Virginian

by Mark J Rose

  “Adjunct to the army?”

  “He has military training.”

  Matt glanced at Franklin who returned his concerned grin. “I had not heard this of Sir Ferguson,” Matt replied as he looked to Wellington for more information.

  “I know little of the specifics,” Wellington said. “I am aware though that he is an expert in something called the Martial Arts, and swordplay. They pretend he can disarm and kill a man with his bare hands.”

  The concern on Matt’s face was mistaken for disbelief.

  “I understand your scruple,” Wellington said. “The days of jousting are history, but I’d not bet against Sir Ferguson in a proof of human combat. His parts are beyond reproach.”

  Matt gave Franklin a half-satisfied smile and then turned back to Wellington. “I want to meet this fine man at some point.”

  Wellington turned and scanned the crowd. “In short order,” he proclaimed. Wellington waved Franklin and Matt forward. “Come!”

  Chapter 26

  Courtesans

  Sarah grabbed Thomas’ hand as he assisted her from the carriage. Thomas had wanted her to wear her light blue gown, but instead, she wore a grey-velvet dress trimmed in white that she had recently purchased in London. In her mind, anyway, Sarah fancied that the color and the modest hoop might assist her in her clandestine mission to steal back her books. Even so, the long skirt snagged on the carriage door, and she fell out. Thomas jumped to catch her, and they giggled uncontrollably as he set her on the ground. The comic relief helped to dissipate some of the tension that had grown between them since they had left their hotel.

  “I pray we had no intent tonight save for us to be introduced to as many people as possible,” Thomas said, “and for them to envy the beauty of my wife.”

  “Husband,” she proclaimed. “We shall have a pleasant evening and let all other intent come as it may.”

  “There is nothing I can say to convince you to dismiss this intent?” Thomas asked, “even if the Lord, himself, put those words into my mouth?”

  “Tonight, we should both desire His guidance.”

  Thomas returned Sarah’s statement with a look of frustration and then disappointment. He gave her a soft and resigned smile, shook his head and reached his hand out to gesture his commitment. She had seen him act similarly in past disagreements. She knew that once his hand came out, he’d say nothing else on that particular topic. Having his full support filled her with strength, and she felt the spring return to her step.

  Sarah looked around deliberating on whether Patrick Ferguson’s spies were already announcing her arrival. Thus far, though, it seemed they hadn’t attracted scrutiny from anyone. She dreaded the moment when they were finally recognized, hoping there would be some time for her to move freely through the party, and figure out how to break into Patrick’s office, and search for her missing books. Somehow, she knew they would be there.

  They delayed while taking in the front façade of Ferguson Manor whose reflections and shadows dazzled in the afternoon sun. Ribbons and bright decorations covered the marble columns, and they were brilliant despite shadows thrown by the afternoon sunlight. Sarah had scouted the perimeter of Ferguson Manor multiple times in preparation, but the deep glistening reflection of the wet-looking Italian marble still astounded her.

  Sarah had spent hours on her phone paging through the photos she had taken of Ferguson Manor. She had scrutinized every window and ledge, hoping to take advantage of some weakness that would allow her to break into Ferguson’s office. Sarah had seen him standing there on his balcony on three separate occasions and had photos of him while he stood gazing out over his courtyard. The picture was detailed enough for her phone’s facial recognition to group this most recent picture with the others she had taken a decade ago when Ferguson was living with them above their first bakery.

  Thomas walked beside Sarah, also looking up at the enormous red bows that wrapped the columns along with extravagantly decorated black and silver masquerade masks. They talked as they walked up the red-carpeted stairway. “Your fellow does know how to make an impression,” Thomas said. “There’s no doubt.”

  “He’s not my fellow, and money buys a lot of ribbons,” Sarah replied.

  Tom looked ahead to the three attendants who were greeting guests. The two well-dressed men who had checked in Matt and Franklin were still there.

  “Good evening,” one attendant said. “Welcome to the home of Sir Ferguson.

  The second attendant looked at Sarah. He stepped back and said, “Madam, a handsome gown.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sarah replied. She curtsied.

