For Love of Country (35 page)

Richard waited a quarter-hour before paying the waiter and leaving the café. Once outside, he retraced his steps to the rue Saint-Paul, where he turned a sharp left and made his way down to the river.

The port des Célestins was a major docking area along the banks of the Seine, across from the Île Saint-Louis in mid-river and upstream from the neighboring Île de la Cité. It had changed little during the last decade, Richard mused as he scanned the sturdy wooden quays and the equally sturdy thick-planked river barges nestled up to them. Everywhere were watermen, as hardy and ageless as the barges from which they were offloading the wheat, vegetables, fruits, and other commodities on which Paris and countless other riverside communities depended. Threats of social upheaval and insurrection did not seem to concern these men. They had serious work to do. Without the goods they transported, meager as these might be in this year of withered crops, Paris would starve.

Richard walked slowly along the hundred-foot quay, studying the barge captains as he went. It was almost 5:30, and a long and hot workday was, for most of them, drawing to a close. Nevertheless, Richard's attention and admiration were drawn by the degree to which these men joined in with their small crews to put everything shipshape on board and ashore, including faking out in Flemish coils the excess ropes by the bollards. Their chores might be tedious and dirty compared with those performed aboard a merchant brig, and their vessels might not have the graceful lines of a frigate or a sloop-of-war, but these watermen went about their business with a pride and purpose as keen and briny as any sailor on the open sea.

Richard had already decided on the sort of individual he would approach: a barge captain seasoned enough in the ways of the world not to be easily swayed by new political ideology yet enterprising enough to be enticed by the prospect of easy money. That captain also needed to command a barge large enough to accommodate four passengers yet small enough for two men to handle going downstream.

Finally he made his choice, having taken the measure of a grizzled, powerful man of perhaps fifty years whose craggy face reflected much about the quality of his life, yet who chatted amicably with his threeman crew and with other barge captains. He was of medium height with a chest-length russet beard and bulging forearms, and his eyes had a perpetual squint, as though he had spent the better part of a lifetime peering into a sun-sparkling sea. And he walked with a sailor's roll, further suggesting he had spent time on a heaving deck.

Richard trailed after him, keeping his distance. When they were out of earshot of anyone else, he approached cautiously from behind. “
Pardonnez-moi, capitaine,
” he said respectfully. “
Un moment
,
s'il vous plaît
.”

The man turned around. “
Oui
?
Qu'est-ce que vous voulez, monsieur
?” His tone was neutral, inquisitive, giving Richard hope.

“I am an American, sir,” he declared in French, “a sea captain, like yourself. My schooner lies at anchor in Lorient. I am hoping I might hire your barge for several hours tomorrow night.”

“Hire my barge? For tomorrow night? That is a most unusual request, monsieur.”

“Yes, Captain, it is,” Richard had to confess.

“Where do you wish to go?”

“To Le Bois, across from Auteuil.” It was a place near Passy and the Bois de Boulogne where he and Anne-Marie had often strolled together arm-in-arm, along with countless other lovers similarly enchanted by those magnificent acres of woods, greens, ponds, and intimate pathways.

“Auteuil?” The man laughed. “Monsieur, you could walk there from here had you a mind to. Or you could hire a private carriage.”

“I could, sir, but I would prefer to go by water.”

“Why?” Suspicion had entered his voice. “And why at night?”

“I prefer not to answer that now, Captain. Tomorrow night I will reveal everything to you, I promise.” Richard held firm, hoping for the Frenchman's complicity if not his trust. When the captain offered no immediate reply, Richard drew a Spanish piece of eight from a trouser
pocket and squeezed it into the man's leathery hand. “That's for listening to me. I'll give you ten more of these if you are here tomorrow night. Twenty more when we reach the quay across from Auteuil.”

The amount he was offering, Richard suspected, was about what a river-barge captain could expect to earn in three or four months, perhaps considerably more now that the French economy was on the brink of collapse. Still the Frenchman did not respond. He scratched the back of his neck with his left hand as he stared down at the thick silver coin in his right.

