THE BLENNERHASSETTS LED US ACROSS THE LAWN TOWARDS THE house. It was as though we walked through a military camp: fires were lit all around us, and beyond them muskets stood in neat tripods before rows of tents. There were men everywhere, sitting by the fires with fiddles and songs, stamping their feet against the cold as they stood sentry duty, or hurrying to and from the great house. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if they would disappear like pixies on a summer night, but they did not.
We crossed a carriage drive – was there room on this island for a carriage? – and climbed the few steps to the mansion. The front door was thrown open, and from within came warm firelight, and the hesitant tinkling of a pianoforte. As I passed the threshold I noticed the doorplate, and blinked in renewed astonishment as I saw a lion and a unicorn holding a quartered shield, the arms of Great Britain. Was this a palace?
‘We heard you were coming, of course, and delayed our dinner,’ the dark-haired woman was saying. ‘Micajah will show you to your rooms if you’re wishing to dress.’
The negro butler led us up a curving stair, to what seemed a miniature ballroom. Golden braids and curlicues gleamed in the plaster ceiling, while the floorboards shone with a high polish. I could almost imagine a prince and a princess dancing on its surface beneath the flickering chandelier.
The butler escorted the Lyells through a door on the far side of the room, then returned and brought me to my own bedchamber on the opposite side of the house. It was by some distance the most comfortable, generous accommodation I had encountered since … I could not remember when. A carved mahogany bedstead laden with snow-white sheets stood in the corner, damask curtains were drawn across the windows, and my feet seemed to hover on a thick carpet. Suddenly I felt very drab, as though every speck of mud and dirt had come alive and was crawling across my skin.
‘They’ll be ’semblin’ for dinner in fifteen min’ts,’ the butler whispered, backing out through the door and pulling it shut behind him.
I threw myself down on the bed, breathing in the crisp scent of the linen. It was almost as broad as I was tall, wide enough for three men at least, yet it seemed I would enjoy it all to myself. For three months I had crossed oceans and continents; braved treacherous friends and desperate battles; sailed, ridden, driven, walked and floated some four thousand miles – all to deliver Nevell’s infernal package. Now I was in a house filled with the conspirators I was meant to overthrow, with Mr Tyler himself awaiting me downstairs, and half an army camped on the front lawn. It was not a happy predicament. Yet at that moment, all I wanted to do was close my eyes and wrap myself in the bed’s embrace.
In deference to my hosts, of course, I could not. Someone had laid out a cleanly pressed shirt and a new coat by the dressing table; they were a little small, but more respectable than the clothes I had not changed since Pittsburgh. I splashed some water over my face to wash away the worst residue of the journey, buttoned my coat, and went downstairs to meet the long-sought Mr Tyler.
There had been days and nights – many of them – when I had dreamed of this moment: that I would step forward, give my burden into Mr Tyler’s hands and be rid of it. I had not imagined that it would take place in an elegant drawing room, its walls panelled from floor to ceiling with burnished walnut and hung with venerable portraits. Three people were gathered around an octagonal side-table: Mr and Mrs Blennerhassett, and a man I did not recognize. Whereas our hosts could have passed at any assembly or ball in London, with only their slightly antiquated fashions to betray them, this guest had a coarser, less refined air about him. His much-darned coat suggested more familiarity with horse than carriage, and there was a wildness in his eyes, a hunger, which did not bespeak a gentleman. With his grey hair and his creased, hardened face, I guessed him to be about forty. He looked up sharply as I entered the room.
‘Mr Tyler, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Jerrold,’ said Mrs Blennerhassett. I did not think to ask how she had learned my name, for all my thoughts were overwhelmed by the other name she had spoken: Mr Tyler.
He offered a brief nod. ‘Welcome.’
I reached a trembling hand into my pocket. ‘I have a package for you.’
‘Good.’ He was not unfriendly, but there was a certain martial economy to his words. ‘From London?’
‘Yes.’
I handed him the package, and suddenly felt a little giddy. There were settees on both sides of the room, but as none of the company was sitting I was obliged to remain upright.
‘Good news?’
‘I believe so.’ It ought to be, after all I had suffered to deliver it. ‘As you will observe, I have not read it myself.’
