The Whiskey Rebels Page 11

  “You misunderstand me,” he said, “I have been sworn to secrecy on this matter, and on all matters relating to my work for the Treasury Department. I am sorry, Captain Saunders. I understand that you have a personal interest in this, but I cannot tell you much, not without the express permission of Colonel Hamilton.”

  “But he shall never give me permission. Hamilton despises me.”

  Lavien looked distraught, like a child told there were to be no sweets. “I am certain you are mistaken. I have heard him speak of you, and he has had only flattering things to say. He tells me you were an exceptional spy.”

  “What else has he told you?” I could not help but suspect that Lavien was lying to flatter me or for some other deceptive end.

  He smiled. “He said you were remarkably clever in your dealings with people—that if you wished you could talk the devil himself into selling you his soul.”

  These words surprised me. Perhaps Hamilton had spoken of me after all, and in these flattering terms. Still, it did not change things. “Nevertheless, he dislikes me.”

  “I suggest you visit him, put your case to him yourself. In the meantime, Captain, if you know of anything that can help me find Pearson or aid his family, I hope you will tell me.”

  I thought about the note in my pocket, the one from Cynthia. I thought about my encounter with the Irishman. Surely he would like to know these things. If he were unwilling to aid me, however, I would not share with him. Indeed, it seemed increasingly necessary that I conduct my own inquiry. I would find the wretched Pearson, and I would protect Cynthia from whatever dangers lurked around her.

  “Where did you learn to do such things?” I asked. “To move so quickly and silently?”

  His eyes moved this way and that, a sure sign that he considered a fabrication, but in the end his words sounded like truth. “I was in Surinam, sir. The Maroon uprisings.”

  I am not a man easily impressed, but here was something. The Maroons—with their mixture of African and Indian blood—were said to be among the most vicious fighters in the world, ruthless in their quest for land and liberty. They lived by a rigorous code of honor, but any man they called enemy would die and die hard.

  “Good Lord,” I said softly. “You fought the Maroons? You must have seen Hell itself at the hands of those godless savages.”

  “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I fought with the Maroons, for their freedom. It was they who taught me to do what I do.”

  Had he told me he fought on behalf of the moon in its war against the sun, I could not have been more surprised. I had never before heard of a white man siding with the Maroons. I had never even heard of a white man being allowed to live by the Maroons. “You fought alongside those dusky savages?” I managed.

  “Neither their complexion nor their degree of civilization interested me,” he said, his voice rather flat. “Only that they were wronged.”

  There was nothing to say, not to a man who would help a pack of cannibals slit the throats of white men. Yet I do hate a silence, so I rose and refilled my glass from the decanter. I drained it and filled it again before returning to my seat.

  “As for my difficulties,” I said.

  Lavien, perhaps eager to change the subject himself, waved me off. He told me he had no sums of money to give away, but he would be honored to have me as a guest for his evening meal and to spend the night. He would have his woman make up the garret for me. If I wished to refresh myself with a washbasin, that too could be arranged. He managed to make the suggestion sound generous and not an unkind comment upon my state.

  I took him up on his offer and cleaned myself as best I could.

  In the meantime, his sitting room had been turned to a dining room, with the table assembled from its various pieces. The old crone laid it out quite elegantly, with fine silver and handsome drinking glasses. The room was well lit, and the food was plentiful. Yet, for such refinement, Lavien conducted himself like a peasant by bringing his children to the table. We sat with a pretty girl with fair hair whom I guessed to be seven years of age, and her younger brother, no more than two. The food was of the Hebrew variety, filled with strange spices and flavors but by no means unpalatable to a man open to alien sensations. The wine was superb, for Jews ever have connections for good wine. The conversation was quite lively, for the little girl, called Antonia, was a champion conversationalist and bade me speak at length about my wartime adventures, interjecting quite often with her own opinions upon all matters political.

  It astonished me that Lavien, whom I had judged to be so hardened and cruel, cut off from human society by his past and by his skills, was a different creature altogether with his wife and children. He was open and easy, obviously delighting in their company. Once, when his daughter made an unusually mature and earnest observation, he and his wife burst into peals of rich laughter. Lavien had seen and drawn blood, hunted white men for Maroons, eaten human flesh for all I knew, and yet found comfort in domestic quiet. The envy I felt for him made my heart ache.

  After dinner, once the women and children departed, Lavien poured more wine, and I inquired as to how he came to stand with the Maroons, and what he did with them, but he demurred, saying that he would tell me some other time; he did not like to speak of it, particularly not in his own home. Yet he did provide me with the most skeletal of explanations.

  “I did things which I am now ashamed to own,” he said, “though I am not ashamed of the cause. I believe that all men, African, Indian, and European alike, are equal in the eyes of God and of nature. It is only in the eyes of one another that inequity lies. I grew up in the West Indies, upon the island of Nevis, and, pressed into the family business, I visited Surinam. There I was abducted by the Maroons, who thought to use me as a hostage, or perhaps they would have killed me out of vengeance. I convinced them, however, that I was of a different tribe, one as despised by their oppressors as their own, and through a series of circumstances I shall not now relate, I remained with them for two years, embracing their cause, though at the same time attempting to temper it.”

