The Constable's Tale (13 page)

*

She was sitting at a small table at a side window of Shields Tavern, where Harry and Noah had rented a bed. Still in her lavender gown, sipping ale with a well-dressed older man. Noah had retired early, missing supper on account of a stomach complaint. Harry spotted her at the same time he caught her eye. She beckoned him over.

“I don’t want to intrude, Madame,” he said.

“It is no intrusion at all. My friend was just leaving. And please, do me the honor of calling me Jacqueline.”

The man, who by his age could have been her father, got to his feet in the dutiful way of one who has heard a command and bade them a
good evening. Harry noted that Jacqueline did not think it necessary to introduce them.

“How do you come to be in Williamsburg?” Harry made bold to ask after they had ordered food. Feeling somewhat more relaxed, though still on edge in the presence of such unearthly beauty.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, giving his name a winsome French turn. “It is such a dreary tale. My family has served royal households for centuries as chamberlains, cupbearers, masters of horse. Very honored positions. We began losing our status, then our property, and finally our very liberty when we embraced the teachings of your great philosopher John Calvin. I escaped five years ago with my life but with almost nothing of my estate. Through a fortuitous connection I found employment as household manager and personal secretary to the governor of Massachusetts, the wonderful General Shirley. His wife is French, you know. When he returned to England I found a similar position here with his friend Governor Dinwiddie. Now dear Robert is gone as well. Regrettably for me, Monsieur Fauquier has his own household staff.”

She kept her eyes mostly downcast as she spoke. Giving leave for Harry to study the contours of her bare shoulders.

“So, there it is, Harry.” She sighed. “I still dare not return to my estate in France. For the present, these delightful people and this enchanted land of Virginia hold me like one of Mister Gilbert’s attracting stones. But this is all so tedious. You must tell me more about your mission to find this murderer.”

Over more ale, along with cuts of cold salted ham, sweet potatoes, cabbage, and a curiously tasty soup made from peanuts, Harry repeated his story. He added more details about how the bodies were discovered by the tinker, their odd positions, the puzzlement of the baby, and how he found the Masonic badge. He also told her about the hand-drawn nautical chart of Pamlico Sound.

“How intriguing,” she said. “May I see?”

Harry got out the paper from his coat pocket. She looked it over briefly and gave it back.

“Monsieur, you have my sympathies. It would appear you have very little to help you.”

“I will keep looking for answers until every question I have is satisfied and I can go no further. Only then will I stop.”

“Judging from your ardor, I have no doubt you will never give up.”

“I’m hoping this fellow Bannerman might have something to say about the badge.”

Jacqueline suddenly reached across the table and put her hand on Harry’s.

“I just thought of something. General Shirley was a member of the Freemasons. As it happens, a box of his Masonic books found its way into my possession when he was packing to return to England. I have kept it, hoping to return it someday in person. Could one of these books contain the key to the code?”

“That would seem unlikely.”

“Nevertheless, you said yourself that you will continue until all questions are answered. It could not hurt to look, isn’t it so?”

Harry could not disagree.

As they talked on, Jacqueline reminiscing about her life in southern France, comparing it to the Virginia countryside, the conversation began to take on the quality of a dream. Harry had never been so far from home, never even outside of North Carolina. Now he was in the storied capital of Virginia, a far more important colony than his own. Why, just this day he had conversed with a royal governor and a war hero. And now he shared a meal with an aristocrat, a great beauty from France by way of an almost mythical place in the distant North called Massachusetts. He wondered if he might at any moment wake up and find himself back in his own straw bed with his former indentured servant, now wife, Toby. And see that all of this had been but the improbable adventure of a slumbering mind.

As he watched Jacqueline’s dainty movements and listened to her musical speech, he knew that if he were dreaming, he had no choice
but to face the challenges of unfolding events. Including that which was unfolding now.

