Empire

by Edward Cline

  George Wythe narrowed his eyes. “While we are all here loyal subjects of His Majesty, sir, and pledge our hearts and minds to England…there are some aspects of the mother country that we are happy are not to be found here.”

  Commissary Robinson raised his eyebrows at this rebuke, then shrugged. “Well,” he said, “in all honesty, the events that have occurred here are so disturbing that I feel obligated to write the Bishop of London about them, and report to him my own observations. In point of fact, it is my duty to report them, and it is one I shall take pleasure in performing.”

  Peyton Randolph saw his chance, and replied with a mock smile, “Then, sir, pray attend to your duty, and allow us to attend to ours.”

  Commissary Robinson looked regretful. “Sultry weather we’ve had lately,” he remarked. “I wonder if it will rain.” He stepped back and bowed slightly. “Good day to you, sirs.” He turned and left the lobby.

  No one in the group doubted that Reverend Robinson would write the Bishop of London, Richard Terrick, who himself was a distant cousin of the Commissary’s, and a Privy Councilor to boot.

  “That man,” said Robert Carter Nicholas in a low voice as he watched the man leave, “sees himself as the first bishop of New York and all the colonies.”

  “God save us from the duty of kissing his ring,” said Randolph.

  The group agreed to meet early in the evening in the upstairs committee room and to work until they had completed a draft of the resolves. They broke up and went their separate ways.

  Outside, as they walked together across the Capitol grounds to Randolph’s waiting carriage, the Attorney-General and Wythe came upon Thomas Jefferson, who noticed them approaching. His young brow was furled in thought.

  “My congratulations to you,” said Jefferson to the pair. “A most bloody contest. I hope it was worth the strife.”

  “Very bloody,” agreed Randolph, who sensed that the young man was addressing him exclusively, “but very much worth the strife.” He saw a strange look in Jefferson’s eyes, one that made him feel apprehension. “Still, I suspect that the House has been divided in a unique and permanent way. And I hope you have learned something of the way of true politics.”

  Jefferson seemed to nod with difficulty, then asked in too casual a tone, “May I presume that you found the five hundred guineas with which to purchase a vote or two, sir? I did not know there were so many to be found in the colonies. Guineas, that is.”

  Wythe gasped, then blushed in supreme embarrassment. Randolph exclaimed, “What?” and stared incredulously at his distant cousin. Wythe opened his mouth to upbraid his protégé, but Randolph, roused to fury by the comment, leaned closer to Jefferson’s face and spat into it, “No, sir! Say, rather, one hundred guineas! Ask me another indecorous question, my fine, untrained puppy, and I shall have you banished from the House! Out of my way!” He pushed past Jefferson and stormed off to his waiting carriage.

  Before Wythe followed hurriedly in his wake, he stopped to jab a finger on Jefferson’s chest several times. “You, sir, have insulted a great man! I will speak with you later!”

  Inside the carriage, which would take them a short distance to Randolph’s home a half mile from the Capitol, Randolph said, “By God, Mr. Wythe! What are things coming to? What confounded brass! He is a decent fellow, that lad, but have you neglected to instruct him in manners and discretion? Has he allowed Mr. Henry’s fever to addle his noggin?”

  “I shall speak with him, sir,” said Wythe.

  They were quiet for a moment as the carriage bumped along the road that led to Randolph’s spacious home. Then Randolph said, “The Governor will dissolve us over this affair. I believe you promised him defeat of the resolves.”

  Wythe shook his head, and sighed. “He will surely dissolve us, sir, no matter how well we correct the grammar.”

  * * *

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the Capitol, the advocates of the resolves held a hasty conference of their own. “Well,” said George Johnston, “at least there are four resolves, where before there had been none.”

  John Fleming grunted in disgust. “They are but a cart without a horse, Mr. Johnston, and by the time that committee have finished with them, they will be a cart without wheels!”

  Colonel Munford remarked with bright sarcasm, “Why the despair, sirs? Mr. Robinson’s party was obliged to adopt some of them! By next session, they may be persuaded that five shillings make a crown! That is some progress!”

