Philippe received his host’s invitation to join him in his bookroom with an expression of acute pleasure.
“I have you to thank for this, Gervais,” he said to his companion as they wended their way to John Burke’s bookroom.
Launey smiled. “That would be going too far,” he demurred. “I am not the only one who wishes to see Philippe Duhet receive his due.”
Philippe gave a self-deprecatory shake of his head and smiled faintly. Inwardly, he was exultant. He had never foreseen this turn of events—that the American government would wish to honor him, albeit mistakenly, for the part Philippe Duhet had played in Rouen. When Launey had first broached the subject, Philippe had been wary. It did not seem likely that Adam would maintain his silence if Philippe were to receive honors for something his half-brother had effected.
By degrees, Philippe came to see that Adam’s silence played into his hands. For whatever reason, Adam had been at some pains to conceal his part in the affair. Philippe thought he understood. The story was so farfetched that no one would give it credence. He had to give Adam his due. The plot had been well executed. Adam’s masquerade as commissioner had gone undetected, and was, to this day, undetected. That fortuitous circumstance was not only Adam’s doing. He, himself, had maintained his silence, even after he had been released from the rebel camp when most men in his place would have created a hue and outcry. The thought that he would most assuredly become a laughingstock was what had induced him to hold his peace. And how he thanked his lucky stars that he had chosen that course! For if Adam suddenly decided to challenge him on this, even if he could produce witnesses, who would believe him?
But Adam would never challenge him now, thought Philippe. For should he do so, Claire’s role as his mistress must be revealed. He would make sure of it. And Adam would do nothing that would bring shame on Claire. For that very reason, Philippe knew he need not be troubled by witnesses. For Claire’s sake, Adam would ensure their silence.
Honors were within his grasp, and he owed it all to Adam. He almost laughed out loud. The government of the United States wished to honor him. It did not matter that the honor might be nothing more than a handshake from the President. It was what followed that was of significance. He would have the goodwill of men of influence. He would be fêted and taken-up. His future would be assured. He would have the financial backing of well-wishers should he embark on some enterprise. Hadn’t Launey intimated that his own fortunes had followed a similar course? Americans were the most openhanded race on God’s earth. Their generosity was almost legendary, so Launey averred. Philippe had no reason to doubt him. In fact, his own experiences confirmed his friend’s observations. Even as plain Philippe Vissery, a nobody with nothing to recommend him but graceful manners and an easy charm, he had found a ready welcome wherever he went. As Philippe Duhet…
He felt a faint stirring of caution and shrugged it off. The role of Vissery had served its purpose. He had not known what to expect when he had first set foot on American soil. For all he knew, his notoriety might have preceded him. Instead of which, thought Philippe dryly, Adam’s intervention at Rouen had turned the tide of diplomatic opinion in his favor.
His mind raced ahead to what would be the fruition of all his hopes. He had yet to even the score with his half-brother. That day was not far off, even supposing Adam had sent Claire away. At the thought of Claire, amusement gleamed in Philippe’s eyes. The girl was an innocent. She had made an eloquent though vain appeal to everything that was fine in his nature. She had no conception of a hatred so obsessive that a man would risk everything, even life itself, to pay off old scores. But Adam understood. He must not underestimate Adam.
It was Launey who held open the door to their host’s bookroom, motioning Philippe to precede him. At their entrance, several gentlemen rose to their feet. John Burke came forward and made the introductions.
Philippe’s eyes were immediately drawn to Alexander Hamilton. This dapper little gentleman with ruddy cheeks and piercing blue eyes held no less a position in Washington’s Cabinet than Secretary of the Treasury. Like Philippe, he, too, had once been an immigrant. It was public knowledge that Hamilton had scarcely arrived as a youth from the island of Nevis when he had caught General Washington’s eye. With Washington as his patron, Hamilton’s rise had been meteoric. The thought brought a gleam of interest to Philippe’s eyes. If he had had the least suspicion that his host, in his day, had served as Adam’s patron, Philippe might have had second thoughts about remaining in this select company. But he did not know it. The subject had never come up, and those who might have enlightened him chose not to do so.
