An Experiment in Treason Page 10

  “Well, Sir John,” said he, rising from his chair, “now that Jeremy has explained it all, I’ve no need to stay. I must, in any case, ready myself for the dinner. I take it that Dr. Johnson arranged everything, as you asked?”

  “Oh yes, he sent his man Frank Barber by yesterday to inform us that all was set with Mr. Franklin. He will arrive with Dr. Johnson. Dinner will begin at eight. If you care to come a little earlier, I’ll have a tot of rum with you.”

  Sir John stood and offered his hand. Mr. Donnelly grasped it and gave it a good, manly shake.

  “I wonder if you would allow me to borrow Jeremy for a few minutes? There was a matter I wished to question him about.”

  “By all means, keep him as long as you like.”

  Thus wsis I lent out and borrowed like some garden tool — a hoe, a rake, whatever — and only a moment before they hailed me as a nascent scientist. Such, I told myself, is the lot of one still a lad and not yet a man.

  Together, Mr. Donnelly and I walked down the long hall to the door to Bow Street. Though not a word passed between us, I could tell he was quite burning to say something to me.

  And so he was — yet there was naught that he wished to tell me; rather was it something he wished to ask me.

  “What are the seating arrangements?”

  With that, he caught me off-guard. I know not why, but at that moment my mind was quite elsewhere. All I could do was blink stupidly.

  “Pardon?” said I.

  “Good God, Jeremy! Have you no memory at all? The deating arrangements — don’t you recall? “

  “Oh yes, of course, you wished to be seated next to Molly Sarton.”

  “And you said you would do what you could. Well, did you?”

  “Certainly,” said I. “It’s all arranged.” And, having said so, I summarized the chart for him.

  (I thought it worthy of note that his interest in her had not waned in the slightest, but contrariwise, seemed to have waxed considerably since yesterday. He must, I reasoned, have been thinking oft upon her in the interim.)

  Mr. Donnelly was much impressed by what I had accomplished, yet not, as he considered it, completely satisfied.

  “Hmmm, yes, well … too bad you couldn’t have put me between Mr. Franklin and Molly.”

  “And put Lady Fielding next to her cook?”

  “Oh, I see your point. That would never do, of course. But you’ve done well, Jeremy, and I commend your efforts in my behalf — and thank you for them.” So saying, he gathered himself together and prepared to depart. But something yet held him: “There was one matter that I … oh yes, now I remember. The most remarkable thing happened this morning.”

  “And what was that?”

  “You recall our traveling companion to Portsmouth, Arthur Lee?”

  “How could I forget him — and all of the discomfort he caused you?”

  “Well, Mr. Lee-”

  “Dr. Lee,” I corrected him.

  “I accept your amendment, Jeremy,” said he with a sly smile, then began again: “Our friend Mr. Lee called upon me quite early. I was not even properly dressed and had half my face covered with shaving lather. Thus was I in no state to greet a guest. Yet he pleaded so to be admitted, I could do naught but open the door to him — and so I did. Perhaps I thought perversely that this might be my opportunity to tell the fellow what I thought of him.”

  “And did you?”

  “Nothing of the kind, for the moment we were face-to-face he began apologizing in the most abject manner for what he called his ‘unforgivable gaffe’ in forcing us to find our way home by ourselves.”

  “Is that how he put it?”

  “More or less. I know not if I quote him exact. Yet he seemed to be implying that his great sin was depriving us of his company — and that did not sit well with me.”

  “Naturally not,” said I.

  “Yet he did then pull out his purse and ask what the experience had cost me out of pocket, and I — well, by God, I told him — and he paid up. He counted it out right there on the spot, full amount, right down to the last farthing, so to speak. Then did he explain that what had left him temporarily embarrassed was the failure of a new letter of credit to arrive from his bank in Virginia. Of a sudden, he was left penniless, or the next thing to it, and he was forced to resort to subterfuge. He continued to beg my pardon all the way down the stairs and out to the street — or so it seemed.”

  “That is indeed quite a story.”