Tyler held the package below the chandelier, examining it closely. It had not come through its travel without incident – stained with mud and blood, and with a few creases in the oilcloth which had not been there in Falmouth – but the seals were intact and the knots tight.
‘Are we late? Do forgive us – it is so long since I saw a bath that I confess I indulged myself quite freely.’
We all turned to see the two Lyells standing in the doorway. Mr Lyell had done little save brush the mud from his black suit, but his sobriety served only to illuminate the brilliance of his daughter. Her travelling clothes were gone, and in their place she had donned a silken wisp of a dress. The fabric glistened in the candlelight, barely rising to her breasts, though so smooth and pale were they that they almost appeared of a piece with it. Below her bosom the dress plunged sheer to her ankles, while above, her neck and shoulders stood entirely exposed. Two small loops about her arms were the only condescension to sleeves; they twitched as she moved, and it seemed that a single false step might slip the entire garment from her body. With her golden hair swept up behind her, and a diamond collar about her throat, she was a vision of beauty fantastical to behold. Even the myopic Blennerhassett looked amazed.
A bell sounded from the next room. Mrs Blennerhassett clapped her hands. ‘That will be Micajah with dinner.’
Harman Blennerhassett took Miss Lyell’s arm – gingerly, lest he work some disaster on her dress – and we followed them through the folding doors.
I could no longer be surprised by anything in this house, this outpost of gentle comfort so deep in the American wilderness, yet there was still a feeling of unreality as we processed into the spacious dining room. The table was laid for six, though it could have entertained twice that number, and a quartet of black and white footmen stood attentive against the ruby walls. The sideboards at each end of the room sagged under the weight of silver plate, while the table was hardly less heavily laden with pies, fish, fowl, vegetables and a haunch of venison.
Mr Blennerhassett went to the foot of the table while his wife took the head, indicating that Lyell should sit on her right. The place on her left she offered to me, but I demurred in favour of Mr Tyler. I wished to be opposite Miss Lyell, to feast my sight on her.
The servants served out the soups while Blennerhassett carved the joint. When all our plates were filled he raised his glass.
‘Your healths, Miss Lyell, Mr Lyell, Mr Jerrold.’
‘And yours.’
The wine was French, and sublime. I drained my glass to my hosts’ health, and immediately summoned the servant to recharge it. After so much apple whiskey it was like nectar.
Across the table, Miss Lyell had engaged Blennerhassett in conversation. He leaned in to hear her with his head bent in concentration, so close that he must have been able to stare straight down onto the busk of her stays.
‘We started the house eight years ago,’ he was saying. ‘Though of course it did not come on quickly. This was all forest, you know; we had to fell the trees and dig up all the stumps before we could even put down the foundation stones. Margaret and I were our own architects. Everything you see is precisely as we made it.’
‘But you are not Americans. However did you come to choose this wild and desolate place?’
‘We came over from Ireland ten years back.’ Unconsciously, he removed his spectacles and rubbed them on his lapel. ‘We were … Well, I had a disagreement with King George about who should rule Ireland, and I didn’t think I’d win it, d’you see? So we sold everything at home and made our way here.’
‘But do you not find it most dreadfully lonely here?’
Did I imagine it, or did Miss Lyell lean a touch closer? Vexed, and entirely superfluous to their conversation, I turned away. To my left, Tyler and Lyell were deep in some tedious discussion of politics, with Mrs Blennerhassett occasionally interjecting some opinion. I had little to offer on that subject, and they showed no interest in hearing it. I returned my attention to Miss Lyell.
‘Everything you could desire floats down this river,’ Blennerhassett was enthusing. ‘Wines, silver, clothing, furniture, gossip – and of course the most delightful company. We could hardly be better placed if we lived on Pall Mall, and London is such a slum, you know.’
‘You seem to have a great deal of company camped outside at present,’ I observed.
Blennerhassett tutted, as though I had committed some distasteful solecism. ‘If you do not object, we will talk of business after the ladies have retired. Even if we are at the edge of the world here, we are not entirely beyond civilization.’
Chastened, I looked back at my plate. To my surprise, Miss Lyell now intervened on my behalf.