Next in line to be introduced was John Burke’s brother, the young congressman. As Hamilton was to Washington, so David Burke was to Hamilton. There were two other gentlemen who needed no introduction to Philippe. Like Launey, they were fugitives from the Terror in France and had made themselves very useful to Philippe since his arrival in New York.
The gentlemen seated themselves. The brandy decanter was handed round Conversation was desultory and tended to be dominated by Hamilton and John Burke. Philippe had known that Burke and Hamilton went back a long ways, to the time when they both had law practices on Wall Street. What he had not known and what became very evident from their idle chitchat was that Hamilton held the elder man in the highest esteem. They had worked together in smoothing out wrinkles in the Constitution before it was ratified Philippe gathered that Hamilton was trying to lure Burke back into the stream of federal politics, without success. Law was Burke’s first love. New York was his home.
Presently, there was a lull in the conversation. All eyes looked expectantly to Alexander Hamilton. Smiling pleasantly, he said without preamble, “Let me say at once that, before we can proceed, we must have done with subterfuge.” Though the words held a faint threat, the smile was reassuring. His eyes held Philippe’s. With almost shocking directness, he went on, “Think very carefully before you answer this question. Am I addressing myself to Philippe Vissery or Philippe Duhet?”
Thoughts and impressions flashed warningly in Philippe’s mind. His eyes drifted from person to person. Slowly, he took a long swallow from the glass in his hand.
“And if I say that I am Philippe Duhet?” he temporized.
Hamilton’s bark of laughter was spontaneous. “Spoken with all the subtlety of a true diplomat!” he exclaimed, and flashed an amused grin at John Burke.
The comment seemed to ease the tension. Others joined in the laughter. John Burke made haste to replenish his guests’ glasses.
Hamilton’s piercing gaze returned to Philippe. With surprising gravity, he said, “I presume you can prove your identity?”
At this point, Launey struck in, “I can vouch for the gentleman. He is Philippe Duhet, the Comte de Blaise. Good God, I’ve known Philippe since we were in shortcoats.”
Launey was not the only one to voice his endorsement. The other gentlemen from France both spoke out, crediting their escape from the guillotine to the good offices of the commissioner of Rouen.
Hamilton merely shook his head. “It won’t do,” he said, and silenced the querulous outburst with a warning frown. Philippe appeared to be amused. “It won’t do,” Hamilton repeated, “and for a very good reason. Our friend here has established himself as Vissery. Yes, yes, I’m aware of the circumstances that forced him to that course. He assumed, wrongly as it turns out, that agents of the Convention were on his trail. That is, if he is Philippe Duhet.”
Philippe’s long fingers, which were toying with a button on his waistcoat, stilled. Hamilton observed the gesture.
“I assure you,” he said, addressing Philippe directly, “Philippe Duhet’s name is no longer on the proscribed lists from France. If it were, you may be sure, the government of the United States would offer the gentleman sanctuary, but to honor him publicly or unofficially would be out of the question. My government will do nothing to jeopardize its cordial relations with France, especially since Robespierre has been toppled.”
“As I understand,” said John Burke, “the Terror has come to an end.”
“Quite,” assured Hamilton, his eyes still locked on Philippe. “But I am waiting for my answer—an unequivocal answer, that is.”
Philippe smiled, thinking that he had nothing to lose and perhaps a great deal to gain. “A man who is not cautious in these desperate times is a fool,” he said, and slipping his hand inside his coat pocket, he produced a ring. It was no ordinary ring as every man there could see.
“It bears the crest of the Comtes de Blaise,” offered Launey, addressing Hamilton.
“Then you are Philippe Duhet?”
“Naturally.”
Hamilton sat back in his chair. “Thank you,” he said. “That is what I wished to know.”
At a nod from Hamilton, David Burke slowly rose to his feet. Philippe sensed the fine hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise.
The young congressman’s tone was sombre and formal. “Philippe Duhet,” he said, “it is my duty to inform you that, under the provisions of the Aliens Bill, you have been declared a political undesirable. In short, sir, you are not welcome on American soil. Passage has been arranged for your immediate return to France aboard the packet Mariner.
“These words are not mine, sir, but come to you directly from the President of the United States of America. President Washington’s decision is final. No appeals will be permitted.”
