The Constable's Tale: A Novel of Colonial America

by Donald Smith

  “I do indeed conduct a brisk business in Masonic accoutrements.” Merkly laboriously puckered his lips to give the word its French pronunciation, complete with guttural trill. “I keep them locked in a strong cabinet.”

  “To guard against the licentious gaze of the uninitiated, I suppose,” said Peter.

  “I myself am a member of our Saint John’s Lodge, along with my good friend and customer Benjamin Franklin.” He paused and looked at Harry as if awaiting reaction. Harry supposed that by his silence he gave away that he did not know the gentleman.

  “Well, let us have a look,” said Merkly.

  Holding an eyepiece on it, he affirmed Bannerman’s judgment. It was a piece of exceptional quality, with its artistic design and skillful execution in the cloisonné style. He also agreed the pine tree represented Massachusetts Bay Colony and that the markings were code.

  “It is a cipher commonly employed by Freemasons, I can tell you that. But I could not say its meaning, even if by doing so I would not be breaking an oath. Before even beginning to unstring it, one would need to know a particular word. The author of the code would have selected that word himself. The word, quite literally, is the key that unlocks the cipher.” Merkly made an unlocking motion with his hand. To help Harry understand the idea, he guessed.

  “It could be any word in the English language or any other that uses our alphabet. Only the author and those to whom he has divulged it would know. Through use of this word, applied to this code, members of his circle of confederates would be able to communicate freely among themselves without fear of the messages’ being discovered.”

  Inspecting the badge further, Merkly said, “This piece might have been commissioned by its owner as a gift to himself—an indulgence, perhaps, to proclaim his membership in the brotherhood in a stylish way. Or it could have been a presentation, something awarded in honor of some deed, some high level of service, by some person or organization with Masonic ties in New England. The inscription may be a slogan having some special meaning to the honoree.”

  “But the markings aren’t even letters,” said Harry. “They are short lines and dots.”

  “Ah-ha.” Merkly’s face arranged itself into the relieved smile of one who realizes he is finally able to make himself clear. “And therein lies the true ingenuity of our code. Each mark represents a letter of the alphabet. But to recognize the shapes, one must know not only the key word, but also the pattern into which the letters were assembled.”

  Harry nodded. Not because he understood but out of politeness.

  “More than that I must not say, on pain of disgrace and, well, death, I suppose. I fear I may already have given away too much.”

  “Your standing among the Freemasons is completely safe. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “And so, back to his original question,” prompted Peter. “Might you have been the one who sold this medal? Would you be able to identify its owner?”

  Merkly’s smile turned apologetic. “Oh, I’m afraid not. This line of jewelry is produced especially for the American trade by the House of Wykes on Threadneedle Street in London. Edward Wykes operates under the patronage of the Prince of Wales himself, who, upon the by, is his third cousin once removed. I know Edward well. Good Anglo-Saxon stock. He provisions ladies and gentlemen of the highest quality throughout the kingdom, including the royal household.”

  “And how might someone in America have come into possession of this particular brooch, if not through yourself?” Harry tried not to let his voice betray his impatience or growing anxiety over the possibility of having traveled so far only to have the road end at a stone wall. Or an ocean.

  “I mentioned that Edward Wykes is an acquaintance. Unfortunately I have yet to persuade him that I should handle his business in the colonies. That is done exclusively through a mutual friend of ours. His name is George Johnston. No doubt you have heard of him. Illegitimate son of some English earl or other. Forced to make his living like all the rest of us not born into fortune, by his enterprise.”

  “I don’t expect Mister Johnston might be located here in Philadelphia.” Harry hated to even pose the question, so sure the answer would be disappointing.

  “Oh, of course not.” Merkly stopped short and gave Harry a look that was becoming familiar. He had seen the same expression on the faces of several in Williamsburg, including Bannerman. A look that meant the person was readjusting, downward, his estimation of Harry and his familiarity with the larger world.

