An Experiment in Treason (15 page)

I became suspicious only gradually after Franklin began asking me about my duties there at the Bow Street Court: whether I had some authority as a constable, or any duties of that nature. This, of course, led to the question of why I had been called away from the table, which I answered by improvising a leave of absence for Constable Perkins. Dr. Franklin seemed to accept that. At any rate, he asked no more questions. There was also the matter of the voice heard when Mrs. Stevenson went off to fetch the almanacs. Was it a voice — or my imagination? And what if it were a voice? There might indeed be other residents in the house — servants of Dr. Franklin or Mrs. Stevenson, her sons or daughters. So, all in all, I was less concerned about the unidentified voice than I was regarding Franklin’s curiosity in the matter of my early departure.

What good it would do to wait here I knew not, nor was I prepared to remain long at the mouth of this smelly alley. I heard the pattering of rats’ feet all round me, and yet I was determined to watch Craven Street for ten minutes, give or take a bit, just to see who, if anyone, would emerge, and what, if anything, they might do. There are times, after all, when one does something for no better reason than it feels like the proper thing to do.

It did not take nearly so long as I had prepared to wait. There could not have been more than five minutes passed when Arthur Lee came hurrying up Craven Street in that same ungainly manner I had seen him run for the door last night at the King’s Pleasure. Clearly, he was a man with a mission, though what it might be I could not say.

He turned onto the Strand heading east. Mr. Perkins had taught me a good deal about trailing people in the street, though I had not, until that moment, had occasion to put what I had learned from him to use. The constable had told me that it was best done when there was a bit of a crowd about, so that he who did the trailing might hide in the crowd. “Don’t stay close behind,” he would caution me. “Just stay close enough so that you have him in sight, but always try to keep at least two or three people between you and your target.”

Yes, I remembered all that Mr. Perkins had said, and that day I was fortunate in that all the conditions were right. I stayed behind Arthur Lee for a good many streets. There was, however, one wor-risome matter: Lee turned round a number of times. At first I thought he had spied me and was looking back a second time and a third simply to confirm his fears. But no, it became evident that he was looking beyond me and into the street. It was not until we came to Half Moon Passage, a favorite spot for hackney coaches to wait for fares, that I understood. He had been looking all the while for a hackney open for hire. Of a sudden he broke into an awkward jogtrot, leaving me behind in a quandary. Should I run after him, thereby showing myself as his pursuer, or risk losing him by — And then I saw him stop and take a moment to bargain with the driver. They came to an agreement, and he jumped inside. My heart sank as the hackney coach pulled away. Yet just then another pulled up to take the place of the first. I ran to it, giving the driver no time to climb down from his perch.

“Hi, up there, do you see that hackney just pulled away?”

“‘Course I sees it,” said the driver. “I ain’t blind.”

“Well, follow it, wherever it goes. Let it keep a space ahead, though.”

“You want to come up here and drive my team?”

“No, I’ll trust you to do that much.”

With which I opened the door, hopped up the step, and into the coach. I had not quite managed to get the door shut before we were off.

Only then did I think to explore my pockets to see if I had money enough to take us the distance. The question was, of course, just how far would Arthur Lee travel? If it were to Deptford or beyond, then I was altogether lost. I should have to give the driver whatever I had in my pockets — no more than a shilling — and hope that I might impress him with my association with the Bow Street Court. Well, I told myself, I shall worry about that when the time comes.

In the meantime, we traveled a familiar route, moving roughly alongside the river, past London Bridge and along Thames Street. There, at no particular place, we stopped. I had no idea why we had done so — whether Lee’s coach had also stopped, or whether he had escaped us. I threw open the coach and prepared to descend.

“Best stay inside a bit longer if you don’t want to be seen,” said the driver.

“All right,” said I, “and thank-you.”

He climbed down and rapped on the coach door, when he judged the moment suitable. When he did, I exited and saw that we were close to the Tower, which meant I had enough to pay the fare and a bit more.

“Here,” said I, offering him a penny over and above what he asked, “have an ale and think of me.”

