Another Small Kingdom (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

A
way from the large centres of population, overland travel in America remained a primitive and uncertain business.The surest route was the coastal highway where vessels of all sizes plied the busy shipping lanes. Up and down the coast the main rivers were also busy providing access inland from the seaboard ports. Macleod took ship from Boston, travelled south to Norfolk, Virginia and from there took ship up the Potomac and finally arrived at Georgetown.

He took a room at the City Tavern, recommended to him by the captain of the vessel on which he had arrived.

‘Fine place, Mr Macleod, only built five years ago and considered as good as anything you'd find in New York or even Boston. Why, only a year or so ago they gave a banquet to President Adams himself there.'

‘You are a native of Georgetown, Captain?'

‘Proud to have been born here, sir.'

‘Hmm.'

And Macleod felt sure that the Captain's eulogy to this City Tavern was based more on civic pride than any wide experience of fine buildings.

But Macleod was forced to revise his opinion of the City Tavern when he got there. It was indeed a fine, three-storey brick building with large, regular sash windows and, he was forced to admit, would not have been out of place in Boston, no, not even on Tremont Street itself.

After unpacking and settling into his room he ate an excellent dinner in the spacious, well-appointed dining room then retired. A comfortable fire burned brightly in the small fireplace and as the wine had been as excellent as the food Macleod found that he felt positively cheerful. He retired and slept soundly until he was called at seven the next morning to find his fire refreshed and a plentiful supply of hot water together with warm towels and shaving materials laid out ready for use.

After a breakfast as good as the previous evening's dinner, Macleod enquired from his waiter directions to get to the new capital.

‘Well, sir, it's not a long ride. You head east over Rock Creek Bridge and then follow the trail through Foggy Bottom.'

‘A strange name.'

‘On account of it being low-lying near the river. There's a settlement there, Funkstown, German-speaking mostly but it's not what anyone would call a thriving place.'

‘And beyond Foggy Bottom?'

‘Oh the trail's clear enough, sir, you can't miss it. There's plenty of hauling goes along it taking men and goods to the new capital.'

‘And can you recommend a place where I might hire a good saddle-horse?'

The waiter could, of course, oblige and Macleod, armed with that information, went out at once to begin the final leg of what he had almost come to regard as his great adventure.

Macleod found the livery stable, negotiated a good price for the hire of a horse and was grudgingly given free directions. Soon after, and in a good temper, he rode over Rock Creek Bridge and followed the trail to Foggy Bottom.

The trail was as the waiter had said. The trees had been cleared well back and it was rutted with use. It was not long before Macleod passed two lumbering carts, each pulled by a team of four horses and both loaded with rough-cut timbers. Soon after passing the carts he came to the straggling settlement of Funkstown, as unprepossessing in looks as its name. Even if his journey had been considerably more advanced he would not have been tempted to stop at the settlement. The low-lying land was not far from the river and the air had an unwholesomeness to it which made Macleod spur on his mount and quickly leave the settlement behind him.

As he rode on he dredged from his mind memories of the man who had summoned him.

Many of his fellow officers had thought him a hard man, some even that he was careless of the casualties his orders incurred. But Macleod knew that his hardness was that of a man who would not allow any emotion to cloud his military judgement. He also knew that he cared passionately. He cared that the men he commanded should do their job. He cared that they should make America free.

He passed several more wagons going his way and as many empty ones returning and, as the horse seemed willing and able to stay on the trail without guidance, he was free to let his thoughts wander through his past, which he did, paying scant regard to the country he travelled through.

The trail breasted a rise and his mental wanderings came to an abrupt end as he reined his horse to a halt. Before him lay America's new capital. He sat and looked. This, he felt, should be a moment savoured, his first sight of the new home of the President and the American government. He tried to fill his breast with an appropriate pride but found only an impatience to be on his way, so he rode on.

Quite what he had expected he did not know, but it was certainly not what he rode into. The trail widened and tracks branched off to both sides where the wagons unloaded their timber, stone and equipment into chaotic piles of building materials. From this apparent chaos an endless stream of men and horses carted and dragged their loads towards more organised piles, out of which recognisable buildings were rising. The wide dirt track took him onwards up a hill which became bordered by open land with a tended, park-like quality. Reaching the top of the hill Macleod stopped and his breast did indeed fill with pride. There, to his right, built of pale white stone, stood a handsome, square, three-storey building topped all round with a balustrade. The new Capitol, the home of Congress.