“Please, Captain,” Richard pressed. “This matter is of great personal importance to me. That is why I am prepared to pay so much.”

The captain slowly raised his eyes. “At what time tomorrow night, monsieur?”

“Eleven o'clock,” Richard told him. “And, Captain, bring no one with you. I will help steer the barge downriver.”

The Frenchman pocketed the coin. “
À demain, monsieur,
” he said, and moved off down the quai des Célestins.

 

WHEN RICHARD RETURNED to the American consulate, he was informed by
le maître
that His Excellency the consul was in conference with the Neapolitan ambassador and could not be disturbed. Richard asked that Mr. Jefferson be advised that Richard wished to see him immediately after the ambassador departed, and the servant bowed his assent.

In his room on the third floor Richard paced back and forth, working through a possible sequence of events that depended on outcomes linked together by little more than a hope and a prayer. Step one: would Anne-Marie do as he had urged? Would she be able to? He realized that he was putting her at grave risk; any attempt to flee France would have dire consequences should the attempt fail. But, he rationalized, by her own admission, she and her daughters were doomed did she decide to stay put and do nothing. Step two: would the barge captain be at the quay? If not, what then? He could not bring Anne-Marie and her daughters here to the consulate. Such an act would violate American neutrality in French internal affairs. Jefferson would not, could not, offer them sanctuary. Then . . . what? He had no answer. And there were other links involved, each of which had to work independently yet cohesively with the others if the overall plan had any chance of succeeding.

That plan, at this moment, seemed hopeless, outlandish, utterly without merit. Worst of all, it provided no safety net, nothing to fall back on
save for Richard's deep-seated conviction that if all else failed, he could somehow tap into the prestige and influence of his friend the marquis de Lafayette. Yet that, he had to concede when he judged things squarely, was the weakest link of all. Even if Lafayette should want to intervene on his behalf, more than likely he could not, else he too might suffer the consequences. Could Richard ask his friend and former commanding officer to compromise the vital authority on which so many people, noble and commoner alike, depended? A sickening dread began to take hold of him, a gut-wrenching fear that in going to Anne-Marie he had opened up a Pandora's box that could wind up putting not only her and her daughters in jeopardy, but everyone else he held dear in Paris.

Still, there was no turning back. The wheels were in motion. Nor, he realized, would he turn back under any conditions, and he forced himself to ask why. Was it simply to save the life of a woman he had once cherished and the lives of two children as innocent of wrong-doing as was his brother Caleb? Or was something else involved, something darker and more primeval, a dormant beast, perhaps, stirred to life when she had pressed her body against his, a body he had once held—so young, warm, and eager—lovingly in his arms? An image sprang to mind of Katherine standing on the Hingham docks, her graceful form gradually receding in the distance as she held up Diana for him to see one last time before waving her final good-bye to him. He shook his head, casting out the demons of deceit and betrayal.

The somber fingers of dusk were probing their way through the dank streets of Paris when Richard was informed by a liveried servant that the consul would receive him in his study. He found Jefferson seated at his desk, pouring out a glass of
vin ordinaire.
A second glass was already filled, its rich crimson essence accentuated by the glow of two candles set nearby in gold sconces.

“Good evening, Mr. Cutler,” Jefferson greeted him. “Please, have a seat. That glass is for you. How fared your day?”

“Well, thank you, sir.” Richard sat down, gratefully accepted the glass.

“I am pleased to hear it. How did you find Captain Jones?”

“Better than I expected,” Richard replied. “He had some interesting insights to offer, and he was most pleased to receive my report on Algiers. At his suggestion, I brought back the maps I showed him so that you can take them back to America.”

“Excellent. President Washington will want to review them, as will Henry Knox,” referring to the recently appointed secretary of war.
Jefferson crossed his right leg over his left and settled back in his chair, his fatigue evident as he ran his fingers through his long reddish hair; it was hanging loose, the bow at the nape discarded now that his official duties were dispensed with. He held his glass pensively in hand, reflecting, perhaps, on what the ambassador from the Kingdom of Naples had said or someone else within the legions of foreign dignitaries demanding the consul's attention and trying his patience. Suddenly he glanced over at Richard.

