An Experiment in Treason Read online

  Franklin seemed so totally defeated by Sir John’s sharp response to his challenge that in truth he seemed to shrink before our eyes. The table went silent for a long moment until the silence was broken by a single “Ha! ” It came from none but Molly Sarton, who had quietly resumed her place whilst the guest was grandly discoursing upon the long development of his oil-upon-water theory. He turned and threw her a withering look. Then did he shift in his seat in such a manner that I, for one, thought he was preparing to leap to his feet and leave. But no, he simply sat up straight in his chair, faced Sir John and asked his forgiveness.

  “Nothing to forgive,” said the magistrate.

  “I meant to give no offense by doubting your authority to challenge mine. I shall bear in mind what you have said regarding petroleum.”

  “I took no offense, Mr. Franklin, yet it is I who may be begging your forgiveness before the evening is done, sir.”

  “Oh? How is that?”

  “Let us finish our dinner before getting into it, shall we?”

  “If you say so, of course, but I shall be on pins and needles till then.”

  And that was what we did. We waited through two more courses and another bottle of wine. Franklin was not the only one who was left on pins and needles. All were noticeably quieter. Each — even the best-informed of us — seemed to wonder what would come at the end of the meal. Sir John had certainly sent his guest of honor into a state of confusion. All the bravado and swag-ger had been taken out of him by the time the last dishes were cleared from the table.

  “Jeremy,” said Sir John, “why don’t you break out that bottle of French brandy that Mr. Bilbo gave to us and offer it to the gentlemen at the table. Now the ladies may stay or leave, as is their wish.” They stayed, of course, and all but Clarissa imbibed the brandy.

  Benjamin Franklin remarked as I poured the brandy into his glass that it was not his custom to take strong drink. “But perhaps,” he added in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “it’s best that I take a glass to fortify myself for what lies ahead.” Thus did he indicate, at least to me, that he had begun to regain a bit of his former confidence.

  Yet once all were served, Sir John wasted no time in getting to the matter at hand.

  “Mr. Franklin?”

  “Uh, yes. Sir John, but may I ask a favor?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Would you mind addressing me as Dr. Franklin? It is a petty thing, perhaps, for the doctorate I was awarded was but an honorary one. Still, I am entitled to it, and I do prefer it.”

  Even before Franklin had quite finished his explanation, Samuel Johnson fell into a fit of coughing. So severe was it that Clarissa bounced up from her chair and belabored him upon his back with her open hand. (Sir John and I were probably the only two others who knew the cause of Johnson’s upset: He, too, had an honorary doctorate < — his from Oxford University — but would allow none to address him so.) I daresay Franklin had indeed regained his self-assurance.

  “Then, Dr. Franklin, if you will, what do you know of the burglary at Lord Hillsborough’s residence in Whitehall? “

  “What do I know? Only what I have read of it in the Public Ad-vert’uer. But why? Am I in some sense suspect in that matter? I can assure you that I — “

  “Allow me to ask the questions, please.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “But since you asked if you were suspect, I shall tell you that I have in no wise come to any conclusion in the matter, but there are evidently some who have. I have been urged ‘in the strongest terms possible’ to question you with regard to the burglary. I do not like being told how to conduct an investigation, and so I chose this way to go about it.”

  “This way? I don’t quite understand.”

  “I thought to conduct it here at dinner — or afterward — when we had both eaten our fill and had a bit to drink. Far better, don’t you think, than having brought you in for questioning as would be done with any common criminal.”

  “It was either one or the other?”

  “So it seemed to me.”

  “Then I much prefer the way that you have chosen.”

  “Very well then. Let us continue. You were, I take it, in Portsmouth on the night the burglary of Lord Hillsborough took place?”

  “That was the night before the experiment in Portsmouth Harbor? Oh yes, indeed I was, and I remained there a second night, as well.”

  “What is your relationship with Lord Hillsborough, sir?”

