The Whiskey Rebels

by David Liss

  “Mrs. Maycott is always sensible,” said Duer, “but that does not make her right.”

  “Hamilton has invested everything—his heart, his soul, his reputation, his career—into the Bank of the United States and the American financial system,” I said. “I cannot believe he will ignore suspicious activity simply because you are behind it, William.” I did not say what we were all thinking, yet the world knew: During the crisis that followed the bank’s launch, Hamilton had ignored Duer’s advice against stabilizing the market and had achieved calm at the expense of Duer’s profits.

  “Well, what can he do?” asked Duer. “He can request that we stop, but he has no power to direct us.”

  “If he knows too precisely what we plan, he can thwart us,” I said.

  “And how would he learn what we plan?” Duer asked.

  It was Pearson who spoke the name, saying it as if it were something vile, a bitter pill that, lodged under the tongue, blossoms foully in the mouth: “Ethan Saunders.”

  “Who is that?” I asked. At that point, I’d not before heard the name.

  “What?” said Duer. “Ethan Saunders from the war? Was he not cashiered from the army as a traitor?”

  “He left under a cloud, yes,” said Pearson, “but Hamilton chose never to bring forth official treason charges. He was guilty, and everyone knew it, but no one could be troubled with it. The war was nearing its close, but he was Washington and Hamilton’s pet, and I cannot imagine Hamilton will not use him now. I have seen him about town of late. He’s become a drunk and a womanizer—the sort of man you cannot look on without wanting to destroy.”

  “Then it seems unlikely that Hamilton would engage his services,” I observed.

  He looked at me a long moment, and I must admit it made me extraordinarily uncomfortable. “Must you always contradict me?” Pearson asked.

  “These things concern me,” I said, attempting to keep my voice calm. “We do not discuss what we had for supper last week but what must be done next. I do not contradict, Mr. Pearson. I participate.”

  “Yes, yes, you are a clever woman and all that,” he said. “But you must remember that I am a man, and that makes me cleverer. You are, at best, a parlor trick.”

  Duer rose to his feet and looked to me like a little boy who needed to relieve himself but knew not where to do it. “I do not wish to involve myself in what must be a private dispute. You will excuse me for a moment.”

  Seeing me abused, Duer wished to absent himself and so be rid of the discomfort.

  I forced a pleasing smile at Pearson. My face was bright and full of nothing but admiration and congeniality. “We have no disagreement,” I said. “Mr. Duer may sit back down, and you, sir, may continue. We are all friends here.”

  Duer looked not at me but at Pearson and, seeing something he liked, or at least found agreeable, he returned to his seat.

  “With your leave,” Pearson said to me.

  “Of course,” I answered easily.

  And with that he continued as though there had been no disruption. “Saunders is not what he was, but Hamilton will bring him in, because he is here and because he was said to have been the cleverest spy of his day. I’m sure he wasn’t, but that is what they said of him. Besides, he owes Hamilton a debt for not bringing him up on charges. Hamilton would have to be a fool not to use a man who must regard him as the greatest of benefactors.”

  “So what do you propose?” asked Duer, obviously exerting some effort to sound easy and natural. He did not wish to have Pearson explode before him as well.

  “I’ll tend to Saunders,” said Pearson. “As it happens, I observed him not two weeks ago leaving a low sort of place with the wife of an acquaintance of mine. A word whispered in his ear will encourage this man, Dorland, to remove Saunders for us. Once he is fled or otherwise gone, Hamilton will have no spy at his command. If he learns what we plan, it will only be when it is too late.”

  In truth, I did not consider this matter as important as Pearson seemed to. Whatever his experience had been with Saunders, it had evidently been unpleasant in the extreme, so if he wished to remove this potential asset to Hamilton, I would not object.

  Once I was done speaking to the gentlemen, I went upstairs and found Mrs. Pearson in the sitting room. She was upon the sofa, reading from Pilgrim’s Progress to the children, who sat listening in rapt fascination. The fire reflected against her pale skin, and she seemed almost to glow.

