The Constable's Tale (22 page)

“The very thought haunts my dreams,” said Browning.

Pownall said, “Conceivably it could turn the tide of the war. Britain can withstand only so much more drain on its pocketbook, not to
mention loss of life. I’ve seen reports of recruiting officers’ being set upon in the streets of London and Liverpool. Nothing to worry over unduly for now. But if this war lasts much longer . . .”

If Pownall finished his sentence, Harry did not hear it. Only sounds of more liquor being decanted. Then a renewal of hushed words. The lowering of voices must have been instinctive, possibly signaling that they feared being overheard. Harry looked around for a place he might hide in case one thought to come out and look or just for some air. There was nothing but the sofa, which would not stand much scrutiny. Nevertheless, he crept behind it and hunkered as close to the floor as he could. It was the best he could do, and it put him farther away from the conversation.

In the hum of talking he thought he picked out a familiar name. At first he dismissed it as a misunderstanding of a word not well caught. He redoubled his concentration.

“may be nothing to it whatsoever,” he made out from what Browning was saying. “hesitate to bring it up . . . plan to keep an eye on him when I get to Quebec.”

Loring’s voice. “met the gentleman on a number of occasions . . . passing through on military business.”

Browning said in a more normal tone, “I confess I took a dislike to him at the outset. It was at a planning session with General Amherst and some other senior officers, and he just made a bit of a sour impression on me. I began making inquiries and discovered that he was in the vicinity of a string of defeats we suffered early in the war. In each case he was supposedly on some errand for the governor of Virginia. Checking on the strength of the garrison, status of supplies, readiness to fight, that sort of thing.”

“Of course, Dinwiddie wanted to have his own reports as to the conduct of the war,” said Pownall. “As does the current officeholder, Fauquier.”

“But here’s the interesting part. In each case, he managed to leave just ahead of the French attack. Not just once or twice but at least four
times. At the Monongahela, Fort Bull, Fort Granville, and the fortress Oswego.”

“Very curious,” said Loring.

“At the Monongahela he was toward the rear when the Indians fell upon Braddock’s vanguard. Our man got away without a scratch, unless you count the little fuss he got into with a British officer before the fighting started.”

“Little fuss?” Pownall.

“As I’ve heard it, he and some grenadier captain had gotten off on a bad footing to begin with. I guess the captain was something of a jackass and not at all fond of provincials. He wouldn’t allow his men to help out in the road-building work, which would have meant associating with Americans. He even ordered them to set separate camps with their own passwords. Well, the proud Virginian is not used to being looked down on, especially by people he would outrank were they not regular British Army. The flash point came when the captain ordered him at swordpoint to pick up a shovel and move some dirt. Our man told him to bugger himself, at which point the officer struck him broadside across the face with the flat of his hanger. The colonel still carries the mark where the edge dug into his flesh.”

“We all have chafed under British arrogance,” said Loring, “but I’ve not heard of more insufferable provocation.”

“Still, he is from one of the Dominion’s oldest and richest families and one of the best connected,” said Pownall. “I’ve entertained him at my own table several times, both before and after I became governor. My predecessor even threw a banquet for him, honoring his service to the Crown. How could such a man as Richard Ayerdale betray his country?”

Although he already had guessed who they were talking about, Harry felt his pulse quicken. There was another pause in the discussion. Then, in a voice so low that Harry had to strain to hear, Browning said, “I know a secret.”

Harry wished he dared look around the curtain again. If he could not entirely make the words out, he might guess from the shapes of Browning’s lips as he spoke. He settled for cupping both ears.

“learned from a friend . . . moneylenders in London . . . reluctant to tell . . . violate a confidence.”

“For heaven’s sake, man, what is it?” said Loring.

Another pause. Suddenly through the wicker weavings he saw a pair of shoes stepping onto the deck. He lowered his eyes. Comet Elijah once had told him that the whites of eyes reflecting starlight were as good as signal lanterns to a trained eye. Whoever it was paused, as if having a quick look around. Harry offered up a prayer of thanks for the dark shade of his coat, while searching his mind for a believable explanation for his presence crouching behind a sofa. But the shoes turned and retreated into the great room.

