by Peter Murphy
‘Cathy,’ Sam began, ‘we don’t have much time. Would you…?’
She smiled again.
‘Sam, if you can make arrangements with the Lodge, I’ll come with you, with my passport in hand.’
61
By the end of the week, with the help of one more phone call from Agent Resnik, who had somehow ingratiated himself with the Lodge during his inquiries, we had managed to secure an appointment with the personal assistant to the Grand Master of Pennsylvania. I felt badly that Cathy had to take a day off work, though it was a Friday, and it didn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, she seemed quite enthusiastic, in some ways even more than Sam and me. I don’t think Sam or I had any illusions left by then. There was every chance that the search for Abe Best’s storage box would be a wild goose chase: another story of groping around in the dark and coming up with nothing; the story we had inherited from those who had gone before us; the consistent story of the quest for the van Eyck loan certificates for more than two hundred years. All the same, we were almost out of time now, and we had been given a lead; we had to follow it. If nothing else, I tried desperately to persuade myself, what was true of Abe Best must be true of any other Mason of his period. Perhaps there were others who had stored papers at the Lodge, and perhaps there was information to be had there.
The Philadelphia Masonic Temple at One North Broad Street, just across from the City Hall, is a justly famous piece of late nineteenth-century grandiosity. If you didn’t know what it was, you might think it to be a civic building, some local dignitary’s personal folly, or even a splendid old hotel. The most promising aspect of it from our point of view was that, although it is a building in everyday masonic use, the Temple is also a magnificent museum and repository of masonic documents and artifacts. The Pennsylvania Lodge claims to be the third oldest in the world and traces its roots back to the Grand Lodge in London, long before the War of Independence. Virginia and one or two other lodges dispute that claim, but there’s no doubt that the Pennsylvania Lodge goes back to at least 1730 – the year of Jacob’s birth – and perhaps even further. They have a remarkable collection of antiquities to back up their pedigree. And that may have played some part in the way we were received. We had taken an early flight, and were at the Temple by eleven o’clock.
John Macey, personal assistant to the Grand Master, dressed very formally in a dark suit, a black bow tie, and white gloves, made us welcome and settled us in his office with cups of coffee. Cathy was ready to brandish her passport, but John didn’t seem particularly interested in seeing it.
‘Agent Resnik filled me in to some extent on what you’re looking for,’ he said. ‘I know all about the case you’re bringing on behalf of Brother Jacob van Eyck’s family, of course. Do I understand correctly? You believe that there may be documents here at the Temple that back up your claim in some way?’
‘That’s correct,’ I replied. ‘We believe that one of Jacob’s Brethren took charge of some important documents of his, not long before his death, and delivered at least some of them to the Treasury in Washington. It’s important to us to discover who that person was. We haven’t been able to trace him as yet, but we are sure that he would have been a fellow member of the Pennsylvania Lodge.’
John nodded. ‘I’m sure you’re right about that. Brother van Eyck’s first instinct with something as important as that would be to trust a Brother, and, of course, the Best family would be a natural choice. They were a very prominent masonic family, and they were near neighbours of the van Eycks at the time, weren’t they? There must have been a lot of contact between Abe and Jacob.’
I was impressed. John had been doing his homework.
‘That’s why Cathy is with us,’ I replied. I opened my briefcase and handed him a document. ‘This is a printout from the LDS ancestry site, proving her descent from Abe Best. She’s brought evidence of identification with her.’
Once more, John didn’t seem too concerned about it. He glanced at the family tree.
‘I’m quite sure you wouldn’t have brought an impersonator with you, Miss Harmon,’ he smiled. ‘Besides, despite the rumours you may have heard to the contrary, these days we Masons try not to be too secretive; we try to be open with information that may be useful to those with sympathetic causes.’
‘Such as those seeking justice for a Brother?’ Sam asked.
He smiled again. ‘Of course. But I won’t pretend that we’re not interested in the outcome of your case for our own reasons. It wouldn’t do us any harm to have yet another important American figure in our masonic history. The Grand Master is very well aware of that. Our heritage is very important to us, and if Brother van Eyck is indeed a true American hero, it would be a significant feather in our cap.’
I nodded. ‘In that case, would you be prepared to tell us whether Abe Best had a storage box in the Lodge, or whether you may be in possession of any documents of his?’
John stood.
‘I can do better than that,’ he replied. ‘Come with me.’
We left his office and took a narrow, winding set of stairs down two floors. It led into a corridor linking a number of anonymous-looking rooms identified only by numbers on the doors. About halfway along the corridor, John stopped and opened a door to our left with a large key. The room contained several filing cabinets and what looked like large boxes, some made of wood, others, apparently more recent, metallic. The door was heavy and fitted tightly into its aperture. The room felt cold. As the door slammed behind us, I looked around and saw that the room was air-conditioned. Not only that, panels on the wall suggested that the inside temperature was being carefully monitored and kept within a narrow range. We were in a controlled environment, designed specifically to store fragile documents and artifacts under constant conditions to prevent deterioration.