  “George conducts his business in his adopted city.” Merkly pointed his finger toward the ceiling, indicating, Harry guessed, north. “Boston.”

  CHAPTER 16

  98: Drink not nor talk with your mouth full neither Gaze about you while you are a Drinking.

  —RULES OF CIVILITY

  My deareft wife,

  I pray thif Letter finds you & ye Plantation well. I feer I will not be back in tyme to help with the Tobacco Topping but Martin and the others shud be abel to get all the buds off and if need bee they can borrow tyme from one or too of the naybors. Also it is not too early to ftart thinking about burning off ye Underbrush so that Wee may move abowt freely among ye Pines for a feason of Turpentining. Laft year Wee made the fires a little to airly and they got out of hand and fome Trees were Damaged but there is not as much of a Build up now, fo I am not Overly Worried on thif Accownt. I would like to know how My Mother and Natty are faering? & if Judge McLeod and Sheriff Carruthers are very much upfet over My leaving New Bern without letting Them noe My Intentions. I noe that I have abandoned my Dutees as Conftable for ye time being but there is not much work for Me in that Realm as Wee are between Court Seshons and there are not likely to be many Writf to be ferved or Prisoners efcorted & ye like. As far as I noe Comet Elija is ye only Prisoner of any Import bein’ held at Present and it do not appear to me that He if likely to goe Anywhere until the fuperior Court convenes in Oktober. God willing I will get to the Bauttom of thif Matter well before that happens fo that Poor Old Man may be Free to go about hif Bufinef as before and I will be able to rejoin you and Martin and ye Others in looking after our Plantation. The Trees Wee have been werking are near about empteed of fap & I think they’ll not laft Annuther 2 Years before Wee have to move on to ye next ftand for fome Virgin Dip, but they are probably good yet for 2 or 300 Barrels of Defent Turpentine thif Year and a fair amount of Tar & Pitch. Thif should pay off a confiderable fum of our Debt which You are fo worried of efpecially if Wee can once again find fome fmart Yankee Trader who is fkilled at getting his Ship around ye Kings Cuftoms Men.

  My Attemps to find ye owner of ye Mafonic Brooch continue since I have been directed to a Merchant in Bofton who feems All But Certain to be able to tell me who ye Owner is & he might Interpret the Writing on the Back, & etc. It would confoom 8 Days of steady Riding to get there but Noahs father Peter Burke fed the Journey can be akomplish’d in about 3 Days by ship. This would alfo fave Labour for Faithful Annie Who is doing well confidering all ye Trials she has been threw. I have already rezerv’d paffage using ye money Noah gave me and expect to leave toomorow.

  Yr. moft ob. & Loving Hufband, etc.,

  Henry Woodyard

  HAVING DELIVERED HIS MAIL TO A SOUTH-BOUND PACKET, HE LOCATED among the thicket of masts waiting at the dock the vessel that would take him north. Two other men fell in behind him in the line of people and horses waiting to board. He realized they were staring at him and then placed their faces. One he knew only as Mackay, from Bath, a portly, red-cheeked planter about the age Harry’s father would have been were he still alive. Mackay’s companion, a Mister Nelson, was about ten years younger and only slightly less plump. He was captain of the Edenton militia and a representative of that village in the General Assembly. They owned plantations of more or less two thousand acres apiece and were married to sisters. Harry had seen them in New Bern when they were there on business but knew them only in passing. Now it seemed he and they would be spending some time together. He ma
de a note in his mind to get out his Rules of Civility & Decent Behaviour, which he had brought along in an act of foresight. There were some subtle points he needed to review regarding persons of higher quality and on which side of them one should place one’s self. It varied from one situation to another.

  “Gentlemen,” Harry said with a bow. “Delighted to see you. Please, go ahead of Annie and me.”

  “We are the delighted ones and surprised to see you here,” said Mackay. “You are most gracious, but, please, stay where you are. We are in no great hurry to get aboard.”

  Though he could not remember its number, Harry recognized, like an old friend, the principle set forth in the Rules. The less privileged person offers the position of honor. The person of higher quality graciously declines. He congratulated himself on a transaction well conducted.