  Upon seeing me, she closed the book. “That’s enough for now, children. I would like a word with Mrs. Maycott.”

  I expected groans and complaints, however halfhearted, for it is a time-honored tradition that children protest when story time ends. These children, however, unfolded themselves from the floor and quietly left the room. They were afraid and overdisciplined, and I knew it was not Mrs. Pearson’s hand that had rendered them so.

  Once we were alone together, Mrs. Pearson rose and shut the door to the sitting room. She poured us wine and then sat near me on the sofa, that she might speak in low tones.

  “I hope you will not be angry if I tell you I overheard some of what you spoke of with the gentlemen.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  She, however, was not quite ready to begin. “I envy you, the way you move among them as an equal. You are so beautiful, and yet they don’t treat you as though you were a plaything. How do you gain their respect?”

  “I gain it by demanding it,” I said.

  She turned away. “I cannot demand respect from Mr. Pearson.”

  “I know,” I said quietly. “I know what things are like here, Cynthia. Don’t think I haven’t seen it. And—and I mean to help you.”

  She looked at me with great intensity, and I could not tell if it was surprise or hope. “Help me how?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know, but I will help you, Cynthia. You have my word. When this is over, you shall be the better for it.”

  She turned back to me. “When what is over?”

  “The business I do with your husband and Mr. Duer.”

  She smiled at me. It was a strange thing. Mrs. Pearson was fair, and I dark; her eyes the palest blue, mine a heavy green; her features tiny and delicate, mine sharp and prominent. No one would ever have called us alike, and yet, for an instant, I felt as though I looked in a mirror. I knew that smile, in its stark cynicism and cold, penetrating understanding of the truth. “You command their respect, but you blind them with charm too.”

  “I don’t take your meaning.”

  She smiled again, though this time it seemed to me more forced. “I don’t know what you are doing with them, but I know it is not what they think. No, do not say a word. I don’t want you to lie to me, and I don’t want you to tell me the truth, lest Mr. Pearson force me to tell him. I don’t know Mr. Duer, and I have no opinion of him, but I know my husband, and I shall not interfere with you.”

  I swallowed hard and attempted to show no reaction at all. “Is that what you wished to say to me?”

  “No,” she whispered. She turned away again, facing the window; with her voice low and the crackling of the fire, I could hardly hear her. Yet, against the odds, her words made their way to me and somehow were clear. “I heard a mention of Captain Saunders, and I want to know what was said.”

  “Can it be you know him, this man said to be a traitor?”

  “I knew him during the war. He was no traitor, and he was my father’s friend.”

  “And your friend?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I was to marry him.” She faced me now, but her voice was so low it was almost indistinguishable from breath. “Things went very wrong. My father died, and Ethan—had to flee. They accused him of crimes he could not have committed, but the world thought him guilty, and he could not endure that the taint should fall upon me also. I have never believed for a moment he did anything wrong. Ethan Saunders is the most astonishing man I’ve ever known.”

  “He is now in Philadelphia,
” I said.

  Her eyes went wide. “What?”

  “He is in town, and your husband means to harm him.”

  She took my hand. “You don’t mean to let him, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no,” I said. “You may depend upon it. I had never heard of Ethan Saunders before tonight, but he sounds like the sort of man worth protecting.” I meant it. Without having met him, I liked him already, perhaps because we had both suffered at the hands of an ungrateful government. At the same time, I could not help but wonder if he might prove to be of some use to me.

  I have to admit I was extremely curious about this Saunders, and also quite sanguine about what he could mean for our project. My man in Duer’s employ in New York had proved vital, but the rest of the men had been forced to endure months of inactivity, trusting in me as I cavorted with Duer, hoping I knew what I was doing, worrying that instead of bringing down our enemies I only strengthened them.

