To Abbott’s amusement Mrs. Stevenson had hung a small sign on the parlour door that said, “American Embassy.” By the time everyone finally arrived, she had found additional chairs so all could gather around the table, and shortly thereafter brought in coffee and small cakes.
“Mrs. Stevenson,” Abbott said, “in due course my government will want to reimburse you for the refreshments, and so forth.”
“There is no need for that, Mr. Abbott. I am not political, but yours is a cause I know Dr. Franklin supports, and so it is one I am pleased to support, as well. I need no reimbursement for these small favours. I will now leave you gentlemen to your work.” She left and closed the door behind her.
“What news do you bring from home?” Abbott asked of the group. “And how many days after I left did you depart?”
“We left four days later,” Brandywine said. “And as the news of His Excellency’s kidnapping has spread, so, too, the outrage has spread apace. If we do not resolve this war here through negotiation, then no matter what the outcome on the formal battlefield, the war will go on forever.”
“Has politics intervened as yet?” Abbott asked.
“No,” Brandywine said. “So far, all are united in demanding Washington’s return without conditions. Only then people say should we negotiate.”
“And the army?”
“Our generals, of whom we seem to have a plethora, are already jockeying for the position of commander-in-chief even while saying out loud that the rank should be left vacant until His Excellency returns—that only he can lead us to victory.”
“That is to be expected. Was that all between the time I left and the time you left?”
“No,” Brandywine said. “In the days before we sailed, there was a furious battle being played out in the newspapers. Radicals were demanding some kind of retaliation, although no one said exactly what. Cooler heads were arguing that we should first give your mission a chance to succeed.”
Abbott scrunched up his brow in puzzlement. “Since we are already in a war with Britain, what kind of retaliation could they possibly be talking about?”
Brandywine shrugged. “One newspaper demanded that captured British officers be investigated for spying and hanged. Like Major Andre.”
“If they do that, it will not make our mission any easier,” Abbott said.
“No, and many people made that very point in response.”
“What about the Congress?” Abbott asked. “Is the battle being played out in the newspapers being played out there, too?”
“We do not know,” Brandywine said. “They had not yet formally reconvened, and members were still arriving back from the faraway states. But we would expect so.”
There was quiet in the room. Abbott knew that they were likely all wondering the same thing: Would those demanding action win out, and what kind of action would be undertaken?
Brandywine broke the silence. “We also have additional instructions for you, Excellency.”
“In writing?”
“No, it was thought too risky for us to travel with them in that form. They are instead in our heads.”
“What are they?”
“That if Washington can be paroled to a neutral country, as part of the bargain we may agree to stay in the Empire for twenty years, so long as we are independent in all but name.”
“What does that involve?”
“No British troops on our soil unless we request them, no taxes imposed on us, no legislation to be passed affecting us without a vote of all the colonies approving it, all trade benefits to which we were entitled before the war began restored and freedom to settle west of the Appalachians.”
“I think, from my conversations with Lord North, that we can achieve all of that,” Abbott said. “But we don’t have much time. Perhaps you have not heard, but General Washington was indicted today for high treason.”
There was a stunned silence around the table. They had not heard.
“I fear the trial will be held very soon,” Abbott said. “With His Excellency held hostage to a quick outcome to these negotiations.”
There was a knock on the door. “Please enter,” Abbott said.
It was Mrs. Stevenson. “There is a gentleman here saying his name is Mr. Forecastle, that he is General Washington’s physician and asking to join you.”
“By all means, send him in,” Abbott said.
A few seconds later, Abbott watched as a man he assumed was Forecastle walked into the room. He was a big man with a vivid red scar across his face. Was it a war wound? And why would a doctor have one? If he could do it discreetly, he would try to find out. But after introductions and for the moment, Abbott merely said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. As the head of the delegation, I welcome you.”
“Thank you.”
“How is His Excellency?”
“He is doing well, although he has some anxiety, which is not at all his usual disposition. He usually shows no signs of it, even amidst the worst of things.”
“Did you see him after the news of his indictment for treason was announced?”
“Yes. But I am not thinking that is the problem.”
“Perhaps even His Excellency might fear death,” Abbott said. “Especially so far from home.”
“Ambassador, I have seen him astride his horse, in the lead as the musket balls fly by. I never saw him hide himself or even flinch. If he now has a fear of death, it would indeed be something new to him.”
Abbott could have pressed the issue. The type of death Washington faced was quite different than one found in battle. He chose instead to take the conversation back to the problem at hand.
“Mr. Forecastle, I will want, myself, to see Washington again soon. It has been several days. But for now, please join us around the table.”
“I would be delighted to do that.”
“There is an extra chair over there in the corner,” Abbott said. “We are discussing how to negotiate something with the British that will assure our independence while still meeting some of their needs and allowing His Excellency to go free.”
The conversation about what to propose went on for almost two hours. In the end, it was Brandywine, the only one amongst them with anything approaching diplomatic experience, who suggested the way forward. “What we need to do is to agree to stay in the Empire, but to slice the concept of ‘stay’ very thin,” he said.
“How thin?”
“I propose to go back to the guest house and work with Mr. Pierce to try to outline a plan to slice it up.”
“That’s good,” Abbott said. “But as that place is, I believe, a den of spies, you should ask one of our scribes—” he nodded at the two scribes, who had said nothing at all during the meeting “—to stand guard outside the door of whatever room you’re working in.”