  “Step to the table and present your invitation.”

  Sarah took Thomas’ arm as he showed the invitation.

  The man behind the table took the card from Thomas and checked the list. “Thomas Mifflin and guest,” he said as he crossed out their names with a black-tipped quill.

  “Mrs. Mifflin, I presume,” the man said as he gave them a mischievous smile.”

  “Most correct, my good fellow,” Thomas said. Thomas chuckled until he saw Sarah wrinkle her nose below her mask at the attendant’s attempt at bawdy humor.

  “Sir Ferguson sends his regards,” the attendant said to Thomas. “He left a note here saying he’d appreciate your speaking with his secretary, Mr. Trent, concerning an increase in cotton imports.”

  “I’d be happy to discuss this,” Thomas replied.

  “Enjoy your evening,” the man said. He pointed in the direction of the entryway.

  Thomas pulled at Sarah’s arm to move her along. She was stepping through a checklist in her mind, looking for some clue that allowed her to prepare for her eventual confrontation with Ferguson. Ferguson had wanted her here for a reason. She had only to figure out what it was. Was there something more to the meeting they’d arranged between Ferguson’s secretary and her husband? Was Ferguson separating him from her?

  The second hall attendant was also motioning them to move forward into the hallway, and so Sarah focused on walking. The lull in arriving guests meant that they could walk in relative solitude down the hallway and out into the very impressive Great Hall of Ferguson Manor. Sarah scanned the crowd as they arrived, hoping to catch someone who observed them too closely or lingered about for an unnatural amount of time.

  “Where could Mr. Trent be?” Thomas said.

  “The fewer people we speak to, the better,” Sarah quipped.

  A man stepped in front of them. “Mr. and Mrs. Mifflin?” he asked.

  “That’s us,” Thomas replied. Sarah squeezed this hand.

  The man lifted up his mask and said, “Sir, if you please, my name is Nathan Trent.”

  Thomas nodded and reached his hand out. “I was given instructions that Sir Ferguson wanted me to speak with you,” Thomas said. “I did not think I’d receive an audience so expeditiously.”

  “My assistant informed me of your arrival,” Trent replied. “I prefer to conduct business betimes at these affairs.” Trent turned to Sarah. “Mrs. Mifflin, forgive me for being impertinent.” He reached to take her hand. “I’ll introduce you to some ladies while your husband and I discuss terms. They should be quite favorable to the Mifflin family.” He pointed Sarah to a group of woman who were standing closer to the towering paned windows that composed almost a whole wall.

  “Certainly, sir,” Sarah replied as she tried to sort through the man’s intentions. It was strangely satisfying that her prediction that they’d separate her from her husband was correct. Trent looked at Thomas to receive his permission to escort Sarah and then walked with her to ease her into a discussion with the other ladies. Sarah had expected an elaborate charade, but the introduction was conventional. She watched Trent rejoin her husband out of the corner of her eye as she exchanged pleasantries. Trent put his arm on Thomas’ shoulder, pointed from where they were standing and escorted him away.

  Chapter 27

  Opponent

  Franklin and Matt shared casual g
lances as Wellington guided them through the crowd. Matt wasn’t sure whether to be anxious or excited. He searched his memory for some recollection of this moment, but nothing came. There was only that useless feeling of déjà vu. His head injury on the Norfolk had brought back the visions, but now he was having trouble navigating them. There were too many missing pieces.

  Wellington led them up toward a man who was standing alone and looking into the crowd. He was wearing a black mask and a cape. Matt saw the caped man reach up and rub his temples in the same way that Matt had done when his migraines were an almost daily occurrence. Wellington tapped the man on the shoulder, whispered something in his ear, and he turned. Even behind the mask, Sir Patrick Ferguson was tall, handsome and fit, with a smile full of white teeth. Ferguson reached to shake. “Wellington, dear fellow,” he said. “Of what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “My costume did not fool you,” replied Wellington with mock disappointment. “I’d like to introduce you to a few extraordinary gentlemen.”