  Learning more about Saunders would give us something to do. One at a time the boys went out to observe him, to see what sort of man he was, to see if he was a threat or an asset. I longed to see him for myself, but most of the public places he frequented were not the sort in which I could hope to blend unseen.

  The first time I saw him was at the Duck Pond on a cold and sunny Sunday afternoon. Skye had been observing him and, believing he would be present for some time more, sent a boy to fetch me. When I arrived, I watched him from a distance, walking the perimeter, observing the ladies with predatory interest. He seemed to be particularly attentive to ladies who traveled in groups with no gentlemanly accompaniment.

  “What do you think of him?” asked Skye.

  “He’s very handsome,” I said, “and very drunk. I doubt he could be much of a threat to us, and I’m not convinced he will be much of an asset.”

  “Best to be safe,” said Skye.

  “It is always better to be safe,” I agreed. “Does he have anyone close to him, someone we could approach?”

  “There are not many, but I do believe there is someone,” Skye said.

  “Then it is time we began to pay this someone to keep us informed.”

  Ethan Saunders

  The next morning, Leonidas and I ordered a pot of tea sent up to my room, and with daylight streaming upon my small table, we continued to look over the dozens of pages I’d taken from Freneau. The man had been busy, I will say that much for him, for he had not only several pages of closely written notes but many letters he had evidently borrowed or stolen. These were from and to Duer, and covered many tedious details, some too convoluted or elliptical to be deciphered, but others quite clear. Duer, the letters indicated, was indeed planning on taking control of the Million Bank and using its moment of ascendancy to absorb the Bank of the United States.

  Freneau’s documents made clear that Duer had organized a group of traders into what he called a Six Percent Club. These men conspired to bring down the price of the six percent issues that Duer might then buy, obtaining a near monopoly. With the issues out of circulation, their value would rise, increasing Duer’s wealth. Moreover, Bank of the United States scrip holders needed these issues to pay out their shares. If they could not obtain the six percents, they would have to sell the scrip, most likely at a discount. Thus Duer hoped to gain a monopoly on Bank of the United States scrip. He imagined that by the end of the year, he would be the only significant holder of either. He would, in effect, own the American economy.

  “Is it not enough to be rich?” Leonidas asked me. “What drives a man to a wealth that will crush all others?”

  “It is the dark side of liberty,” I said. “A man is not hindered by what cannot be done, so twisted men like Duer apply that liberty to their greed.”

  “But can he actually take over the bank?” asked Leonidas.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think so. There are too many variables, too many things he must juggle. But he can do great damage to the economy, to Hamilton, and ultimately to the country in the process.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We stop him.”

  “Lavien said not to.”

  “He is wrong. Perhaps he is too cautious. He doesn’t know what we do.”

  “Then why not tell him?”

  “Because this is my fight, Leonidas. Our fight. Duer’s scheme makes a sacrifice of Pearson, and I have sworn to protect his wife. I may hate Pearson, but I must drag him from Duer’s fire if I am to save his wife from penury. I cannot trust that Lavien will see things my way. First we stop Duer, then we tell Lavien what we know.”

  He nodded.

  My mind was churning, thinking of a thousand things that might be done. “Would you return to Duer’s mansion?” I asked him. “Learn some more from the servants about his plans for Wednesday.”

  After Leonidas set off for Greenwich, I took some lunch in the tavern and, rather than sit and drink Duer’s free wine, decided to take a turn about the city to consider my next move. I had not visited New York in several years, and it continued to improve from the sorry state in which the war had left it. Everywhere were new buildings, or buildings under construction, even in winter. Streets that had been no more than muddy alleyways during the war were now lined with magisterial homes. Here and there were old ruins—abandoned houses and barns and, along the river, docks—remnants of the city’s past struggles. These, I had no doubt, would soon enough disappear, lost to new construction and commerce.