  “Still on the trail of wrongdoers?” asked Nelson.

  “You’ve heard of my travels?”

  “People talk of little else at home,” said Mackay. “Maybe throughout the whole province. How you’re trying to help an Indian cheat the hangman. But, pray, what are you doing in Philadelphia? The last we heard, you were on your way to Williamsburg.” A friendly grin made dimples here and there on his puffy, sun-reddened face. “And here you’re boarding a ship for Boston.”

  Harry kept his story short, as they were nearing the head of the queue. He said how his efforts to trace the ownership of a certain object from the Campbells’ house had led him to a Williamsburg storekeeper, who had pointed him to another in Philadelphia, who had all but promised that yet another in Boston would be able to identify the owner and thus, in all likelihood, the murderer. As he was compressing these particulars into a few sentences, he realized how someone of a skeptical nature might accuse him of chasing a will-o’-the-wisp.

  “Well, your sudden departure caused a stir,” said Nelson. “And still does. Every day that goes by with you not at your post, it seems, Judge McLeod takes greater personal affront.”

  Nelson’s words fell on Harry’s ears like stone weights.

  “What, exactly, has he said?”

  “Oh, it’s not all that bad,” Mackay intervened. An act of kindness. “You know how that old man is. He’ll get over it.”

  “Well, he has relieved Harry of his duties as a constable,” Nelson said. He seemed about to comment further but closed his mouth after getting a sharp look from Mackay.

  “No permanent damage done, I’m certain,” said Mackay. “Olaf can reinstate you just as quickly as he suspended you. Young man, you have many admirers in Craven County, me among them. I hope you will do us the honor of joining us at the captain’s table for supper this evening.”

  “The honor would be mine, gentlemen.”

  The words sprang to Harry’s lips effortlessly, almost as if from another, better-bred person. More proof that some of the Rules had stuck. But his self-confidence had been dealt a blow. He feared that any further proper comportment might be a waste of effort. His downfall possibly was already assured.

  *

  It was big for a coasting vessel; Harry reckoned a hundred feet long. And it was handsome: decks freshly caulked, pine masts shiny as glass with built-up varnish, and topsides painted dark green from the waterline to the white-trimmed rails. The heady smell of tar and pitch, some of it conceivably from Harry’s trees, came off the vessel. A two-masted topsail schooner, American built, Harry was informed by the crew member who helped winch Annie onto the lower deck stables. The whites of her eyes showed during the trip down in the harness, but once in her stall, with Harry giving her chunks of carrots, she seemed to shrug off the experience as just another one of life’s small annoyances.

  Harry made sure she had fresh hay, then went off to find his bunk. It was sited down a companionway and through a dark passageway near the fo’c’sle. Though he had the cabin to himself, it was tiny, barely enough room to stand beside the wooden bin that held his bedding. The sleeping compartment appeared an inch or so shorter than Harry was tall. He would have to lie with his legs crooked. The single porthole was too small for a grown man to slip through in an emergency. He resolved to spend as much time on the top deck as possible.

  The ship’s cook personally served supper in the officers’ dining cabin adjacent to the captain’s quarters. Harry learned that the commander was retired from the British Navy. The only other passenger privileged to join him and his three senior officers was an older man from Boston whose occupation, as far as Harry could gather, had to do with arranging contracts between businessmen in America and Britain.

  “You must convey my commendations to the chef,” Mackay told the captain, whose name was Biggerstaff. They were doing away with tender slabs of roasted beef with stewed vegetables. The dish made Harry think of his imprisoned friend.

  “This is as fine a meal as I’ve had in any of our best North Carolina taverns,” said Nelson.

  “We take full advantage of fresh victuals when in port,” said Biggerstaff. He spoke through nearly clenched teeth, a habit Harry had come to associate with certain English aristocrats on the relatively rare occasions that any passed through New Bern. A slight slur indicated he had been sipping from the table’s decanter of claret ahead of his guests’ arrival. “We shall reprovision again in Boston, but the fresh cuts will run out well before we reach Louisbourg.”