*

Jacqueline’s rooms turned out to be located in a handsome brick house with double chimneys only two blocks from the palace. No one else was there: the owners were away on a shopping tour of London. An elderly servant brought a decanter of brandy and two snifters into the drawing room, which was subtly perfumed by lavender-infused candles. At Jacqueline’s request the man also produced a wooden packing box from her chambers, then disappeared.

“How exciting,” she said as she removed the lid. “The current regime in my country views Freemasonry with a certain ambivalence, but even there it has become popular among some highborn families.”

The box held a dozen books. Between large sips of the brandy—the best Harry had ever had—he held each underneath an oil lamp beside his chair. There were collected treatises on alchemy, astrology, and metaphysics. Two books dealt specifically with the history of the Freemason movement, accounts of its supposed ancient origins and of its revival and spread around the world in recent years. Harry found several pages devoted to three North Carolina entities: the New Hanover County lodge, Saint John’s in Wilmington, and New Bern’s Royal White Hart Lodge, which the judge had so strongly hinted, if not promised, that Harry would one day join.

But nothing of secret codes.

“I need to get up,” he said after a while. But his muscles ignored him. Jacqueline, who had been sitting on a small sofa opposite his chair as he went through the books, now seemed to float over in his direction. Then she was beside his chair, below him, somehow situated on the carpet, her lovely dress spread around her like the interwoven petals of a blossom. He made another effort to get up,
but realized that she was now holding him down, seemingly effortlessly, by the supernatural power of one finger pressing against his chest.

“
Chéri
, must you leave so soon?” she asked. He could not think of a good answer. He regarded her with hooded eyes, chin sinking farther into his chest, inhaling her beauty. She returned to the subject of past lives. Days spent consorting with the royal family at the Château de Versailles before her family’s religious conversion and subsequent downfall. Herself in America with Governor Shirley in his Boston mansion surrounded by English hedges and junipers and birds that held singing contests in the gardens every morning. She spoke of Shirley’s French-born wife, an unreasonably jealous woman who clung to her Catholic faith despite the Protestant world she had entered as Shirley’s bride after his first wife died. Something about Shirley’s recently having been called back to Britain to answer charges of having allowed military information to fall into the hands of the enemy. And, as a result, his household manager, Jacqueline, had once again been cast adrift, without home or country, until she made her way into the graces of His Majesty’s deputy in Virginia.

As Harry was trying to make sense of this narrative, he realized that the lady was undoing his clothing. He made to get up again, but she was on top of him, her slender, busy fingers working their way down the buttons of his shirt. Breathing in the flowery scent of her breasts, he discovered his hands seemed to be moving of their own volition. Exploring the subtle transition between her slender waist and slight bulge of hips. Tracing those delicate contours as if answering commands from someone other than himself.

Her face was nuzzling the area just below Harry’s belt when his passion exploded. It was sudden and ferocious. His first reaction was astonishment, followed by the briefest moment of mindless ecstasy. And then, mortification.

With a great effort, he succeeded in nudging her away. “Madame . . .” he began. She interrupted with surprised laughter.

“
Mon dieu!
I see that the dragon is disarmed. All of his fire has gone out of him.”

“I have no words to say how embarrassed I am,” he said. “This has never happened before.”

Indeed, throughout his unmarried days, when Harry had found no shortage of friendly female companions, he had prided himself on giving pleasure before receiving it, if not arranging for both things to happen at once. Another new experience: In the short span of his marriage to Toby he had never been unfaithful. Sinful thoughts had come into his mind, especially when he found himself outside of Toby’s company and in the vicinity of some lady from his rowdy past. But he had never seriously considered overturning his vows. Now, as he struggled to get free of this enchantment, he tried to imagine the consequences of what had just happened.

“It is nothing,” Jacqueline said, still chuckling. “I am flattered by your passion. But do not worry. There will always be another time.”

“With all deference, Madame, I sincerely hope not. I am married.”

“Of course you are.” She continued smiling but now seemed perplexed. As if wondering what one thing had to do with the other.

