“What of my dream?” Washington asked warily. “Am I somehow to infer that you caused it?”
The prince shook his head. “Not I—though I am now prepared to assist Simon and the others in duplicating its ritual, to confirm you as champion of America’s liberties.”
“Yes,” Washington said slowly, “I sense that you should be there, though I cannot say why. But—what has all of this to do with your Stuart Pretender? I have long been aware of Colonel Wallace’s Jacobite sympathies, but—”
As he shook his head, the prince leaned slightly forward, his dark eyes very intent on Washington’s.
“At very least, George Washington, you have been prepared to serve as America’s defender, champion of her liberties, to wear the victor’s laurel Crown. As an alternative, it was planned that you might assume the role of Stuart regent, if King Charles had seen fit to take up his Crown here in America.”
“But—”
“The King recently has declined that option for a second and final time, for a variety of reasons; but the very qualities that have prepared you as America’s defender make you also fit to take up a Crown of your own—a royal Crown, not just the victor’s laurel wreath. America could do far worse.”
Washington’s face had drained of color as the prince spoke, the big hands closing around Lafayette’s Bible. Now he brought the book to his breast as if its very touch conveyed comfort, but his eyes looked a little glazed as he slowly shook his head.
“No,” he whispered softly. “I cannot think that this land will again bow to kings. All that first year of the war, I prayed that we might be reconciled with the Mother Country—but that was before it became clear that King George himself was no less an impediment to the liberties of this country than his ministers and Parliament.”
“A different George might prove a far different kind of monarch,” the prince observed.
“No.” Washington shook his head as he put Lafayette’s Bible back on the table. “I do not know what form of government will best serve when we have truly won our independence, but I think that it will not be a monarchy—and certainly not with me at its head.”
“And, pray, why not?”
“I have told you one good reason,” Washington said sharply. “There is the additional fact that, like your King Charles, I have no heir of my body. Nor does one ever know that one’s heir will be competent; this is one of the many uncertainties of monarchy. No, I shall wear no Crown save a victor’s laurel, if that is vouchsafed me.”
“Yet a Crown will be offered you, and more than once, and by those far better able to deliver it,” the prince said quietly. “Already many sing ‘God save great Washington,’ where before they sang, ‘God save the King.’ Many there will be, when this conflict is ended, who will wish you to be their king in fact, by right of conquest—for without you, I think this struggle could come to no happy ending. I accept that you have your reasons for declining now. But will you always have the courage of your present convictions, to refuse such earthly glory?”
Washington had closed his eyes as the prince spoke, a look of anguish on his craggy face, and pain shone in his eyes as he looked up again.
“Nothing was ever said before of earthly Crowns,” he whispered. “I only ever sought the victor’s laurel. That is all I have ever wanted—and not for myself, but in fulfillment of the duty I assumed when called to serve. Why do you continue to tempt me?”
“Untested virtue is little worth,” the prince replied, smiling faintly. “True virtue must be tried and proven.”
“As has been done,” Simon said, speaking at last. “And having done, the time now has come to reinforce the dedication you declared when you first told me of the dream. General, with the return of Monsieur de Lafayette, we are now prepared to proceed as has been proposed from the beginning and reenact the dream. You have come to a major branching point upon the Master Tracing Board, and decisions must be made.
“If you would seek a royal Crown, we are prepared to support you in that endeavor. If the victor’s crown is still your goal, then let the purpose of our working be to anchor your resolve—for the lure of an earthly Crown can be a heady one.”
Washington breathed out very slowly, obviously awash with emotion, his swallow audible in the silence.
“I—pray you will allow me a few days to think on this, gentlemen,” he said quietly. “I shall speak of it to no one else—in truth, who would believe me?—but clearly the time has come when I must face my destiny squarely. Will you indulge me in this?”
The prince inclined his head, then picked up his brandy, all but untouched. “We shall await your direction, General. In the meantime, may I wish you serenity, wisdom, and clear vision, as you ponder what could be the most important decision you may ever be called upon to make?”
He stood and drained his glass with those words, then dashed the empty glass into the fireplace with a suddenness that made the rest of them start at the sound of breaking glass. But then Lafayette and Simon also took up their glasses and rose, their eyes never leaving Washington as they, too, drank the toast, then tossed their glasses after the prince’s, that no lesser toast might ever be drunk from them.
Stunned, Washington stared at the debris, at the shards of crystal glittering before the fire on the hearth, at the three men gazing at him, waiting. Then he slowly lifted his own glass and drank down the potent brandy as if it were water. He gazed long into the empty glass when he had finished, running a thumb across the crystal facets, then stood and tossed it into the fireplace with the others, where it shattered.
“I shall endeavor to give you an answer in the next few days, gentlemen,” he said softly, not meeting any of their eyes. “Colonel Wallace, I think perhaps it is time we left the marquis his privacy. It has been a very long day for him.”
“It has, indeed,” Lafayette said cautiously, inclining his head in a bow. “But I must remind the General that I am ordered by my government to journey on to Philadelphia as quickly as I may. I must acquaint Congress with the recent developments and receive instructions from the new French minister. It may be many weeks before I am able to return. It would be well if I at least knew your decision before I depart; and better still, if we could have done what is necessary.”
