An Experiment in Treason (2 page)

“Come now, Mr. Donnelly. You know
little
?”

“Comparatively so. I do, however, know something of human nature. And what I have observed of Dr. Franklin at a distance tells me that he courts celebrity. There were a good many onlookers here today, perhaps some journalists amongst them. I should not be surprised to see reports of this experiment in the Public Advertiser, the Times, or the Chronicle, perhaps in all three. And you may take my word for it, Jeremy, that experiments are best conducted in private — not to say in secret, for there must be a few witnesses to attest to success or failure. Yet Dr. Franklin was so certain of the outcome of this one that he invited many, and the many invited more. What he did not take into consideration is that there were some present, perhaps most, who wished to see him fail.”

“All for reasons of politics?” I asked.

“No, not at all. It is one of the burdens of celebrity. One of its dangers, that when you are put above the crowd, the element below wishes you to fall down to its level. In other words, to fail.” Then said he with a wink and a nod: “But come along, Jeremy. We ought not to be late to our appointment with Dr. Lee. I fear he might not wait.”

With that, we turned round and headed for the wharf which stood well off in the distance. More than a mile we had walked over rocky sand, yet, oddly, it seemed not so far as before, no doubt because we had the wind to our backs, pushing us along. We reached our goal in good time.

And when we did, we saw the same bumboat as had left the wharf an hour before. Yet on this trip it had but one passenger. I wondered at this but said nothing to Mr. Donnelly. As the boat drew nearer I saw that the single passenger was unmistakably Arthur Lee. I supposed that Dr. Franklin had remained on shipboard, yet I knew not why. Upon arrival, the boatman did not even bother to tie up his raft. We, on the wharf, waved our greeting. Dr. Lee who looked quite out of sorts, held tight to the wharf ladder and shouted up at us.

“Well then, what’s the report?”

“I fear there was neither rise nor fall in the level of the surf,” said Mr. Donnelly.

“You’re sure?” Did I detect a note of suspicious doubt in that?

“Of course I’m sure,” replied Mr. Donnelly, not in the least intimidated.

“Yes, well, Dr. Franklin kept his spyglass on the beach there at the point, and he saw no change either. I was … just hoping …”

“I fear not.”

“There was a good piece of water between the barge and the longboat that smoothed out proper,” Dr. Lee volunteered.

“Well … good — but there was no change on the beach where we were,” Mr. Donnelly said.

“Yes, but I’m staying on here. I’ll be returning with Dr. Franklin. He is weighing the possibility of attempting the experiment a second time.”

“And what about us?”

“You can take the hire coach back. Just explain to them that I’m remaining. It’s all taken care of.”

(Frankly, I was pleased, reader, for I had no wish to return with Lee, having earlier been so sharply corrected by him.)

“Well, all right,” said Mr. Donnelly to Lee. I could tell he was not pleased. “Stay if you must. We’ll be leaving shortly, I suppose. It was an honor to participate in the experiment, even in a minor role. We thank you for that.”

“What? Oh yes, certainly.” He returned to his seat in the bum-boat and signaled to the boatman that he might proceed. “Good-bye to you then, Mr. Donnelly. I daresay I shall be seeing you soon in London.” He waved as the boat pulled away,

“Well, Jeremy,” said Mr. Donnelly with a sigh, “it seems that we are on our own.”

“It does indeed. Shall we then hasten to claim our coach lest it be taken by some of those who watched with us on the beach?”

“That seems to me an excellent suggestion.”

And so, up the hill we went to the George, and there we separated. I went to collect our bags from the room and Mr. Donnelly lo settle up at the desk for our stay. I returned to find him, red-faced, in loud conversation with the driver of the coach. I perceived at once that this was no ordinary disagreement but a proper battle, involving the driver, Donnelly, and a third party, Arthur Lee, not physically present yet perhaps the cause of it all.

“Jeremy, do you know what this fellow tells me?”

“Let me guess. That all has not been taken care of as regards the return fare to be paid for this coach-for-hire.”

“Exactly. And the worst of it is, I’m inclined to believe the coachman rather than Lee.”