  I had traveled no more than a block or two from the tavern when I felt that the same shadow had been lurking behind me too long. During the war I had many times been in Philadelphia or New York or other occupied regions, and I was always alert to being followed. It is not a skill one forgets. Thus I sped up, and, feeling that my pursuer must also be speeding, I immediately turned around and headed back.

  In doing so, I nearly collided with a tall and decomposing wreck of a man.

  “Why,” I said, “’tis Isaac Whippo. Fancy seeing you here. I did not know this was the best part of town to pursue boy buggery.” Why I had taken such a strong dislike to the man eluded me, but I had, and that was enough for now. Perhaps it was because of his absurdly sinister appearance, perhaps because I felt I could treat him badly and get away with it.

  Duer’s strange man glared at me but said nothing.

  “You may tell Duer that if he wishes to know what I am about, he need only ask. He need not send a cadaver to come spying after me; it is something I don’t like.”

  “And I don’t like you,” he said.

  “Don’t say so, my good pudendum. Bit of a term of affection in Philadelphia. Strange place, that, but still. As I rather like you, I must shout it to the world.” I then raised my hands and called out to all who passed, “This man is my very dear pudendum!”

  Big men, small men, great men, and disentombed men—there is no great difference. Most enter into situations thinking they will have to face this conflict or that. It has ever been my experience that if you present an alternative completely foreign to their expectations, it will end the encounter entirely. So it was with my friend Mr. Whippo. He skulked away like the mummified thing he was.

  After being followed by Mr. Whippo, I thought it best to disappear from the street for a short period of time. I therefore chose to divert myself with a visit to Dr. King’s celebrated exhibit on Wall Street to view his living menagerie of creatures. It turned out to be a cramped house of the most unspeakable odor, full of small cages in which raged a variety of unhappy creatures, including a pair of sloths, a pair of porcupines, monkeys of all descriptions, and even a male and female of the species known as orangutans. These were very tall, hairy creatures of a ginger color with uncannily long arms and lugubrious faces. Dr. King himself, making a proprietary pass through the exhibition hall, informed me that these creatures were every bit as intelligent as Negroes, but all my efforts at communication failed, and I ultimately decided his conclusions were overly optimistic.

  Once it grew dark,
I returned to Fraunces Tavern and sent one of the serving boys upstairs to find Leonidas. He had, he told me, been there for several hours but knew not where to find me, so he had chosen simply to wait. His visit to the Duer mansion had proved to be of little value. He had spoken to the serving staff once again and found them eager to gossip about their master, but in the end they had little to say that we did not already know. The six agents in Duer’s employ were to gather at his house for a meeting at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, and from there they would proceed to Corre’s Hotel, where the Million Bank’s initial stock would be sold.

  As he spoke I sensed a presence nearby, someone listening to our conversation. When I looked up I beheld Philip Freneau, who approached our table looking very pleased with himself. He sat down and stretched his legs out before him comfortably. “You asked if I could find Jacob Pearson,” he said. “It turns out that I can. You are impressed, I can tell. Of course, I have no intention of telling you where he is, but I thought you might be interested to learn that he now knows where you are.”

  I said nothing. Leonidas leaned forward, his face only inches away from Freneau. “Are you implying that you are attempting to make certain some harm befalls Captain Saunders?”

  He shrugged, apparently quite unafraid of Leonidas. I do not know I would have been so unafraid had he leaned in that way toward me, but Freneau merely smiled. “Oh, no. I am not a violent man and would never promote violence in others. I merely thought you might wish to know that Jacob Pearson appeared, to my eyes at any rate, quite agitated to learn of your presence.”

  “What do you want, Freneau?” I asked. “I thought our business was done.”

  “And it would have been done had you dealt with me honestly, but it seems that’s not your way, is it, Captain Saunders? Perhaps it is simply not the Hamilton way. I should even have been content to lick my wounds had you only dealt with me as dishonestly as I had at first thought, but when I returned home, I found you had been far more treacherous than I had suspected. You stole documents from my bag, and I would like them returned.”