“Nonsense.” Dr. Franklin shoved Jude Fenimore’s torn word strips back toward Daniel and Becca. “This proves nothing.”
Daniel shuffled through the strips, plucking another one from the bouquet of paper and shaking it at Franklin. “Someone intends to kill you, and Jude Fenimore came to warn you. This proves it.”
Daniel and Becca had barged into his study as soon as they arrived.
The vertically torn strip read:
Never intended
Trusted, and I trusted him
a thousand francs
Saw it all. But I will not
kill Benjamin Franklin, and I
I am no traitor.
“I am a dangerous man to trifle with,” Franklin said. “I have the king’s ear and the love of all of France. There is no one here—not one person—who would dare to harm me.”
Daniel’s temper rose with his voice. “Your carriage was sabotaged. Someone’s already tried to kill you.”
“And those with a connection to you have been harmed,” Becca said. “The man with the red rose is dead. The attacks all lead back to you and to the letter you showed us.”
“The letter?” Franklin shifted, moving an inkwell an inch or two, straightening a pile of papers.
“The letter attempting to bribe you into reconciling America and England.” Becca’s eyes widened as if confused by Franklin’s memory lapse.
Franklin did not exhibit nervous tics. Not ever. Not until this moment. “What have you done, Dr. Franklin?” Daniel asked.
Franklin raked his hand through his thinning hair. He sagged in his chair.
The pulse in Daniel’s neck beat an alarm. “What have you done?” he repeated.
“I wrote that bribery letter. I practiced a handwriting that was unlike my own. I had the letter delivered to myself. I made up the entire story, and I made up the man with the red rose.”
“And yet you asked us to find the man with the red rose at Notre Dame.” Daniel stood, leaning over the desk.
“How did you know he would be waiting at Notre Dame holding a red rose?” Becca added.
“I didn’t,” Franklin said. “I wanted a witness who could swear that he hadn’t arrived if the letter was made public.”
“You must have been shocked when we told you we saw him,” Becca said.
Franklin nodded.
Daniel’s anger exploded. “Find the spy, you said. Go to Notre Dame, you said. We risked our lives for you, for nothing, for a lie.”
“Sit down, Mr. Alloway,” Franklin said. When Daniel remained standing, he added, “Please.”
Daniel reluctantly took a seat.
“It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to deceive himself.” Franklin stared past Daniel and Becca as if to avoid the judgment he expected to find in their eyes. “I wrote that, you know.”
“Yes, we do know. Your daughter Sally quotes you all the time,” Becca said.
“I told myself that no one would be harmed by my letter,” Franklin said.
“A man is dead because of it,” Daniel said. “You could have died because of that letter.”
“Why? Why did you write it in the first place.” Becca’s voice was gentler than Daniel’s.
“Congress is ready to replace me with some young rapscallion who will blunder his way into the French court and offend everyone, just as John Adams has.” Franklin looked away again. “The Congress needed a reminder that I still matter, that I can do as much for the country as I have ever done, perhaps more. What would it hurt if the reminder came as news of a letter asking me to reconcile our country with England?
“I deceived myself into believing that the letter I wrote was necessary. It was for a cause greater than myself, a lie for independence.”
“A righteous lie. Is that it?” Daniel struggled to control his temper.
“Why didn’t you tell us about the letter when Jude Fenimore died?” Becca asked.
Franklin seemed to shrink inside his plain brown suit. “Because it would make me appear to be a desperate old man, which, it seems, I am.”
Floorboards creaked overhead. A gardener called to a child not to step on the flower beds.
“You lie when it serves your purpose.” Daniel’s voice was raw. “You lied to your brother all those years ago. How did you sign the letters you wrote for his newspaper?”
“Silence Dogood.” Franklin’s eyes lit with humor.
“You disguised your handwriting then, too. You bragged about it.” Franklin had shared that story with Daniel over a tankard of ale.
“Those letters hurt no one.” Franklin frowned.
“And in London before the revolution began?” Daniel accused Franklin. “You wrote a letter supporting the American cause and signed it ‘An Edict by the King of Prussia.’ The London papers believed you. They published it that way. That was one of your drinking stories, too.”
Becca laughed, then covered her mouth.