‘You must forgive Lieutenant Jerrold his impatience, Mr Blennerhassett. He is a man of action and decision. Why, have you heard the adventure of our voyage to America? Mr Jerrold single-handedly saved us from certain death.’
She smiled at me, and again I felt the fortifying power of her gaze. A silver candelabra sat on the table between us; its flames, the diamonds at her throat, her flashing eyes and the shimmer of her dress all seemed to fuse into a sparkling constellation of delight. I called for another glass, and listened to her begin to relate the story of our battle with the Spanish privateer. My initial embarrassment quickly faded as the wine began to unknit my nerves, and she proved an engaging storyteller. Several times, confessing her helpless ignorance of matters nautical, she turned to me for the correct term or phrase, and I became ever more forward in volunteering facts or amending her recollections. Gradually the whole table was drawn into the tale, listening with rapt attention as she described the mutinous crew, the overwhelming odds, the terrible punishment we had taken and our last, desperate broadside. Somewhere about the moment where our mast was shot away I felt a soft slipper crook itself around my ankle and tug it forward under the table. She never broke her tale, but I fancied I saw inviting glances flashing across the table at me.
‘It seems Lieutenant Jerrold is a useful man in a sea fight,’ said Tyler, when Miss Lyell had exhausted her account. ‘Although I trust you’ll have a bigger deck to stand on next time you engage the enemy.’
‘I do hope so.’
From there, the dinner progressed in an agreeable blur of conversation, laughter, food and drink – and the warm pressure of the slipper against my stockings. I felt a brief alarm when Mr Tyler excused himself from the table, the package obvious in his hand, but when he returned twenty minutes later it was with a look of approval on his face. The second course was brought out, and then the desserts, which included a great amount of fruit both fresh and preserved. Miss Lyell expressed astonishment at the presence of a pineapple.
‘The soil in these parts is wondrous fertile,’ Blennerhassett explained, with the enthusiasm of a horticultural zealot. ‘It seems there is nothing that cannot come out of it. Why, I sometimes say to Margaret that you could sow a stone and in six months you would have a cliff.’
‘But in December? Surely the frost would ravage it awfully?’
‘I have a glasshouse which gives me a perpetual summer, even in the depths of this dismal season. Perhaps tomorrow I may show it to you?’
‘That would be very kind.’
Mrs Blennerhassett stood. ‘I think, my dear Miss Lyell, that you and I should retire to the drawing room and permit these men their business.’
To my lingering regret, the slipper uncoiled itself from my leg. When the ladies had gone, Blennerhassett rose.
‘We will take port in my study if you’re agreeable, gentlemen?’
We rose, and followed Blennerhassett through the entrance hall and a parlour, out into the chill night. The campfires on the lawn were damped down now, the men doubtless shivering in their tents, but I could still see shadowy figures processing up and down near the landing, muskets on their shoulders. Were they expecting an attack?
A short, curving colonnade brought us to one of the outbuildings. Blennerhassett unlocked the door with a key from his waistcoat and admitted us to a warm, cosy study where a large log fire burned high in the grate. Once again the contents of the room were entirely at odds with my expectations. Scientific devices of every description were jumbled on shelves and tables: scales, measures, flasks, glasses and telescopes, together with an ocean of books and papers strewn between them. His affection for science was obviously promiscuous, for I could see volumes of horticulture, of astronomy and taxonomy, botany and natural philosophy all sprawled open.
Only one island of order stood free of the chaos, a square card table entirely covered by an outspread map. Even here, the man’s eclectic tastes were evident, for its four corners were weighted down variously by a volume of poetry, a sextant, a cigar box and a teacup so long disused it had gathered a scum of dust. In the centre of the map, as casually discarded as the teacup, lay the unfolded oilskin of my packet. It almost felt blasphemous to see the cords cut and the seals snapped open, with crumbs of the wax still scattered over the map, but my attention was fixed entirely on the two pieces of paper lying amid the packaging. The compulsion to know what secret message I had carried so long and through such dangers consumed me, yet all I could make out were strange lines of indecipherable symbols.
Tyler reached over the table and picked up the papers, setting them aside on a workbench behind him. When the decanter had gone around and the butler left, he leaned forward and tapped his finger on a spot near the centre of the map.
