Edward Burr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-27 11:38 pm
morethanhonour) wrote2013-03-27 11:38 pm
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The Price of Peace - Chapter Sixteen
The Price of Peace
Book Three
Chapter Sixteen
Joseph looked around the street as he walked down the path. He was aware of every man and woman and child there. Most of them were apparently going about their business, some were idling; any of them could be a fellow agent. Or an enemy. He knew full well and felt very keenly the renewed sensations of knowing he must assume he was always being watched and could trust no one.
Edward had his instructions, and Joseph had left him composing a letter. It was a danger; all of this was. He had never been much of a gambler, had never wanted to put his livelihood and future with the roll of dice or shuffle of cards. Yet, now, he was wagering several lives on the political whims of very powerful men. That made any other odds look sure and certain.
Joseph passed behind a church and felt a chill more than winter sink into him. It was a feeling he had hoped to put off, but he knew he could only accept it as inevitable. Away from the light and warmth, back into the cold shadows. It was his duty, and he accepted it. Really, as the feeling properly settled, he found himself inclined to welcome it. Happiness was, at best, brief and unpredictable. This separation from such a thing let him see the world in eyes he’d tried to train out of seeing the peril always near.
He took the stairs in front of the little house and let himself in without knocking. Anyone watching would assume the home was his. He showed himself to the very feminine sitting room and settled into the chair opposite the ornate desk. Miles couldn’t keep a woman here, not even he would leave doors unlocked if that were the situation.
Not more than five minutes later, Miles appeared from another door. He was illuminated briefly by the glow of a fire from the next room. He had put on about ten or fifteen pounds, and the weight made him look almost human. The sharp angles of his face had rounded out somewhat. His eyes were still just as cold, though, and they set upon Joseph. How much Miles knew and how much else he had guessed, Joseph could only imagine. Still, he was determined to reveal only as much as he needed to.
“Good evening, Mister Clay. I could not help but notice Mister Burr arrived in London with you this morning. I do hope all is well.”
“Of course, Mister Miles,” Joseph replied. He gave a faint smile, as if it were a mere coincidence or small event. “Mister Farley has invited Mister Burr to stay for a short while with him. I am bound there myself, so we agreed to travel together from Dublin on.” They both knew that was a lie, but Miles only gave a thin, unamused smile.
“And what of Captain Martineau?”
“Sir?” The least he could do was pretend he had no idea what was being mentioned. Miles stopped smiling.
“Let’s not play this game, Mister Clay.” He settled his hands together on the desk. His back was straight, his posture neither reclined back nor leaned forward. He was not attempting to appear either threatening or relaxed. He didn’t have to. “You and I both know of your Mister Burr’s interesting,” a kind word, really, “association with Captain Martineau. Will he be joining you at Heather Grange, Mister Clay?”
Joseph bowed his head politely and said, “I cannot say, Mister Miles. He had not yet been invited, but it may be that Mister Burr takes that liberty once we arrive. I do not believe Mister Farley would be pleased, but he may agree to appease a gust. Shall I inform you if I receive word that Captain Martineau is to be expected?”
“Yes,” Miles answered. “In fact, encourage Mister Burr to invite him at once. I shall post a letter to Mister Farley that I would consider it a personal favour if he made Captain Martineau comfortable.” His smile gave Joseph every reason to be extremely wary, but he did his best not to show any more than a mildly surprised reaction.
“You have need of him?”
Miles rolled his shoulders. Joseph knew he had been too overt, but he could do nothing about it now. He waited while Miles watched him. “I only want to speak with him.” He opened a drawer and retrieved a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “There are a few things in here for you, Mister Clay. Give the rest to Mister Farley with my warmest regards.”
Joseph stood, allowing himself only one glance toward the door Miles had come from. He felt an intense flare of curiosity to know what lay beyond it. An empty room? Or was there someone concealed? Would Miles keep someone so near as he conducted this business? Joseph found it hard to believe, nearly impossible, yet he could not entirely dismiss the suspicion. He wisely allowed it to remain only a question in his mind and went from the house with the package in hand. He and Edward would have to work very quickly now.
