Pepys’s initial exhilaration at the prospect of getting Balty dispatched to New England was short-lived. Downing was a man of remorseless cunning. He would see in a minute that Balty was a popinjay incapable of striking fear in a butterfly. Why had he even suggested such a thing? Then he thought: no harm in seeing how far it might go.
He didn’t tell Balty the real reason Downing wanted to see him. Balty would only tell Esther and Elizabeth, which would cause family mayhem. He told him Downing was considering him for some gamekeeping job on one of his estates.
“He’s very tight with money,” Pepys said, “so he’s death on poachers.”
“Oh,” Balty said, “I should love to shoot poachers.”
“Just say as little as possible. No prattling. Understood?”
“Entendu, mon vieux.”
“And no French. He hates the French.”
“Why?”
“He hates everyone. Dutch, French, Spanish. Just stand there, nod, and for God’s sake, try not to talk. And if it turns out to be something other than gamekeeping, well, it could only be to the good. Just nod and don’t talk and when it’s over, bow and say what an honor it’s been. And leave. Clear?”
“Yes.” Balty nodded. “You are good to have fixed this up, Brother Sam.”
“Well, you’re family, aren’t you?”
To Pepys’s astonishment, Downing was quite taken with Balty, even charmed. Pepys deciphered this as Downing thinking it would gall the New Haveners even more to be bossed about by a nincompoop.
When Downing revealed what he had in mind, Balty’s mouth went agape. He looked at his brother-in-law. Pepys feigned surprise and nodded brightly as if to say, Well done, Balty! Your ship has come in at last, old cock!
Downing wrote out Balty’s commission on the spot, signed and sealed it. He then wrote a letter that he didn’t show to Balty, and sealed it, instructing Balty to give it to Downing’s agent in Boston, one Plantagenet Spong. He would act as Balty’s aide-de-camp and bodyguard. Pepys knew the name must be a pseudonym. He’d done a lot of ciphering for Downing, rendering his messages in code. No one in the spy business used real names.
Pepys took the stunned Balty to the Legg tavern in King Street and in a celebratory mood ordered Rhenish wine and lobsters.
“Sir George certainly went lighter on you than he did on me at my school examination. Grilled me remorselessly on Catullus.”
Balty was subdued. “I . . . It is a bit overwhelming, Brother Sam. New England.”
“Overwhelming marvelous, I should say. It’s not every day one receives a Crown commission. I confess I’m a bit jealous.”
“Did you know? Beforehand?”
“Well, yes. Of course.”
“You might have told me. Instead of making up that jibber-jabber about gamekeeping.”
“Brother Balty. You must understand—this is the King’s business. It’s highly confidential.”
“Yes, but I’d rather be a gamekeeper. Or work at your dockyard.”
“Oh, come. Testing hemp at the Ropeyard? Tallying barrels of pitch? Instead of a commission to hunt for killers of his late majesty?” Pepys sighed heavily. “I fear, dear Balty, you do not comprehend what a great honor this is.”
“I don’t say it’s not. It’s jolly lovely. But New England? I shall have to take a ship.”
“That is the customary way of going. But if you can find a land route to New England, that would certainly be an achievement to eclipse finding regicides.”
“But what if I don’t find them?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry. I suspect Lord Downing’s real purpose in sending you is to remind the recalcitrant Puritan ‘saints’ of New Haven that a new King sits on the throne. I’m sure he’s well aware that Whalley and Goffe are long gone. Probably dead of the rheumatic fever from years of hiding in dank basements. I venture to suppose that your true task is merely to stick to these New Haveners. Let them know all is not forgiven. Remind them of the King’s continuing displeasure.” Pepys grinned. “Make a nuisance of yourself. Shouldn’t be—” He stopped himself. “Puff out your chest, bang on their doors, wave your commission in their faces. Demand to inspect the premises. That sort of thing. Sounds rather a lark. Almost wish I were going with you.”
“What if they slam their doors in my face?”