  Hugh Kenrick said, “I do not doubt the effect all the resolves will have here, and throughout all the colonies, sirs. It is unfortunate, however, that those who fought so stubbornly against them may in half a year’s time be credited with their adoption, and perhaps even with their authorship.”

  Munford nodded in agreement. “And they will accept that credit, and very likely author their own little pamphlets to support their new-found patriotism!”

  Johnston looked thoughtful, and said, “I confess I am a mite uncomfortable now with our project, sirs. After all, only four of the resolves were adopted, yet Mr. Kenrick’s friend will print and post all seven to the four corners of the empire. Parliament and the king and everyone on these shores will believe that these resolves are the accomplishment of the House.” He paused. “Is this not an exercise in deceit?”

  Hugh scoffed. “No, sir. The resolves, all of them, are what ought to have been adopted. I do not see our project as an exercise in deceit. Rather, it is an effort to proclaim a truth, and every one of those resolves states a truth.” Hugh chuckled in dark irony. “And among other effects the dissemination of the resolves will have, will be some compensation for our apologies.” He shook his head again. “Let those who opposed the resolves write their fragments. They must, in time, come to agree with all seven resolves. We will have sown justice in the wind, sirs, and I am certain we will see a great harvest.”

  “So we may,” remarked Johnston. “We may also see Governor Fauquier dissolve the Assembly before its time. I do believe that Mr. Wythe pledged him our defeat.”

  * * *

  After he had exchanged farewells with his companions, Hugh walked alone down Duke of Gloucester Street. He had promised Jack Frake and his party that he would meet them at Mary Gandy’s house, from which Jack, Etáin, Ramshaw, and Proudlocks would begin their journey back to Caxton. As he was passing Raleigh Tavern, he heard someone call after him. He turned and saw Thomas Jefferson hurrying down the sidewalk. “Mr. Kenrick! I was afraid I missed you!”

  Jefferson rushed up, took one of Hugh’s hands, and shook it, this time without any hesitation. “I wished to thank you, sir, for your…inspiration, and for your words…and for everything else I have witnessed these last two days.”

  Hugh shook his head. “Do not thank me, sir. Thank…necessity.”

  “You, and Mr. Henry, and the others,” protested Jefferson, “even those who opposed you so vigorously, have caused me to stand back and see a broader vista of matters.” He smiled. “I own that I am in your debt.”

  Hugh grinned. “You may consider that debt repaid, Mr. Jefferson, when your mentor, Mr. Wythe, openly and with rock-hard conviction agrees with Mr. Henry and me and with everything that was said by us these last two days. You are the one for that task. I failed, as you saw. You may not.”

  Jefferson laughed. “What a Herculean labor you assign me! Perhaps even a Sisyphean one! He is a very crafty fellow in cool argument, you know, who allows one to believe that one has convinced him on a certain legal point, only to have him assail one with a barrage from Coke or Kames.”

  “I am certain that you will someday become his equal,” said Hugh.

  “Thank you,” said Jefferson. He glanced up at the gray roof of clouds that had gathered over Williamsburg. “Well, it is time I took up no more of your own,” he said. “I must prepare to leave for Shadwell and my duties there, now that the Assembly has concluded its business, and,” he added in a lower voice, “has so displeased Governor Fauquier that he will
certainly dissolve it some days before its natural conclusion. I have farewells to say to friends, including his honor.” Jefferson’s expression now became serious. “I remember our talk of a while ago, Mr. Kenrick, last December, I believe, and something you said to me. I promise you here that, if there is no honor now in the lawyer’s profession, I shall work in the future to imbue it with some.” He paused. “And perhaps you and I shall someday share a bench in the House.”

  “I would like to see that day,” said Hugh.

  After they had said their final goodbyes, Hugh continued down Duke of Gloucester. Something Jefferson said tickled an old memory. Then he smiled, for he remembered the day, long ago, when he had remarked to his tutor in Danvers that he would bring honor to the family name.