Pleased at that, he explained that he was sure we had not been observed trailing the hackney in which Arthur Lee rode.

“There’s a lot of goods wagons along here in Thames Street. The driver was too busy dodging them to look over his shoulder at us. Anyway, your man, the passenger, crossed the street in a great rush and went down the Bear Key Stairs. That’s a great gathering place for the watermen hereabouts, and so my guess is that he is headed out to one of those ships anchored out there in the river. Good luck to you, young sir, no matter what this is all about.”

Having said that, he cHmbed up to his place atop the coach, cracked his whip above his horses, and pulled out into the stream of wagons and coaches which plied the waterfront.

It was no easy matter getting to the other side of Thames Street, but with a bit of dodging and a dash I made it to the stairs. Before beginning my descent, I looked close at the watermen round the little pier below. I saw that one of their number had just pulled away with a passenger aboard. Undoubtedly it was Lee.

And so, wisely, I took my time going down to the river. I had no wish to call Lee’s attention to me, nor did I think it wise to excite the interest of the watermen by seeming overly concerned. By the time I reached the pier and had declined offers from four to take me “up, down, or across the Thames,” I saw that Arthur Lee had reached the ship anchored farthest out. A rope ladder had been tossed down the side to him. There could be no doubt that this was his destination.

“What is that ship out there?” I asked the waterman nearest me, “the one with the ladder down the side?”

“That one?” said he, “with the boat pulled alongside? That’s the Rotfe of Sharon out of Boston, Massachusetts Colony. They got pious names for their ships in Boston.”

He was a tough and wizened old cod and looked to have been a waterman for fifty years or more.

“So I hear,” said I. “Has it been here long?”

“Long enough. It took on a cargo of tea and coffee over there at the wharf. It finished loading this morn. It’ll leave on the morning tide.”

“Is he the last passenger?” I asked, pointing at Lee, who was now ascending the ladder with no little difficulty.

“Him? Oh no. He’s just someone had a package that he said had to get to Boston right away.”

“How big was it? He doesn’t seem to have anything with him.”

“Oh, it was small — fitted in his pocket. Said it was important, though.” He paused and began filling a small pipe with strong black tobacco. “But if it was so damn important why wouldn’t he pay a fair price? I quoted him the usual, and he wouldn’t hear of it.

Finally, the boy of us agreed to haul him over to the ship and back for tuppence. Tuppence! Can you suppose it?”

I had no choice but to walk back to Bow Street, which took an hour or so from the Bear Key Stairs. I was well aware that I had used up far more time than would have been thought necessary to deliver two letters. So it was likely that I should be given a proper reprimand upon my return. Yet not, I hoped, before I was given a chance to tell all that I had learned to Sir John. No doubt I should have told him earlier what I had seen — or thought I had seen at the King’s Pleasure — but to be able to tell him now where he might look for that packet of letters, that was worth the delay, was it not?

Arriving in Bow Street, I made for Number A, half-expecting to find Sir John’s court still in session, yet I found nothing of the sort. Alas, it was later than I had even thought.

I threw open the door to enter the part called “backstage” by Sir John and as I did, collided with Mr. Donnelly, yet without injury to either of us.

“Ah, Jeremy, it’s you, is it? I confess I was not attentive to my direction. I didn’t see you until we bumped.”

“Nor did I see you. Sorry.” I moved to go round him.

“Oh, but don’t rush off. I’ve something to tell.”

“ButI-”

“And it concerns you direct.”

“Oh?” He had my interest.

“Yes, I went to Sir John just as you suggested. I addressed him in manly fashion and told him of my interest in Molly and that I should like to get to know her better. He asked if I meant to court her. And I told him that though my intentions were honorable, I wished to know her well enough to see if she were worth courting. He thought that most amusing. He did laugh loudly but recovered himself sufficiently to say that I might call it as I liked but that it sounded like courting to him. And therefore, if I wish to get to know Molly better in the manner I had described, then it would be best to do so in public places and in the company of friends.”

“Well,” said I, “that’s courting then — as I understand it.”