“Call it an imitation letter, not a lie,” Franklin winked at Becca.
Daniel stopped himself from growling. Franklin and his damned charm. Even Becca wasn’t immune.
“There was another instance.” Daniel closed his eyes to avoid watching Franklin flirt with her. “It was quite a scandal. You wrote a letter to make the Hessian soldiers in America think that their officers wanted them dead.”
“No one was hurt.” Franklin’s lips tightened.
“You didn’t keep your bribery letter a secret. Edward Bancroft carried the letter into the house. You told Gabriel d’Aumont about it, too. Half of Paris must know of the bribe by now.”
“I am counting on it.” Franklin’s tone was sharp. “I needed everyone to know about the letter. I needed word to travel to London, Versailles, and, yes, all the way to Philadelphia. How else could I make my point to the Congress?”
Daniel imagined letters about the bribery letter crossing from one continent to another in just a matter of weeks.
“I not only told Monsieur d’Aumont about the letter, I sent him my response.” Franklin’s lips curled into a proud half-smile. “I expressed great indignation that anyone would think I could be persuaded to betray my country. My indignation would have been real, if the letter had been genuine, of course.”
Daniel felt the urge to punch something. He eyed Franklin’s jaw.
“But then Jude Fenimore died,” Becca said.
“When he disappeared, I chose to put the entire matter out of my mind.”
“You put the image of Mr. Fenimore tied to your lightning rod on your roof out of your mind?” Daniel scoffed.
“I thought his death put an end to whatever game was being played.” Franklin’s gaze shifted left, then returned to Daniel.
“You can’t believe that,” Becca said. “Mr. Fenimore’s killer placed him on the lightning rod to make a statement. It was meant to tell everyone who saw him there that the murder was about you.”
Franklin winced. “All right, Mrs. Parcell. The truth is that I shall never forget the sight of Mr. Fenimore on the roof. It was cruel. His death haunts me. And, yes, I understood that it was a warning, though I have the damnedest time understanding what that warning means.”
“And we haven’t found the killer.” Daniel’s voice was flat.
Franklin leaned forward, beseeching them. “You and others have been hurt, Mr. Alloway. That is why I agreed when Monsieur d’Aumont suggested you both go home. Go home and be safe.”
Patience Wright’s voice boomed from the front hall. “Can’t anyone here find my wrap?”
“Don’t you have another, Patience?” Edward Bancroft called.
Patience? Daniel turned to Becca and wondered if he looked as surprised as she. Only the closest of friends used each other’s first names.
Franklin sighed, splayed his hands on the desk and pushed himself upright. “We can’t be late for the ball.”
“You’re not thinking of going?” Becca’s forehead furrowed. “You shouldn’t be in a crowd of hundreds of people. Whoever killed Mr. Fenimore may make another attempt on your life. Jude Fenimore died because he wanted to warn you.”
“Hundreds? There could be thousands of people at Versailles,” Franklin said, “and I’ll be perfectly safe. Besides, if I am to be killed, I would prefer to die while drinking French champagne.”
“L’idiota,” Daniel muttered under his breath.
Franklin scowled. “I understand enough Italian to know you’ve insulted me.”
“Then don’t insult us, Dr. Franklin. Don’t tell us you’re willing to risk your life to drink champagne.”
Franklin sighed. “I am attending the ball at Versailles because I am the American ambassador to France and because the royal family will be insulted if Dr. Franklin cancels at the last moment.
“France has paid for our revolution. They have bankrupted themselves to give us a chance at freedom. Ask Monsieur d’Aumont if you want proof of that. So, no, Mr. Parcell, I will not insult America’s only friend by staying home tonight.”
Franklin turned to Becca. “You have an hour to dress before the ball, Mrs. Parcell. I pray that is sufficient.”
Humming under his breath, the hairdresser teased Becca’s hair over the small pillow that gave her strands more than a foot of height. She sat in the drawing room on the third floor, facing a full-length mirror.
She was a hostage to the hairdresser for a while longer and let her thoughts drift to the afternoon’s return to the perfume shop.
Madame Fargeon had burst into tears at the sight of Renée, shocking her husband and the customers into rare silence. Becca had left the two women in a narrow bedroom on the third floor.