‘Well – Mr Lyell, Mr Jerrold – here we are. I guess now you’ve come so far, you’ll want to see we’ve justified your faith.’
I looked down on the map. ‘A New Map of the United States of America’ its legend proclaimed, though at first it looked as though the cartographer had overestimated his task and abandoned it halfway through. The eastern portion of the country was completely filled in, a tapestry of roads, towns, rivers and mountains which bespoke a tamed and obedient land. But from the centre of the map westwards it was an unsettled and unnamed emptiness, a white expanse broken only by a few small rivers, mere cracks around the edges. Like a gulf between these two worlds, splitting the continent almost in two, ran the Mississippi River.
‘As you’ll have seen, we’ve assembled the army here on the island,’ Tyler was saying. ‘But we can’t stay long. The word’s gotten out, and Jefferson’s men’ll be closing in on us fast.’
I did not like the sound of that, though it was hardly surprising. It seemed our enemies had been closing in ever since we stepped foot in America.
‘We’ve got six boats here and another twelve just up the river at Marietta. There’ll be more to meet us coming down the Cumberland. All told, I figure we’ve enough craft for fifteen hundred men, along with their arms and provisions.’
‘Do you have any artillery yet?’ Blennerhassett enquired.
‘We’ll find that in New Orleans, before we strike west.’
‘How many men have enlisted thus far?’ said Lyell.
Tyler ignored him. ‘For now, our prime need is money. It’s not a cheap business equipping an invasion, you’ll appreciate. The funds you’ve brought from England, Mr Lyell, will be a great help.’
‘You anticipate yourself, Mr Tyler. Where is Colonel Burr? The arrangement was that I would meet him here to discuss his scheme before any monies changed hands.’
Even a man like Tyler, well versed in abrupt frontier manners, recoiled under Lyell’s bite. ‘The colonel was called away down river on business. He’ll be in Kentucky or Tennessee, seeing to something or other.’
‘When will he return?’
‘He won’t. His orders were that if he hadn’t returned by the twenty-eighth of November we should set out. It’s the eighth of December now, and we cannot delay. The river’s already beginning to freeze about us, and it’s said the county militia may be called out. The longer we stay here, the greater our danger.’
That did for me. Perhaps it was the port which sapped my reticence, sitting on top of the claret and Madeira I’d had at dinner; perhaps it was the sheer unreality of sitting in those learned surrounds with a gang of conspirators speaking of armies and artillery; perhaps it was simply the frustration of my ignorance, or the dregs of Nevell’s instructions stirring within me. I banged my glass on the table and stood.
‘I beg your pardon, sirs, but you have me at a disadvantage. At the shortest possible notice I was given a package to bring to Mr Tyler, which duty I have discharged faithfully and at no little hazard to myself.’ So much, at least, was true. ‘I do not ask much in return, but having proved my good offices, I beg you enlighten my ignorance as to your intentions. Or, if you would rather, leave me to my bed.’
I sat down again, trembling. Lyell and Tyler had fixed me with probing looks, while Blennerhassett polished his glasses on his neck-cloth. Had I grievously misjudged the matter?
‘Of course,’ said Tyler. ‘I had forgotten.’
I slumped back, unable to keep from smiling with relief.
‘How much do you know?’
The crackling fire still burned hot against my back, but the smile on my face was frozen as stiff as the trees outside the window. All three of my companions were watching me intently. I reached for the decanter to steady my nerve, then purposely passed it to Lyell on my left. It moved around the table, the liquid tumbling into the glasses and splashing blood-red droplets over the pristine wilderness on the map. All too soon, the decanter was back where it had started.
‘They told me to bring you the package,’ I began. ‘They said it contained something of the utmost delicacy. They said …’
I paused, trying to cut a path through the thicket of confusion in my mind. I was a naval officer, carrying a packet with an Admiralty seal on it. Nevell had warned me of an illegitimate alliance between war and commerce: if Lyell spoke for the commerce, then perhaps I was to represent war. At any rate, I could guess that had Lieutenant Beauchamp been in my place, he would have known enough not to blanch at talk of treason. I leaned in closer, resting my arms on the table.
