Mrs. Stevenson’s daughter approached the window, then with a polite gasp of surprise extracted two pearl earrings draped over the center of the crescent moon. “Treasures from the heavens!” she exclaimed with a laugh, then rewarded Franklin with a kiss on his cheek. “Truly you do too much for me, Benjamin,” she said. “I must find a way to reciprocate. William,” she added to Hewson, “perhaps we can find another front-row seat for Guy Fawkes Night?”
Hewson offered an affirming nod, then stepped closer to Duncan and began to explain what he had learned at Bethlem Hospital that afternoon.
“There is no record of any patient named either Conawago or Socrates Moon,” Hewson reported, mentioning the second name Ishmael had given him. “So I asked for a list of the patients in the so-called Chamber of the Immortals.” Hewson saw Duncan’s question and shrugged. “I said I was studying the pathology by which ancient Greek and Roman mentalities mysteriously surface in the inhabitants of Bethlem, which is curiously built in the shadow of the ancient Roman wall. That clearly intrigued the keepers, so they complied, with knowing nods and more than a few mutterings about Roman ghosts that have been seen on the grounds.” He produced a piece of paper. “Fifteen names with estimated ages and descriptions, the best the keepers could manage. Eliminating those clearly under the age of sixty, a man estimated to weigh over twenty stone, one with a red beard, and the one so pale that he poses as a marble statue, leaves five.” He handed the list to Duncan with five names underlined. “The keepers added the personages they have adopted.”
Ishmael looked over his shoulder as he read:
Jacob Quimley, Homer and sometimes Moses
Charles Postle, Athena and sometimes a naked king of Spartan
Oliver Anderson, Crier of decrees and sometimes Bathsheba
Thomas More, Plato and Aristotle
Thomas Wolsey, Zeus and Dionysus
Nothing stood out except the odd coincidence of the last two names. He pointed to them and looked up at Hewson. “Our friend was wearing a placard labeling him as Plato on one side, Aristotle on the other. He has always been a great student of their teachings. Why call him Thomas More? Why Thomas Wolsey, for that matter? Why reach out for historical names?”
“No one questions what the admitting doctor writes,” Hewson tried to explain. “And this one was Doctor Granger, physician to the royal family.”
Polly Stevenson had joined Ishmael at Duncan’s shoulder. “They are both men who died after being charged by the king with treason,” she pointed out.
“That was King Henry the Eighth, dear,” Hewson confirmed, “though I doubt many keepers would make the connection.”
“As if they were suppressed by the same man,” Polly continued, “who thought himself so very clever, creating a record that chums at his club would laugh at.”
“Or the sovereign,” interjected a troubled voice. Franklin was listening now. “Dear God,” he said, and gestured for the list. Duncan handed it to him and he walked to his chair by the fire, his feet strangely leaden.
“If I knew more about your friend’s activity here, whom he met with, where he visited,” Hewson said, “I might have some notion of how this happened. Without knowing what was done, how can we undo it?”
Duncan offered a grateful nod. “If only I had access to those who oversee Indian Affairs, those who deal with Superintendent Johnson and his deputies or their friends, I might turn up a clue as to his activities in London before his confinement. Perhaps someone with that charity, those Disciples who help the tribes.”
Unexpectedly, it was Olivia Dumont who spoke up. “Oh well, Madeline then. She is always genteel, and although sometimes lightheaded, she seems to be a good friend of Sarah’s and her family had a connection to some such charity. She told me it was de rigueur for young society women to adopt a benevolent cause.”
Duncan eyed her uncertainly. “Madeline from Philadelphia?
“Madeline Faulkner, yes. I carried a letter for her from Sarah.” The Frenchwoman paused, then flushed. “Pardonnez-moi! I was to give you her address here. It’s in my room in my jewelry case. I shall retrieve it this instant,” she said and hurried toward the staircase.