  “It was indeed quite an event. He may not have behaved as a gentleman,” said Mr. Donnelly, “what colonial does, after all? Nevertheless I, who have endured straitened circumstances myself, can certainly understand his predicament. Which of us has not had such problems, eh Jeremy?”

  And with that and a wave to me, he was off down Bow Street in the direction of Drury Lane. I watched him go, and then, remembering our conversation with Sir John, I called out and whistled shrilly to catch his attention. He heard, stopped, and turned round to me.

  “Come early,” I shouted, “and I’ll ask Mr. Baker to show you the cosh.”

  He laughed then, waved again and continued on his way.

  When, an hour or two later. Sir John and I left his chambers to make our own preparations for the dinner, we were hailed by Mr. Perkins who, it seemed, had reported for duty a bit early that he might have a word with us.

  “What will you, Mr. Perkins?” said the magistrate. “We’ve a bit of nonsense we must attend to, so …”

  “I’ll make it fast, sir. It’s these two who I think might’ve done that burglary you’ve been working on.”

  “Yes, what about them?”

  “They’ve both just disappeared, nowhere in sight, not a word heard about them since the burglary.”

  “Your snitch is no help?”

  “None at all, but I remembered what you said about this being likely one of those for-hire jobs, and I was wondering would you like me to bring in one who’s been seen keeping company with the two of them right up to the night of the burglary. He looked out of place down there in the dives of Bedford Street. I feel like he’s involved in some way. He’s too much the gentleman, if you know what I mean.”

  “Indeed I do, but I see no charge to be put against him — unless it be ‘associating with known criminals’ — which is no charge at all, really.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. But what I was thinking, sir, was that Jeremy here might be of some help in this.”

  “Oh? How is that?”

  “Jeremy’s been going out with you on all of your rnvestigations, hasn’t he?”

  “All except the first of them. I had to rely on Clarissa on that occasion, for Jeremy was out of town. I don’t know how many we’ve talked to, however, who would be likely to appear in Bedford Street.”

  “Well, like I say. Sir John, the one I’m talking about isn’t tikely to be found there, either. That’s why he stands out so.”

  “All right, Mr. Perkins, you’ve made your point. What do you suggest with regard to Jeremy?”

  “That he come with me and take a look. Maybe this cod who plays the gent will be there and maybe he won’t, but this way I’ll at least have satisfied my curiosity.”

  Sir John turned in my direction. “What about it, Jeremy? Are you willing to leave the dinner table a little early?” Somewhat reluctantly, I said I would, and it was agreed that Mr. Perkins would come for me at eleven and have me back by midnight. Ordinarily, I would have been delighted at a chance to explore Bedford Street in the company of the constable. On this evening, however, our table might prove even more lively than the lowly dives of Bedford.

  We were ranged round the table in exactly the order I had devised. Yet what had seemed a perfect plan for seating just a few hours before seemed much less so now. None of the opportunities for conversation which I had anticipated (one might even say planned) seemed to be working out at all. Mr. Donnelly and Molly, each of whom had requested to sit by the other, found themselves altogether mon
opolized by the table partner next to them on the opposite side.

  Lady Fielding talked quite incessantly to Mr. Donnelly, and she seemed to end nearly every sentence with “is it not?” or “wouldn’tyou say so?” So, he had no choice but to respond; simply nodding and smiling would not do. When she began to discuss her mother’s tumor, I knew that she would be holding him prisoner for quite some time.

  Molly Sarton was surprised to find herself the object of Benjamin Franklin’s profound concentration and scrutiny. Afterward, she confessed to me that she had no clear idea who he was, yet she had heard his name often enough to know that he was famous. Just as with Lady Fielding and Mr. Donnelly, he did nearly all the talking. It consisted, for the most part, of the most outrageous flattery and questions of the sort which could be answered with a word or two, perhaps three or four.

  As an example, I can only offer the following, since what was said by him between them vanished ever so quickly from my mind. I recall Franklin leaning close yet speaking loud enough to make me wonder if he were not perhaps a bit deaf.