‘Many members of the Lodge have had storage boxes over the years, obviously,’ he said. ‘It’s standard practice. The boxes in use today are in another part of the building. They don’t require any particular storage conditions, and Brothers can access them whenever they wish. It’s just like having a safe deposit box in a bank.’
He indicated the stacks of wooden boxes.
‘But these older ones require careful storage. What you see here are what we have left of the older deposits. Most of the very old ones were probably claimed and taken away by a Brother’s family after his death. Many were simply lost over the course of time. This building was completed in 1873, but before that the Lodge had been accommodated in various places, beginning with the Tun Tavern. Along the way, boxes may have been taken out and never returned, or just gone missing.’
‘It’s still quite a collection,’ Sam observed.
‘Yes, and the good news is that a few years ago the Grand Master decided that the Lodge should be free to make use of anything stored here – items that haven’t been claimed, or even looked at by anyone, for fifty years or more.’
‘Free to make use of them?’ Sam asked.
‘For the purposes of our archives. We’re in the process of cataloging them, making an inventory, and anything of real historical interest may find its way into our historical exhibit. We’ve already added quite a few items that were stored down here. The result is that we’ve opened all of our archives, not only to our own researchers, but to anyone who has a legitimate interest in seeing them.’
He smiled.
‘That’s why I haven’t troubled you for your passport, Miss Wallace. The fact that this inquiry is being made on behalf of the van Eyck lawsuit is more than enough to get you in through the door. As long as the Grand Master is satisfied that it’s a legitimate inquiry, there’s no problem, and we’re more than satisfied in the present case.’
Sam and I exchanged glances.
‘And is there…?’ Her voice trailed away.
John gestured us to follow him to the far corner of the room to our right.
‘A
fter I spoke to Agent Resnik yesterday, I came down here and looked through the indexes. I found this.’
He indicated a large wooden box, obviously very old, placed on top of a stack of similar boxes. It had a three-digit number faintly scratched on the top left-hand corner.
‘According to our records, this would have been Abe Best’s box. We’re not absolutely sure of that. Any original labelling is long gone. But it was found with other boxes known to date from the same period, and there is some evidence to link the box number you see there with Brother Best. So, we will have to see, won’t we?’
Sam and I looked at each other again.
‘You haven’t opened it?’ she asked.
‘No. The box is locked, so my guess is that our researchers haven’t gotten around to it yet, and I don’t remember seeing any reference to Abe Best documents in any of our exhibits.’ He smiled. ‘I confess that I was on the point of opening it yesterday; it was quite a temptation. But then I thought, as you were coming and as there’s a family connection, I would leave it to you.’
He picked up a long metal tool that had been lying on the floor alongside the stack of boxes.
‘This will open pretty much any old lock you’re liable to come across.’
He handed the tool to Cathy.
‘Would you like to do the honours, Miss Wallace?’
62
Cathy glanced at Sam and me. We smiled encouragingly.
‘Go for it,’ Sam said.
There was a metallic keyhole in the front of the box. It looked rusted and worn, and when Cathy gingerly inserted the tool, nothing seemed to happen. John was prepared for that. He sprang forward clutching a can of WD40.
‘Take it back out for a moment.’ He gave the lock two good sprays of the oil. ‘Try it again.’
This time the lock yielded as easily it would have done when the box was new, more than two hundred years ago.
‘Works every time,’ John observed happily.
Cathy gently lifted the lid, and the stood back as a wave of dust rose into the air. She waved it away from her face with her hand.
‘Wow, I don’t think anyone’s been in here for a while,’ she said.
‘Let’s put it up here,’ John suggested. He picked the box up and carried it carefully to a large table by the window at the rear of the room. ‘There’s something in here. I’m going to put this protective sheet down on the table, and we can put the contents on display.’
Having laid down a thin white plastic sheet, John stepped back to allow Sam and me to approach. I looked down into the box, and saw a number of pieces of parchment.
‘We have something,’ I said.
As gently as I could, I reached into the box and felt my way along the sides down to the bottom.
‘It feels like we have six or seven pieces,’ I reported. ‘They look very fragile. There are some small fragments broken off, and I’m seeing a light brown colouration.’
‘The colour may change once we get them into the light,’ John advised us. ‘It could go either way. They may look different in the light, or they may discolour slightly when we expose them to it. Either way, it shouldn’t hurt them. Parchment is tougher than people think.’
I lifted the pieces of parchment slowly, one by one, on to the protective sheet, and Sam arranged them to lie next to each other in a sequence. When the last piece was in place I closed the box and lifted it down to the floor. I turned back to Sam, who was standing over the documents. She looked as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and seemed to be attempting both at once. I turned back to look at the documents we had found, and almost at once I found myself feeling exactly the same way.
Six of the documents were loan certificates, the creditor named as Jacob van Eyck, and the total of the certified loans was in the region of $42,000. Six here plus sixteen delivered to the Treasury would equal the twenty-two entrusted to Abe Best by Isabel Hardwick. In the blink of an eye, the evidence of the chain of circumstances had become overwhelming. We had proved the identity of the mysterious Brother: it had to be Abe Best. The seventh document was the icing on the cake. It was a handwritten note, signed by Abe himself and dated June 1811 – or least that’s what it purported to be: we would have to compare the handwriting with the writing on the document Dave and Ellen had found, and we might need to call in an expert handwriting examiner. But I felt sure of the conclusion that would ultimately be reached. We were way beyond the realm of coincidence now.
