Black looked for Mrs. Crankshaw all through the next day, without any luck. Finally, from his perch at the café, where the owners had begun to grumble about his taking up a table without spending much, he saw her enter the Tower. It was already dark.
He jumped up and followed her inside.
“Mrs. Crankshaw, might I have a word with you?” he said.
She turned and said, “Well, of course, Colonel. What about?”
“Did you search Mrs. Wright the other day, when she came to sculpt the head of General Washington?”
“Yes.”
“Did you search her thoroughly?”
“Thoroughly enough that I think I embarrassed her. Why?”
“I am concerned that she might have hidden in her clothes something to deliver to the General.”
“If she did, it was so well hidden, we would have had to strip her naked to find it.”
“Good that you were thorough, then.”
“What business is it of yours, Colonel, if I may ask?” she said.
“If you must know, Lord North has asked me to be sure nothing will interfere with the lawful execution of the General.” It was not quite the truth, but close enough.
Her mouth turned down into a frown. “You kidnapped him and now you want to make sure he dies?”
“Frankly, your question makes me wonder if you are somehow working with the Americans.”
He watched her face closely as he said it, hoping to see a glimmer of guilt. All he saw was astonishment; whether feigned or real, he could not tell.
“You must be daft,” she said. “My son was killed by the Americans. I have no love for them.”
“And yet you like General Washington.”
“It is different, I think, when you get to know a man, even if he is on the other side. I have observed you with him, too. Do you not feel the same way?”
She had asked a good question, but Black did not feel like answering it.
“It is I who am questioning you, Mrs. Crankshaw, not the reverse.”
“If you have no more questions, Colonel, I would like to return to my job here.”
“You may go.”
A voice from behind him said, “Do you suspect her of something, Colonel?”
Black turned and saw that it was Abbott. He’d only ever seen Abbott before from the distance of the coffee house or the back of the courtroom, but his clothes marked him quite clearly. They were even more outlandish than usual, including a ridiculous high wig and a bright green waistcoat. He could not imagine anyone of character wearing such a thing to so solemn an occasion.
Although Black couldn’t be sure of it, he assumed Abbott had overheard most of his conversation with Mrs. Crankshaw. Perhaps all of it.
“I don’t believe, Ambassador, that we’ve ever formally met,” Black said. “I am Colonel Black.”
“You are correct,” Abbott said. “We have not met before. Permit me to introduce myself, as well. I am Ethan Abbott, and as you apparently already knew, the American Ambassador Plenipotentiary.”
“Ah, yes,” Black said. “Just as I assume you already knew who I am since you called me by my rank even though I am out of uniform.”
“I do, at least by reputation. I could not help but overhear you accuse that poor woman of working with us. Pray tell, other than to make General Washington’s last day on earth more pleasant by bringing him his favourite coffee, with what do you think she might be helping us?”
“Helping General Washington to escape.”
Abbott laughed. “Have you not noticed? The Tower is now surrounded by troops, and there are soldiers at the entry to every corridor. Even if Mrs. Crankshaw were helping us, which she is not, what could she possibly do?”
“That is what I have been trying to determine.”
“Perhaps she is a witch and will turn General Washington into a bird so he can fly out the window of his cell.”
Black ignored the sarcasm. “Why are you here, Ambassador? This is all but over. General Washington will be roused before dawn, taken to Tyburn and hanged. Rumour has it that you plan to leave before that, not having the stomach to remain and watch.”
“It has not so much to do with stomach, Colonel, as with refusing to dignify an illegal act by the presence of an ambassador from the country whose honour and dignity are being trampled.”
Black smirked. He should have ended the conversation, but the soldier in him could not resist, and he said, “I say you are a coward.”
“Say it how you will, I will now go to see General Washington.”
“To what point?”
“To the point that Lord North has made a last-minute proposal on the independence issue that might move General Washington to relent and approve the agreement we have reached.”
“And if he does not agree?”
“I will leave at midnight and never return,” Abbott said.
“I wish you a pleasant trip home.”
“Good day, Colonel,” Abbott said. “I hope you enjoy the execution. Just remember as you watch that, in the end, you caused it, and you are the one who will be judged for it, even if not here on earth.”
Black watched him walk away, annoyed at himself for not having responded to the last remark. The truth was that he hadn’t known what to say.
* * *
Black patrolled the Tower for much the rest of the evening, alternating between watching the gate, where, as Abbott had said, there were ranks of soldiers guarding the building. He also walked the corridors and dropped by Washington’s cell multiple times. Each time he arrived, there were two soldiers stationed to each side of the door. He asked them the same questions each time and got the same responses.
“Who is in the cell?”
“George Washington and Ambassador Abbott.”
“Can you hear what they are saying?”
“No, Colonel. They are talking in low voices, and we cannot make out what they are saying.”
Each time, Black looked through the small, rectangular grille on the cell door and saw the two men sitting face-to-face on straight-backed wooden chairs.
The last and final time Black visited the cell, it was close to midnight, and he found the door to the cell still guarded, not only by the soldiers, but by Mrs. Crankshaw. She stood there, arms folded, blocking the view into the cell.
“Stand aside, Mrs. Crankshaw,” he said. “I wish to look inside.”
“No, Colonel. They are in prayer and have asked not to be disturbed. By you or by anyone.”
“I will ask again—stand aside.”
“I will not. Have you no respect for a man’s last night on earth that he might, with a friend, spend it with his God?”
Black was weighing whether to just shove her aside when the door to the cell opened and Abbott stepped out. He nodded to Black, shut the door gently behind him and limped away, head down and shoulders hunched. Even his bright clothing failed to hide his distress.
Black watched him go, then said, “Now I will look inside, Mrs. Crankshaw.” He peered into the cell through the small window. The room was lit only by a single candle, but he could nevertheless see the entire room and see that Washington was lying in the bed, face to the wall.
“It is still there,” he said.
“What is still there?” Mrs. Crankshaw asked.
“The wax head.”
“Where did you expect it to be, Colonel?”
Black felt foolish and mumbled his reply. “I don’t know.” He paused and finally spoke up. “I expected the wax head somehow to be in the bed maybe, substituted for General Washington, designed to trick us while he escaped.”
“You have been to see too many plays,” she said.
“Perhaps so, and I am tired. Goodnight, Mrs. Crankshaw.”
He went out through the Tower gate to watch Abbott’s departure. He saw three coaches just starting to move off down the road, the horses’ hooves drumming on the cobblestones, the clatter of the metal-rimmed wheels echoing in the cold night air. He didn’t know whether he wished Abbott and his delegation well or ill, but he did wish he were going with them, somewhere far away.