He made a concerted effort to get out of his chair and nearly toppled onto the floor. She steadied him onto his feet, then half guided, half pushed him into another room and onto a bed. The last shard of thought that passed through his conscious mind had to do with the unbelievable fairness of Jacqueline’s skin. And the as-yet-unresolved mystery of what the rest of her looked like.

*

It was morning when his eyes came open again. Raw sunlight streamed through cracks in the room’s tall window shutters, which had been thoughtfully closed.

Jacqueline was not to be seen. He found a folded letter on the dressing table. She had gone riding with Monsieur Fauquier and some
other friends. She said how much she had enjoyed his company and looked forward to their next meeting, though she did not propose a particular time or place. Then:

I have given more Thought to the matter of your Purfuit, and I beg of you to Defift. If your Sufpicions are correct, you could find Yourfelf in Grave Danger. The Freemasons are a Wealthy and Powerful People with tentacles everywhere. I cannot imagine why a Member would want to difpatch an apparently simple Planter’s Family. In all events I believe they would not hefitate to deal in the harsheft terms with Any One seeking to bring one of their Own to Account for fuch a crime as Murder. For your own fake, and that of those who love you, return to North Carolina and refume the Contented Life I am sure you have there. Try to put the terrible Epifode out of your Mind.

Yr loving Flower always
,

Jacqueline

CHAPTER 13

35: Let your Discourse with Men of Business be Short and Comprehensive.

—R
ULES OF
C
IVILITY

BANNERMAN’S STORE WAS LARGE AND WELL STOCKED. AN ENTIRE
room contained only furniture. In an adjoining room, shelves lining the walls displayed smaller articles that a well-found household would need to function with grace and style: porcelain and pewter dishes, glassware, cutlery, frying pans, saucepans, bowls, pepper boxes, and silver and brass candlesticks. An entire section consisted of leather-bound collections of famous sermons and other works of literature. Next to this, sliding drawers contained necklaces, bracelets, rings, and
brooches. One tray was devoted entirely to various objects of Masonic finery.

Noah, whose gut had recovered enough to join Harry for a morning biscuit and small beer at the tavern, gravitated to the books while Harry looked over the stock of jewelry. The middle-aged woman minding the store hovered around Harry.

“We can fill any special request you may have, anything at all,” she said when it seemed he was about to leave the collection without having shown any interest. “We have two jewelers here in Williamsburg who accept commissions. And, of course, we have direct ties with some of the finest houses in London.” To this she added in a whisper, “Paris, too. We don’t widely advertise it during these times, but if you desire something of a Gallic nature I am certain that my husband, Mister Bannerman, could make arrangements.”

“I saw him at the races yesterday,” said Harry. “He very kindly offered to look at this for me.” Producing the brooch. “I’m hoping he can give me an opinion as to its origins.”

He watched her face closely for any sign of recognition but saw none. With a flourish of compliments on Harry’s good taste in possessing an object of such high quality, she begged his leave to fetch the merchant.

Bannerman was in better humor. “This is a rather fine piece,” he said, holding it under his eyepiece. “An exceptional example of cloisonné. The blue of the lapis lazuli inlays beautifully complement the gold, which appears to be of the highest quality. May I ask how you happened to come by this? Did you say something about a murder?”

“It fell into my hands unexpectedly.” Harry saw no advantage in going into any more detail. Either Bannerman had forgotten about what Harry had said about a murder, or had decided to ignore it.

“Do you wish to sell it? I’m sure I could make you an attractive price.” Peering again through his glass, this time with the eye of a businessman, he added, “Of course, I would need to take something off for these little signs of wear.”

“Thank you, but I am only the person who found it. Is it possible it passed through your hands?”

“I am afraid I have never seen this piece. I surely would recall if I had.”

Harry absorbed this disappointment, then said, “Can you make any guesses as to what these markings on the back side might mean?”

“They are a Masonic code, of course. I myself have not yet attained membership here in the Williamsburg lodge, though I have been proposed, and so I could not begin to decipher it for you. Nor would I were I a member, since I would then be sworn to secrecy.”