The Bastard: The Kent Family Chronicles (65 page)

No one in the shop seemed inclined to offer the celebrity a place to sit, however. And Philip saw only one vacant table, a small one in a dingy rear corner.

But Franklin had a sly twinkle in his eye and didn’t budge from the entrance. He signaled to the landlord’s boy, called sharply:

“Young man! If you please!”

Recognizing his important visitor, the boy rushed forward.

“Very sorry, Doctor, but we’ve only that back spot open—”

“I suppose we’ll have to take it,” Franklin shrugged. “By the way, my horse is tied out front, and he’s hungry. The big roan—you know the one?”

“ ’Course, sir.”

“Take him a quart of oysters immediately.”

“A quart of
oysters?”

“You heard me—a quart of oysters!” boomed the older man. More heads turned. Eyes popped and conversations stopped. “You have them this month, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, got plenty.”

“Then see to it. My horse craves oysters in the worst way.”

Philip threw Franklin a questioning look, but the doctor simply proceeded majestically toward the little table in the back. Philip followed. By the time they reached the table, the boy had returned from the kitchen carrying a small copper pot. Two men rose from a table. Two more. Before a minute had passed, The Sovereign was virtually empty, most of the clientele having followed the boy outside to view the remarkable horse that consumed oysters.

“We can move up front now, Mr. Kent,” Franklin said. “My favorite place is vacant.”

And so it was. Philip chuckled as Franklin settled on the deacon’s bench, remarking, “A little trick I learned when I first took over the postal system years ago. I traveled the routes personally to inspect them. Most country inns where I stopped were crowded of an evening. When I wanted the seat next to the fire and it was taken, I called for oysters for my horse. Never failed. The boy will be back momentarily to take our order.”

Franklin’s prophecy was correct. The landlord’s young helper looked unhappy as he approached, his oyster pot empty. He indicated a red place on his forearm.

“That damn horse won’t have a thing to do with oysters, Dr. Franklin! When I tried to feed ’im, he near bit my arm off. I spilled the whole blasted quart.”

Franklin looked thoughtful. “Perhaps my horse suddenly lost his appetite.”

“And I lost my seat,” complained one of the men who had trooped back inside.

“Oh, I thought you’d departed, sir,” Franklin said in a bland tone. “Well, there are plenty of other places—boy, two chocolates here. And put the oysters on my bill, of course.”

He turned his attention back to Philip, who could hardly control a guffaw as the tricked patrons stampeded through the shop, attempting to regain their former tables. Franklin ignored them. Sunlight through the bottle glass struck fire from his spectacles as he asked whether Philip’s mother was satisfied with their new country. Philip told him of her death aboard
Eclipse.

“Ah, that’s tragic news. You have my deepest sympathies. I suffered a bereavement myself only this past December—” The boy arrived with warm mugs of chocolate, left again. “I was still in England when I received word that my dear Joan had died.”

“Your wife? Oh, doctor, I’m sorry.”

“At least I had my Philadelphia family to come home to—my daughter Sally lives here with her husband, Richard Bache.” Philip wondered why Franklin made no mention of his illegitimate son. “And you’ve found a home too, Mr. Kent—literally, if not philosophically—with Ben Edes?”

“And met Samuel Adams, and Mr. Revere and Dr. Warren and many of the other patriot leaders.”

“Excellent men, every one,” Franklin nodded, sipping his chocolate. “I’m informed their lives are forfeit if they stay in Boston much longer, though.”

“To my knowledge, all but Warren and Revere have gone out into the country. I helped a British soldier find a safe haven there, in fact.”

“Helped him desert?”

Philip nodded. “He didn’t have any stomach for causing trouble for other Englishmen. I took him to Concord. I’ve been drilling with one of the militia companies there.”

Franklin pulled down his spectacles. “Is it committee business that brings you to Philadelphia?” Redness colored Philip’s cheeks. “No, it’s—it’s personal. In a way, it was a relief to get out of Massachusetts for a while. Things are so damned confused— Some people want independency, some don’t—and most have no opinion but are scared as hell anyway, because everyone’s convinced there’s going to be trouble.”