Washington nodded dully, slowly moving with Simon toward the door.
“I will give you my decision as soon as I may,” he whispered. “Please understand that it is not one I dare make lightly, so I pray that you will be patient with me.” He paused at the door to glance back at Lafayette and the prince, drawing himself into a semblance of professional demeanor. “I—should like to invite both of you to ride with me in the morning for an inspection of the Morristown camp, immediately after breakfast. Good evening, gentlemen.”
The General said but little as Simon and Justin escorted him back to his quarters, and what was said pertained only to the proposed inspection the next morning. He bade them good night with his customary courtesy and did not leave his quarters again that night, though Justin made periodic checks through the night, and in the morning reported that a thin line of light had been visible from under the General’s door until the dawn washed it to invisibility. Simon might have kept the watch himself, brooding on what dark doubts might be going through the General’s mind, but he made himself accept Justin’s offer to take on that lonely task, for he knew he must be fresh and ready to act once the General gave them his decision.
Fortunately, Washington did not keep them long wondering. Though he looked to have slept but little the next morning, he drew Simon briefly aside while they waited for their horses to be brought up.
“I confess a part of myself still skeptical of the necessity to do what you have asked,” he said under his breath, “yet there is that which almost compels me to agree. It is nothing of your direct doing, I assure you,” he added at Simon’s sharp look, “for since the very beginning of our association, you have been most conscientious in insisting that I do whatever I have done o
f my own free will.”
“Then, is it your will that I proceed, sir?” Simon asked quietly.
Washington gave a faint inclination of his head as Justin approached leading Simon’s black mare and the General’s big gray.
“I place myself totally in your hands in this regard,” he said. “Do as you think best.”
Simon nodded. “Tomorrow night, then, under guise of a private farewell supper in honor of the marquis—a very private supper. We have a house prepared, and the others are standing by. I shall give you further details this evening or tomorrow morning.”
“I shall hold myself in readiness,” the General replied as Justin brought his horse alongside. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
He said nothing further as he mounted up and moved off to join Lafayette, but Simon’s nod to Justin as he, too, mounted was enough to ensure that the latter would remain behind and ride to inform Andrew. The prince had noted the exchange and held back as the General and Lafayette rode out at the head of the inspection party, falling into place briefly beside Simon.
“Tomorrow night,” Simon murmured as he leaned down, as if to adjust a stirrup leather.
Chapter Twenty-six
The house in which Andrew, Arabella, and Ramsay made their preparations had belonged to an old friend of Andrew’s, now several years deceased. Upon his arrival in Morristown, Andrew had arranged with the widow Johnstone to take over the house for a few weeks while she went to visit a daughter in Philadelphia. Ramsay had joined him and Arabella a few days later and pitched in with an enthusiasm they had not seen for several years.
The house was admirably suited to their purposes, but half an hour’s ride from Washington’s headquarters and set far enough off the beaten track that it received few unintentional visitors. Twenty years before, the Johnstone library had been the scene of many a Lodge meeting and the occasional more clandestine gathering of fellow Jacobite sympathizers.
A party intending even more clandestine activities arrived at the house just before eight o’clock on the appointed night: General Washington, General Lafayette, Simon, the prince, and Justin. They had brought no other escort. En route, Lafayette had chattered nervously about the privations he had observed in the camp over the previous two days—the appalling lack of proper clothing and shoes, the shocking shortages of weapons and ammunition—but he wound down as they drew rein beside the house and dismounted, Simon removing a set of saddlebags and slinging them over one shoulder.
While Justin took the horses around to the barn, Simon ushered the others to the front door. Ramsay was waiting to admit them, smartly turned out in the Continental uniform he had not worn in months. As soon as they were inside, the prince excused himself and Lafayette and followed Ramsay through a door at the far end of the entry hall, while Simon led the General into the parlor and closed the door. Washington had said but little in response to Lafayette’s comments en route and watched with a taut intensity as Simon set down the saddlebags on a bow-backed chair.
“I wish that Gilbert had been less garrulous,” the General said quietly. “I think I need not tell you that I feel very apprehensive about tonight.”
Simon smiled faintly and began unbuckling one side of the saddlebags. “I should be surprised if it were otherwise,” he said. “Would you like a glass of wine to steady you?”
Washington shook his head distractedly, pacing the room with nervous energy that the day’s activities had done nothing to sap.
“No. I wish nothing to blunt the edge of my perceptions.” He turned to watch Simon take out a folded Masonic apron. “Can you really have managed to assemble all the elements of my dream?”
“All that you have related to me, and some that have eluded memory thus far,” Simon replied, handing the General his apron.
Washington fingered it uncertainly, the gray-blue eyes lifting questioningly to Simon’s.
“Are you—permitted to tell me anything of what I may expect?” he asked.
Simon cocked his head thoughtfully. “Recall for me, if you will, sir, the answer to this question, which you have asked of many a candidate in Lodge, and which you yourself have answered many times before: Why do you leave the west and travel to the east?”