  He was passing another tavern, lost in this pleasant memory, and wondering about the implacability of justice, when he noticed John Proudlocks in the distance, coming toward him. He saw the man frown then, just as he heard someone behind him roar, “You! You traitor! You regicide!”

  Hugh turned in time to hear more than see an object swoop down, then hear more than feel the object strike him on the head with an ear-splitting crack. As his knees buckled and he felt himself falling, he caught a glimpse of the face of the older burgess who had tried to attack him in the House. He had only enough time to note the flesh-distorting malice on that face before he lost consciousness.

  But he was unconscious for only a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the man was still there, hovering over him, but being held by three men, one of them Thomas Jefferson, who had apparently rushed back across the boulevard when he heard the fracas. The burgess struggled against his captors, yelling oaths in a drunken slur. He had emerged from the tavern just as Hugh was passing it. He still held his cane, and his eyes never left Hugh.

  As Hugh propped himself upon his elbows, he saw Proudlocks snatch the cane from the man’s grip, raise it in the air with both hands, then bring it down and break it in half over his upraised knee.

  “You!” yelled the burgess. “You blackamoor! Give me a sword! I’ll teach you — ” Then he stopped ranting, and seemed to realize where he was and what he had done. Proudlocks stared hard at the man, and offered him in one hand the two halves of the broken cane. The burgess sneered at him, and with his free hand knocked them from Proudlocks’ grip. The silver-tipped halves clattered to the ground.

  Proudlocks shrugged, then bent to help Hugh to his feet. A crowd of men, women, children, and slaves had gathered around the scene. One of the men holding the burgess asked Hugh, “Sir, do you wish him arrested? You won’t lack for witnesses! I saw him strike you without provocation! So did others here!”

  One of the onlookers stepped forward. “You can’t arrest him, as well he might be! This is John Chiswell, a burgess of the city! He is immune from charges while the Assembly sits!”

  Hugh began to feel a throbbing pain not only on his head, but in his ribs and shoulder. The burgess had struck him several times before he was restrained. He studied his assailant for a moment. The malice in the man’s eyes had softened a little, but not much. He was breathing hard, as a drunken man will after a tremendous exertion. Hugh imagined he saw a glimmer of hope in the man’s eyes.

  He felt something warm slither down one side of his face, and put a finger to it. It was blood. He grimaced in disgust, then said, “Then he is fortunate on two counts: he is immune, and I do not carry my own sword. Let him go.”

  Jefferson and the two men released Chiswell from their holds, and warily stepped away. Chiswell stared at Hugh for a moment, then at the crowd, his expression communicating nothing. He grunted once, straightened his frock coat, spat on the ground, then turned and strode away across the boulevard, weaving as he went, muttering more oaths.

  Proudlocks handed Hugh his hat. Hugh expressed his thanks to his rescuers, and the crowd dispersed. Jefferson remained behind, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Who is that man?” asked Proudlocks. His eyes had not left the burgess until the figure meandered onto a side street and disappeared behind a house.

  “That,” said Hugh, stepping over to one of the cane halves and kicking it into the boulevard, “was the father-in-law of the Speaker of the House.” He saw the look of incomprehension in Proudlocks’s face. “Mr. Robinson married that man’s daughter.”

  Proudlocks’s face brightened. “Ah! I understand now! That is why Mr. Robinson turned away in shame when that man tried to strike you in the House!”

  “I had not noticed,” remarked Hugh. “That is one more thing he should be ashamed of.”

  Jefferson said, “Well, I would not wager on Mr. Chiswell’s reelection to the next Assembly, not even with Mr. Robinson’s support.”

  Proudlocks narrowed his eyes in thought. “Mr. Kenrick, do you think he was told to hurt you? I saw also that Mr. Robinson is not your friend, either.”

  Hugh smiled in spite of his pain, and shook his head. “No, John. He was drunk and acting alone. You will have observed that there is not much difference between his sobriety and his drunken state. No, I don’t believe Mr. Robinson or anyone else put him up to it.” He paused, though, when he realized what Proudlocks had confessed in his query. “You are but half right in your observation, my friend. Intrigue there was — shameless intrigue — but what happened here was not a part of it. I shall put this incident out of my mind.”

