The Franklin Deception (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 4)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  Ben had briefed me before we arrived. Mr. Van Horne had been elected Representative of the Fourth District last year. He'd been a captain in the Revolutionary War and a cabinet maker before he became a wealthy landowner. His extended family lived in New York, while his wife lived in southern Pennsylvania.

  The scrape of a straight razor across stubbled flesh made it into the front room, followed by a tap on a brass bowl and a splash of water.

  Ben was lounging on his side of the bench, looking like a dandy in his bright green leggings, puffy white shirt, and dark embroidered court jacket. He'd placed his hair back into a ponytail and wore a bit of white powder on his face. I almost expected him to have a snuff tin. He looked the part of a Parisian noble ready for an evening of debauchery rather than a respected Philadelphian on a vote hounding trip.

  I'd chosen a more reserved outfit of a pale muslin gown. When I'd slid into the steam carriage, upon seeing Ben's, I'd thought my attire a mistake, but he gave me a knowing smile and pulled away.

  During the journey, I'd pressed him on his choice, but he'd stayed tight-lipped about it. I suspected I would find out soon enough.

  When Isaac Van Horne returned to the front room, he was wiping the cream from his face with a towel. The hair on his head was like a white tuft of cotton blown by the wind. He wore a plain white button down with suspenders and didn't seem to care that he'd gotten shaving cream and water on it. He was of the age that men stopped caring about their appearance.

  "Mr. Franklin," said Mr. Van Horne in a gravelly baritone, "I only agreed to entertain you because of your grandfather. I have a great and deep abiding respect for the man. As you know, I named one of my sons after him."

  "If he were alive today, he would surely appreciate it," said Ben without a hint of irony.

  "But I'm afraid there's nothing you can say that would dissuade me from my unwavering opinion about the war vote. As you know, the people are worried about the Russians and their propensity for wicked deeds. Many say we are already infiltrated by them and their kind, as they consort with witches and demons," said Mr. Van Horne.

  "Witches and demons, you say?" asked Ben in a lilting voice. "Have you seen one of these creatures yourself?"

  Mr. Van Horne opened his mouth to speak and paused as if he'd only just noticed what Ben was wearing. The man's frown deepened the wrinkles around his mouth.

  "No, I have not," he said eventually, "but I have it on good word that witches have been spotted in the capital by reputable folk."

  "Then how do you know these supernatural creatures come from Russia?" asked Ben.

  Mr. Van Horne scratched his face, then looked at his fingers as if he'd forgotten he'd shaved his stubble. "I've heard whispers we've caught some of their spies but fear to spread that victory in case it might inform others that we're aware of them. But it begs the question—answer me if you can—if not Russia, then who?"

  Ben stretched, raising his hands above his head, then curled into a disinterested pose. Mr. Van Horne's face soured. I couldn't figure what Ben was playing at.

  "The lands west are quite unknown," said Ben. "As everyone knows, the Red Man's disease has kept us from pushing further than the Appalachian Plateau. And the native Indians practice shamanism and other religions. Might we consider that direction?"

  "Poppycock," said Mr. Van Horne. "The Indians pose no threat to us. Our fleet of airships would decimate any Indian cavalry, even supported by sorcery, before it reached the western edge of the country."

  "Truly spoken. But I did not suggest that the Indians were threatening to invade. After the Revolutionary War, we made peace with them and set the borders. They seemed content to leave us to our intrigues while they stayed in the west. Not that it would have done us much good, since every attempt to explore that way resulted in an expedition of corpses. But what I was suggesting was that this magery and such might come from them. How else could they keep us back with that disease of theirs? It doesn't affect them one bit," said Ben.

  "Then who do you suggest is monkeying with our government and sending in spies? I've seen the reports from the Office of the Continental Army," said Mr. Van Horne, crossing his arms across his chest.

