within the usual scope of the Craft,” Levi said. His English was faintly inflected with a Middle European accent.

  “Quite aware,” the prince replied. “Nonetheless, I know of no other who could help this poor widow’s son.”

  A faint smile briefly lit the Jew’s dark eyes. “You need not reiterate that appeal, my friend,” he said. “You knew when you came that I would not refuse you. And if anyone can find your treasure, it would be Dr. Falk. However …”

  “However?” the prince prompted when Levi did not go on.

  Levi frowned, a big hand toying with the cup before him, its contents long gone cold.

  “You must remember that I cannot speak for him,” he said. “You will appreciate that he is extremely cautious regarding gentile seekers after occult knowledge—and who can blame him, given the history of our two peoples? It will help that you go to him as a brother in the Craft—and, of course, I shall write him a glowing letter of introduction in your behalf. You are prepared, I trust, to render me a service in return?”

  “I am always happy to assist a brother,” the prince replied. “What was it you had in mind?”

  “Only the delivery of certain letters of credit in London, and one in Paris,” Levi said with a smile. “I would sooner trust them to a brother than to any ordinary courier. I advise a certain degree of circumspection in London, since the British authorities do not look kindly upon agents conveying succor to the enemy. However, the Paris trip should prove a pleasant enough diversion. And you may convey my personal greetings to Brother Franklin.”

  “I shall, indeed,” the prince agreed, inclining his head in a bow. “And I thank you kindly. When may I collect those letters?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” Levi replied. “And I know of a Dutch merchantman that sails for London in a week’s time. Shall I have space booked for you?”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I shall make my own travel arrangements,” the prince replied. “I may be taking several associates with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The scheduled sailing of the Dutch ship Levi had mentioned left scant time to confer with Simon before a decision had to be made regarding who should go with the prince to Falk in London. Accordingly, it fell to Andrew to make the selection and hope that Simon would concur.

  Ramsay obviously had to go, since it was he to whom Murray had first tried to confide the location of the gold. By similar reasoning, though the prince had been careful not to mention it to Levi, it seemed clear that Arabella must go along to serve as Murray’s voice. And for propriety’s sake, as well as for the wisdom of his own training, Andrew himself must be a part of the company.

  “Justin, I know you would like to accompany us,” Andrew informed him privately after supper that night, “but I think you will be of more service if you return to Simon. With Lafayette gone back to France, the General will be more vulnerable to doubts—and it will be Simon who must assuage those doubts. Your presence will lighten his burden. I want you to leave for Philadelphia at first light. I shall prepare a full report of what has happened and what we intend. Barring unforeseen adversity, you should have time to reach him and return before we sail if he has some objection or further instruction. Is that agreeable to you?”

  It was not the decision Justin had hoped for, but he accepted it in good grace. He did return in time to convey Simon’s reaction and recommendations, and to watch the ship slip out of Boston Harbor before he headed back south.

  The voyage was uneventful, if tedious, the monotony of endless days interspersed with equally tiresome nights, though the wind remained fresh and they made good time. The balmy weather brought most of the passengers above decks during the day, to walk or read or play at draughts or chess. Arabella was particularly pleased to absent herself from her cabin whenever possible, for she was obliged to share it with the garrulous wife of a British officer returning to London, who spent most of her waking hours complaining when she was not being seasick.

  Andrew was a proven companion of many years’ standing, and the prince proved amiable and amusing, but Ramsay became withdrawn and sparing of conversation as the voyage wore on and was often to be seen far up in the bow, staring at the distant horizon. Nor did he often join them in the evenings, when the prince gathered them in the cabin the three men shared to give advanced instruction in the tenets of Freemasonry or, occasionally, to polish their proficiency by working the rituals of Lodge in whispered undertones.

  They made landfall at Southampton in late September, arriving in London on the heels of news that the American John Paul Jones had defeated HM warship Serapis off the east Yorkshire coast on the twenty-third. Though Ramsay’s air of preoccupation seemed to dissipate once they reached London, he remained a cause of concern for the prince and especially for Andrew, who knew the Jacobite physician far better than any of the rest.

  Accordingly, Andrew had set himself to chronicling events as soon as Ramsay presented himself in Cambridge, confident that Saint-Germain would want to know about the potential situation developing. He had continued his chronicle during the Atlantic crossing, penning a detailed description of his own experience on the evening they attempted the seance and appending his assessment of Ramsay’s mental state and recommendations for caution. This he dispatched to Germany shortly after reaching London, by way of a young assistant recommended by one of the brokerage houses to which he and the prince delivered Eli Levi’s letters of credit.