The silence was long and unbroken. Philippe looked from one to the other of his companions, as though expecting an outcry. None was forthcoming. A mask of indifference seemed to have settled on each unrevealing face. Not even a flicker of surprise registered.
His voice betrayed nothing of the rage which almost choked him. “You, too, Brutus?” he said, addressing Gervais Launey.
Launey answered in a less restrained tone. “As I said, Philippe, I have known you since we were in shortcoats. You sickened me then. You still sicken me. Did you really suppose that your past would never catch up with you? Some of us have long memories.”
“And Rouen?” intoned Philippe politely.
Launey’s smile was grim. “We know about Rouen,” he said. “In point of fact, I was one of those who prevailed upon your half-brother to take your place.”
“Ah.”
Without haste, Philippe rose to his feet. His look was amused. “In all this, I sense the hand of Adam Dillon,” he said. “I should have expected something of the sort. Adam has always hated me.”
Hamilton refused to rise to the bait. He merely said, “You will go along with these gentlemen, if you please, Monsieur Duhet. They are charged with your safety.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Certainly not! You have committed no crimes on American soil that I am aware of. As I said, these gentlemen are charged with your safety until the Mariner sails. I might add that it is not the wish of my government to embarrass you in any way. Whether you return to France as Vissery or Duhet is up to you. I meant what I said. The name of Philippe Duhet is not on any proscribed list that I have ever seen.”
“In that case,” said Philippe, as though he had not a care in the world, “I should prefer to go by the name of Vissery.”
“As you wish.”
When the door had closed on Philippe and his escort, only three gentlemen remained, John Burke, his brother David, and Alexander Hamilton. Of those three, only David Burke appeared to be disturbed by the little drama which had just taken place.
“If it ever gets back to the President or Congress,” said David Burke gloomily, “that we took it upon ourselves to send Duhet back to France, our political careers will be over, and that’s the least that will happen to us. We are conspirators, that’s what we are.”
Hamilton laughed. “Who is there to betray us? Duhet, you may be sure, will keep his own counsel. A man of his consequence would not wish to lose face.”
“You seem very pleased with yourself,” observed David Burke sourly.
Hamilton shook his head. “No,” he said. “What amuses me is your part in all this, John. In all the years I have known you, unlike me, you have never lent your support to anything that could not be examined under a magnifying glass. You are not usually so devious.”
“Devious!” scoffed David Burke. “That is a tepid word for our part in all of this! I would not say that treasonable is an exaggeration! Yes, and I am not only referring to what took place here tonight. I still find it hard to believe that a man of your principles, John, would have encouraged Adam in this Rouen affair.”
“I’m of the same opinion,” said Hamilton, enjoying himself immensely.
“Surely all men of principle must deplore recent events in France?” murmured John Burke.
Ignoring this observation, David Burke went on in the same censorious tone, “We were fortunate tonight that Duhet took us at face value.”
“He had no reason not to,” pointed out the elder Burke mildly. “You are both known to have considerable influence with the President.”
At this remark, David Burke visibly winced. “The President would never have sanctioned Duhet’s removal,” he said. “His powers are not so far-ranging.”
“And so I told Adam. This was the best I could come up with at short notice.”
John’s reasonable tones, far from appeasing his reluctant accomplice, seemed to have the opposite effect. “And where on earth did you get the idea of an Aliens Bill?” he demanded shortly. “It’s the first I’ve heard of such a thing.”
“I borrowed it from the British,” answered John. “Gentlemen, you have my thanks. I don’t think I can express adequately how much your support has meant to me.”
“John! We trust your judgment implicitly!” exclaimed Hamilton.
There was an odd silence as the eyes of the two brothers met and held. After a moment, the younger Burke’s face split into a wide grin. “I second Mr. Hamilton’s sentiments,” he declared. “And even if I did not, you know that I would never fail you.”
“Do I?”
“Good God, John, don’t you suppose that I know how much I owe you?” If anything, his grin intensified. “And not least,” he said softly, “for my present domestic happiness.”
John’s lips curved in an answering smile. In a more expansive mood, he handed round the brandy decanter. “I must say, gentlemen,” he said, “that you played your parts to admiration. And may I say, Alex, that the way you handled Duhet was positively masterly? For a time, there, I was beginning to fear that he would never admit to who he was.”