  “Well, professional, I suppose. He, as secretary of state for the American colonies, has been the man with whom I dealt in all matters which pertained to the colonies I represent.”

  “Do you represent ail the American colonies?”

  “Oh no, nothing of the kind — only four: Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Georgia, and New Jersey.”

  “I see. And what has been the tenor of your relations with Lord Hillsborough?”

  “Well, it is no secret that we have not gotten on well. He makes no effort to understand the position of the colonies on many issues I put before him. He even attempted to have me silenced as regards my work as agent for the State of Massachusetts. He claimed the Massachusetts House of Representatives had no right to appoint me as its agent, for, as he claimed, such appointment was invalid unless assented to by the governor of Massachusetts, Thomas Hutchinson, who was himself appointed by the king. I insisted that I was not the governor’s appointment but the appointment o( the people of Massachusetts, acting through the Massachusetts House. Lord Hillsborough did not like that well, and since then we have had little to say, one to the other.”

  Reader, during that last response of Mr. Franklin’s I noticed a change come over him. He had, up to then, seemed lascivious, pompous, and petty by turns — and above all, was he foolish. He had not, in any of these previous modes, impressed me favorably. But I noted that as he talked of his conflict with Lord Hillsborough, the tone of his voice rose to a pitch of passion and conviction. The disagreement between the two was, after all, a philosophical one, was it not? It was a question of who carried the greater authority: the governor, with the power of the King behind him, or the House of Representatives, whose power was granted them by the people of Massachusetts? Either side, it seemed to me, could be argued, yet it was with near religious fervor that he declared himself; and when he spoke the word “people,” he made a sort of climax of it, so that as he sang it forth, his rather thin, reedy voice took on unexpected strength. I doubted not that, given the proper cause, he could sho-w himself a most gifted debater.

  Nor was I the only one at the table who noticed the change in Benjamin Franklin. Clarissa turned to me and raised her eyebrows right at the climactic word. And just as Franklin concluded, Mr. Donnelly caught my eye, pouted his lower lip, and nodded — a positive appraisal.

  Sir John, too, must have noticed, for he paused for some several moments in his interrogation of Franklin, waiting — for what? For his subject to recover himself? That was not the magistrate’s usual way, certainly. Yet it was not long before he resumed.

  “Tell me,” said Sir John, “have you any idea what was taken from Lord Hillsborough’s residence?”

  For an instant. Dr. Franklin could do naught but gape in surprise. “Don’t you know?”

  “I could simply caution you once again that I am the one who asks the questions. But I shall not. I shall confess instead that I do not know what was stolen. It has not been revealed to me, and that I find to be the most annoying aspect of this most irritating case. And so, I pray you, accept my question in the spirit in which it was asked. Do you know what was taken from the Hillsborough residence?”

  “In a word, sir, no. I do not know what was taken. I would hazard that only those who committed the theft know that.”

  “No, not likely, not only. We’ve a good notion who it was — and if they are who we think, they would have no use for what has most likely been taken. This was almost certainly a case of burglary committed for hire. We may r
est assured then that those who ordered it done also know what was taken. The limited information I have from Lord Hillsborough indicates that what was taken was not to do with him personally; that it would have been of value only to a few people in London; and finally that it was, in fact, a packet of letters. Now you. Dr. Franklin, know as much as I do, but you are far better able to guess what might be the content of those letters than I ever could. So I invite you, sir: guess, suppose, conjecture!”

  With that, both men sat silent for near a minute. There was perceptible tension amongst the rest at the table. Looks were exchanged. Two or three found it necessary to clear their throats. Samuel Johnson fidgeted.

  Franklin began: “Clearly, the letters have to do with his position as secretary for American colonies.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  “Well, since you were directed — urgently — to give attention to me in your investigation, those letters must have to do with at least one of the four colonies which I represent. It also means that I am one — perhaps, in Lord Hillsborough’s opinion, the first — of those few men in London to whom the letters would have value. The question, I suppose, is which of the four colonies do they deal with?”

  “That should be easy,” said Sir John.