“In search of light,” Washington replied. “In search of more light.”
Before he could pursue the point, a knock at the door froze him in his place.
“Come,” Simon called.
As Justin entered, bobbing a brief nod of apology to the Commander in Chief, Washington seemed to relax just a little.
“The outside is secure, sir,” Justin said. “I’ll be serving as Tyler for this evening, so you won’t be seeing me about for the next little while. But I wanted to offer you my very best wishes.”
A hint of what might have been disappointment touched Washington’s craggy face, but then he nodded and set aside his apron to extend a hand to Justin.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Carmichael—Brother Justin,” he said quietly, retaining Justin’s hand in his. “It had not occurred to me to wonder who would tyle our work this evening. While I would have welcomed your presence within, I am reassured to know that you will be on guard outside our door. You have come a very long way since I was privileged to be present at your raising to Master Mason.”
“So have we all, sir,” Justin replied, not flinching from the gray-blue gaze.
Smiling faintly, Washington briefly clapped his left hand to their joined ones in affirmation, then drew back, watching fondly as Justin departed and closed the door behind him. His manner was thoughtful as he turned back to Simon.
“Have we, indeed, come that far?” he asked quietly.
“I think only you can answer that question, sir,” Simon replied. He picked up the saddlebags and gestured toward the apron. “You’d best clothe yourself now, while I see if they’re ready for us. You needn’t worry what to do. I’ll be at your side all the way.”
“As you long have been,” the General said quietly. “Thank you, Simon.”
Simon said nothing, only nodding acknowledgment as he ducked out the door, but inside he felt a flush of unexpected pleasure, for it was the first time Washington had called him by his Christian name. He found himself smiling as he paused in the entry hall to deposit the saddlebags on a side chair and pull out his own apron and Washington’s personal Bible, also taking off his spurs. Lafayette’s smaller Bible was already tucked into an inner breast pocket, where he had carried it for Lafayette’s initiation. Before entering the library, he extinguished all but one of the candles in the entry hall.
The room was a little larger than the Wallace library and normally did double duty as a sitting room, but all the chairs had been removed save for the one set aside at the far end for the presiding Master. Andrew was standing just inside, surveying the final preparations, and turned to greet Simon as he entered. His white hair hung loose on his shoulders, and the glass eye given him by Charles Edward Stuart glinted behind the Professor’s wire-rimmed spectacles. He was dressed in the rusty black clothing he had worn as the Professor, five years before, with a Masonic apron girt about his waist and Saint-Germain’s moonstone around his neck instead of a Masonic jewel. A dusty black tricorn was in his hands, for Masonic custom decreed that the presiding Master should wear his hat.
At the far end of the room behind him, beside the Master’s chair, Lafayette was spreading a white cloth on the small table that would serve as an altar, and Ramsay was taking a familiar-looking pair of compasses out of a flannel bag. A square and another mound of flannel already lay in the seat of the chair, across the arms of which the prince had just laid the naked Sobieski sword.
“Are those Franklin’s?” Simon asked, indicating the square and compasses.
“Aye.” Andrew paused to put on his hat. “Lucien obtained the loan of them when he was in Paris. If the General recognizes them, as he may well do, it should reinforce the connection between what happened at Justin’s raising to Master and what happens here, tonight. How is
he?”
Simon handed him Washington’s Bible and paused to put on his own apron. “Very apprehensive, to use his own words; but apparently determined to go through with it. How soon will you be ready to begin? I don’t want him to have too long to worry.”
“We’re nearly ready.” Andrew held up the Bible to catch Lafayette’s attention, but the prince came instead and took it, retreating wordlessly to open it on the altar. “Shall I acquaint you with the basic arrangement?”
At Simon’s nod Andrew took his arm and led him a few steps farther into the room. Besides the three candles required for ritual as the Lesser Lights of Freemasonry, presently lined up on one of the bookcases, the only other light source was a pair of mirrored candle sconces to either side of the fireplace. The flickering light was not enough to make out details of the painted floor cloth in the center of the room, provided by Saint-Germain and brought back by Andrew and Arabella, but Simon had seen a drawing of the design. The encircling mottoes and the symbolism within the large circle of thirteen stars would be explained to Washington during the course of the ritual, and the candles set at the center of each of those stars would provide more than enough light for all their purposes.
“The Masonic altar will remain outside the circle,” Andrew said, gesturing toward it. “Its purpose is symbolic only, to anchor a framework for the rest of the ritual. Washington’s personal altar will be the back of the chair he’ll use as a kneeler.” He gestured to one side, toward an odd, squat chair with an upholstered seat, very short legs, and a narrow shelf across its back that formed an armrest if one knelt on the seat.
Simon nodded. “You’ll move that into position at the appropriate time?”
“Yes. Working within the circle of candles will be logistically difficult enough, because the stars are less than three feet apart, but Saint-Germain was adamant about wanting the symbolism and about keeping the design as unobscured as possible. So we’ll move the appropriate furniture and people in and out of the circle as and when needed. The circle isn’t a protective one, so it doesn’t matter that it will be breached repeatedly.”
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