In a clearly audible voice, Browning said, “Richard Ayerdale is flat broke.”

Silence. Of a stunned nature, if Harry read it correctly. Reflecting his own reaction.

“But how could that be?” Pownall again. “To my understanding, he owns one of the largest assemblages of land in America. And hundreds of enslaved Africans to go with it.”

“It seems that Mister Ayerdale is not immune to the economic tides that affect us all,” said Browning. “Especially our countrymen in the South, vulnerable as they are to agricultural markets. Falling tobacco prices, combined with the demands of a lavish way of life, have hurt Ayerdale on a scale commensurate with his wealth. In addition, it seems he is addicted to gambling. My information is that in recent years he’s lost heavily at cards and racing tracks in a number of cities here and abroad. It seems the worse off he became, the more recklessly he risked what he had left.”

After another moment Browning said, “I have no reason to doubt the truth of my information, even though my London friend was drunk at the time. Perhaps all the more reason to believe him, since
he was speaking unguardedly. Of course it would be pure speculation to go further, link Ayerdale’s financial condition to suspicion of traitorous conduct. But we all know the French pay well and concoct elaborate schemes to gain information. I cannot see how the possibility of such a connection can be ignored. Especially now, when the man is on his way to the scene of what could be a decisive battle. A victory, we hope—or else a debacle that could have the direst consequences for the future of Britain on this continent.”

“This information is astonishing,” said Loring. The sofa creaked; then, measured footfalls. Pacing. “But how could anyone publicly point a finger at such a man without proof? Lacking evidence, the accuser might face the ruin of his own good name. Not to mention the ill effects it would have on Ayerdale, were he proved innocent.”

“Precisely why I have not already made my information public,” said Browning.

“I agree with the sheriff: any such allegations would require unchallengeable evidence,” said Pownall, sounding like he was announcing his conclusions as he formed them. “The case would need to be shown beyond dispute, well enough to stand up in a good Massachusetts Bay court.”

“Governor,” Browning said, “you and Joshua are the only ones I’ve spoken to on this matter. In all candor, you are among the few people I feel I can trust. I’m not inclined to share it with any redcoat, no matter how high up. If we are being deceived, who knows who else might be in on it. In my opinion, the fewer who know of my suspicions, the safer our country.”

“That being the case,” said Pownall, “your course seems clear. When you get up with Wolfe, seek out Ayerdale. Watch him as close as you can. It appears that watching and waiting is all that can be done for now.”

Harry was trying to steady his breathing lest the noise of it give him away. Richard Ayerdale, a traitor. Ever since the disappointing outcome of Harry’s meeting with George Johnston, Harry had been steeling
himself for his return to North Carolina with nothing to show for his efforts. Ruination assured. Whatever small edge of grace he had gotten a fingerhold on, lost. Now, suddenly, the world had rearranged itself.

He needed time to reflect on this new order. He would have preferred to do this someplace else, but the party in the great room seemed to be laying in for another round of drinks. Their talk turning to some local political matter. Once again satisfying himself that he was as well hidden as he could be, Harry let his thoughts wander.

At first impression, Comet Elijah’s prospects did not seem improved by this new turn. Additionally, Harry felt he had to reconsider why he ever thought Ayerdale might have killed the Campbells, other than the fact that he might have been in the vicinity of the farmhouse at the time. The crime of betraying one’s country, rather than the murder of an obscure farm family, seemed a more appropriate fit with Ayerdale’s standing in the world.

On the other hand, all was far from lost. What if Harry followed Ayerdale into Canada and there proved, or helped prove, that he was a spy? Even if he could not save his old friend, at least Harry himself would be vindicated, his reputation not only salvaged but advanced. Surely he would be hailed as a hero, his name toasted in the households of New Bern. In fact, in every important city from Boston to Charleston. Surely in that case he could intervene in Comet Elijah’s case, at least enough to save his old friend’s life.