Macleod turned in his saddle to take in the view from this hilltop. Behind him, over a small copse of trees, he could look down on the Potomac river. Turning back he looked further along the dirt road. Somewhere out there, among this fine new city that was arising, was the home of the President.

If Macleod had closed his eyes and used his imagination then he might have looked into the future and tried to envisage what Washington would one day become. But Macleod had a very limited imagination and with his eyes open was only able to see what was there.

He put a hand inside his greatcoat and pulled out the letter. The address at the top meant nothing to him just as it hadn't meant anything to anyone at the City Tavern when he had enquired the previous evening. He looked at the letter again.

It was headed
The Office of Internal and International Information, Washington
. No more. In the open space in front of the Capitol were several coaches with coachmen and grooms standing about. Macleod rode across and hailed one of the coachmen and asked him if he knew his way about the new Capital.

‘As well as any man, sir, although as yet there's not so very much to know.'

‘I'm looking for “The Office of Internal and International Information”.'

The coachman shook his head and called to another.

‘Office of what?'

‘Internal and International Information.'

The new arrival proceeded to shake his head. At that moment a man came from the Capitol building and called. The first coachman turned to the voice.

‘My Congressman, sir. I'll ask him.'

The coachman ran across to the man and they exchanged words. The Congressman looked across at Macleod then got into his carriage. The coachman got up into the driver's seat and brought the coach to where Macleod waited. The Congressman lowered the window.

‘I don't know who gave you that address, my friend, but I fear they were pulling your leg. There is no Office of Internal and International Information, nor any like it.'

‘Are you sure, sir?'

‘Friend, I'm a Congressman. My job is government and I know all the offices of government both here in Washington and back in Philadelphia. Fine sort of Congressman I'd be if I didn't. No, friend, I don't know where you've come from but you're on a fool's errand.'

And the window shot up. The Congressman rattled the roof with the knob of his stick and the carriage moved off, turned on to the track and disappeared down the hill leaving Macleod alone and puzzled.

Chapter Seventeen

M
acleod pressed on with his enquiries but it soon proved to be exactly as the Congressman had said.If there was an Office of Internal and International Information it belied its own name by not having told a living soul in Washington where it might be found and by mid-afternoon Macleod had to admit total defeat.

His was a dogged nature but even the most dogged of men must finally give in to hard facts. There was no office of the name he was looking for. Wearily he turned his horse and headed back through what there was of the new capital. He left behind the fine buildings, those finished, unfinished and as yet unstarted and took the trail on which he had come that morning with such high hopes and expectations.

He had been ordered to come, and he had done as ordered. He had tried his best to report his arrival, but how was that to be done if no one knew of the place he had been ordered to? As he rode away and left the Great New Federal Building Site behind him a stranger on a horse came down a track from a wooded hill and pulled alongside him.

‘Headed for Georgetown, friend?' Macleod didn't answer or look at the new arrival. He didn't want company, he wanted to think, but his attitude did not deter the young man now riding at his side. ‘A silly question really. Heading this way you must be for Georgetown as indeed I am myself. Perhaps we could bear each other company?'

Macleod responded by spurring on his horse and pulling away from the stranger who continued to let his horse walk but called out to Macleod's back.

‘If that's the way you want it, Mr Macleod. But if you insist on travelling alone and ignorant in these parts I doubt very much you'll ever get where you're going or meet the man who sent for you.'

Macleod reined in his horse. The young man came alongside.

‘You seem to know my name, sir.'

A big grin split the face of the young man as he looked at Macleod.

‘I do, sir, and I know more than that. I know that inside your coat somewhere you carry a letter and that letter is what brought you here.' The grin settled to a smile and he held out his hand. ‘I'll thank you for that letter, sir. It has served its purpose and can now be returned and disposed of.'

‘And what makes you think I'll hand it over to you, even supposing it exists?'

The young man withdrew his hand.

‘Because, sir, I have asked for it graciously and with such charm of manner. Surely graciousness and charm of manner are worth something even in these wicked times,' he paused, ‘even to a hard-headed lawyer who's come all the way from Boston.'

Macleod had the overwhelming feeling that he was being mocked. His natural instincts were to spur on his horse and leave this young jackanapes behind him. But he knew that instincts were best trusted only as a matter of last resort and he was a long way yet from last resort.

‘I'll need more than that, sir, a lot more before we can talk further on any subject.'

‘No, Lawyer Macleod.' The smile had gone and the voice had changed. For all his youth he had the voice of command and Macleod recognised it. ‘Not a lot. Just one thing more. A direct order to hand over that letter. But if you've forgotten how to obey a direct order then you're no good to me,' and here he paused, ‘or to anyone I serve.' He held out his hand again. ‘Come man, the letter or we part company here, now and for good.'