“God help them if they do. Obstructing a Crown commissioner in the course of his duty? Treason! Punishable by death. That paper Downing gave you entitles you to be the biggest pain in the arse in all New England.”
Balty brightened. “Oh. Well, I suppose. Yes.”
“I envy you. I should love to make sour-faced Puritans dance to my tempo. I’ve long yearned to see the New World. I hear it is full of marvels. Who knows? You might fall in love with a beautiful Indian princess and decide to stay.”
“But I love Esther.”
“Yes, of course. But you might fall in love with New England. You could send for Esther to join you there.”
“I . . .”
“They say a man can be anything he wants to be there. I must say, it sounds perfect heaven. Virgin land. Forests teeming with game. Rivers. Lakes. Skies.” Pepys leaned closer and purred. “With all respect to Esther, I am reliably informed that the native women are not only beautiful but complaisant. They hurl themselves at Englishmen. Oh, dear. Now I truly do wish I were going with you.”
“But there are savages. One hears appalling stories.”
“No, no, no,” Pepys said emphatically. “All that’s in the past. There was a bit of unpleasantness at the outset, but the savages have been entirely domesticated. Apparently they make very good servants. I wonder—do they put them in livery? Hm. We English have the gift of civilizing our conquered peoples. Unlike the Dutch. Hollanders are constantly at odds with their savages. Always having to put down rebellions. We give ours a nice bit of land of their own and everyone’s content. We keep the peace among the various tribes so they’re not at each other’s throats over beaver hides and oyster shells and wampum and whatnot. You’ll meet one or two, I imagine. I saw a painting of one. Superb-looking chap. Feathers everywhere. Marvelous cheekbones. Some say they’re descended from the Trojans.”
“How did they get to New England from Troy?”
“Slowly, I should think. But they are talented about boats. Some other scholars say they’re the rump bit of the Lost Tribe of Israel. Take notes, Balty! I shall want to hear every detail. In the event you do decide to return.”
“So it is safe?”
“Oh, far safer than London. And no plague. You’ll have Downing’s man, Spong, looking after you. I’ve met some of Downing’s men. And they’re not ones to tangle with. You’ll be in the best of hands.”
Balty considered. “I don’t know how Esther’s going to take the news. Or Elizabeth.”
Pepys said gravely, “Balty, you must understand, this is a highly—highly—secret undertaking.”
“I can’t not tell Esther and Elizabeth.”
Pepys shook his head. “It is imperative that you not tell Esther. Or my wife. It could put your mission at risk. Even your life.”
“Dear, sweet Balty. His majesty has enemies in London. Do you think Esther and Elizabeth would be able to keep your secret? They would be so . . . proud of you, they’d be shouting it from the rooftops. Our own brave Balty, off to New England to hunt for traitors! Absolutely, no. Under no circumstances must they know the true nature of your business. For your own safety. Once you’re in Boston, you’ll be under this Spong’s protection.”
“But—what am I to tell them?”
“Yes. We shall need a legend for you. We shall tell them . . . we shall tell them that I managed to secure a place for you on a . . . survey. Um. Yes. Just the thing.”
“Survey? Of what?”
“Forests. You will be scouting for timber. For the Navy’s warships. Certainly we shall be needing no end of timber if we’re to have another go at the Cheesers. New England white pine is far superior to what we get from Norway and Sweden. Taller. You can make an entire mast from a single tree. Norwegian wood requires two. And doesn’t last as long.”
“I don’t know much about timber.”
“Dear Balty, let us speak frankly. You don’t know much about anything. Which is why at age twenty-four you are sans career. But no longer. Now you are employed. Gloriously employed!”
Pepys raised his glass. “A toast. His Majesty, Charles the Second. Long live the King.”
Balty raised his glass solemnly. “Vive le roi.”
“And to Balthasar de St. Michel, judge hunter. Let New England tremble at his approach!”
Balty blushed. “Rather like the sound of that.”
They clinked glasses.
Pepys was all aglow. “Another round of lobsters? And another bottle of this damnably expensive wine? I think the Navy Office owes us a celebratory dinner. What say?”