Sadly, Franklin bobbed his head to agree. “The irony is, just prior to sailing from England—not only in low spirits but in some disgrace, as you may have heard!—I had an audience with one of this country’s last good friends. The Earl of Chatham. I told him that in all my years in the colonies, I had never, in any conversation, from any person drunk or sober, encountered a deep and genuine wish for separation. Or the suggestion that such a thing would be of the slightest advantage to America. Yet back on these shores, I find it’s being discussed openly. Once, the word was merely whispered—and only by radicals, at that.”

The alert eyes pinned him. “Have you a position on it, Kent? When the second Congress convenes, there’ll be much interest in the state of mind of our citizenry. So every opinion’s valuable.”

Thinking a moment, Philip shook his head in a glum way. “I had unfortunate experiences in England—”

“Yes, you alluded to those when you visited Craven Street. Something to do with a well-placed family, I believe—?”

“That’s right. The trouble they caused didn’t exactly give me a favorable feeling about the ruling class. On the other hand, all except the most extreme men in Boston—Mr. Adams, for instance—seem to favor some kind of reconciliation.”

“Even at this late hour?”

“If it’s possible. Maybe it isn’t. But with a few exceptions, the soldiers have behaved with restraint. Certainly the Governor has. I mean—elsewhere, I’d guess that a man like Gage would arrest a man like Ben Edes, considering the attacks on the general that the
Gazette’s
printed.”

“That restraint,” Franklin returned, “is one of the reasons Gage’s star is already falling in Whitehall. I believe he’ll be recalled before too long. The King and his flunkies want decisive action now that they’ve declared Massachusetts in rebellion.”

“I’ll admit none of it’s pleasant to look forward to—I hoped for a chance to build a future here. Maybe that’s why I’m still a little on the fence. I’ve worn a liberty medal, helped Mr. Edes, things like that. But I haven’t supported the cause as completely as I might have. Who wants to see the future go up in musket smoke? And risk dying at the same time?”

“No one who is sane,” Franklin said. “But times do come in the affairs of men when such a course can’t be avoided. I realize many, many people in America would prefer safety to the perils of war—” Franklin set his chocolate mug down, his voice low, his spectacles like twin fires in the filtered sunlight. “But those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.” A pause. The melancholy look returned, “So we must go ahead, whatever the outcome—though I’m not at all certain a war would succeed.”

“Well, that’s one view I haven’t heard before.”

“You hear only the patriot side. Narrow, and admittedly partisan. I try to sound all quarters. I believe only a fraction of our population would support armed hostilities. A fourth, perhaps. A third if we were lucky. We have no army, and who knows how untrained farmers and artisans would behave against regiments that have distinguished themselves on battlefields all over the world? And yet,” he went on earnestly after another pause, “I am still persuaded that we’re traveling the only road we can. In my opinion there is no greater crime under heaven than for one man to allow another to place him—or his nation—in bondage. However”—He shrugged. “—that’s a stand which each must take for himself.”

Franklin’s words struck Philip like a blow. Struck and drove deep into his mind. An image of Marie Charboneau drifted through his imagination. Her views were certainly in marked contrast to Franklin’s. But as a result of the man’s quiet, forceful words, Philip found himself agreeing silently.

A sudden, wrenching insight came to him:
What my mother wanted was no less than bondage of another kind. Voluntary bondage to the ways of the Amberlys. Not a fulfilling bondage, as Anne called it. A destructive one. Only my mother never saw that
—

Against the murmur of talk that had resumed at nearby tables, Franklin said something else. Philip looked up. The doctor’s eyes were hidden by the sun-glaring spectacles. Yet Philip had the uncanny feeling that Franklin was looking through him, toward some deep sadness.

“I beg your pardon, Doctor, I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Oh, I was only thinking of my Billy.”

“Your son?”

Franklin nodded, said with faint bitterness, “His Excellency, the Royal Governor of New Jersey. Each man, as I say, takes a stand. Billy’s taken his. I helped him obtain his position. Pulled every string I could in London, back in the days when relations with the colonies were more cordial. I wanted Billy to have an important post! But I also thought I’d drilled some sense into him when he was young—”

Franklin’s hand clenched, white at the knuckles. “I sailed home only a few weeks ago with the highest hopes. I prayed I’d step off the ship and hear Billy had resigned in protest against the Crown’s actions. Well, Mr. Kent, he hadn’t. And I’m informed he won’t. I love him above any person in this world save my dear departed wife, and I’m not ashamed of that. But, God help me, I love liberty more. Billy, it seems, does not. I hear he’s grown extremely fond of the perquisites of his splendid life. It’ll drive a wedge between us. Forever, if he persists.”