Macleod looked carefully at the stranger. He was young, but that was nothing. He himself had been as young when he was soldiering and handing out orders.

He sits there now, thought Macleod, with the look and manner of command. But is he someone I can trust?

Unfortunately there was only one way Macleod could think of to find out. He slowly put his hand inside his coat and handed over the letter. The other man opened it and read it carefully. He seemed satisfied and tucked it away inside his own coat. They resumed the journey at a walk. It was Macleod who broke the silence.

‘How do you know I didn't make a copy?'

‘Why would you, and even if you had what good would it do you? The Department you were referred to, as you found out, doesn't exist. It was there just to make sure that when you arrived and began to enquire we would get to hear about it. No, now the original is safe I don't think we need worry about anything like copies.'

‘But what if I showed the original to someone?'

‘Yes, now there's a big, “what if?”. But you see you didn't show it to anyone, so it's a “what if?” that doesn't arise.'

‘How can you be sure?'

‘Because if you had shown it to anyone you would now be dead and as you are so palpably alive it means that your eyes alone have seen it, other than mine and those of the writer of course.' The young man kicked his horse into a canter. ‘Come now, Mr Macleod, this won't do. We must move faster than this if I am to be your guest and dine with you tonight at the City Tavern.'

Chapter Eighteen

M
acleod and his guest had eaten, but the dining room of the City Tavern, being deservedly popular, was crowded, making any confidential talk impossible, so when the meal was over they had gone to Macleod's room. The young man had a limp and walked with the aid of a stick but Macleod had not felt the necessity of waiting for him and was standing in his room when the young man finally entered.

‘I'm sorry to be so slow but this damn leg of mine has an awkward way with stairs.'

Macleod watched him as he limped across the room to a chair and sat down.

Macleod crossed to the fire and stood before it taking all the benefit of the warmth.

‘Well, sir, you've had your food and you've had your wine and all at my expense. Now do I get something?'

But the young man seemed in no hurry to get down to the purpose of the meeting. His voice, when he spoke, was casual and conversational.

‘You know they say that Jefferson was mightily pleased that our new Federal Capital was to be in the South.' He waited, but Macleod stayed silent. ‘They say that he felt that the North was so commercially minded that it degraded any man of honour. Well, now he's President he can move in when Adams moves out and breathe clean Southern air to his heart's content.' He looked up at Macleod with a half-smile on his lips. Then he made a gesture with his stick as if impatient of idle chatter. ‘But enough of that, Mr Macleod, we're not here to discuss the relative merits of the air, North or South, are we? We're here to attend to business.'

Macleod knew he was being mocked but again he let it pass.

‘Yes, sir, and the business is, why was I summoned here?'

‘Ordered is a better word I think. Yes, ordered would be the right word. You recognised the name on the letter, so I think we can both agree that you may now consider yourself a man under orders. I hope you agree, Mr Macleod, otherwise I see no way of proceeding further in the matter.'

‘Ordered if you will, but as I have no knowledge of what the matter is, ordered or summoned are much the same to me.'

‘Ordered it is then. Now for your next orders. I was told you speak fluent French. Is that so?'

‘It is.'

‘Could you pass for French?'

‘No.'

‘Colonial French, perhaps from north of the border, Quebec, somewhere like that?'

‘Perhaps I could get by as far as the language is concerned but as I know nothing of the country it would be easy for anyone to find out I was playing a part.'

‘Then you will have to be as you are, an American who speaks French. You are to go to New Orleans. Once there you are to tell people that you are a wealthy lawyer from Boston who has decided to go into business. You are not decided yet between tobacco or cotton or whether to get into sugar-cane planting.'

‘What rubbish. What would I know of any of that? What
do
I know? I'll be made to look a fool at once.'

Jones smiled.

‘That will make you all the more welcome. A fool with money who's looking to invest in something he knows nothing about? Why they'll fall over themselves to befriend and advise you.'

Macleod was enough of a man of business to see the soundness of Jones's reasoning.

‘And while I'm in New Orleans?'

‘You will enter into society. You must change your way of life to become a man of fashion and manners.'

But this time Jones had gone too far to carry Macleod with him. Macleod snorted a derisive laugh.

‘That's too much of a change for me. I know nothing of fashion and don't want to, and my only manner is plain-speaking.'

The young man's voice took on a hard edge.