  “Why do you say that?” Suddenly Franklin seemed a bit tetchy — or sensitive at the very least.

  “Well, because it is commonly held that Massachusetts is the most fractious of the colonies. The Adams brothers have achieved a certain notoriety even here in England, for their unruliness. Both of them are, I believe, members of that body which appointed you.”

  “But what has that to do with — “

  “They — or one of them — may have been singled out for trial in these missing letters.”

  “Trial? On what charge?” treason.

  At that Benjamin Franklin forced a laugh. “That, Sir John, is ridiculous. They are as loyal to the Crown as I.”

  “None of this should be cause for laughter. First of all, keep in mind that this is not only a burglary investigation, but a search for a murderer as well.”

  “Oh well … I meant no … that is to say …”

  “Furthermore, ‘twas just yesterday I heard Lord Mansfield declare that what was needed to solve our problems with the American colonies was a good, old-fashioned treason trial followed by a public execution.”

  “The Lord Chief Justice said that?”

  “I believe your name was mentioned in that conversation. Dr. Franklin.”

  “My name?” The color seemed to drain from his face. “Oh, dear God.” (Indeed, it was mentioned by Sir John to lead Lord Mansfield on.)

  Just then, I heard a knock upon the kitchen door, and for a moment I wondered who it might be. Then did I realize that more likely than not ‘twas Mr. Perkins come for me. Had it got round so quickly to eleven? I rose and ran to the kitchen. Opening the door, I found the constable waiting, quite as I had expected.

  “Can it be so late so soon?” I asked him.

  “Well, soon enough,” said he. “I’d a prisoner to bring in. And I thought, since I was here …” He pulled his watch from his pocket. “Time’s about half past ten, give or take a minute or two.”

  “That’ll do,” said I. “Just let me tell Sir John that I’m leaving.”

  “As you wish. I’ll wait downstairs by the door.”

  With that, he started down the dark staircase, and I hied myself back to the dining room. There I found Sir John and Dr. (if I must) Franklin hard at it once more.

  “But what you say makes no sense at all,” Sir John was saying. “Not even such a one as Lord Hillsborough would make pretense of a robbery, simply to blame it upon the colonials.”

  “No, you don’t know him as I do,” said Dr. Franklin. “The man is utterly without principle. Are you at all acquainted with his private life?”

  I leaned forward and tapped Clarissa upon the shoulder. Reluctantly, she turned away, and I whispered in her ear.

  “Tell Sir John, when you have a chance, that I left with Mr. Perkins. He knows of this.”

  She gave me a quick nod, then turned back to the fray. Well, I told myself, if they missed me, she would remember to tell Sir John. That much I could be sure of. I left, grabbed my hat off the hook at the door, and ran down the stairs to meet Mr. Perkins just at the door to Bow Street, where he had promised to wait.

  It was inconceivable to me that I should prefer to remain at table and listen to Sir John and Franklin battle it out rather than set off with Mr. Perkins upon his rounds there in the vicinity of Bedford Street. There in Bedford was the beat, the very pulse of London. Still, I should have liked to wait. In truth, as I saw it, there was little good could be done by me in Bedford Street. Who might I see there and thus identify? Carruthers the butler? Ridiculous. Lord Hillsborough? Ah, but wait — Hillsborough — that was at least an interesting thought. His bad character had been remarked upon by many and he would certainly look out of place in Bedford Street. In fact, Dr. Franklin had just suggested him as the culprit, had he not? But would Hillsborough arrange for the death of one of his own servants? Not likely, but indeed such violence could have been unintended and unplanned. No, I was forced to admit that in this instance Benjamin Franklin was no fool — far from it. His intelligence was indeed beyond question. He must have had reason to put Hillsborough forward as suspect.