‡ ‡ ‡
Mister George Farley,
The bearer of this note is a personal friend of mine and may be trusted. Mister Miles will be sending you a brief letter, but I beg of you to protect my friend, at least until I arrive. Then, I will take charge of him and his future safety.
Joseph
‡ ‡ ‡
February the 21st, 1803
Remy,
I have little time to write this, and I can say barely anything. I am sorry that I have not yet arrived. I had cause to go first to London. Mister Clay is, at present, accompanying me.
Mister Nathaniel Farley has invited me to stay for a short time in his home in Sussex, called Heather Grange. I have been encouraged to invite you to join me. I beg of you, my friend, waste no time. Gather your things if you can, everything you need and want, and come without delay. You will find a note enclosed to assure you entry should you arrive before we are there to meet you.
Please, please be careful, my dear friend. I do not know if this letter will be intercepted. I cannot promise that you will not be in danger during your travel. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. I will be back at your side as soon as possible, and we shall discuss everything at length.
I wish you safe travels and a fast horse. I know not what the future will hold, but, as you said in your letter, we will decide what we shall do with whatever may come when we are able to. I am, most sincerely, your friend
Edward
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward still hated carriages. They were too bump, and he could never learn to fall asleep in them. So, he had been wide awake for the last three hours. What would happen now?
That was the question that plagued him. At this very moment, two letters were on their way. Joseph had done all he could to stall Miles’s letter and might have bought them a few days. Still, it would likely arrive before them and Remy both. Unless Joseph’s messenger reached Remy very quickly and he was ready to leave at once. They both knew it was unlikely at best, so their task was to reach Heather Grange first.
“Do you ride?” Joseph asked suddenly, stirred from his thoughts.
Edward had to chuckle. “Not at all,” he answered. “Never had the chance to learn.” Besides, horses were very large and had minds of their own. Trusting his safety to something like that seemed precarious, at the very least.
“Nathaniel should teach you.” He bit at his lip, his mind running through a great many things. Edward could only imagine the burdens someone in Joseph’s position might bear, especially now. “From our stop tonight, the Grange is only two days hard ride away. Would you be willing to travel alone the rest of the way? I could ride ahead.”
“Beat the letter Miles sent.”
“Precisely.” It mattered to him. Edward was grateful for the realisation. Joseph was on his side for this. He wasn’t sure what would come or how long it would last, but, for now, he would accept the help offered.
Edward knew that any questions might seem like ingratitude, but a few things would not leave him be. Finally, lowly, he murmured, “Why are you helping me? I mean, I appreciate it, my friend.”
“Because I want to help,” Joseph replied. “We are friends, Edward, and this matters to you.”
“If Miles is—”
Joseph managed a smile, but Edward saw the uneasiness in it. “It isn’t treason until there is a declaration of hostility by the government.”
Edward looked at him, silent. There was nothing he could say to properly thank Joseph. After all, this might well prove dangerous not only for him and Remy— that was certain— but also to Joseph if he offered them too much assistance. Hopefully, Joseph’s connections and his work in intelligence would help keep too much ill from befalling him.
For his part, Joseph was silent. Edward had to admit he wouldn’t much blame Joseph if he changed his mind, especially with the drawing in of the Farley family into what could easily become far worse than just a mess. That, he could live with. What frightened him more than anything, though, was the thought of other agents working for Miles intercepting Remy on his way to Heather Grange. What would happen to the man then? And him? And Joseph?
He shuddered, and Joseph spoke, looking out the window nearest him, “Don’t think about it. We’re doing all we can as quickly as we can. If you worry about it now, you’ll only cause yourself grief.” He sighed softly, and Edward tried to reassure himself. “It will be well, Edward. I promise.”
‡ ‡ ‡
George Farley read the hasty scrawl of his prized protégé several times. He examined the sleek man standing before him. How times had changed, he thought. Not only was there a Frenchman here in his home, seeking refuge, but he had been sent by Joseph. What, he wondered, could induce that man to take pity on a loyal Republican? Which he must be, or he would not need to be protected from the zealot. Not that he disapproved of miles, not really, but he seemed blind to how very hued the world could be.