Once more Franklin pulled down his spectacles, and once more Philip saw the sadness. Now he understood another reason for it.

“It’s all choice, Mr. Kent,” Franklin sighed. “How much are you willing to pay for the whistle?”

“The what, sir?”

“Oh—” A gentle smile. “That’s just an old expression of mine. When I was growing up in Boston, a visitor to our house gave me some pocket change. Later that day, in the streets, I met a boy playing a whistle. I’d never heard such a sweet sound. I offered the boy all the money I’d been given—and tooted that whistle mighty proudly when I got home. My brothers and sisters broke out laughing. It came like a thunderclap when they, with my father’s corroboration, convinced me I’d paid the lad four times what the whistle was worth. The whistle instantly lost its charm. As soon as I heard my family laughing, and thought of what I’d squandered, I cried with the vexation only the young can summon. Ever since, the incident’s stuck in my mind. Whenever I’m tempted toward a comfortable but wrong judgment as opposed to the one that’s difficult but right, I say to myself, ‘Franklin, do not give too much for the whistle.’ That’s what Billy’s done, you see. I—” Franklin seemed to speak with great effort then. “—I will very likely never see him again unless he resigns. And I don’t think he’ll have the courage. He’s still enchanted with the whistle for which he’s paid too dear a price.”

Philip stared at his own hands. After a moment, the doctor let out a long sigh. “Well, that’s all beside the point—we were talking of broader matters. I really wish I know where all the turmoil will end. We’re a powerful people here in America. Unique in many ways. Should the ministers decide to test us to the limit, I think they will be mightily astonished—at first, anyway. In a long war—” A doubtful lift of the shoulder. “I’ve expressed my views on that.”

“Do you think the ministers will test us, Doctor?”

“Given George’s determination—yes, I believe it will happen. His Majesty’s not an evil man. But he’s a bad, misguided king. And there’s not a person in his administration who’ll gainsay him. Not North, not Dartmouth, not Kentland, not—”

Franklin stopped, clacked down his mug.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Kent? You’re white as ashes.”

“You spoke a name—I’m not sure I understood —Kentland?”

Franklin nodded. “Aye, James Amberly, the Duke of Kentland. A member of the little clique known as the King’s Friends. He’s an assistant secretary for overseas affairs, in Lord Dartmouth’s department.” The jowly man peered over his spectacles. “You’re acquainted with him?”

“I—I heard the name at Sholto’s,” Philip said quickly. “They said he was highly placed—but I also heard that he had died. Could there be two noblemen with that name?”

“There is one hereditary Duke of Kentland and only one, Mr. Kent. Come to think of it, though, I do recall that Amberly was gravely ill a few years ago. For months, he never left his country seat. He did recover eventually. Came up to the town and took a place in the government. That, I believe, had been his plan before an old war wound caused the illness.”

“He’s alive? Today?”

“I can’t speak for today. But I conversed with the Duke outside the House of Lords a fortnight before I sailed. A wise, humane man in all respects—save for his blind loyalty to King George. His wife’s another case entirely. A regal bitch, with the emphasis on the latter. I’ll admit Amberly didn’t look too healthy when we spoke. But he’s certainly able to get about and assist Dartmouth in the execution of foreign policy. I also understand his only son is serving in the military somewhere in these very col—
good heavens!”

Philip had stood up suddenly, nearly overturning the table. His face was stark with the disbelief hammering in his mind.

They said he died.
They told us he died.

The implications of the treachery left him in a cold fury, shaking. He could barely speak:

“Dr. Franklin—you’ll pardon me—there’s something I must do—”

“Wait, Kent! I remember what you told me in Craven Street—your father not married to your mother—
was Amberly
—
?”

Leaving the doctor’s question unanswered, Philip tore out of The Sovereign and broke into a run. He understood some if not all of it. But most important—the knowledge was like a white iron searing him—he thought he understood Alicia.