June 1811
I am lately returned from the Capital, and beg by these presents to record that while in that city I delivered to the Secretary of the Treasury sixteen documents, being certificates bearing witness to loans made by my friend and Brother Jacob van Eyck for the support of the army in the late war. These were sixteen of twenty-two such documents entrusted to me on Brother Jacob’s behalf by a young woman, his servant and confidante, in September last. I undertook to impress upon the Secretary, Mr Gallatin, who is well known to me, and I believe, well disposed towards me, the necessity that my said Brother should be recompensed what is due to him with all possible haste, he having fallen into ruin in the service of our Republic as a consequence, not of enemy action, but of his own benevolence and patriotism. I therefore urged Mr Gallatin to direct that such funds as the Government can spare for the purpose should be devoted to Brother van Eyck’s relief. Monies being as yet in short supply, it seemed to me politick not to advance all the certificates in my possession at the same time, but to retain six of them, which may be presented at a later time, when those presented have been honoured and when further funds shall be available.
(Signed) Bro. Abe Best, Philadelphia Grand Lodge
John and Cathy had crept forward to look too. I felt Sam take my hand and squeeze.
‘That’s amazing,’ Cathy whispered.
‘I take it this is what you’d hoped to find?’ John asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied, testing my voice as I went. ‘Actually, it’s better than we could ever have hoped.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that. How can we help further?’
‘You’ve done so much already,’ I replied. I took a deep breath. ‘But John, we need to take these documents with us so that copies can be made and so that they can be kept in readiness for the trial.’
John raised his eyebrows. You could see the reluctance. Showing documents to visitors as evidence of a new openness on the part of the Freemasons was one thing. Letting those documents out of the Lodge was another.
‘I promise you that they will be safe, and that they will be returned to the Lodge as soon as they are no longer needed.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ he replied. ‘I would have to ask the Grand Master…’
‘If it helps,’ I added, ‘you can tell the Grand Master that when we bring them back, we will also bring you some further documents of Brother Best’s to add to your collection.’
‘More of the same? Like these?’
‘Yes. Together, they should add up to a unique exhibition of Revolutionary War loan documents. I don’t believe any other institution will have anything to match it. The reason I can’t bring them until the trial is over is that the court needs them as evidence. But after that, they’re yours, and in the meanwhile they will be in good hands, I promise you.’
He was nodding. I was watching the indecision.
‘In addition, the Lodge would be making a decisive contribution to Brother van Eyck being recognised finally for the hero he was. In fact, from now on, this Lodge may always be associated with the successful outcome of the war. I can’t think of a better addition to your historical heritage than that. Can you?’
I watched him take the last step. This was potentially the biggest historic coup in the history of the Lodge, and it was happening on his watch.
‘I’ll need a receipt,’ he said decisively.
; 63
There was a real sense of déja vu about it all: the throng of reporters outside court; the crowded courtroom; the army of reporters, law clerks, and law students; and this time, even two other judges of the Claims Court, who had decided to delay the start of proceedings in their own courtrooms to witness what, one way or the other, might be a moment of legal history. Inevitably, it had taken us time to fight our way into the courthouse, fending off reporters demanding that we predict the unpredictable for viewers who would know the actual result before they heard the prediction. When we arrived in court, the room was overflowing with bodies and it was already getting hot and stuffy. To add to all that, Sam and I had been on edge all morning. I hadn’t slept well and I was pretty sure Sam hadn’t either, and when we approached Dave and Ellen to shake hands, I was conscious that we weren’t disguising it very well. Our nerves must have been all too obvious.
‘I owe you one, Dave,’ I said, and I meant it, ‘especially for Agent Resnik. I owe you both a drink some time.’
‘I’m going to hold you to it,’ Dave smiled. But then I saw that his smile, too, was nervous. Well, of course. This was a big case for everyone involved, the Justice Department as well as the plaintiffs.
For the judge, too. I’d been meditating on how to handle the hearing ever since we’d returned from Philadelphia. Should I press the argument again, or rely on what I’d said last time? Judge Morrow wasn’t the kind of judge who needed to be told anything more than once, and if you tried, it usually tended to irritate him. He had the arguments in his head, and we had made use of the discovery orders he had made to unearth some solid evidence. That couldn’t be bad for us – at least now, he knew that our case had merit – but neither did it mean that we were going to win. Today was about the law, not the merits. If he was still in doubt I was sure he would tell us, but the overwhelming likelihood was that Judge Morrow had decided which way he was going to go, and if so, nothing we could say this morning was likely to change his mind. As an advocate, I have always found it hard to turn down any chance to press my case, but my instinct told me to have confidence in the arguments we had put forward. I’d decided that if Dave renewed his argument, I would reply, but otherwise I would leave it up to the judge.