  Ferguson raised his hand. “It’s a masquerade, after all.” He turned his gaze to Franklin who Matt could see was smiling. “I’m in the presence of a true celebrity,” Ferguson declared. “Hidden behind this mask is a scientist, inventor, author, and politician; he is a truly admirable man. This is Dr. Benjamin Franklin. Am I correct, sir?”

  “You are,” Franklin declared.

  Ferguson held out his hand. “I am honored by your presence.”

  “The honor, of course, is mine.” Franklin shook his hand.

  Matt stood there quietly watching as they traded pleasantries and guessing at the etiquette when introducing yourself to a masked stranger at a party. How long would he wait until he offered up his identity to Ferguson if the man still wanted to play the guessing game? Ferguson finished with Franklin and turned to Matt. Ferguson’s face filled with a satisfied grin. “I’m Patrick Ferguson,” he said, simply. He didn’t attempt to guess.

  “Matthew Miller,” Matt replied. Matt felt like he should say something else, like thanking Ferguson or wishing him good health, but those words stuck in his mouth, tangled somewhere in the web of intrigue that swirled in his head.

  “If my memory serves, you are a man of parts,” Ferguson finally proclaimed. The grin returned to his face. “Scientist, inventor, politician, breeder of fine horses and swordsman. Like Dr. Franklin, your fame proceeds you.”

  Matt was at a loss for words as he looked back into the man’s eyes. Of all the ways he had envisioned their first meeting, none had included Ferguson staring back at him with a look of delight. Matt realized he had fallen into an elaborately woven web, and that he had not done the proper homework for such an introduction. Could Ferguson have developed his prescience to the point where he could control the visions or had he learned about Matt through conventional spying? Franklin recognized Matt’s distracted silence and chimed in. “Mr. Miller oft doesn’t realize he has affected many, in the colonies and across the sea.”

  “My apologies,” Matt finally said. He smiled trying to replace his pensive expression with one that was jovial and friendly. “I concern myself mainly with my business in America and often forget the efforts others are making on my behalf.” Matt motioned to Franklin and smiled, hoping the bottom half of his face was no longer giving him away like a man who cared.

  “These headache tablets are such a contribution to the world,” Ferguson said. “I suffer from chronic headaches and could not live without the relief they provide.” He looked at Matt with some expectation, maybe waiting for confirmation that Matt had the headaches too.

  Matt kept his poker face. He strained to think of the proper reaction for leaving the man guessing at his abilities, and perhaps even his intentions, which even Matt had not yet defined. “I am glad they provide you relief,” Matt said simply.

  “They are much like a remedy once prepared in my hometown,” Ferguson replied smiling. “I no longer have access, and your invention was a welcome addition to my pantry.”

  “Again, Sir Ferguson,” Matt said. “I can only express my satisfaction that you have experienced Miller Headache Tablets and that you are satisfied with their effect.”

  “We also have an additional connection you may not be aware of,” Ferguson announced. “I have added two of your thoroughbreds to my stables. My stable master pretends they are the finest horses he has ever experienced. Their genetic line will be a significant contribution.”

  Matt looked at him questioningly, again, now considering the proper reaction to the man using a scientific term that wouldn’t exist for at least another hundred years.

  “The Taylor-Miller farm breeds the finest horses in Virginia,” Franklin said.

  “And maybe in all of America,” Ferguson replied. There was a subtle hint of suspicion now in Ferguson’s manner as he considered Franklin. Ferguson was about to say something, but one of his assistants approached and whispered something in his ear. Ferguson returned to talking to them now as this new man stood patiently by his side. “I believe some people have recognized Dr. Franklin,” Ferguson said. He motioned to a group of ladies standing near a fountain. “The tall woman in the blue gown is my wife, Lady Celia Ferguson. She and the others endeavor to hear about adventures from the American frontier.” Ferguson placed his hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “Would you be so kind, sir? Debutantes are shameless when it comes to celebrities, though I allow that my lady enjoys accommodating them too much. I assure you that your stories will be the talk of the town.”

  Franklin bowed. “I could attend to some ladies,” he said happily.