The man was still nearly breathless, and a servant had said his horse had been ridden half to death. He had only a bag and satchel. Whatever else the letter he kept said, it had made him very aware that speed was of the essence.
“Bienvenue, Capitaine Martineau,” he said at last. The long months of idle peace in the English countryside had not robbed this man of his military carriage. He continued in French. “Monsieur Clay writes that you are a friend of his. You are welcome here, then, as one of mine. We shall dine at seven. I am sure you could use a strong meal after your journey here.”
“Merci, Monsieur Farley.” He was polite, at least. Handsome, too. George had to wonder, briefly, whether this would see another bout with Nathaniel’s temper and jealousy. How hard it was to provoke and how fiercely it had blazed once sparked. Really, it had been good to see. A little proof that he had some fight left in him. “You are very kind, and I am most grateful for your hospitality.” An interesting man, he thought, smiling at him. The Frenchman bowed. “Pardon me, sir. Thank you again, sir.”
As the man left, George watched him. In his day, it had been colonists and French royalists they were against. Now, the royalists were coddled and their successors hated while the Americans were all but forgotten. They were regarded as little more than wastrel children, grown and set to wander about. Much like his poor Harry.
He’d tried writing to the boy. God on high knew he had. Still, his youngest child had not come forward, not returned home where he would be greeted with the fatted calf. George supposed he could take comfort in the knowledge that if he was not writing, he was not in deep debt. He hoped the boy would come soon, even to inquire about his inheritance. Just once more, he though, he should like to have his children together with him, particularly if young Joseph were still near. For an old man nearing the end of his days, they could pretend at peace. Joseph had always quarrelled so with Harry, angry at his pleas to Nathaniel for money. Poor Nathaniel always agreed.
“Martha,” he said to the child of seventeen seeing to his fire, “fetch me my Nate.”
The days were growing longer as winter gave way to spring. After a bitter cold such as they had endured, the sun would shine a little brighter, the grass reappear a little greener. Time itself, though, was growing shorter. There were matters which must be seen to now, before it was too late. Especially with this Martineau, sent by Joseph with a note against Miles. If he put off this task another day, he might not see it done. Then what would become of all these charming youths?
Book Three
Chapter Sixteen
Joseph looked around the street as he walked down the path. He was aware of every man and woman and child there. Most of them were apparently going about their business, some were idling; any of them could be a fellow agent. Or an enemy. He knew full well and felt very keenly the renewed sensations of knowing he must assume he was always being watched and could trust no one.
Edward had his instructions, and Joseph had left him composing a letter. It was a danger; all of this was. He had never been much of a gambler, had never wanted to put his livelihood and future with the roll of dice or shuffle of cards. Yet, now, he was wagering several lives on the political whims of very powerful men. That made any other odds look sure and certain.
Joseph passed behind a church and felt a chill more than winter sink into him. It was a feeling he had hoped to put off, but he knew he could only accept it as inevitable. Away from the light and warmth, back into the cold shadows. It was his duty, and he accepted it. Really, as the feeling properly settled, he found himself inclined to welcome it. Happiness was, at best, brief and unpredictable. This separation from such a thing let him see the world in eyes he’d tried to train out of seeing the peril always near.
He took the stairs in front of the little house and let himself in without knocking. Anyone watching would assume the home was his. He showed himself to the very feminine sitting room and settled into the chair opposite the ornate desk. Miles couldn’t keep a woman here, not even he would leave doors unlocked if that were the situation.
Not more than five minutes later, Miles appeared from another door. He was illuminated briefly by the glow of a fire from the next room. He had put on about ten or fifteen pounds, and the weight made him look almost human. The sharp angles of his face had rounded out somewhat. His eyes were still just as cold, though, and they set upon Joseph. How much Miles knew and how much else he had guessed, Joseph could only imagine. Still, he was determined to reveal only as much as he needed to.
“Good evening, Mister Clay. I could not help but notice Mister Burr arrived in London with you this morning. I do hope all is well.”
“Of course, Mister Miles,” Joseph replied. He gave a faint smile, as if it were a mere coincidence or small event. “Mister Farley has invited Mister Burr to stay for a short while with him. I am bound there myself, so we agreed to travel together from Dublin on.” They both knew that was a lie, but Miles only gave a thin, unamused smile.