“Well, thank God for that, sir,” said the driver to Mr. Donnelly, “for I ain’t the sort to go chargin’ a man for what’s already been paid. But I tell you fair, the way back just ain’t been paid — not by him, not by anybody. What I was told by Mr. — what’s his name? ‘

“Lee, Arthur Lee.”

“That’s right. That’s him. What Mr. Lee said was, ‘Here’s for the trip down to Portsmouth. I ain’t sure I’ll be making it back with you, but the gent who’ll be traveling down with me certain’y will. You can get the fare to London from him.”

“There was never any hint given to me of such an arrangement.”

“Oh, I believe you, sir, and if I understand your remark to the lad here a-right, you believe me, as well. That’s a good start for workin’ out some sort of a deal, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Well yes, I suppose I would,” said Mr. Donnelly after a moment’s careful consideration. “What sort of a deal did you have in mind?”

And with that began a session of hard bargaining there in the lobby of the George, which must have lasted near ten minutes. Gabriel Donnelly was, as Sir John had often said, one Irishman who was as tight with a shilling as any Scotsman. He demonstrated it then and there as he haggled histrionically, at one point offering to walk to London rather than pay such an exorbitant fare. (I hoped sincerely that it would not come to that.) For his part, the coachman was equally dramatic. He alternated demanding with pleading in a manner quite outrageous. He shouted dramatically that he had a wife and children and would not see them starve with such an offer as Mr. Donnelly had put forth. “Have you no conscience, sir?” (This, I’m sure, was said for the benefit of the crowd that had gathered round them in the lobby.)

It came as a surprise, at least to me, that they did at last settle upon a price. Could it be said that the agreed-upon amount was thought by both to be fair? No, say rather that each for his own reasons seemed to think it unfair. Nevertheless, their onlookers were so relieved that the matter had been settled without resort to violence, that quite spontaneously they burst into applause. Caught by surprise, the two negotiators turned to the crowed and acknowledged the response with waves of the hand and nods of the head. Then, obeying the custom, they did solemnly clasp hands on the matter, thus sealing their hard-won agreement before witnesses.

In no time at all we were in the coach and well-begun upon our journey. I know not the cause — perhaps that the load was lightened so by the absence of Dr. Lee (though he was in no wise an extraordinarily large man) — but the journey seemed to go much faster on the return trip to London.

At first, Mr. Donnelly would do not more than grumble that he had been bested in the haggle with the driver, yet it was not long until he put blame where it belonged and began to assess the extent of Dr. Lee’s guilt in the matter.

“Why would he do such a thing?” said he to me, honestly seeking some explanation for the fellow’s behavior.

“Well,” said I, “perhaps he was financially embarrassed and wished to keep it a secret.”

“Yes, but to tell the coachman that he would have to seek payment for the return trip from me without ever broaching the matter to me — that does exceed the limit, don’t you think? And as for the possibility that he might be, as you suggest, financially embarrassed — well, all of us are from time to time, but, damn his eyes, he should have told me. He should have asked. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. But then again, I do not think these colonial fellows are much concerned with proper behavior — no, not even their champion, Dr. Franklin. He, so they say, is no more a gentleman than this man Lee.”

That interested me. I wished to hear more. Nevertheless, it was evident that he intended to add nothing. Something in his eyes, as he glanced in my direction, seemed to say that he regretted saying all that he had, and that he would tell no more. Under the circumstances, it would have been rude to pursue the matter. And so, did we lapse into silence. He, for his part, sat staring out the window. I, for mine, looked at the colors of autumn reel by and wondered, as I did so, in what way Benjamin Franklin failed to meet a gentleman’s high standard. Could it have something to do with his attractiveness to women? I pondered that for a while, yet could do little with it, for, in all truth, I could not suppose for a moment that a man of such an appearance could be attractive to women. But then, having thought long enough upon it, I put it out of my mind and succumbed to sleep.

When I woke, it was dark enough so that I had a bit of difficulty in discovering just where we were. Staring out the window, I saw lights aplenty in the near-distance and realized, after a bit of staring, that the surrounding darkness was naught but that which encircles on all sides as one crosses the Thames by way of London Bridge. We were, to my astonishment, quite near home. Depending upon the number of coaches and hackneys on the streets at whatever hour this might happen to be, we were no more than minutes away from Number 4 Bow Street.

“Ah, awake, are you?” It was Gabriel Donnelly, leaning for-ward to catch the light in my eye.