‘Then you must learn, Macleod, you must study how to be fashionable and put a restraint on the directness of your speech. There is trouble brewing in New Orleans, French trouble, and it is aimed at America. You are to find out what it is and who is involved. That means you will have to go where society goes, talk as society talks and do as society does. In short, you will do whatever is necessary to find out what we want.' The young man looked Macleod up and down. ‘I will help you do as well as can be done in the way of clothes here in Georgetown. It won't be much, but anything will be an improvement on what you look like now. You will have to fit yourself out more properly once you're in New Orleans.'

‘Assuming I can play the dandy, which I doubt, and assuming I can get invited into society, which I also doubt, what sort of thing am I looking for?'

‘It will be political, well-financed and in some way in contact with Paris. The person or persons you will be looking for will be highly placed and influential and there won't be many of them, four at most. They probably won't travel much but they will have contact with others who travel both in America and abroad. Whoever they are they will spend a lot of time in each other's company, they will be close and exclusive.'

‘In which case how will mixing with society help me?'

‘New Orleans isn't such a big place yet, though growing fast of late. For the most part it's like any other port and garrison town, something of a rough house. Most of the best society is made up of old-established families, what I believe they call Creoles. Stiff-necked and exclusive so I'm told. That should make your task easier.'

‘How easier?'

‘The people you'll be looking for will be comparative newcomers, certainly not born or even brought up there but come over from France and come over not so very long ago. They'll be rich and influential and for that sort to stay too much out of society would cause comment and raise questions, and that would be the last thing they'd want, so they'll be found where society meets. It's not a large number of people you'll be watching and not spread over too wide an area. When the city first got built they laid it out as if was a chess board, all straight streets criss-crossing each other, and although it's growing at a pace these days it'll be in the older part of the city you'll find what you're looking for. So sharp eyes and ears should be able to narrow the field pretty quickly. But take care, Macleod, one sniff that you're looking for them and you'll be dead. They don't take chances and they don't play games. Never doubt the importance of what you are doing and don't be fooled by appearances. Your quarry may look a fop in public or even a fool, but underneath they will be hard and sharp.'

‘And if I find anything?'

‘Then you report it to me.'

‘And where will you be?'

‘I will arrive in New Orleans three weeks after you. I will be on government business, to negotiate certain concessions on warehousing and harbour facilities. The negotiations will be difficult and therefore prolonged. I will be asking for too much but not so much as to provoke an immediate rebuttal. If you find out anything you come directly to me. Otherwise you don't know me and I don't know you.'

‘And what name will you use if I have to ask for you?'

‘Jones, Jeremiah Jones. And, as for names, we shall need one for you.'

‘If I'm to be a Boston lawyer what's wrong with Macleod?'

‘We'll keep Boston and we'll keep you a lawyer but the name must be changed. If anyone takes the time and trouble to check they must find what we want them to find. How about Darcy?'

‘Darcy!'

‘He's a Boston lawyer, a man about town and well-off. Any enquiry that doesn't go too deep would be satisfied. What do you say to Darcy?'

‘I say damn Darcy and damn …'

‘Good, that's settled then. Darcy it will be.'

Having swallowed so much Macleod found himself gagging on this final humiliation. The young man took his stick in his hand and pushed himself into a standing position.

But Macleod's contract-lawyer brain came gloriously to his aid.

‘And who will arrange to replace the name on the letters of credit that I carry?'

‘What?'

‘I have letters of credit good at any bank in New Orleans or anywhere else, but all in the name of Macleod. If I am to be a man of fashion it will take money, plenty of it, and if I'm to be Darcy as you say then it can't be money in the name of Macleod.'

For the first time since their meeting the young man looked a little less than certain of himself.

‘How much do you have?'

Macleod named a sum, a very considerable sum.

‘I see. You realise of course that going to New Orleans in your own name increases the risk you take, the risk to you personally and to the task you have been given?'

‘And you realise I cannot operate as you ask without adequate funds?'

The young man stood silent for a moment, then realised he had been bested.

‘Very well, be Macleod. But play your part damn well, well enough so no one will want to ask in Boston what sort of man is Lawyer Macleod. Now, on to other things,' and he looked at Macleod from head to foot. ‘I'll call for you tomorrow morning. Be ready at nine and make sure your wallet is full. I'll do the best that dollars and Georgetown tailors can manage but I doubt it will do more than dent the surface. If I'm to transform you from a fashion bumpkin into a thing of beauty we will have a heavy day ahead of us,' he shook his head slowly, ‘a very heavy day indeed.'