  As Mr. Perkins and I strode together down Bow Street and began our circle round Covent Garden, I thought hard upon Franklin. Was there ever a man of so many and such disparate parts? Unwittingly, he played the motley fool as he presented himself to Molly as a leering seducer. Then did he turn professional as he lectured us upon his oil-and-water theory, and then became all dewy-eyed speaking of the “people. ” Who were these people, anyway? Colonists — Englishmen like the rest of us, were they not? And all this from a man well past his prime in life, short-sighted, stout, wrinkled, balding, and gray-haired — anything but impressive in appearance. And yet he was no fool. What was most lacking in the man was any true sense of dignity.

  “Who was at that dinner Sir John had tonight?” asked Mr. Perkins. “Anybody important?”

  “Oh, a couple who were important — Samuel Johnson and Benjamin Franklin — and then there were the rest of us.”

  He snickered at that. “That’s Dictionary Johnson, ain’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that man, Franklin — ain’t he the one who invented electricity?”

  Now was it my time to snicker. “Well, he didn’t exactly invent it,” said I. “But I believe he’s convinced the world that he did.”

  “He’s a sort of imposter, is he? “

  “No, not really,” said I, hesitating, trying to put what I felt about him in just a few words. “He’s done a lot of scientific work that’s of real importance. Though he can be foolish, he’s no fool. Yet I believe I have never met a man quite so full of himself.”

  “Interesting,” said the constable. “I knew some in the Army like that. All of them was officers. The worst were the ones with titles.”

  Yet Dr. Franklin had not even a title to hide behind, thought I. We walked along in silence for the length of Charles Street, then turned down Tavistock. Harking back to my earlier thoughts on Lord Hillsborough, I thought to ask a bit about this mystery man I had come out to view.

  “You’ve no name for this fellow, the gentleman sort who’s been about with Skinner and Ferguson?”

  “That was what I was hoping you could give me.”

  “Well, I ‘will if I can, of course, but what does he look like? Could you describe him to me?”

  “Well, like I said, he seems like a gentleman.”

  “In what way? That is, is it the clothes he wears, the way he talks, or what? “

  “All of that. He dresses like a gent, talks like a gent, has his hair combed like one, and he’s got the cleanest hands you ever saw.”

  “Hmmm. How tall is he?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You
and me, we’re about the same height ain’t we?”

  “Just about.”

  “Well, he’d go a couple of inches taller, though just a couple.”

  Lord Hillsborough was a good deal taller than I — perhaps four inches. But come to think of it, Mr. Perkins was probably not quite so tall as he believed himself to be. (I, for one, thought him to be at least an inch shorter than I.) Perhaps it was wrong to ask for such an estimate. I would reserve my judgment until I saw the man in question.

  When we arrived in Bedford Street, we began the search from inn to tavern to dive. But before we entered the first, the constable had a word of caution for me.

  “Now, Jeremy,” said he, “the place I believe him to be is down from this one about four or five — just this side the alley. But it’s best we don’t go there direct, like we was looking for him. If we was going to bring him in, it wouldn’t matter. But we’ll just do a walk through these places, like it was all just a part of the routine. That’ll suit you, won’t it?”

  “Certainly, it will.”

  “All right then, here we go.”

  The first of the places, right at the corner of Maiden Lane, was a dram shop of the name the Duck and Drake. We walked through at a leisurely pace. And, as we did, Mr. Perkins nodded at a few along the way who recognized him for what he was — a constable, a Beak Runner. In and out, just so, then on to the next, and the next one after that, and the next. Until at last we came to the King’s Pleasure, so advertised by a great hanging sign “which was positioned right above the door. A coach waited outside the door.

  “That is the place he usually comes, ” said he to me. “Now if you’ll just give me a moment …” He whistled low and was answered in kind from someplace ahead. We walked to the door of the place and then beyond to the mouth of the alley, whence the answering whistle had come. Mr. Perkins led and I followed. As we arrived, a figure stepped forward but remained in the shadows.

  “Jeremy,” said Mr. Perkins, “this is Bess. ‘Twas hei pointed out to me this cod I wish you to view. And ‘twas her tied him to Skinner and Ferguson.”