“And what of Captain Martineau?”
“Sir?” The least he could do was pretend he had no idea what was being mentioned. Miles stopped smiling.
“Let’s not play this game, Mister Clay.” He settled his hands together on the desk. His back was straight, his posture neither reclined back nor leaned forward. He was not attempting to appear either threatening or relaxed. He didn’t have to. “You and I both know of your Mister Burr’s interesting,” a kind word, really, “association with Captain Martineau. Will he be joining you at Heather Grange, Mister Clay?”
Joseph bowed his head politely and said, “I cannot say, Mister Miles. He had not yet been invited, but it may be that Mister Burr takes that liberty once we arrive. I do not believe Mister Farley would be pleased, but he may agree to appease a gust. Shall I inform you if I receive word that Captain Martineau is to be expected?”
“Yes,” Miles answered. “In fact, encourage Mister Burr to invite him at once. I shall post a letter to Mister Farley that I would consider it a personal favour if he made Captain Martineau comfortable.” His smile gave Joseph every reason to be extremely wary, but he did his best not to show any more than a mildly surprised reaction.
“You have need of him?”
Miles rolled his shoulders. Joseph knew he had been too overt, but he could do nothing about it now. He waited while Miles watched him. “I only want to speak with him.” He opened a drawer and retrieved a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “There are a few things in here for you, Mister Clay. Give the rest to Mister Farley with my warmest regards.”
Joseph stood, allowing himself only one glance toward the door Miles had come from. He felt an intense flare of curiosity to know what lay beyond it. An empty room? Or was there someone concealed? Would Miles keep someone so near as he conducted this business? Joseph found it hard to believe, nearly impossible, yet he could not entirely dismiss the suspicion. He wisely allowed it to remain only a question in his mind and went from the house with the package in hand. He and Edward would have to work very quickly now.
‡ ‡ ‡
Mister George Farley,
The bearer of this note is a personal friend of mine and may be trusted. Mister Miles will be sending you a brief letter, but I beg of you to protect my friend, at least until I arrive. Then, I will take charge of him and his future safety.
Joseph
‡ ‡ ‡
February the 21st, 1803
Remy,
I have little time to write this, and I can say barely anything. I am sorry that I have not yet arrived. I had cause to go first to London. Mister Clay is, at present, accompanying me.
Mister Nathaniel Farley has invited me to stay for a short time in his home in Sussex, called Heather Grange. I have been encouraged to invite you to join me. I beg of you, my friend, waste no time. Gather your things if you can, everything you need and want, and come without delay. You will find a note enclosed to assure you entry should you arrive before we are there to meet you.
Please, please be careful, my dear friend. I do not know if this letter will be intercepted. I cannot promise that you will not be in danger during your travel. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. I will be back at your side as soon as possible, and we shall discuss everything at length.
I wish you safe travels and a fast horse. I know not what the future will hold, but, as you said in your letter, we will decide what we shall do with whatever may come when we are able to. I am, most sincerely, your friend
Edward
‡ ‡ ‡
Edward still hated carriages. They were too bump, and he could never learn to fall asleep in them. So, he had been wide awake for the last three hours. What would happen now?
That was the question that plagued him. At this very moment, two letters were on their way. Joseph had done all he could to stall Miles’s letter and might have bought them a few days. Still, it would likely arrive before them and Remy both. Unless Joseph’s messenger reached Remy very quickly and he was ready to leave at once. They both knew it was unlikely at best, so their task was to reach Heather Grange first.
“Do you ride?” Joseph asked suddenly, stirred from his thoughts.
Edward had to chuckle. “Not at all,” he answered. “Never had the chance to learn.” Besides, horses were very large and had minds of their own. Trusting his safety to something like that seemed precarious, at the very least.
“Nathaniel should teach you.” He bit at his lip, his mind running through a great many things. Edward could only imagine the burdens someone in Joseph’s position might bear, especially now. “From our stop tonight, the Grange is only two days hard ride away. Would you be willing to travel alone the rest of the way? I could ride ahead.”