  “But surely you are not jLut a cook?”

  “Well, I …”

  “Mind you, I mean that as no reflection upon this superb dinner. But you — you not only planned it, but actually cooked it with your two beautiful little hands?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “You seem so delicate for such work. Yet this beef chop, it’s quite the best I’ve ever eaten.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  “Whence came you?”

  “To here? From Deal.”

  “Down in Kent? I know it a little, a charming place.”

  “I hated it.”

  “Goodness! Such strong language. What is it makes you hate it so?”

  “My husband’s death.”

  “You a widow? And so young! Such a pity. And how did your husband die, pray tell?”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Oh dear! Oh my! Murdered, you say? One hears of that sort of thing here in London. But in Deal, of all places! It would seem there is no safe haven, would it not? But tell me, do please, what were the circumstances of his murder?”

  To that she gave her longest response, yet with it, she did not more than beg off: “I fear I cannot oblige you, sir, for even to think of them vexes me so that I know I could not bear to tell them. I believe you would be far better advised to ask Sir John to relate them to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a kitchen matter to attend to.” And with that she rose from her chair and disappeared through the door.

  If you were then to suppose that Benjamin Franklin took Molly’s advice and consulted Sir John regarding the details of Albert Sarton’s death, then you would suppose wrongly, reader, for no sooner had she left than he began glancing round the table, eagerly searching for a promising object for his attentions. His eyes shifted to Lady Fielding, who was at that moment still in deep discussion with Mr. Donnelly, and so had gone across the table to Clarissa, of all people, who had been asking questions of Samuel Johnson. Just then, however, Sir John made some remark to Mr. Johnson, and I saw, from the gleam in his eyes, that Mr. Franklin was about to pounce upon the sixteen-year-old Clarissa. Yet before he could do that, Mr. Donnelly realized the situation and fought his way from Lady Fielding’s grasp (speaking figuratively, of course). He then called to Mr. Franklin across the empty space where, until moments before, Molly Sarton had sat.

  “Mr. Franklin,” said he, “did you achieve any satisfactory results from your experiment in Portsmouth? “

  Franklin seemed mildly annoyed at the interruption — and perhaps at the nature of the question, as well. He looked sharply at Mr. Donnelly.

  “Not as yet, sir,” said he. “Still, I am hopeful.”

  “Jeremy here” — Mr. Donnelly gestured to me — “and I, as well, were present at your initial attempt. Was there a second attempt that day?”

  “Ah, so you were there in Portsmouth, wereyou? No, there was no second attempt on that day, but it is more than likely that there will be another soon.”

  “I wonder, sir, if you would explain the nature of the experiment to those here at the table who were not there. Your theory seems altogether ingenious,”

  “But surely it would only bore the ladies.”

  “Oh, not so, not so,” said Lady Fielding, “we should be honored to hear of your theory and your experiment, sir. And if not I, then certainly Clarissa will be well able to understand it.”

  He smiled across the table at Clarissa. “And are you specially interested in matters scientific?”

  “I am interested in all learning,” said she fearlessly (and falsely).

  Lady Fielding frowned at what must have seemed to her an unnecessarily bold response.

  “How, then, can I hold out longer? Lady Fielding, I accede to your wishes. I shall tell you how, over a number of years, I developed the theory, which I tested in the experiment at Portsmouth.”

  “And have you given a name to your theory?” she asked.

  “Not till this moment, no, but if you feel that it should have a name, let it be called ‘stilling troubled waters by pouring oil upon them.’” Then did he turn to Clarissa. “What think you of that, young lady?”

  “I think it sounds a bit too simple to work in any practical sense,” said she.

  “Ah, but I have found that most things in nature do work far more simply than we may at first realize.”