  “You are going on to Canada?” asked Nelson.

  “We will be delivering foodstuffs and munitions to Wolfe’s army at Quebec. They seem to have got bogged down there and are running short on supplies.” Biggerstaff turned abruptly to Harry and said, “Won’t you come with us, young man? The general could use every available patriot to defeat Montcalm.”

  “I would go if I was free to,” Harry said. “But I have a wife and plantation in North Carolina that need me back as soon as possible.” He added as an afterthought, “The pitch and turpentine I make this fall will be worth far more to the British Navy than whatever little service I could do for General Wolfe.” He felt his face flush, realizing how deceitful he was being. He had every intention of selling that year’s output of naval stores directly to Yankee captains for their own dispositions, without coming to the attention of the Crown’s customs collectors.

  “Our young friend is on an important mission,” said Mackay, wiping greasy fingers on his napkin. “He is trying to discover who murdered a Carolina plantation family.”

  “Indeed?” said Biggerstaff. “Were they friends of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Harry is the king’s constable in Craven County. Or at least he was,” Nelson began. Before he could finish the thought, Harry said, “I’m taking a short holiday while I try to discover the killer.”

  “And you’ve come here all the way from North Carolina to do this?” said the captain. “Extraordinary. I had no idea constables in this land involved themselves in such matters. In my country, a constable’s duties are fairly limited.”

  “As they are here. The truth is, the judge I work for does not approve of what I’m doing.”

  “The victims of this crime must have been very good friends for you to go to such lengths,” said another officer.

  “There is more to it than friendship or even revenge. An old friend of my family has been falsely accused of the murders. I fear he will be hung if I fail.”

  Nelson said, “The one they’ve arrested is an old Indian who helped raise Harry when Harry’s father failed to return from the siege of Cartagena.”

  “Cartagena, you say?” Biggerstaff’s eyebrows went up. “God rest your father’s soul for his service to Admiral Vernon. I was there as well. First officer aboard the Shrewsbury. It was an awful time. We had fifty men killed and wounded by Spanish cannon. But even more died of disease.”

  “Your Indian friend is not well, I am sorry to report,” Mackay said to Harry. “I understand he is barely eating enough to sustain life, and his trial is still a long ways off.”

  “The horse bettors are making odds he’ll ne
ver last until October,” said Nelson.

  “If I am successful, he will be a free man by then. I intend to bring the real killer up before Judge McLeod in shackles.”

  “I like you very much, Harry,” said Mackay, “the way you have turned your life ‘round in such a wholesome direction. I wish you success in saving your friend.”

  They all lifted their glasses to that.

  *

  Woozy from wine and the brandy served afterward, Harry made his way back to his cabin. He had weighed spending the night on deck but was tired and drunk enough now to think he would have no trouble sleeping below.

  It was black as pitch in the passageway. The ship’s steward had supplied a lit candle in a tin holder, along with strict instructions not to try to read by its light while in his bunk. There had been a recent outbreak of ship fires caused by people dozing off with candles still burning. He heeded this advice and then, keeping his clothes on for a quick exit if needed, climbed over the wooden plank that formed the inboard side of his bunk. The partition was high enough to prevent him from spilling onto the floor while on a port tack, but this added to his sense of confinement. Blessedly, the warmth of the day had abated and a light breeze was making its way through the porthole.

  As his thoughts began to drift, they took on physical shapes. It seemed he could see Toby. She was sitting before a candle, hunched over their eating table, a stack of ledgers to one side, trying to make sense of the plantation’s affairs. Sounding the depth of the financial pit she feared they were in. This involved judging relative values. A basket of apples lent, an apple pie due in return. Loan of an ox to fill out a stump removal team for a week in exchange for a bearskin winter coat. Each of these dealings written out in Harry’s messy but, for the most part, legible hand—legible to him, at least.