“Beat the letter Miles sent.”
“Precisely.” It mattered to him. Edward was grateful for the realisation. Joseph was on his side for this. He wasn’t sure what would come or how long it would last, but, for now, he would accept the help offered.
Edward knew that any questions might seem like ingratitude, but a few things would not leave him be. Finally, lowly, he murmured, “Why are you helping me? I mean, I appreciate it, my friend.”
“Because I want to help,” Joseph replied. “We are friends, Edward, and this matters to you.”
“If Miles is—”
Joseph managed a smile, but Edward saw the uneasiness in it. “It isn’t treason until there is a declaration of hostility by the government.”
Edward looked at him, silent. There was nothing he could say to properly thank Joseph. After all, this might well prove dangerous not only for him and Remy— that was certain— but also to Joseph if he offered them too much assistance. Hopefully, Joseph’s connections and his work in intelligence would help keep too much ill from befalling him.
For his part, Joseph was silent. Edward had to admit he wouldn’t much blame Joseph if he changed his mind, especially with the drawing in of the Farley family into what could easily become far worse than just a mess. That, he could live with. What frightened him more than anything, though, was the thought of other agents working for Miles intercepting Remy on his way to Heather Grange. What would happen to the man then? And him? And Joseph?
He shuddered, and Joseph spoke, looking out the window nearest him, “Don’t think about it. We’re doing all we can as quickly as we can. If you worry about it now, you’ll only cause yourself grief.” He sighed softly, and Edward tried to reassure himself. “It will be well, Edward. I promise.”
‡ ‡ ‡
George Farley read the hasty scrawl of his prized protégé several times. He examined the sleek man standing before him. How times had changed, he thought. Not only was there a Frenchman here in his home, seeking refuge, but he had been sent by Joseph. What, he wondered, could induce that man to take pity on a loyal Republican? Which he must be, or he would not need to be protected from the zealot. Not that he disapproved of miles, not really, but he seemed blind to how very hued the world could be.
The man was still nearly breathless, and a servant had said his horse had been ridden half to death. He had only a bag and satchel. Whatever else the letter he kept said, it had made him very aware that speed was of the essence.
“Bienvenue, Capitaine Martineau,” he said at last. The long months of idle peace in the English countryside had not robbed this man of his military carriage. He continued in French. “Monsieur Clay writes that you are a friend of his. You are welcome here, then, as one of mine. We shall dine at seven. I am sure you could use a strong meal after your journey here.”
“Merci, Monsieur Farley.” He was polite, at least. Handsome, too. George had to wonder, briefly, whether this would see another bout with Nathaniel’s temper and jealousy. How hard it was to provoke and how fiercely it had blazed once sparked. Really, it had been good to see. A little proof that he had some fight left in him. “You are very kind, and I am most grateful for your hospitality.” An interesting man, he thought, smiling at him. The Frenchman bowed. “Pardon me, sir. Thank you again, sir.”
As the man left, George watched him. In his day, it had been colonists and French royalists they were against. Now, the royalists were coddled and their successors hated while the Americans were all but forgotten. They were regarded as little more than wastrel children, grown and set to wander about. Much like his poor Harry.
He’d tried writing to the boy. God on high knew he had. Still, his youngest child had not come forward, not returned home where he would be greeted with the fatted calf. George supposed he could take comfort in the knowledge that if he was not writing, he was not in deep debt. He hoped the boy would come soon, even to inquire about his inheritance. Just once more, he though, he should like to have his children together with him, particularly if young Joseph were still near. For an old man nearing the end of his days, they could pretend at peace. Joseph had always quarrelled so with Harry, angry at his pleas to Nathaniel for money. Poor Nathaniel always agreed.
“Martha,” he said to the child of seventeen seeing to his fire, “fetch me my Nate.”
The days were growing longer as winter gave way to spring. After a bitter cold such as they had endured, the sun would shine a little brighter, the grass reappear a little greener. Time itself, though, was growing shorter. There were matters which must be seen to now, before it was too late. Especially with this Martineau, sent by Joseph with a note against Miles. If he put off this task another day, he might not see it done. Then what would become of all these charming youths?