A moribund whisper broke the silence that followed. Franklin had been contemplating Duncan’s words. “The incognitum,” the inventor said, still facing the fire. “If I credit what you said, McCallum, it means there are those in this city who fear our monster could rip the higher circles of London apart. The Royal Society. The War Council. Secret committees of Parliament. The Privy Council, even. There are jealous men in each who consider the lives of common men to be little more than those of pawns on a chessboard, and whom would never tolerate plebeians such as ourselves interfering with their affairs.”
“I must confess I don’t entirely comprehend, Benjamin,” Hewson said. “At times you speak as if there is a feud among natural philosophers, at others as though matters of state were involved.”
The doctor’s words brought a heavy sigh from Franklin, who rose to pace along the hearth again, hands clasped behind his back. “I fear you have struck upon it.”
“A feud or a matter of state?” Polly asked.
“Until Mr. McCallum spoke I had not recalled what happened to poor Mason, sent into exile in a bleak Greenwich office. He should have been offered a knighthood. If these are the same persons who persecuted him, then God help your friend. God help us all.”
“Perhaps we need to better understand the context you speak of, Ben,” Polly observed. “You have lost me. Shall we have some madeira and start over?” The landlady’s daughter guided him back to his chair and handed him a glass of wine, then invited the rest of the party to gather by the hearth.
“I should have seen it from the start,” Franklin confessed. “The attack on the incognitum expedition, the use of my letter to choke poor Ezra to death. Pierre’s murder. The attempts to suppress our transit observations, and the campaign against Mason.”
“Prithee, sir,” Duncan said, “perhaps we should hear more about this man Mason.”
“Why, you must know of him, McCallum. Everyone in America knows of Charles Mason and his partner Jeremiah Dixon.”
“The Mason-Dixon Line!” Ishmael exclaimed.
“Exactly. Perhaps the greatest astronomical feat of the century. Do you have any idea of the scale of that accomplishment? And of course he was chosen for that honor by the Royal Society because of his own work on the 1761 transit of Venus. He had been dispatched to Sumatra then, with Mr. Dixon at his side, but they were so slowed by attacks of the French along the route that they were unable to progress beyond the Cape of Good Hope. So, blessed man, he had the resourcefulness to set up his equipment for observations from the Cape, which became the best of all those done around the globe, although we hope the recent work out of Philadelphia may prove his match, eh?” Franklin added with a twinkling glance at Duncan.
“Of course, while in America for all those years, Mason made many close friends among the natural philosophers of the colonies. He was forced to end his survey by some difficulties with the tribes less than two years before this year’s transit, so naturally he helped train the members of our community of scholars in Philadelphia to make the necessary observations. It was the most generous, selfless of gestures, solely to advance the scholarly cause. But when he returned to London, certain members of the government, even some of the Royal Society here, reviled him for doing so, saying London and Edinburgh were the centers for learning and no good would come from advancing the minds of shallow colonials. Instead of crowning him with laurels he was sent to lunar chronicle oblivion in Greenwich, poor soul.”
“But surely you put in a good word for him, Benjamin.” Mrs. Stevenson said. She too had drawn up a chair. Her relationship with Franklin was clearly more than that of landlady and tenant. “After all, you also are a fellow of the Royal Society.”
“Margaret, I am but a second-class citizen in the Society. The only one who can change Mason’s position is the
Astronomer Royal, and Nevil Maskelyne is the last person on earth I can alienate right now. The situation is very delicate. I need to have him build anticipation for the Philadelphia transit observations or all may be lost. If we are not careful, our seeds will be cast on barren ground.”
Mrs. Stevenson rolled her eyes. “I am at a loss to understand this sudden fascination with astronomy.”
Franklin turned his gaze from her to stare into his own folded hands, then sighed and looked toward the sideboard. “Ah! Bavarian creams!” he exclaimed, and stepped with renewed vigor to the plate of cakes brought with the tea.
Polly saw the confusion in Duncan’s eyes. “The Astronomer Royal,” she explained, “is the natural philosopher closest to the king.”
Duncan did not miss how Franklin, his back still turned toward them, froze for a moment at her words. As the inventor walked with a plate of sweets toward the teapot, he took notice of a blank space on his wall. “Meg,” he asked his landlady in a peeved tone, “did you move my drawing of the—” He paused. “Did you move my drawing?”