Hamilton, who had been observing the interesting byplay between the two brothers, smiled at this and said, “Yes. We could hardly have had any reason to deport so harmless a creature as Philippe Vissery.” After an interval, he went on musingly. “I suppose Duhet is as black as he has been painted? What I mean to say is…I found myself in sympathy with the fellow as the interview progressed. And at the end…well…he conducted himself with admirable restraint. In his shoes, I think I would have been foaming at the mouth.”
John Burke sat very still. “Yes,” he said, “to all appearances, Duhet is a charming fellow. No one disputes it. It’s what makes him so…”
“…dangerous?” supplied Hamilton.
“…diabolical,” came the swift retort.
Philippe managed to maintain his air of nonchalance until he was safely behind the closed doors of his bedchamber in the Black Boar Tavern. The three gentlemen who formed his “escort” had made themselves comfortable in his private parlor. He could hear the chink of glasses as they made free with his stock of brandy. It seemed that they were settling in for the duration. A card game was soon in progress.
Moving to the window, Philippe twitched the curtain aside. It was as he expected. Sentries had been posted. If he tried to go out the window, the alarm would be raised.
He could scarcely credit his own gullibility. Rouen! There was never any question of the American government rewarding him for his services as commissioner. It was all part of Adam’s plot to entice him into admitting his true identity. If he had only clung to his story from the very beginning, if he had only insisted that he was Vissery, no one could have proved him a liar.
He had been overconfident. He thought he knew how Adam’s mind worked. Never, in all their battles as boys and as young men, had his half-brother ever taken the initiative. Adam played a defensive game. He, Philippe, would make the moves and Adam would try to check them. It was a pattern that was well established. He had been counting on it.
Again, he thought of Rouen, and he gnashed his teeth together. In Rouen, that childhood pattern had been broken. Adam had taken the initiative there. Why had he not foreseen that the same thing could happen here?
His face twisted in fury. He had not foreseen it because Adam had set the stage to allay his suspicions. Launey and all the rest, the men in high places whom he had believed he was so subtly cultivating, they had all been deceiving him! They were all in Adam’s pocket!
If Adam only knew it, he was sending him back to France to face charges on a spate of crimes from one end of the country to the other. The amnesty which Robespierre’s successors had inaugurated was not for the likes of him. His crimes were not only of a political nature. And if his name was not on any proscribed list, that was because it was generally presumed in France that he had perished on the scaffold. He could never return to France under his own name.
Perhaps Adam knew it. No, thought Philippe a moment later. Adam did not have it in him to pursue his goal so ruthlessly. Adam had proved that he was a formidable foe. But he had an Achilles heel. He must always allow the ties of blood to stand in his way. He would stop short of sending a brother to his death. He, Philippe Duhet, accepted no such constraints, as Adam would soon discover to his cost.
Whistling under his breath, he moved to the gentleman’s commode. He dispensed with the ribbon which tied back his hair and surveyed himself critically in the mirror.
“Ebony,” he roared.
It was Launey who came to the door.
“Might I presume on your good nature?” said Philippe politely. “Would you be so kind as to inform my man that I wish him to draw my bath? He usually hangs out in the kitchens, making himself useful.”
Adam returned to Hanover Square in the wee hours of the morning. Without Claire’s presence, the house felt as cold and unwelcoming as a morgue. There was no question of him seeking his bed. He was too wound up, too restless. He made for his study. The fire had been allowed to die down. Snatching a glass and a decanter from a side table, he made for the stairs, assured that the fire in his bedchamber would be banked up.
Ensconced in a wing armchair flanking the grate, he poured himself a generous shot of whiskey. There was a slight tremor in his hand. He noted it with dispassionate interest before taking several long swallows in quick succession. The whiskey had a steadying effect.
It was almost over. In a day or two, as soon as there was a break in the weather, the Mariner would set sail for France with Philippe on board. Though everything in him revolted at the thought, Adam was resolved to see his half-brother one last time before, hopefully, they parted forever. He closed his eyes, trying to envision that scene.