  “It must have been trying to live among them,” I said.

  “At times it was, but I did not live wholly among them. I would travel to white settlements, where my connection to the Maroons was unknown, and I would learn of the outside world. I became enchanted with what I read of your new country. After so long in the jungle, I knew I must live in a land founded upon the principle that all men are created equal. So I came to Philadelphia, for it has a large population of Jews, and here I met my wife.”

  “How is it that you came to work for Hamilton?”

  “Having done what I did with the Maroons, I did not wish to return to a life of trade, though that is how I first supported myself. Once the government moved to Philadelphia, upon a whim I presented myself to Hamilton. He has since found work for me serving the country, though this is the first time I have served him directly.”

  “Why Hamilton?” I asked. “Why did you seek him out of all men? Is it the West Indian connection?” Everyone knew that Hamilton had been born a bastard on the island of Nevis. His mother had been a French strumpet, his father a penniless younger son of a Scots family of more puffed-up pretension than means.

  “It was more than our geographical connection. Hamilton’s mother’s first husband,” Lavien said, “was my uncle, Johan Lavien.”

  This was a greater surprise than his past connection with the Maroons. “What? Hamilton has Jew kinsmen?”

  Lavien shook his head. “They had no children. My uncle was a monster, and the lady was right to run from him. Hamilton has every reason to dislike me for my name—and my face, I suppose; I’m told I look a bit like my uncle. Yet Hamilton has been nothing but kind.”

  I found this hard to believe but did not say so. “As Hamilton admires you so much,” I suggested, “perhaps you might come with me when I speak to him. You might try to persuade him to let me in on your secrets.”

  He shook his head. “I do not li
ke to visit Hamilton at Treasury. I prefer other venues.”

  I smiled. “Of course. Hamilton was always uneasy about his lowly origins. It would not do to so remind the world, let alone to parade his Hebrew near-kinsman before subordinates.”

  “He does not like to be reminded of his origins, it is true, but there are more complicated matters at work here.”

  I sipped my wine. What could these more complicated matters be? My thoughts were clouded by drink, but even so I found the truth in the thicket of obscurity. “Jefferson doesn’t know about you, does he? You do not visit Hamilton at Treasury because you do not want it known that you work for Hamilton or what sort of work you do. If the Jeffersonians were to put it about that the Jewish nephew of Hamilton’s mother’s first husband was slinking about the city looking into the business of wealthy families, they would piss their pants with glee.”

  “You see right to the heart of things,” he said. “It is no inconsiderable skill.”

  “One you could use,” I said.

  “If that is Colonel Hamilton’s will, then I think so.”

  “You understand that Hamilton hates me, don’t you? It was he who exposed my supposed treachery to the world. He promised he would hold the accusations against me secret, but he could not spread the word fast enough.”

  “Why do you say so? Have you evidence to prove it?”

  “It is what I heard, and I believe it.”

  “Did Colonel Hamilton tell you that he would protect your reputation?” Lavien asked me.

  “Yes, and he lied.”

  “If he said he would protect your reputation, then he did. Colonel Hamilton was not the one who maligned you, sir, and unless you have proof otherwise, I will not believe it. It is not something he would do.”

  “I knew Jefferson had his worshipers, but I did not know Hamilton was also blessed.”

  “I am not a worshiper, but I know the man, and I have too much respect for the truth to believe an obvious falsehood when I see one. If you like, I could use the resources my position offers to launch a full inquiry into what happened those years ago.”

  Something uncomfortable twisted inside me. “I should very much prefer to keep the past where it belongs,” I said. “What is done cannot be undone.”

  He nodded. “Then let us turn to the present. I wonder if I ought to send someone to look for Leonidas? You may fear to seek him out, but I see no reason why I may not do so.”

  I sat up straight in my chair. “Why, I would be most grateful. Very decent of you.”

  Lavien excused himself, and when he returned perhaps half an hour later, he said that he had sent a boy from a nearby coffeehouse with instructions to ask about Southwark for a man of Leonidas’s description, and that, should he be found, he would meet me the next morning at a nearby tavern.

  After I’d had my fill of wine, I told him I wished to retire, and Lavien bade me good night, saying he had work yet to do that evening. I assured him I could find my own way to my room, and so, taking a candle, I ascended the stairs, steep and narrow as in a Dutchman’s house. When I reached the second-floor landing, Mrs. Lavien emerged from her children’s room.

  “I heard Jonathan fussing,” she told me, as though some explanation were necessary. “I hope you find your room comfortable.”

  “Oh, very,” I told her. “I never mind a garret, and it is made up quite elegantly for a room of that species. Yet, Mrs. Lavien, there is something of solitude I do not like, and I cannot but think how much brighter the room would be with your company.”

  She glanced back and forth and then, to my delight, ascended the stairs to my room. I followed her, my single candle providing scant illumination, but enough to watch the delicious movement of her form under her pretty yellow gown. She had a commanding presence, a recklessness that reminded me of Cynthia Pearson as she had been all those years ago, when she was Cynthia Fleet.