  “I’d enjoy a discussion with Mr. Miller without these masks on.” Ferguson motioned toward the staircase. “I’ll bring him back to you before you have exhausted the ladies’ attention.” Ferguson motioned to the man standing beside them. “Mr. Trent will introduce you.”

  Franklin patted Matt on the shoulder. “Come save me when you’re done,” he said.

  Matt’s head filled with the image of a spider who was now stepping closer. His instinct told him, though, that he should resist the urge to struggle so he could look around a bit. Matt and Ferguson watched Franklin walk with Trent to the group of women.

  “I’m looking forward to speaking with you,” Ferguson said to Matt. “We have much in common.”

  Chapter 28

  Pigeons

  Nathan Trent had conveniently worked his plan to separate Sarah from her husband. It was all too simple and subtle, and Sarah was irritated that Thomas had allowed it to happen so easily. “Let him go, madam” a woman advised. “They like to run off and do their gentlemen things. They’ll be smoking cigars and drinking whiskey soon.” Sarah turned to the sound of the voice. The woman was perhaps three inches taller than Sarah. Although her face was unrecognizable behind her mask, her features were such that they broadcast beauty and confidence. The woman held her hand out. “How do you do, I’m Lady Celia Ferguson.”

  “Celia who?”

  “Celia Ferguson,” she repeated. “The Lady of Ferguson Manor.”

  For a moment, Sarah was dumbfounded. She had not prepared herself for meeting Patrick’s wife. It took her a moment to compose an intelligible reply. “I’m Sarah Mifflin, wife of Thomas, the owner of Mifflin Enterprises.” Sarah was immediately disappointed. She had hoped to come up with some reply that seemed confident, or at least intelligent.

  “You’re an American,” Celia observed.

  “Yes, m’lady,” Sarah replied. “From Philadelphia.” Lady Celia’s question had seemed natural and sincere, and so Sarah had responded in kind.

  “I fancy that the Mifflin’s are importers,” Celia said. “My husband is so very interested in raw materials. Our factories work day and night.”

  Sarah smiled and nodded. She could feel herself relaxing as they spoke; the threats, either real or imagined were dissipating. Whatever Patrick Ferguson had planned for her this evening, it seemed he was going to take his time. She resolved herself to beat him at his game. “Ferguson I
ndustries is manufacturing?” Sarah asked. Sarah was very curious about how Patrick had accumulated so much money.

  Celia nodded. “Manufacturers are the new nobility in England,” she said, “though I fancy that such a concept might be foreign to an American.” Celia’s tone was hard to interpret, and Sarah thought her to be exquisitely subtle in her game. “Your husband’s intercourse should be lucrative for you and your family. Trent rarely skirts a man away unless big events are underfoot.”

  “Quite comforting,” Sarah replied. “Could you direct me to the powder room? We had a long trip here through London, and I desire to freshen up.”

  “Certainly,” Celia replied. She pointed to a staircase that split the center of the house. “I hope we have a chance to talk again, dear.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, m’lady,” Sarah replied. She gave Lady Ferguson a sincere bow. Against all her suspicions, Sarah had liked Celia Ferguson. Nonetheless, she was relieved when she was finally able to walk away. Sarah looked back over her shoulder thinking to catch Celia watching her, but Lady Ferguson was already speaking with another lady. She seemed to take no interest in Sarah at all.

  **********

  Sarah hiked her dress as she stepped up the stairway. Another woman was coming down, but she was waiving to friends in the crowd, so took no notice of Sarah on the stairs. Sarah’s journey up the staircase ended on the marble floor that led to the double doors of Ferguson’s office that was in the very center of the manor home. As she reached the top of the steps, though, she saw an attendant waiting there. She had put a credit card in the leather case strapped underneath her bodice, specifically to slide between the doors and open the lock of his office, but it was impossible for her to unlock anything with this man watching her.

  “Can I help you, madam?” the attendant said when her feet were squarely on the marble floor.

  “Could you guide me to the powder, room?” Sarah replied. She grimaced and rubbed her stomach. “The lady’s curse is upon me.”