It was Olivia Dumont, rushing to his side, who answered. “Oh! Dr. Franklin! C’est moi!” She put her hand on his arm and his mood instantly softened. “I awoke at dawn and recalled the fascinating image of that machine. I was going to ask but you were asleep. Your secretary Monsieur Quinn saw me studying it yesterday and said I should feel free to examine it more closely. I took it up to my bedroom to study in the early light of the sun and neglected to return it.” Duncan was at a loss to understand the knowing glance that passed between Franklin and the Frenchwoman.
“Nonsense, my dear, no need to apologize,” Franklin replied. “Of course. It is a fascinating image, is it not? You must allow me to explain it in more detail,” he added, offering Olivia one of his cakes.
Ishmael, taking no interest in the exchange about a strange drawing he had not even seen, gazed fitfully into the hearth. “None of this gets us closer to Conawago’s trail,” he groused.
“I nearly forgot,” Hewson said, and reached inside his waistcoat to produce another list. “The board of governors for Bethlem Hospital. No one at the hospital would decline a request made by any one of them.”
Duncan took the list and read it out loud:
Lord Pennington
Duke of Westmoreland
Earl Aylesford
Duke of Portland
Earl of Milbridge
Baronet Darnel
Lord Wolfington
Lord Oxley
He searched the faces of his companions. “None of these signify to me,” he said but nodded his gratitude to Hewson. “A clever notion, doctor, but if we can find no signs of Conawago’s trail into Bethlem, then we need to just focus on procedures there. Like which doors are locked, who has keys, what access there may be through the rear of the building, when laundry is exchanged, and whether the inmates from the top floor are ever permitted exercise outside.”
“Not exercise as such,” Hewson replied, “but there are the daily baths. The governors are quite convinced of their efficacy.”
“I don’t follow.”
“There is a device with a chair and a harness. Patients are lowered into very cold water for thirty seconds. The chief doctor swears by it.”
Duncan recalled mention of such baths on his visit to Bedlam. He closed his eyes against the image of his gentle friend being forced into a harness and soaked each day. When he opened them he saw that Ishmael’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Major Hastings and his men must answer for what they have done,” Duncan said in a smoldering voice.
“But, Duncan,” Olivia protested, “as horrible as the Horse Guards have been, surely they can’t be involved with Conawago’s confinement.”
“In war,” Duncan replied, “to survive you develop an instinct, an extra sense that tells you where enemies lurk before having actual sight of them.”
“Surely you overreact,” Polly Stevenson said. “All the Horse Guards do is protect the king.”
“Except for travel to America to commit murder,” Ishmael shot back. “And my uncle traveled across the Atlantic to see the king.”
Franklin’s hand, lifting another cake, froze halfway to his mouth. The inventor looked up with sudden interest.
Polly’s brow creased. “But why would a simple member of the tribes think he could reach the king?” she asked.
“My friend Conawago,” Duncan said, “is anything but simple. He lived in France as a boy, being educated by the Jesuits. He speaks more languages than, I wager, anyone in this room. He was a friend of Louis Quatorze, who begged him to join his court, and even visited old Queen Anne. Later, with French diplomats, he visited the first King George. He is capable of cutting a most impressive figure, I assure you.”
“But why?” Polly pressed. “What was so urgent?”
Ishmael and Duncan exchanged a glance. Conawago had had dreams. No one else in the chamber would possibly understand the primacy, and urgency, of such messages from the gods. “I believe,” Duncan said, “that he had cause to expect an approaching catastrophe and felt honor bound to do something about it.”
“What cause?” Franklin pressed. “You mean the murders in America?”
“No. He was underway to London before those occurred. About armies. About thousands dying. About the destruction of nations.”
“Ben!” Polly called out and rushed to Franklin’s side. He had grown quite pale, and was suddenly so weak he accepted her arm to support him to the nearest chair, by the gaming table. He put his hand on the incognitum tooth for a long silent moment, as if for strength, then turned to Polly. “Paper, child, and writing lead.”