I sat up straight, blinking, and then nodded my reply.

“I’ve no idea how you managed to sleep, the way we were bouncing along on those country roads, ” said Mr. Donnelly. “You’ve a talent for it, I do swear.”

“A talent for what?” My voice cracked as I tried it for the first time in hours.

“For sleeping,” said he.

“Perhaps I do, but so few are my opportunities to exercise it that I lear it may eventually be lost.”

At that he merely chuckled.

“Did you sleep? ” I asked him.

“Oh, I dozed, little more than that. Unlike most, the movement of the coach upon the road tends to keep me awake.”

We were now across the bridge and into the maze of Hghts. The driver swung left into Thames Street, following a line of hackney coaches. It must not have been long past dark, for there were indeed a flood of vehicles in the street. At such a time, in such a season of the year, London was at its most handsome — certainly the best-lit city in all of Europe; visitors came from all over to admire the oil-burning street lamps that gave light even on the darkest, foggiest nights. The blinking lights of the coaches and carriages added their bright pinpoints to this vivid picture, as did the torches that lit the door of each tavern, inn, and eating-house along the way. I was altogether fascinated.

“Tell me, Jeremy,” said Mr. Donnelly, “are you disappointed in our expedition to Portsmouth?”

Pulling myself away from the coach window, I gave that a moment’s thought.

“Disappointed in the failure of the experiment, yet not sorry to have been present.”

“Nicely put,” said he. “I should say I felt the same. I was, how-ever, disappointed in the behavior of our supposed host — but at this point, the less said about that the better.”

With that I concurred, and our conversation then drifted aimlessly to Dr. Franklin’s political position, a question much discussed during those days. Was his first loyalty to England, or to those colonies which paid him a salary to represent their interests in London? As an Irishman, Mr. Donnelly knew something of divided loyalties, yet he made no reference to his personal feelings in the matter — that would have been quite unlike him.

This took us to Number 4 Bow Street, where the driver came to a halt, and we climbed down. Mr. Donnelly paid off the driver down to the last penny and appeared ready to bid me a good night and make his way home.

“Why not come up? ” I offered. “Though they’ve likely eaten dinner, there’s sure to be enough left over to feed us both. You’ll have the chance to meet our new cook, Molly Sarton.”

He confessed he had no wish to go home and try potluck for one, nor even less visit one of the rowdy dives surrounding Covent Garden; and so he happily accepted the invitation. We marched up to the top of the stairs and into the kitchen. There at the table sat Molly Sarton and Clarissa Roundtree, who served as Lady Fielding’s secretary.

We were in luck. Dinner had been eaten, yet I was expected, and the stew left over for me was more than enough for two. So said Molly, in any case, as she poked up the fire to warm the pot. I sensed an immediate spark between the surgeon and the cook when I introduced them. As she stirred the stew, he stood nearby, telling her of our bootless journey to Portsmouth, yet making of it a great long joke, wherein he himself was the butt of the story. It was evident that he was attempting to charm her. She laughed. She smiled. She glanced neither left nor right but gave to him all her attention.

“Goodness,” whispered Clarissa to me, “they’ve certainly hit it off, haven’t they?”

A word about Clarissa: She and I had come to Sir John Fielding’s household by way of similar paths. While I was popularly thought to be a “court boy” (one snatched away from a life of crime and put to useful work). Sir John perceived in my appearance as prisoner before him that I stood falsely accused. He opened his home and his heart to me, an orphan, and had treated me ever after more as a son than a servant. For her part, Clarissa was the daughter of one who would sure have been hanged or given transportation had he not been murdered by a criminal far more cruel and ruthless than he. She had escaped from the parish workhouse of Lichfield and would have, in the ordinary course of things, been returned there. Yet Lady Fielding, who had never had a daughter of her own, had formed such a great attachment to her that she would in no wise allow her to be sent back and she persuaded Sir John to allow Clarissa to stay on as her secretary. That was, if you will, a couple of years past, and it has taken Clarissa and me nearly that long to establish a modus Vivendi. Now, however, we seemed to have done so. Indeed, our recent trip to Deal, during which we spent a good bit of time together, seemed to have sealed our friendship. In any case, I hoped that this was so.