He had, quite deliberately, kept himself out of the picture as the jaws of his trap had closed around Philippe. Adam did not wish his half-brother to think that he was gloating, or that he wanted to humiliate him. He had stolen a march on Philippe, that was all. And though they had come too far for the possibility of a reconciliation, he hoped that his moderation had paved the way for a truce of sorts. It was time to bury the past and get on with the business of living, if only Philippe could be persuaded to see it that way.
He would tell Philippe that he was sending him back to reclaim his estates and fortune. There was an amnesty in France. That must count for something. But something more was required, a threat to stay Philippe’s hand. He had friends in France, Adam would tell Philippe. If some untimely accident were to befall himself or anyone close to him, it would be the signal to unleash his hounds upon him. Any sane man must heed such a warning in the interests of self-preservation.
Was Philippe entirely sane?—that was the question. Adam sincerely doubted it. In the first flush of rage, Philippe was capable of anything. It was for this reason that Adam could not settle. Until, with his own eyes, he saw the Mariner sailing out of New York Harbor, he would find no peace.
His fears, he tried to assure himself, were groundless. He had a dozen men patrolling the environs of the Black Boar. Launey and his associates were safely ensconced inside. Hadn’t he just come from there, having satisfied himself that the place was as tight as a drum? There could be no escape for Philippe. And Claire was miles away.
Claire. When Philippe was safely away, he would go to her. He would tell her everything—how he had tried to throw Philippe off the scent by feigning indifference to the one person who was everything in the world to him. He would tell her about Dulcie’s role, how she had been Philippe’s innocent dupe, and how necessary it had become to maintain the fiction that he was an indifferent husband even in the privacy of his own home. He would tell her how he had betrayed himself with that one revealing look when he had looked up to find her alone in the sleigh with Philippe, and how imperative it had suddenly become to send her away for her own good.
She would think that he had exaggerated the danger, of course. The kind of evil that Philippe represented was so entirely beyond Claire’s ken. Her next thought would be for Philippe. And Adam would be happy to reassure her on that point. For her sake, he was being more generous than Philippe deserved Surely she must see that?
And when they had done with talking, he would send the servants away and lead Claire to their bedchamber. Though he was starved for her, he would take her with gentleness, with reverence, binding her more closely to him with the inevitable rapture they found in each other’s arms. And Claire would give herself freely, withholding nothing from him, because she knew how desperately he needed her. And afterwards, in the afterglow, they would talk in whispers of the future, anticipating with awe the birth of their child. Before long, he would want to take her again, but he would deny himself. Claire came before anything, Claire who had brought joy and radiance into his life, Claire who had taught him the meaning of…love.
Adam came awake instantly. The door knocker was pounding. He glanced at the timepiece on the mantel. Dawn was still hours away.
Two strides took him to the door of his chamber. He could hear the bolt of the front door as it was pulled back. There were four gentlemen milling around in the foyer. It was Launey who ascended the stairs to meet Adam halfway.
“He got away from us,” he said tersely. “He and that man of his tricked us.”
“Tell me what happened as I get dressed,” said Adam, leading the way upstairs.
“He wanted to bathe,” said Launey. “I could see no harm in it.”
“No,” said Adam. “Go on.”
“His man fetched the water. We were playing cards in the other room. Everything seemed normal. We could hear him, you see.”
Adam found what he was looking for—a warm riding cloak to keep out the winter chill. He threw it over his shoulders and motioned his companion out the door.
Launey continued his narrative as they descended the stairs. “When I finally went in to see why Duhet was taking so long at his bath, only his manservant was there.”
“How did Duhet escape?”
“Over the roof. No, he did not go out the window. The most damnable thing! We found a trapdoor in the closet in his chamber. It gave onto the attics.”
“The men I posted to watch the inn—surely they must have seen something?”
“That’s just it, Adam! They swear that the only person they encountered was—you!”
Adam broke his stride and turned to give his companion his undivided attention. “What do you mean—they encountered me?”
“They thought it was you. It must have been Duhet masquerading as you. He’d cut his hair, of course, and changed his garments. In that half-light, it’s impossible to tell the difference between you.”
“How much of a head start does he have?”
“An hour. No more than two. We searched everywhere for him. He seems to have vanished into thin air.”
A muscle clenched in Adam’s cheek. “I know where to find him,” he said.