But what of Maddie? Even if Harry fell short of exposing Ayerdale as a turncoat, Harry certainly could inform her about Ayerdale’s finances. What reason could remain for marrying him? If Harry acted in time, he might spare her from coming under the thumb of one who not only was a beast, but penniless as well. She could do with the information as she wished, beginning with confronting Ayerdale. Preferably in the company of someone who could defend her in case the conversation turned violent. An outcome Harry suspected possible.

He imagined himself facing off against the princeling of Virginia. Beating a confession out of him if need be. It might end with Ayerdale’s
suffering more damage to his handsome face than the lone scar that now ran along one side of it. Harry might not escape injury himself. But he was no cringing slave child, but rather a full-grown man trained in the art of killing and maiming, combat in the style of some of America’s most fearsome peoples, the Tuscarora Indian nation.

The discussion seemed to be breaking up. Harry was all but done convincing himself that his way forward lacked only details to be worked out. But a new complication disrupted his thinking. The single reason he might reconsider everything. The trip to Quebec, warning Maddie, exposing Ayerdale. Why he might turn around and head back for North Carolina on the first ship south. Leave it to Major Browning and his friends in Boston to unmask the enemy. And hope such a thing would happen before the wedding.

The single reason was Toby.

CHAPTER 22

13: Kill no Vermin as Fleas, lice ticks & etc in ye Sight of Others, if you See any filth or thick Spittle put your foot Dexteriously upon it if it be upon ye Cloths of your Companions, Put it off privately, and if it be upon your own Cloths return Thanks to him who puts it off.

—R
ULES OF
C
IVILITY

August 18, 1759

Boston, Massachusetts Bay

My Beloved Wife
,

Greetings and all fine Salutations
,

I am forry that I have been gone fo long and Traveled fo far away from You and our Plantation. I pray all is well & Martin is
remembering to falt the Cattle and Sheep once a week as he is fupposed too do. The Sheep muft be penned up at night to protect againft Dogs and Wildcats and bears and fundry other Dangerouf Beaftees that rome our forefts. I am relying on his Knowleje and Good Intenshuns to fee these things are done, but you mite find it Convenyunt to remind Him from tyme to tyme. Worft of all I feer I will not bee home in tyme to Put In the Tobacco. Thif is hot and sticky work and I am forry I cannot help but Martin shood be abel to figger out how to get it all done with ye help of ye others.

My deareft I am Torn in two diff’rent Directions my Desire to return to You and my Beleef that there is Urgent Busynef that compells my Presenfe in Canada. I have received Informations of ye Utmoft Importance which I Dare not divulge in thif Letter when it could fall into mifchefuf Hands. I pray you Truft I am doing ye right Thing. If all turns out as I ekspek I am certain Olaf McLeod and ye rest of ye People of Quality in New Bern will forgive my long absunce from my Dutees and reward me with their Approval when they come to learn ye full ftory. I will rite again when I can. Please convay my love and beft wishes to Mother and Grandfather. And to Martin and the other Servuntf.

In hafte
,

Yr. moft ob. & Loving Hufband, &etc.

James Henry Woodyard

HE FOUND HIS WORDS DISAPPOINTING. AGAIN. HE JUST COULD NOT
find the ones that a clever man with better breeding might use to say how much he really missed Toby, his two moments of weakness notwithstanding. And how he longed to return to his own people, his own country. At the same time, the act of sitting at a writing table and searching for the right things to say made him think on the distances that had been growing, year by year, between himself and the people he considered most his own.

The judge had allowed him glimpses into his world, a place as different from the one Harry inhabited as the two poles said to lie at opposite ends of the earth. Representations had been made. Harry could not honestly call them promises, but certainly they were assurances, founded on the expectation of Harry’s continued good behavior, his practice of courtly manners where appropriate, and his accumulation of wealth through canny management of his acres and the acquisition of more. If those things continued to be done, Harry one day would be welcomed into the bosom of privilege and rank, leaving behind for good the brawlers and pranksters and wenchers he previously had kept company with. Their ignorance, profanity, poor table manners, even the places they congregated would be forever a regretted part of Harry’s past.