‘They confided in me that there are certain endeavours of which our government might not approve, but which are nonetheless vital to the interests of our nation. They suggested that although this could not be done in any recognized capacity, a young officer might yet win the approval of his superiors by participating.’ Each word I spoke was like a footstep on thin ice, and each time that I did not shatter my precarious ground my confidence grew. I decided to stop before I overstepped myself. ‘They told me to put myself at your disposal, and to trust that whatever you asked of me would be coincident with my duty. Here I am.’
I picked up the decanter and started it around again, though my glass was drained almost before Lyell had filled his.
‘And you are satisfied that you will not compromise your honour with us?’ Tyler pressed me.
I shrugged. ‘I cannot know unless I know what you intend. But I will believe what my superiors have told me.’ I tried to remember my uncle’s periodic effusions against the current ministry. ‘Lord Grenville and his friends seem more interested in negroes and papists than in prosecuting the war against Buonaparte. If you aim to hurt France or Spain, and serve England – then, sir, I am with you.’
‘Well spoken. Your superiors were right to trust in you, and you in them.’
It seemed an eternity since I had last drawn breath. Now, at last, I began to breathe easier. I could consider what dangerous folly I had embarked upon later.
‘Look at this map,’ Tyler began, ‘and imagine that the continent is divided lengthways in four. East of the Appalachians you have the old colonies, the original thirteen. Between the mountains and the Mississippi, the new states and territories, where we are now. West of the Mississippi you see the other half of her great basin, Louisiana, that President Jefferson purchased off Mr Buonaparte a few years back. Finally, beyond that, Spanish territory, Northern Mexico.’
I peered at the map. The first two divisions were clear enough, but I could see no line demarcating the boundary between the latter two. ‘Where does Louisiana end and Mexico begin?’
‘Somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. No-one’s precisely sure,’ Tyler admitted. ‘Leastways, not for the moment.’
‘That seems careless.’
‘Mr Buonaparte didn’t give many particulars at the time. Told us to fight out the details with the Spanish, as I heard, and was happy enough to take our money.’
‘Not your money,’ Lyell corrected him, ‘our money. Mr Jefferson could not have purchased one acre of Louisiana without the bonds we converted for him in London. Eleven million dollars all told.’
I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You gave eleven million dollars to President Jefferson, and he then made about and paid it to Buonaparte?’
‘Not gave, Mr Jerrold; floated. At a twenty-five per cent profit. You cannot afford to be squeamish about such things in our business.’
‘Anyhow, that’s by the way,’ said Tyler. ‘It’s here that concerns us.’ He tapped his finger on the westernmost part of the map, the Spanish territory. ‘Mexico. You’re a naval man, Mr Jerrold – have you ever taken a Mexican treasure ship?’
I had not, but I knew of those who had and had earned enough from the prize money to leave the sea for ever.
‘Each year, Mexico sends a treasure fleet home to Spain loaded with all the gold and silver they’ve prised out of her mines. The whole value of the colony sailing out of Vera Cruz, and it comes to something above four million dollars.’
‘Which Spain then passes on to her French allies,’ said Blennerhassett. ‘Which Buonaparte uses to buy ships and guns and men to fight his wars.’
At last the mystery began to lift. ‘So you plan to reach Vera Cruz and cut out the treasure fleet?’ It was not a new idea: similar schemes had been rumoured around the navy for years. I did not know that I wanted any part of it, but if I could stay alive, I could foresee a sudden upturn in my fortunes.
Tyler was shaking his head. ‘You’ve misunderstood me. We don’t want the treasure ships.’
‘Don’t we?’
‘Why take the egg when you can have the goose?’
I struggled to follow. ‘But that would mean …’
Tyler nodded. ‘We’re going to invade Mexico.’
At first I thought I had misheard; then that it might be some strange manifestation of American humour which I did not recognize. But all three of my companions were nodding seriously, and the smirk on Lyell’s face bore no trace of mirth. I stared at the map, at the vast extent of the Mexican territory which stretched clear through fifteen degrees of latitude, over three thousand miles long. How could the men gathered on this island hope to overcome it?
Another thought struck me. ‘But is America at war with Spain?’
‘That’s being arranged,’ said Tyler. ‘If we aren’t already, we surely will be by the time we reach New Orleans.’