  Then did he tell the history of the theory, beginning with his discovery, while a schoolboy, of the passage in Pliny the Elder, which related the practice of sailors in ancient times of pouring oil upon the sea during a storm in order to still the waves. This much, of course, we had heard from Arthur Lee. Yet, as it developed, there ■was much more to the story. He told of an experience at sea in convoy of vessels in which he had noticed that at certain times the wake of some of the ships was “remarkably smooth” whereas those of the others were at the same time “ruffled by the wind.”

  “Puzzled by this, I went to the captain and asked him about it,” said Franklin. “T suppose,’ said he, ‘that the cooks have just been emptying their greasy water through the scuppers, and that has greased the sides of the ship a little.’ That’s what he said, and he said it as one would to a child or an ignoramus — one, in any case, who did not know what was well known to everyone else.”

  At that there was a bit of tittering from those round the table, as if they were amused that anyone would dare to speak in such a way to one as wise as Franklin.

  He went on to tell of indications passed on to him by others. As an instance, a captain who had spent time in Bermuda told him that spear fishermen there would pour a bit of oil upon the surface of the sea when it was rough. The oil would calm the surface, so that they might strike at the fish when they spied them near the boat. Et cetera, et cetera, on and on, with example follo”wing example until it seemed to me that he was in danger of losing his audience.

  He said he had tried out his theory at a pond in Clapham. On a day on which the wind roiled the pond surface into proper waves, he emptied a cruet of oil on the leeward side, where the waves were strongest, without much effect. But when he went to the windward side, it took little more than a spoonful to spread across a surface of about half an acre and turn it into one “smooth as a looking glass.”

  That much having been accomplished, it remained for the theory to be tested on the sea. That was made possible by Captain Bentinck who offered a longboat and a barge from his own vessel that oil might be spread upon the surface — yet here ‘twas more than half an acre to be covered, rather a pair of miles was to be spread o’er. I have detailed at the beginning of this work how badly and in what way the experiment failed, yet Franklin would say only that results were “unsatisfactory.” There was an air of general disappointment at the table at his pronouncement.

  “But surely,” said Lady Fielding, “you proved your theory already there in Clapham at that pond.”

  “Ah, but you see,” said he,
“calming the rough waters of a pond is of little practical importance. To be truly of value, it must be made to work upon the sea.”

  “Mr. Franklin,” said Gabriel Donnelly, “you indicated that it was likely that you will attempt the experiment once again.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “What things, if any, will you change when and if you do make a second attempt?”

  “I would have the vessels stay farther from shore and perhaps change the sort of oil that would be used.”

  “Oh?” said Mr. Donnelly. “What sort of oil was used in Portsmouth?”

  “Whale oil. I have a notion to use petroleum.”

  “Petroleum?” echoed Samuel Johnson. “What is that? What good is it?”

  “Not good for much at all, sir, yet it is heavy, thick, and viscous. The weight of it alone may serve to smooth the waves.”

  “Well, it will take a very weighty substance indeed to still the surface of Portsmouth Harbor,” growled Sir John from the head of the table. “But in the course of flattening them out, you may make the waters of the harbor unusable for any other ship traffic. Would that be part of your plan? Surely not.”

  “Certainty not,” said Franklin, all indignant at Sir John’s warning.

  “Then you would be well advised to put petroleum aside and attempt your experiment with whale oil again in some quiet, well-protected inlet. It may not succeed, but at least it will do no damage.”

  Benjamin Franklin had been properly stung, and it appeared that he meant to sting back.

  “May I ask, sir, on what authority you, as a magistrate, speak to such matters? That is to say, do you have some special know-ledge of the properties of petroleum? Have you a maritime background?”

  “As to petroleum, or ‘rock oil,’ as I have heard it called,” said Sir John, “I have no special knowledge of it, but I do know that it has been used in street lamps because it burns slow and steadily. A link-man of my acquaintance did once invite me to test the stuff by touch, and I found it as you said, thick, viscous, and sticky — altogether unsuitable for spreading upon harbor waters. And yes, though it is many years in the past, I do have a maritime background. I served as a midshipman in the Royal Navy. I lost my sight in the siege of Cartagena, near forty years past, during the war with the Spanish and the French.”