  "These events, the magic and the game of nations, are two separate things. My assistant, Yeka Carmontelle, and I have encountered many of these magical creatures. They are no different than deer or buffalo. They have hungers and ranges, they hunt and forage like any other beast of the land, though their means to do so is often remarkable and strange. Why, just last week we dealt with a...what did you call it, Yeka?" asked Ben.

  "A Domovoi. A house faerie," I said.

  "Yes, yes. That's it. Ask farmer Amberger. It was nothing more than a mischievous spirit. He hasn't had a bit of trouble since we showed him the proper rituals to follow, and he says his livestock have never been better. The creature seems to look out for his cattle and horses," said Ben.

  "But the witches and demons?" asked Mr. Van Horne.

  "Don't let the tight-lipped Federalists fool you, they possess artifacts that perform magic themselves. Who's to say they aren't behind these incursions to rouse up fear in the populous which they can then leverage into power," said Ben.

  The message struck true with Representative Van Horne. He patted his unruly white blotch of hair down while quirking his mouth to one side.

  "Plausible certainly, but this does nothing for my constituency. They'll throw me out next year if I vote against the war," he said.

  Franklin rose to his feet in a sudden rush and pounded his hand on the pew, causing the representative to flinch away. "Which is why you were elected in the first place! To make decisions that the people can not. Otherwise we would have made ourselves a complete democracy rather than a republic!"

  After the outburst, Ben seemed to realize he'd broken character. He smoothed his sleeves back and sat down, lazily placing one leg over the other as if there'd never been a raised voice.

  The representative looked mortified. It was one thing to speak to one's elder that way, it was another to speak to a member of the House of Representatives without a shred of respect. I thought Mr. Van Horne would throw us out, right then and there.

  "My apologies," said Ben. "I guess I have a bit of my grandfather in me. He certainly lectured me a time or two about standing up for my principles."

  "If you ever speak to me again in that manner, I will have you arrested." Then Mr. Van Horne hesitated. His bushy white eyebrows wagged with thought. Eventually, they settled, hunched and still. "But, despite your rudeness, you give me much to think about and I owe it to your grandfather to consider your words, however poorly spoken."

  "That you will consider the intent and not my words, honors the memory of my grandfather," said Ben heavily. "Might you be able to convince any of your fellows?"

  "I haven't completely bought into this idea. First, I wish to speak to Amberger since we are neighbors. And then I will need to think about it," said Mr. Van Horne, quietly rubbing his chin.

  "That's all I ask," said Ben, hopping to his feet. "Now, we shall leave you to your peace and quiet."

  Mr. Van Horne led us to the door, but before we said our farewells he made a curious frown. Ben answered his question before the man spoke.

  "We're invited to a party at the President's house. I wanted to look my best," said Ben as we slipped out the door.

  I held my tongue until we reached the carriage. "A party? Why didn't you tell me, you dandy rogue? I would have worn something appropriate."

  He looked down his nose at me, smirk on his lips. "You're dressed perfectly for the occasion. You'll understand once we pick up our ticket into the party."

  "You mean we weren't invited?" I asked.

  Ben winked. "That's never stopped me before."

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Warden was surprised when he slid into the back of the carriage in his buckskin coat. The tricorn hat had been left in the apartment, and Simon batted at the thick brown hair on his head, smoothi
ng it down.

  "Mr. Franklin. Miss Dashkova," he said, inclining his head. "I didn't realize that I had two guests."

  "Don't worry too much about it. These things happen. I'm sure they'll let us in," said Ben as he steered through the streets.

  "You look well, Simon," I said.

  "As do you, Katerina," he said, trying hard not to make eye contact.

  I had a few inklings to Ben's purposes, though not the reasons why. The gown I wore was more appropriate for a man of the Warden's tastes. Ben was trying to rekindle our courtship.

  Ben cleared his throat. "Warden, I do humbly request a favor. A small one, at that."

  "Anything, Mr. Franklin," said Simon.

  "It's about Kat," he said, sparking my attention. I sat straight up. "Please call her by the name Yeka Carmontelle, the name you first knew her by."