‘We have a confidante on the Mexican border,’ explained Blennerhassett. ‘General Wilkinson, who commands the American army there, is our man.’
‘Spain and America have been quarrelling over the boundary line for months,’ said Tyler. ‘The country’s ready for war. All we need now is for the general to provoke it at an opportune time, and our army will sweep into Mexico.’
‘How many men do you have?’ I asked. Beside me, I noticed Lyell lean closer in interest.
‘By tomorrow night, we will have enough boats and arms for an army of one and a half thousand.’ There was something evasive in Tyler’s answer which belied his confident tone, but he hurried on before I could consider it. ‘General Wilkinson and his men will join us at New Orleans, together with the artillery. And then there are Lieutenant Jerrold’s ships.’
All eyes turned to me for confirmation of this last fact, and once again I felt the drop of fear in my stomach.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ was all I could think to say. I glanced over Tyler’s shoulder at the letter discarded behind him, the letter I had brought; I wished to all heaven I could read it. Before anyone could question me further, I hurriedly asked, ‘But why so much secrecy? If war with Spain is inevitable, and you will invade Mexico on behalf of America, surely all our skulking about has been needless.’
There was a silence, and again I wondered if I had overstepped some invisible mark of ignorance. Tyler cleared his throat.
‘We’re not exactly acting on behalf of the United States,’ he said. ‘More in what you might call a personal capacity.’
I gaped. ‘You will invade Mexico with your army, and turn it into your own private empire?’
Blennerhassett nodded.
‘An empire which at a single stroke will cut off France and Spain’s supply of bullion, and open new markets to British trade,’ said Lyell. ‘Britain will gain from the debilitation of her enemies and the increase of her commerce, and we will profit handsomely from the investment. We already have Spain on the run in South America, at Buenos Aires; now we will strike in the north and deliver the coup de grâce.’
There were open smiles all around the table. The decanter went around again and Blennerhassett raised his glass. ‘To the riches of Mexico.’
‘To Mexico,’ we chorused.
The fortified wine and the hot fire breathing on my back warmed my soul. On the map spread out before us Mexico seemed mere inches away. With the army camped on our doorstep, the stands of arms we had brought in the flatboat and the laughter in the room, all these dreams of conquest almost seemed tangible.
Half an hour later, in the solitude of my room, it seemed a thoroughly less appetizing proposition. I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled off my shoes, flinging them carelessly in the corner. The fire in the grate was burning lower, and as it ebbed so too did all the promise of Tyler’s scheme. It was lunacy. Even if he had his fifteen hundred men on the island, could he really transport them two thousand miles down the river in the grip of winter? And even that would take them only to New Orleans; from there, there would be hundreds more miles overland into Mexico. From what I had seen thus far of the American interior, and the ominous white spaces on Tyler’s map, I doubted it would be an easy march – even without a Spanish army opposing us. As for the idea that two battalions of mercenaries could topple an empire, that seemed the height of optimism. Yet Lyell and his allies had already achieved it in Buenos Aires.
And then there are Lieutenant Jerrold’s ships. I remembered Tyler’s words, and shivered. The knowledge of how false, how precarious, was my membership of this expedition chilled me. I had already come close to tripping over the precipice of my ignorance; could I truly sustain the pretence all the way to New Orleans, and beyond into Mexico? At some point I would be discovered, and I did not care to contemplate what fate would befall me then.
Yet, of course, if I went even half so far I would have failed. Learn what you can of Mr Tyler and his scheme, Nevell had instructed me, and much against my expectations, I had succeeded. Then stop it. How could I? Alone against an army, removed from all hope of support, I could do nothing. England was too far away, while even if I had known how to betray the conspiracy to the American authorities I would not have dared. Nevell had impressed upon me the paramountcy of avoiding conflict with America: if they learned that a confederacy of Englishmen were plotting to establish a private empire on their western border, in the heart of their continent, there would surely be war.
Through all these discomforting thoughts I always returned to a single point: the package, the letter I had brought from England for Tyler. If it came from Tyler’s accomplices in London, it must give some hint of their strategy. It might also shed light on how I might proceed.
A memory rose in my mind, of Mr Harris lying sprawled on the road with Miss Lyell’s bullet in his skull. It was a salutary fate for anyone who might covet the letter. On the other hand, it would not be so very different if my own duplicity were discovered. The choice was hardly enviable.