  “I will not,” said Proudlocks with finality.

  “Why are you here?” asked Hugh. “I was to meet you and Mr. Frake and the others at Miss Gandy’s for supper, and then see you off back to Caxton.”

  Proudlocks smiled. “I asked for Mr. Frake’s leave to search for you. The supper was nearly ready.”

  Hugh noticed Jefferson listening to them with curiosity. “Where are my manners?” he said. “Allow me to introduce you to a future lawyer and burgess, Mr. Thomas Jefferson. Mr. Jefferson, may I present Mr. John Proudlocks, perhaps a future speculist and a rival of Mr. Bland…. ”

  Half an hour later, Hugh was sitting in Mary Gandy’s kitchen while the hostess and Etáin fussed over him and treated his head injury with ointment. Jack Frake sat with a mug of ale and a pipe and watched the ministrations with amusement. Hugh’s story, however, had not amused him. “I suspected that fellow hadn’t finished with you,” he said. “But after the last vote on the fifth resolve, well…I thought he would have been satisfied with that.” He paused. “How long will you remain here?”

  Hugh said, “Until Governor Fauquier dissolves the Assembly. Until tomorrow, I should think. I want to be here when it happens.” He reached over and picked up one of the cards of the caricature that Dogmael Jones had sent him. This one came from the door of one of the shops he passed on his way back with Proudlocks. “All will be quiet for a while,” he mused with a smile. He waved the caricature once, then set it down. “Then we shall see some consequence. I am certain of it.”

  John Ramshaw, sitting at another corner of the table, grinned. “Sir, if what happened today to you — if what I witnessed the last two days — is any measure of the matter, I would say that the colonies and England are in for a patch of very nasty weather.” He raised his mug of ale in salute. “Here’s to you, son.”

  * * *

  Late the next morning, as the remaining burgesses filed into the chamber — only thirty-two now, one having gone home, and John Chiswell not daring to attend, for he feared a public reprimand by his son-in-law the Speaker — an usher from the other side of the Capitol appeared and handed Robinson a summons from Lieutenant-Governor Fauquier to appear before him with the rest of the House in the Council chamber. Robinson informed the House of the summons, and the body filed back out again, crossed through the connecting committee rooms upstairs, and into the Council chamber. This large, richly appointed room was dominated by a vast oaken table covered with an exquisite purple cloth. At its head sat the Lieutenant-Governor, and around it seven members of his Council.

  When all the burgesses were assembled around
the table, standing with hats in hand, just as members of the Commons did when they attended a conference with the Lords in London, Fauquier welcomed them and announced that he had given his assent to the remaining legislation and that he was satisfied that the House had discharged its duties.

  But when he came to the subject of the Stamp Act, he stared into the space ahead of him, and fixed his sight on some white object. “Gentlemen of the House,” he began, “it has come to my attention that some very inelegant and offensive resolutions were passed by you concerning the late act, and that in the course of approving these inappropriate disputations, some altercations occurred unbefitting the dignity of the venue. Also, I have heard that some indecent language was employed on the same occasions. The altercations and language alone prompt me to reproach you. Further, while I concede that delinquency is not within Mr. Speaker’s power to obviate, I believe that, had more of your fellows seen fit to attend this session until its natural expiration, neither the resolutions nor the altercations would have given me cause to advise you of the Crown’s displeasure, for they would have…not happened.” The Lieutenant-Governor flicked a wrist to make his point. “The resolutions, however, are a greater violation of my sensibilities, and I am certain they will have a similar effect on the parties to whom they are addressed, and perhaps move those parties to contemplate actions that can only abuse your own sense of propriety, moderation, and justice.”

  Fauquier’s sight focused then on the white object; it was a small bandage fixed above Hugh Kenrick’s brow. He frowned and interrupted his address. “Sir, you have suffered some mishap. Did your horse throw you, or you fall from it?”