  Simon frowned, tugging on the front of his buckskin jacket. "Mr. Franklin, I know I'm but a simple constable, but do you mean to use me?"

  Ben turned his head, giving Simon a meaningful glance. "I thought you knew that."

  "Of course," said Simon, sighing heavily, "but I'd like to know how I'm being used."

  Benjamin Franklin, first American and artful rogue, gave Simon one of his patented winks. Simon smiled in response, while I recognized my own reaction in the constable. How many times had Ben given me a wink, only to make me feel that I was doing the right thing?

  But I couldn't fault him. He had to use whatever tools were available.

  "Simon," said Ben. "You know the Federalists want a war with Russia. One that will prove disastrous if they're allowed to go forward with it. I'm hoping to gauge the mood of the Senators and House members present from the Federalist Party and then figure out how to turn the vote to our side."

  Simon took him at his word, nodding in all the right places, while I knew that Ben was lying to him. Not about everything, but mostly why he'd invited Simon, and was pleased to see me in a more conservative dress. He was playing things close to the vest.

  When we reached the President's house, boys in dark pants and plain white button downs took the steam carriage while we strolled to the door. The door greeter barely twitched over the Warden having two guests rather than one, allowing us easy access to the party.

  Inside, the hum of voices was a blanket of sound. The President's Estate was not like the Binghams’, built with purpose. Rather it was a collection of houses that together made the estate, much like Franklin's.

  Men in coattails and top hats clustered together, while ladies in fine gowns and pearls chattered like birds. I didn't see the President or his wife, but recognized other members of the Federalist establishment.

  Before I started to mingle, Ben captured my elbow and leaned into my ear, whispering softly, "Move around, talk to as many people as you can, find out the mood on magic, but don't be the one to bring it up."

  He patted me on the back and moved into the party. I went a different way, heading through the parlor with its porcelain dishes displayed on the wall, and found myself in the reading room.

  I would join the many conversations, but first I wanted to see the building and find the location of the pool that had Chloris so interested. I had to use this unexpected opportunity to understand the task she'd laid before me.

  The women smiled as I passed, though their eyes said otherwise. I was an unknown quantity. I preferred the men's circles, not because they were more interesting, they weren't, but because they held the power in this instance. Circling the lower level made me long for the gilded halls of the Winter Palace in the court of Catherine.

  A touch at the elbow turned me around. Simon was so close I could smell his buckskin coat, which reminded me of a pine forest on a summer day. His eyes, the color of rain, were as wide and luminous as the moon. His fingertips lingered on my wrist, sending little shocks up my arm.

  "Kat," he whispered.

  "Yeka," I said back forcefully.

  "Yeka," he said. "I want to say how much I enjoyed our visit the other day. It was good to talk about...well, anything other than what we normally talk about."

  "We're not really the type of people who have normal conversations," I said.

  His face screwed up as if he'd smelled a fart. "Well, yes, but I was just saying—"

  "Morwen of No Last Name!" came a voice from the hallway. Before I could turn, I knew who it was. I'd forgotten that he would be here.

  On the way around, I made a face at Simon that I hoped would indicate not to make a fuss about this other name.

  "Mr. Bingham," I said, gracefully curtseying.

  "You should call me William," he said, then turned to Simon and pumped his hand. "Warden. So wonderful to see you. You're a man of the people. Philadelphia wouldn't be the same without your sturdy arm. How do you know Morwen?"

  Simon was perplexed, so I intervened by touching William on the hip. The intimate gesture immediately brought the prominent Federalist around, which elicited a surprised look from Simon.

  "The Warden's threatened to take me to the courthouse on many an occasion," I said, laughing. "I'm a troubled woman."

  William broke out in a guffaw, drawing stares from the rest of the room. Simon failed to laugh, glanced between the pair of us, and strode away with only a brief parting. William didn't even acknowledge the Warden's departure, as he kept his small eyes upon me.

  "Walk with me," said William, holding his arm out.

  Without comment, I hooked my arm. We strolled through the party. William pointed out the members of Congress. I could tell he was trying to impress me.