  Here, too, was a woman who craved excitement, who delighted in the pleasures of the illicit. Why should I not accommodate her? Yes, her husband had done me a kindness, but had she not done me a kindness too, and would it not be mean of me to demur from returning the favor? She had acted the proper wife all evening, devoted to children and husband, managing her home both with earnestness and good cheer, but what Lavien did not understand—it was quite apparent now—was that she was also a woman with complex desires.

  We reached the top of the stairs, and though my sensations were fuzzy from all I had drunk that night, still I felt the excitement rising inside me. My heart pounded and my pulse beat in my neck. I closed the door behind me and set the light upon a small writing desk in the corner.

  “Indeed, I was right,” I said, “for in being here, you do make the room so much more—”

  “How very broken you are,” she said. Her voice was soft, confused, and even a little sad.

  “I beg your pardon?” I felt the prickling of something ill—not danger but yet unpleasant.

  “You heard me, Mr. Saunders.” Her voice had an icy edge I did not like at all. “You must be broken in your soul. My husband and I invite you to our home, taking you in when you are in need of shelter, and in response to this kindness you choose to offer me insult. I wish to know what portion of your heart, of your soul, is so damaged that you would do such a thing.”

  “I must point out that it is Captain Saunders.”

  “The time when I might be impressed by your rank has passed us,” she said, “and I do not reject it for any accusation of treason. I reject it for how you act here, tonight. You think your honor, your chance to be an honorable man, is in the past, and so you befoul the present.”

  “And the future!” I added brightly.

  “I understand that your wit keeps you sane, sir, but you must set it aside now and again, or you shall ever remain a wretch.”

  I suddenly felt very sober. And ambushed, I might add. It was cruel to lead me into a position of vulnerability, only to take advantage of my open nature. That was what I told myself. “If there has been some misunderstanding between us—” I began.

  “There is no misunderstanding. Do not try to pretend that either of us can believe it. Have you no decency?”

  I was prepared to answer sharply, but I suddenly saw things with a starkness I would have preferred to avoid. “No,” I told her. “At times, I haven’t.”

  She must have heard something in my voice, for even in the frail wash of candlelight I saw the pity in her eyes, and pity was a thing I could not endure. “You are a very sad man, are you not, Captain Saunders?”

  “Do not speak to me so. If you like, you may cast me out, but do not speak to me so.”

  “I shan’t cast you out,” she said. “It is what you wish, I believe. You wish it far more than you wish me to yield to you. Who was she, Captain Saunders, that so hurt you? Was it long ago or recent? Long ago, I think.”

  “Don’t act as though you know my heart.”

  “How could I not, when you wear it on your sleeve?”

  “I am sorry to have offended you,” I said. I looked about the room to collect my things, though I had no things to collect. “I shall go.”

  “You will stay the night, and in the morning you will go see Hamilton.”

  “Your husband speaks to you of his business?”

  She laughed. “Should he not? You who love women so well do not think to speak to them of your work?”

  I stared at this woman. Lavien, with his beard and slender shoulders and unimpressive stature, had wed a mighty creature.

  “I would be grateful,” I said, “if you would not mention this incident to your husband.”

  “It was he who advised me on how best to conduct myself when you approached me.” In the dim light her gaze was dark and magnetic. “You have fallen very low, have you not? Perhaps there is nothing to do but rise. Tomorrow is something entirely new, entirely unwritten, and full of possibility. Won’t you use it?”

  She turned away, and the power of her gaze snapped, like the thinne
st of glass rods. She opened the door and descended the stairs. I closed the door and sat upon my bed, my head in my hands. Who were these people? What manner of being were these Laviens, and with what had I become involved?

  Joan Maycott

  Spring 1789

  In the morning, our hosts gave us a breakfast of whiskey and corn cakes served on mismatched pewter plates, a luxury we would not fully appreciate until we were, as we would be soon, without any plates at all. While we ate our meager portions, Reynolds arrived to inform us that prior to visiting our land we were to speak with Duer’s local agent, Colonel Holt Tindall. Though much abused by Duer and his people, we thought it best to present ourselves to advantage, so Andrew wore clothes he had not touched for the journey, looking dignified in plain artisan’s breeches, a white shirt, and a handsome woolen coat. I wore a simple dress, far more wrinkled than I would have liked, but it was clean at least.

  Though he had eyed me with open lasciviousness through our journey, when I was dirty and tired and blunted by exhaustion, Reynolds hardly looked at me now. There was something quite different in the odious man’s manner. Even as he spoke of this Colonel Tindall, something like respect, or perhaps wariness, spread over his features.

  Duer’s man in Pittsburgh or no, I expected another makeshift shack, but Holt Tindall was of an entirely different order of being. Reynolds pointed out to us Tindall’s handsome two-story structure on Water Street, recently whitewashed and looking within this primitive city much like a diamond in a barrel of coal. This, however, was not where we were to meet him. Instead, Reynolds led us once more across the river and some miles out of town to Colonel Tindall’s country estate, a vast southern-style plantation called Empire Hall. Here was a large wood-frame house, very like the one in town only larger and more stately for being surrounded not by shacks and mud but by fields of crops and barns of livestock, all of which were tended to by a dozen or more Negro slaves.