When she complied, he bent over the table, writing feverishly as all the room watched. When he finished he extended the paper to Duncan. “William gave you the board of governors for the hospital,” he said. “This is another board, the king’s War Council. The Horse Guards are directly under them. I don’t say I agree with your theories, McCallum, but I accept that there is a certain perverse logic to them. Anyone seeking to see the king is likely to fall under their attention. They have almost as much power as the Privy Council and work almost entirely in secret.”
Duncan read the list out loud, quickly, not understanding Franklin’s point.
Lord Barrington
Lord Paxton
Duke of Cornwall
Lord Salisbury
Earl of Milbridge
Lord Abercromby
Lord Lincoln
Lord Paisley
“Why such a coincidence!” Mrs. Stevenson cried out. “The Earl of Milbridge is on both bodies!” Her look of curiosity faded as she saw the hardened reactions of Duncan, Ishmael, and William Hewson. “Oh,” she whispered in a deflated voice. “That’s the point.”
“It all rests with the Horse Guards and the War Council,” Duncan said. “I think they stopped Conawago from seeing the king. And now,” he said to Franklin accusingly, “they want to stop you from seeing the king.”
Duncan’s words seemed to finally pierce the shell of Franklin’s resistance. The wizard of lightning looked stricken. Polly put her hand on his shoulder, for suddenly he seemed in need of comforting. His breath caught several times as if he were about to speak, but then he seemed to lose his words. When he finally spoke it was in a near whisper. “The bones are the only way in,” he said. “The old aristocracy loathes me. But George has a keen interest in natural philosophy.”
“Which is why you are so beholden to Astronomer Royal Maskelyne,” William Hewson suggested.
Franklin nodded. “If Nevil recommended it, the king would meet with me. But none of his other advisers must know. The lure will be that we will tell George he will be the first to receive the official transit results from Philadelphia, which may not be entirely unexpected, but doing so out of the public eye so he can control their use is still a sign of great respect for him. And then he shall behold the astonishing secrets of the America
n incognitum. His perception of the colonies will be transformed!”
“But surely, Benjamin,” Mrs. Stevenson interjected, “if it causes all this fuss with the Horse Guards it can’t be worth it.”
“I am afraid it is, dear Meg,” Franklin said with a sad smile. “Worth my life, if it comes to it.”
“But Ben, it is only bones!” Mrs. Stevenson said, new worry in her voice.
“The transit and the bones are the admission to the meeting,” Duncan said. “The purpose is something else.”
Franklin nodded to Duncan. “My new friend is most perceptive,” he said, and sighed. “No one else can know this, I beg you, and God knows how your Conawago reached the same conclusion. Five months ago, the War Council surprised the king with an extraordinary proposal. They said sparks had to be suppressed before the fires broke out. He said he would decide before he departed on his hunting trips in the fall, after the social season. So the calendar is nearly run out. The War Council is so confident that they are already making preparations. Ships are being provisioned in Portsmouth as we speak.”
“Preparations, Benjamin?” Mrs. Stevenson asked.
Franklin said to Duncan, “Your friend Conawago is right. It would be brother against brother. Untold thousands would die. Your old Nipmuc and I somehow came to the same decision. The only way to stop the nightmare is through an unguarded discussion with the king.” He silently looked into the eyes of his companions and sighed again as he surrendered all pretense. “The War Council intends to dispatch troops to occupy Philadelphia and New York. They will have orders to send all those who speak against the government to London to be hanged.”
Chapter 14
DUNCAN PAUSED AS HE CLIMBED out of their wherry to admire the elegant building on the hill above the Thames. He had been so obsessed with the conspiracy against Franklin and Conawago that he had not truly focused on their morning destination. But now, as he stood on the pier, a sense of awe seized him. His reaction had nothing to do with the stately building along the riverbank, the Naval Hospital, but rather with the sturdy, templelike structure at the top of the hill. He recalled that the site had once held the castle where Henry the Eighth and his daughters had been born, but on those ruins Christopher Wren had built the center of the world. Everywhere on the planet mariners paid homage to the site, knowingly or otherwise, but few had the honor of visiting it.
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