  "I was quite distressed to learn that you'd come to visit and I'd missed you," said William.

  "Appointments," I muttered, hoping he didn't ask about Alden Bridgewater. But he seemed more interested in showing me off like a well-bred horse. I hadn't felt this way since my early days in the Winter Palace when I was Catherine's favorite. I hated every minute of those days.

  When we passed the parlor, Ben was telling stories about his adventures in France. At first, I froze, thinking he'd forgotten that he was Temple rather than Ben. Then I remembered that the real Temple was living in Paris, so these stories worked the same.

  "Do you not like Temple Franklin?" asked William, sensing my tenseness.

  I almost explained it away, but decided it was an opportunity. "He's quite full of himself. Thinks he knows everything."

  A lecherous twinkle formed in William's eye. "You and Temple, are you...?"

  "No," I said, shaking my head.

  "Ahh...that is good."

  We moved around the party, never stopping for long. I received scathing glances from the women in attendance, as William was the most eligible bachelor in Philadelphia. The courtyard in back was surrounded by flowery bushes in bloom. Women waved fans to keep away the insects, while the men in top hats tried to appear stoic.

  When William saw the President and his wife surrounded by other Federalists, he pulled me towards them. At first, I was concerned they might remember me from the Brave Eagle. But if William Bingham could accept the younger version of me without realizing it was the same person, then the Washingtons, after having their memories erased by the real Morwen's spell-infused chocolate, should be no problem.

  "Don't worry, they don't bite," said William, patting my hand.

  The President was busy having a side discussion with a short fellow with heavy jowls. He had the face of a large man on a small body.

  William steered us to Martha, who had aged considerably since I'd seen her last. Her eyes had a milky quality, with tiny bloodshot veins at the corners.

  "Madam Washington," said William, bowing. "This is Morwen of No Last Name."

  Martha gave me a weary smile, the result of a long day of feigning interest when she probably wanted to have a comfortable seat instead. I knew it well from formal engagements at the Winter Palace.

  "A strange name," she said, her voice unsteady. She frowned, her wrinkles deepening to valleys. "I know you...don't
I?"

  I curtseyed. "Forgive me, but I don't believe we have met. Or I surely would remember."

  "No," said Martha, taking my hand to pat it, "forgive an old woman who's been on her feet for far too long. I would trade the Constitution for a good, soft chair."

  "There's a bench near the crysthanamums," I said, pointing to a curved wooden seat along a row of rose bushes. "I'm sure no one would begrudge Martha Washington a bit of rest."

  "Oh, you're a sweet one," she said, ending with a soft cackle.

  Then she asked a question, but the words failed to find my ears. I sensed an unfriendly gaze falling harshly upon me. Except when I looked up, the gentleman by the President, the one with the jowls, was speaking to another by his side. I could have sworn that he'd shot me a murderous glance just a moment before.

  "Morwen," said William, tugging on the sleeve of my gown. "Madam Washington is speaking to you."

  "Oh forgive me," I said, blushing. I wanted to look upon that man with the jowls, but Martha Washington was staring at me with a tilted head.

  "I had that bit of recognition again," said Martha. "A bit of false memory, I suppose. But you have the look of someone I must have known at one time. A detriment of old age. But I will take your excellent advice and move camp to that bench."

  Martha Washington trundled off with help from an aide. It pained me to see her so aged from when we met a few years ago. My youth had been restored to me, twice, while others of my era would soon be in the grave.

  The man who'd been speaking to the President moved away. I caught another glance, this time less severe, but meaningful all the same.

  I spoke quietly to William. "Who was that man speaking to the President? He looked at me oddly."

  "Enoch Tasker? He's the President's assistant. A man of no import. If you'd like, I can speak to the President and ask him to reprimand him for disturbing you," said William.

  "No. Please, no. It didn't disturb me. Only that he looked at me...strangely." I almost said as if he knew me but realized that after Martha's reaction that might trigger William Bingham's memory of me from the Brave Eagle.