  Ramsay was unaware of the transaction, for neither he nor Arabella accompanied the prince on the errand to the financial district. Similarly, the prince took along only Andrew on the crisp October morning when he hailed a hansom cab and set out to meet the Ba’al Shem of London, armed with Eli Levi’s letter of introduction.

  Hayyim Samuel Jacob Falk lived in a comfortable terrace house in Wellclose Square, not far from Whitechapel, the Tower of London, and Tower Bridge. Architecturally similar to the other houses in the square, if perhaps marginally better maintained, it yet conveyed a sense of being different from all the others as the cab pulled up in front of its wrought-iron fencing.

  Alighting from the cab behind the prince, and letting the prince hand him down, Andrew let himself drink in first impressions as his silver-headed cane tap-tapped up the granite steps to a blue-painted front door. When the prince rang the bell, the door was shortly opened by a middle-aged man with a bushy gray-streaked beard and spectacles pushed up on his forehead.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “G
ood morning,” the prince replied. “I have a letter of introduction for Dr. Falk. I believe this is his residence?”

  The man’s eyes flicked over the pair of them.

  “Who gave you this letter?”

  “A distant relation of his by marriage, Mr. Eli Levi of Boston.”

  “I’ll ask if he can see you,” the man said, standing back from the door. “Come in off the street and wait here.”

  They stepped into a small, neat vestibule lit by the fanlight above the door. A marble-topped hall table bore a large crystal vase brimming over with gold and russet chrysanthemums; a multicolored rag rug adorned the scrubbed honey-colored planks of the wooden floor. Several calling cards lay on a silver salver beside the vase, but the top one was printed in Hebrew, and the man returned before Andrew could do more than think about shifting it to see whether they were all like that.

  “Dr. Falk has just finished morning prayers, but he will see you in the library very shortly,” the man said. “Please come with me.”

  Exchanging a glance with the prince, Andrew fell in behind the man, who led them through a sturdy paneled door, along a gracious hall, and into a painted library, whose shelves were crammed from ceiling to floor with books. Indicating two bow-back chairs to either side of a more massive wing chair, the man withdrew.

  Andrew contented himself with sitting on one of the chairs while the prince casually perused some of the titles on the shelves, but came immediately to his feet as the library door opened again to admit a small, gray-bearded man in a rumpled black suit.

  He surveyed his visitors curiously over the tops of glittering spectacles as he closed the door behind him and came into the room. The white fringes of a prayer shawl showed beneath his coattails, and he wore side curls and a black skullcap. Though he looked to be quite elderly, with liver spots mottling his face and the backs of his hands, the dark eyes behind the spectacles were bright and alert.

  “Moshe says you have a letter from Eli Levi, my wife’s sister’s grandson,” he said. His English was excellent, if heavily accented—a rich baritone.

  “I do, Rabbi,” the prince replied, making him a little bow as he reached into his coat. “My name is Rohan, and my colleague is the Chevalier Wallace.”

  “And I am Falk,” their host replied, not favoring them with any of his other names as he took the letter the prince handed him. “Sit, sit.”

  He indicated the two lesser chairs, himself taking the wingback, and immediately broke the seal on Levi’s letter and began reading. Again exchanging glances, Andrew and the prince sat where they were bidden. Partway through the letter, Falk looked up at them, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, then returned to his reading. When he had finished, he sat for some time tapping the pages against his hand and staring off into space. Finally he roused himself to fold the letter and slip it into an inside pocket, flicking his gaze from one to the other of them.

  “Because Eli has asked it, and for the sake of the poor widow’s son, I will try to help you,” he said. “Which of you is senior? I perceive a difference in abilities, but neither seems subordinate to the other.”

  “Say that we function as part of a team, Rabbi,” the prince said before Andrew could defer. “And that we answer to the same higher authority.”

  “Yes, so do we all answer to that Great Architect of the Universe,” Falk said impatiently. “This treasure—Eli says that you seek it on behalf of its rightful owner. Who is that rightful owner?”

  “Charles Edward Stuart,” the prince said cautiously. “And we are all too aware that even to accord him his rightful style as king is reckoned treason in this country. I must also tell you that if the gold is recovered, there is every reason to expect that it will be used to further other interests besides those of George of Hanover. If, under these circumstances, you prefer not to become involved, we will withdraw our request. But we will not come to you with lies.”

  “No, students of Saint-Germain would not presume to lie to me,” the old man said, a faint smile curving at his lips within the wiry gray beard.

  Andrew had stiffened at the mention of Saint-Germain’s name, but the prince only nodded, leaning back in his chair to steeple his fingertips before his chin.

  “We are as you suggest,” he admitted. “May one presume to ask how you became aware of this?”