I sat on the edge of my bed for almost an hour, trembling with my thoughts and listening to the household gradually put itself to bed. When I had counted ten minutes without any sound of movement, I stood and edged open the door. The room next to mine, the library, was dark, and I could see no light from the drawing room beyond. With my heart heaving like a bilge-pump, I slipped out of the bedchamber. The house was quiet, save for the last embers crumbling in the hall fireplace, and my stockinged feet made little noise on the steps. I carried no candle, though I kept one of Lyell’s Manton pistols tucked in my belt. How I would escape from this lonely island if I had to use it I did not consider. Almost certainly, I would not.
I paused at the foot of the stairs, then made my way through the east parlour and out into the portico. The icy stone was like cut glass under my feet; I almost yelped to feel it through my stocking, and flailed down the passage with ungainly hops to reach the study. I prayed the sentries were too busy warming their hands to see my floundering progress between the white columns. The handle to the study door was as cold as the ground, but it was not locked; I slipped through and pulled it shut behind me. Even inside, the frozen air turned my rapid breaths to vapour.
For all the effort I had lavished on bringing Tyler his letter, he had shown it a remarkable indifference once he had it. It still lay where he had left it on a workbench against the wall, beside a pickled frog in a jar and an astronomical almanac. I lifted the two sheets of paper tenderly, as if they might rip apart in my fingers, and crouched by the hearth where the fire’s last glow gave just enough light to read.
As quickly as my hopes had risen, disappointment knifed through them. Tyler’s correspondents had trussed up their package with secret twines and multiple seals; I should have foreseen that the message within would be equally bound up in secrecy. The symbols on the paper danced and flickered before me in the firelight, but no amount of light could have illuminated their meaning. They were like some cabalistic incantation or ancient runes: some looked like letters, though from an eclectic alphabet; others were like numbers or mathematical symbols; still others bore no resemblance to anything, but were scrawled across the page in fathomless combinations of squares and lines, circles and hatch-marks. Had I been told it was the hand of the devil himself I might well have believed it.
I turned to the second sheet and my hopes rekindled. This was not some opaque cipher; it was English, hastily written with many crossings-out and revisions, but perfectly legible. The ink was fresh, and sand still clung to the paper. Crouching behind the table, I held it up to the fire and squinted close.
Mr Tyler,
I received Colonel Burr’s most recent communication on the 18th inst. Having satisfied myself of his true intentions and good faith, and the high chance of a profitable conclusion to his venture, I have this day despatched two frigates, the Cambrian and the Duke of Gloucester, in aid of your army. They will take station about the line of twenty-eight degrees north latitude, due south of the mouth of the river Mississippi, for the stated purpose of monitoring neutral commerce, and there await word of your success. Their captains, fully cognisant of their duty, answer only to me, and will support your operations to their ultimate conclusion.
The mails being unsafe, I am sending this by the hand of a junior officer. He is a resourceful man well known to me, and sympathetic to our designs, though ignorant of their true extent at present; you may confide freely in him. He will see this business to its end, howsoever that may be.
You will remember that the current ministry, in its pusillanimity, would condemn our ambitions if it knew them. I trust that you will recollect this fact as you conduct your operations, and shroud them in the utmost secrecy. You must not fail; to do so would be the ruin of us all.
I remain, &c
As my eyes took in the name at the end, faithfully transcribed by whoever had deciphered the letter, I almost dropped it in the fire. I snatched it back; then, slowly, held it up again to the light. I had not been mistaken.
I fumbled with the papers, bringing the cipher sheet back to the fore. With all the esoteric symbols and meaningless characters, I had not troubled to look past the first few lines. Now, I followed the cryptic message to its end. In the bottom right corner, exactly where I had expected, there was one final scribble. To the unprepared eye it would have looked little different to any of the other marks – a little longer and more expansive, perhaps, but not overly so. Yet I knew, without question, it was not a part of the code. It was a signature. A signature I knew almost as well as my own, one which had impressed itself on me at the bottom of endless letters enumerating my faults, bemoaning my failings, condemning my errors and threatening my ruin.
It was my uncle’s.