“Excuse my wandering mind, Mr. Cutler. Was there something you wanted to ask me? Or tell me? I was informed by my butler that you attached some urgency to our meeting.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask, does Monsieur de Chaumont still reside in Passy?” He was referring to Jacques-Donatien Leary de Chaumont, a man of considerable wealth formerly attached to the French Ministry of Marine. It was in his château—more accurately, in a guest house built in the shadow of his château—that Benjamin Franklin and two other commissioners had maintained the first foreign consulate of the United States during the war with England. Chaumont had proven himself a true friend of America, smuggling food and munitions to the starving Continentals during a period when all of Europe, France included, professed a strict
laissez-faire
policy toward an infant republic that few dared believe could prevail over the world's strongest military. He had also proven himself a true friend of Richard Cutler in his
affaire de coeur
with Anne-Marie Helvétian.

“He does,” Jefferson informed him. “He remains one of the king's few close confidants in Versailles. Rumors point to Chaumont as the one who finally persuaded Louis to dismiss the German regiments from France. I put stock in those rumors. During my stint here in Paris I have come to know Monsieur de Chaumont quite well, and I have grown fond of him. If the monarchy is to survive in any form, it will be because of men like him and Lafayette. Why do you ask?”

“I made his acquaintance when I was here with Captain Jones and Dr. Franklin during the war,” Richard explained, quickly adding, “If I were to write a message to Monsieur de Chaumont tonight, could you have it delivered to him by post rider early in the morning?”

Jefferson sat upright, folded his hands before him on the desk. “I could, yes. But I must ask, why an official dispatch? Why not deliver your message to Monsieur de Chaumont yourself in the morning?”

Jefferson waited for Richard's response, which, in coming, was not what he expected.

“I have one other request, sir. I need to have a post rider sent to my schooner in Lorient. Can you arrange for that as well?”

Jefferson furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes. “An American consul can work wonders,” he said in a voice peppered with sarcasm, “
if
the consul understands the request being made of him and
if
he approves of that request. What is this all about, Mr. Cutler? And why this sense of urgency?”

“The reason for the dispatch to Lorient is to advise my sailing master to have
Falcon
made ready for immediate departure.”

“Yes? And the message to Monsieur de Chaumont? I don't seek to meddle, Mr. Cutler, but intuition tells me that this matter is not strictly a private one. Are you concerned, perhaps, that you might arouse a suspicion if you were seen entering the home of a highly placed noble?”

The brief period of silence that greeted that last question confirmed his intuition.

“By your leave, sir,” Richard said quietly, “I have no wish to involve you or this consulate in my affairs. I ask only that you trust me, and that you believe me when I say my intentions are honorable.”

Jefferson heaved a sigh of exasperation. He thrummed his fingers lightly on the table, never taking his eyes off the youthful-looking American, who returned his gaze without flinching. “Is Captain Jones in any way involved in this scheme of yours?”

“No, sir. I made no mention of Monsieur de Chaumont to Captain Jones.”

“I see.” Jefferson took a healthy swig of wine. He set the glass down, twirling the stem with his fingers, considering. “Very well, Mr. Cutler,” he said at length. “I grant your requests. Your message to Monsieur de Chaumont will be delivered tomorrow morning, and I will dispatch a post rider to your schooner in Lorient. I have other correspondence I need sent to Brest, so I can tie your needs to my own. Neither of your requests, by itself, is out of the ordinary or cause for my immediate concern. Now, if there is nothing else . . . ?”

“There is nothing else, sir.”

“Excellent. I shall speak no more on this matter, except to warn you, Mr. Cutler, that should you come to grips with the French authorities as a result of whatever it is you are about, this consulate must and will disavow any knowledge of your activities. We may not be able to come to your aid.”