She smiled at the memory. The stern, cold Madame Fargeon berated Renée as she dabbed her forehead gently with a wet cloth that scented the room with cloves. Love, like flowers, it seemed, grew in many shapes and colors here in Paris.
A sharp pin poked the back of Becca’s skull. She lurched forward to avoid the pain.
“If madam will sit without moving, shhil vous plait.” He spoke through a mouthful of hairpins, that turned the S into a snakelike shhhh. “I am very gentle with my clients, but you give me a challenge to finish in so little time.”
“Pardon,” Becca murmured.
“I have given you a canvas, madam, one as magnificent as the surface of any painting.” he lectured. “Do you wish your hair to reflect your delicate emotions? Then we will decorate to express those sentiments. Perhaps there is an event you would care to commemorate with your hairstyle, a pouf à la circonstance? Your country’s great signing of the Declaration of Independence, perhaps?”
She’d had enough. “We leave for Versailles soon, and I am horribly sad that I must cut your time short.” She peered into the mirror to assure herself that Augusta still guarded Jude Fenimore’s strips of paper. Becca and Daniel had asked her to keep them safe.
She nodded, patting the lumpy linen bag resting on the couch. She’d fanned out the skirt of her lavender and silver ball gown along the bench to avoid wrinkles. Her skin was whitened with cosmetics, her hair powdered white and festooned with lavender silk ribbons and purple silk roses.
“But I am not finished.” The hairdresser’s expression filled with horror.
“Yes. Yes, you are finished,” Becca said gently. “If you will add that one decoration, we will be done.” She pointed to the end table next to her chair.
He glared at the small furry object that lay there. “No, madam, this will destroy my reputation.”
“We will, of course, pay an additional fee for your masterful work,” Augusta said smoothly.
The hairdresser’s Adam’s apple bobbed as avarice warred with pride. Greed won. “As madam wishes.” He picked up the miniature version of Dr. Franklin’s famous round fur cap with two long fingers.
His eyes narrowed as he studied Becca’s hair. Then he nodded to himself, pinning the hat at a tipsy angle above her forehead.
“Do you really like it?” Augusta asked Becca.
“It is the best surprise. I will stop and tell Hannah how grateful I am.” Augusta had sewn the miniature cap, but it was Hannah’s idea to create it. Becca paused. “I wish she were coming with us tonight.”
“She is adamant.” Augusta shook her head. “She says that she would not feel safe there.”
“She must wish she’d stayed in Morristown.” Becca sighed.
“No,” Augusta sighed. “She will never regret this trip, no matter how it ends.”
The two women exchanged glances in the mirror. Augusta was talking about Michael. Hannah would never regret their reunion. Becca hoped he was safe.
The hairdresser’s eyes lit. He leaned toward the floor, fishing in a large canvas bag that held combs and powders. He pulled out three long pheasant feathers that gleamed brown and black. In the mirror, Becca watched him pin them in a fan shape behind the miniature hat. “Now, it is art,” he said solemnly. “I give you a tableau of America’s natural world.”
Becca bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the hairdresser’s grave pronouncement. But viewing his creation in the mirror, she revised her opinion. “I quite like it,” she said with surprise. “It suits me. Thank you.”
Lady Augusta shepherded the man to the door.
Becca stood, examining herself in the mirror. She felt like an overdecorated cake. Hip pads and wires held her copper-colored gown out at an impossibly wide width. She would have to step sideways through doors to enter or exit. And the gown itself was heavier than a sack of wheat. Every inch was covered in gold beads, jewels, lace, and ribbons.
The hairdresser’s touch of whimsy, this one bit of humor, made her feel entirely like herself.
Daniel arrived moments later. His black suit was decorated only by slim gold ribbons at the sleeve and hem. He was dressing more like an American than a French nobleman. She wondered if it was intentional.
“The carriage is ready. We shall leave in….” Daniel stopped talking at the sight of Becca. “I…you.” He shook his head.
Becca curtsied, taking his rare speechlessness as a compliment, but she grew serious in moments. “Can we convince him, do you think?”
Daniel’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know if we can scare Dr. Franklin sufficiently to keep him safe. I have never met a man with more confidence in his own judgment.”