Another Small Kingdom, page 9
‘Perhaps Macleod had friends once. You’ve only known him as a Boston lawyer, and you’ve not known him as that for very long. You never knew Macleod the soldier nor Macleod the husband and father.’
‘He was married?’
‘Oh yes and had a pretty little daughter.’
‘They died?’
Bentley nodded.
‘And I think Macleod died with them. He just never got round to lying down that’s all.’
‘Fever was it?’
‘No, not fever.’
‘Then what?’
Bentley put down his empty cup, got up and stood before the fire pulling his coat tails up over his arms, warming himself.
‘They died, Darcy, like all who die, because they could no longer live. They died because it was their time to die, as it will be for you and I one day. They died, and that’s enough for you to know except that it was, perhaps, their death that put Lawyer Macleod, late soldier Macleod, into our hands.’
Darcy became nervous of the way Bentley was speaking. When Bentley spoke in this fashion there was usually a reason and the reason was usually bad news.
‘More tea?’
‘No, it’s been a long day and I’m tiring. I’ll take a spot of brandy to revive me.’ Darcy got up. ‘Tell me, Darcy, seeing as how you’re not the fool Macleod is, what would you guess would make him drop everything and run off somewhere? And you’re right, wherever it is, it won’t be Richmond.’
Darcy thought, as he poured the drink. He didn’t want to rise to Bentley’s bait but, having called Macleod a fool, he didn’t want to appear dull himself. He thought for a moment then smiled.
‘Soldier Macleod you said.’ He brought Bentley his drink and handed it to him. ‘You’ve got the army to call him?’ Bentley looked into his glass and said nothing. ‘No. Not the army. Not even you could control the army or even a part of it, but it’s something like.’
‘Go on, Darcy, think it out. You’re no fool remember?’ And Bentley took a sip of his brandy. Darcy’s brain turned rapidly, something like the army, but not the army. A light broke through.
‘Duty. Somehow you’ve called on his damned sense of duty. You’ve got someone high up in an office of government, someone in with us, to summon him. That’s it, isn’t it?’
A reluctant smile crossed Bentley’s face.
‘Well done, Darcy, you don’t lack for cleverness I’ll give you that.’ Bentley took another sip of brandy. ‘Very poor brandy this, Darcy.’
Darcy returned to his table, sat down and took up the teapot.
‘I only keep it for visitors. I don’t use it myself.’
Darcy poured himself half a cup of tea, filled the cup with hot water and sat back. Bentley stood in front of the fire in silence. Darcy sipped his tea and left him to his thoughts, happy enough to have shown how clever he was.
Bentley was pleased and annoyed. He was pleased that Darcy was clever enough to have found a satisfactory answer as to why Macleod was suddenly on the move. The organisation needed clever men, men who could read and interpret the intentions of others. But he was also annoyed that Darcy had shown himself to be so very clever and so quick. It didn’t always do to have subordinates who were, or might grow to be, cleverer than their masters. Long ago Bentley had known Macleod as a young husband and father, then he had known him as a soldier and then as a widower. Now he knew him as a lawyer. He had laid all these in front of Darcy and Darcy had spotted the right track almost immediately. Bentley looked at Darcy and smiled. Darcy smiled back thinking Bentley’s smile was one of approval of his quickness. But behind the smile Bentley was thinking that perhaps Darcy was too clever to live a long life. Someone as clever as Darcy might indeed come to pose a threat. When that happened, if it was allowed to happen, he must not be in a position to do any serious damage. Sometime soon Darcy’s time would come, but not too soon. It would come when Darcy found that he had to die, because he could no longer live. Bentley put his glass on the mantelpiece.
‘And now duty calls me. I have much to do, Darcy, letters to send before Macleod leaves Boston.’
Darcy also got up.
‘And me?’
‘Be ready to travel as soon as Macleod leaves.’
‘And if my hand’s not healed?’
‘God damn and blast your wretched hand to hell, Darcy. You’ll go when I say.’
Darcy was taken aback by this sudden outburst.
‘As you say, Bentley, just as you say. I’ll go as soon as Macleod has taken ship for Richmond.’
Bentley looked at him then grabbed up his overcoat, hat and gloves and left the room without another word leaving Darcy puzzled and, as always when Bentley flared up, a little afraid.
Chapter Sixteen
Away 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
Macleod 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
Macleod 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.’