“Of course it is,” he laughed, “and he well knows it. But the upshot of all this mutual deceit is that Molly and I are to go to the Covent Garden Theatre tomorrow evening, and that you and Clarissa are to accompany us.”

“Why, that’s … that’s fme, that’s excellent.” So said I, yet I could tell something troubled him. “But is anything wrong?”

“Not really,” said he. ” Tis simply that you and Clarissa are to be my guests, and if it is to continue so, I shall soon have to give up this before-courting arrangement and get on to the real thing.”

Having said that, he began to muse silently upon it. And I, not knowing quite what he meant, kept my silence, as well.

But then, rousing himself: “Good to bump into you, Jeremy. I shall be by for you and the ladies at seven, if that suits all.”

With a distracted wave, he left me at the door.

My interview with Sir John, though it had a somewhat disappointing conclusion, went rather better for me than I had expected. He cared little that I had come back late from delivering the two letters, and only slightly more that I was tardy in reporting to him the events at the King’s Pleasure the night before.

With a severe look, he said to me: “You should know better, Jeremy. If ever this situation or another like it should arise, you must tell me at your earliest opportunity.”

I hung my head appropriately enough and vowed that I should always do so in the future.

But then did he lean forward eagerly. “But go on,” said he. “You’ve obviously got more to tell.”

And indeed I did. I told him all. From Mrs. Stevenson’s invitation to come into the sitting room to meet Benjamin Franklin, to my wild pursuit of Arthur Lee along the Strand, into a hackney and on to Bear Key Stairs. I concluded with what the old waterman had told me.

“I asked him if Lee were a passenger come late to board the ship for Boston,” said I to Sir John. “The old codger told me, no, Lee simply had a small package that had to be delivered to Boston as quick as ever could be. So all that need be done is to prevent the Roje of Sharon from departing, go through the mail they carry, and pull from it the package containing the packet of letters.”

Evidently, Sir John thought little of the course of action that I suggested, for the face that he showed me as I ended my tale was a sad one — or, perhaps better put, one that expressed frustration and dismay.

“What you suggest is not so easily done. The Royal Post is not, except in extreme cases, to be tampered with. It takes a special warrant that is to be issued by a judge at the Old Bailey. And in that warrant, the package and its contents are to be described in precise detail. Are we able to do that? No. We know not to whom the package is addressed. We know not its exact contents — for Lord Hillsborough may have lied about that, just as he did lie to us about other things. But let us say he did not. Let us say there is a packet of letters inside the package. Do we know how many? No. Do we know to whom the letters are addressed? No. Do we know who wrote them? No. Do we know, in detail or in general, what they contain? Certainly we do not. They have kept that from us right from the start. Now, Jeremy, do you see what we are up against?”

“Yes sir, I do.” Had I then wasted the better part of a morning and an afternoon? Probably.

“Yet perhaps,” he continued, “it is best that these difficulties are placed before us.”

“Why do you say that. Sir John?”

“In answer, let me tell you first of all that if I were to make application to Lord Mansfield for that warrant to halt the Rode of Sharon and dig into the Royal Post in search of that packet, I believe we would receive it from him, so eager is he to please those in the government. That’s right; knowing as little as we do of the package and its contents, he would have given us a free hand to rifle the mails, working against the very laws he is sworn to uphold. And if he were to do so, it would only be typical of the way the rest of this investigation has been carried out. This matter of Franklin is the worst. In effect, they have given me the name of him they have chosen as the culprit and told me to build a case against him. This is unheard of! It is against all rules of proper investigative procedure.”

“But what if the name that has been given you is indeed the name of the true culprit?” I asked.

“You mean Franklin, of course?”

“XT’ • “

Yes sir. “Well, I should prefer to lose Franklin than to conduct an improper investigation.”

“Truly so?”

“Yes, truly.”

“So there will be no arrest, no questioning of Dr. Franklin?”

“Not until we have more to go on.”

“And what about Arthur Lee? Will he not be detained? Questioned? Arrested? I’m now certain I saw him in that dive in Bedford Street.”