  “One may.” Still smiling, Falk lifted a deprecating hand. “Be at ease, my brothers. I have surmised it from the nature of your request, coupled with your championship of Charles Edward Stuart. Ba’al Shem I may be, but mastery of the Sacred Name is not to be employed in frivolous displays of occult knowledge. Suffice it to say that I have long been aware of your Master’s interest in the Stuart prince and in the New World. These are not my own interests, so I have given them little concern, but I am well acquainted with Saint-Germain. Does he know what you are proposing?”

  Andrew shifted in his chair, fingering the silver head of his walking stick. “I have written to him, outlining all that is known to us thus far, sir, but the letter left only a few days ago, and I do not know for certain where or when he will be found.”

  “Nor do I,” Falk replied. “Still, that cannot be helped.” He pursed his lips. “You do realize, I hope, that what you ask will still be difficult, even though I can expect you to possess the advantage of Saint-Germain’s training. Are there more of you?”

  “Yes, two,” the prince replied, deliberately neglecting to be more specific. “They and another were present when we attempted to contact the spirit of a man believed to know the location of the gold, but we were unsuccessful. We did make a contact,” he added. “Or rather, the Chevalier did. It was not the man we sought, else we should not be here, but that contact does seem to have been responsible for putting it in my mind to ask Eli Levi about you. Eli and I have been involved in some business transactions of late, and your name came up in the course of conversation.”

  “Hardly the sort of conversation one might expect of a business acquaintance,” Falk observed, surveying the prince over his glasses.

  “Indeed not,” the prince agreed. “But he and I have sat in Lodge together many times. It soon became clear that we shared certain esoteric interests—though I doubt I would have recalled that particular conversation had it not been for the seance.”

  “But you are not a medium,” Falk said—a statement, not a question.

  “No.”

  “And you, Chevalier?”

  “No, but my contact indicated that another of our number has the capacity to be one, given suitable instruction,” Andrew replied, following the prince’s lead in avoiding direct reference to Arabella. “Meanwhile, my contact chose a different sort of communication through Dr. Rohan. I believe it was a rather startling experience,” he added with an arch glance at the prince.

  Falk chuckled and leaned back in his chair to twist at a side curl. “Such an experience usually is startling, even when one is prepared for it. Tell me, Chevalier, do you know the identity of your contact?”

  “I do, indeed.” Briefly Andrew described how Joseph Warren now had appeared to him three times, in each instance providing information previously unknown to Andrew.

  “I have no idea how he knew of Dr. Rohan’s connection with Mr. Levi, or of Levi’s connection with you,” Andrew concluded. “So far as I am aware, he was acquainted with neither man in life—nor with Murray, the man we were trying to contact—yet he seemed quite confident that the link would bear fruit, and that you would prove equal to the task we proposed. Yet when I asked, at one point, whether he could summon Murray to attend us, he said that he could not.”

  “Yes, sometimes the spirits’ abilities are limited in ways we do not comprehend,” Falk murmured. “At other times they are oddly omniscient. We shall certainly attempt to employ the medium he brought to your attention. Tell me, what did you use as a focus for your working?”

  “This silver snuffbox,” the prince replied, removing it from his pocket and unwrapping the silk handkerchief t
hat protected it. “It belonged to Angus Murray, the man who tried to tell us the location of the gold, and to his father before him, who supposedly had actually buried the gold. We believe the gold coin inside to be from the hoard that was buried in the New World.”

  He handed the snuffbox to Falk, still nestled in its silk swathings. The old man turned it carefully in the strong light from the window, running an aged finger across the coin set in the bottom, then set it aside on a small table.

  “If your spirit contact has spoken truly regarding your medium, this should prove an excellent focus,” he said briskly. “The coin provides a particularly potent link, if its provenance is as you suggest. Return here one week from tonight, at nine o’clock. I shall need some time to consult several sources. Bring along your other two. May I take it that all of you are Master Masons?”

  “We are,” the prince said.

  “Good. Then come prepared to clothe yourselves for work. Bathe beforehand, to purify yourselves, and wear fresh clothing of conservative color, preferably black. I shall provide what else is needed. For further preparation I ask that you undertake a light fast for the three days preceding: only one small meal per day, taking neither meat nor spirits, and only bread and water on the final day.

  “This is especially important for your medium, who should take only water on the third day,” he went on. “See that he spends the day in solitude, preparing himself for his holy work—as should all of you be prepared to give me your utmost focus and concentration. Go now. I have much to do.”

  “He was certainly specific once he had made up his mind,” Andrew said to the prince as they walked along the Thames beside the Tower, after leaving Falk’s residence. “I wonder if we should have told him that our medium is a woman.”

  “I debated that myself,” the prince replied, “but I feared that total candor might end the discussion before it began. Now he has committed himself. After making preparations for a week, it will be more difficult to back out on the night.”