Death and glory, p.9
Death and Glory, page 9
Flynn stared at him, astonished.
“The American embassy,” I told him. “This is Mr. Flynn of the Treasury Department.”
“Treasury?” my partner asked. “You must be here about the Confederate delegation. Are they counterfeiting, as well?”
“Not yet,” Flynn admitted. “But we expect them to.”
“Resourceful beggars, aren’t they?”
“That they are.”
Barker nodded. We rode for a time in the direction of the embassy.
“I hope you know you’ve just started an international incident by striking a marine,” Flynn said.
“He would never admit to it,” the Guv replied. “Would you embarrass him further by doing so?”
John Flynn said nothing for a moment, deep in thought. My partner was a dangerous man, and the American was beginning to realize that.
“That was quite a punch,” he finally said.
“Thank you,” Barker responded. “You’re fortunate I came from the other side.”
When we arrived at the embassy, we were met by two marines nearly as big as the one Barker had pulled from the cab. Flynn waved us through the gates, and we passed an emblem of a giant gold eagle carrying a shield. Inside the building, we were ushered up the stairs, where we attracted little attention until we reached a desk where a secretary was typing. The man gave us an annoyed look.
“We need to see him,” Flynn said.
“He’s occupied.”
“He’ll want to see these two.”
“He—” the secretary began, but Barker was already opening the door. I’m not saying that Barker believes he is better than other men, but he certainly thinks faster than most. The secretary gave a cry, but the Guv was already inside and standing in front of the ambassador’s desk as we followed him inside.
“Barker!” Lincoln said, not looking especially pleased. He turned to John Flynn for an explanation.
“We followed this one, sir,” Flynn said, indicating me. “We were nearly here when that one hopped on the buggy and decked a marine.”
“Yes, I apologize for that,” Cyrus Barker told Mr. Lincoln. “It seemed the only way to help my partner, who was being menaced at gunpoint.”
Lincoln sat back in his chair and regarded us. He didn’t look at all like his father. The man was stockily built and had a white spade-shaped beard and a mustache. He regarded us, glowering, then turned to Flynn and sighed.
“I presume the guards did not relieve Mr. Barker of his weapons,” he said.
In answer, Barker opened his coat and revealed the butts of two Colts. Lincoln turned his scathing eye on Flynn, who looked deflated.
“What’s this all about?” the ambassador asked. “I have reports to write.”
“The rebels were watching Barker’s door,” Flynn said. “Then Llewelyn turned the tables and was following one of them. I stopped him and brought him here to find out what he knows.”
I shot Flynn a look. He dared me to say that I’d embarrassed him, but I let it go. It’s bad form to humiliate a fellow in front of his superior.
“You know about Woodson and his men?” Lincoln asked, looking at Barker.
“I do,” the Guv said, sitting in a chair. He settled back, crossing one leg over the other. The menacing enquiry agent was now hail-fellow-well-met, but I’m sure a shrewd man like Lincoln would not fall for such a ruse.
“Tell me what you know,” Lincoln said.
“General Woodson and his men came to our door, using a mutual connection to the Masonic Order to request my services.”
“For what purpose?” the ambassador demanded.
“We are not at liberty to say.”
“Balderdash.” Lincoln frowned. His brows were black and bushy, and he did it well. “You must tell us.”
“We can’t,” Barker countered.
“Is your brother mixed up in this matter?” the ambassador asked.
Barker shook his head. “Not directly. He is in America at the moment.”
“That’s a mercy.”
Lincoln had ordered Caleb Barker back to America for several offenses he had perpetrated when he was last in London. I believe he would have put him in jail if he could have found a way to do it legally.
“I assume you helped Woodson and his gang in some way,” he said.
“Yes and no.”
“The matter is open, then.”
“Very much open, sir,” the Guv replied. “And progressing swiftly.”
“Tell me, Barker,” the ambassador continued. “It appears this group has the British government over a barrel. There has been activity in Downing Street and even in the House of Lords. Messengers have been noted almost running between the two buildings. What is happening?”
“I cannot say, sir.”
“You cannot say!” Lincoln exclaimed. “You mean you will not say!”
“Very well, Your Excellency. I will not say. To do so would make a traitor of me.”
“Can you tell me the names of these men?”
“That I can supply, sir, being a matter of public record,” my partner said. “The leader is named General James Woodson of Cuba. The second in command is Brigadier David St. Ives of Brazil. The third is Colonel Zebedee Beaufort of Mexico and the fourth is Captain Manuel Cortes of Colombia.”
“That’s quite a group,” the ambassador remarked. “We’ll look into their particulars. Tell me, if you will, are these men claiming to be representatives of the Confederate government of the United States?”
Barker looked at me. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask. He turned back to Lincoln. “Yes, they are.”
Robert Todd Lincoln lay down his pen. “I’m asking if these men believe they are members of a government that no longer exists.”
“They claim to believe it,” Barker said.
“But they do not live in the United States?”
The Guv gave a ghost of a smile. “I’ve given you enough. I am sympathetic to your country, if for no other reason than that so many of my own countrymen have emigrated there.”
My partner meant the Scots. But for all I knew he had not been to Scotland since a lad, though it is a half day’s train journey there.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Lincoln said. “Also, I understand your desire to be loyal to your country. We Lincolns are descended from English stock ourselves. However, I need to know what the Confederates are saying.”
“I must be circumspect and cannot give you that answer at this time.”
Lincoln made a sound of disgust. “The Confederacy, that pack of scoundrels, is dead. ‘Dead as a doornail,’ to quote Mr. Dickens.”
“Aye, but they are giving a good imitation of being alive, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Llewelyn?”
“I would,” I admitted. “I don’t know if there is a precedent for a country, or the rebels of a country, re-forming after being defeated and then swearing the movement never died, but that’s what appears to be the case. It might be in your government’s best interests to see if the surrender documents are ironclad.”
“I do not need your advice, Mr. Llewelyn.”
Lincoln leaned back in his chair and studied our faces. “The two of you appeared at Downing Street in the company of these spies. I presume they spoke to the prime minister. They were then followed to a restaurant near Scotland Yard, shortly afterward joined by you. Then they went to the Holborn Hotel and spent the night. This is an expensive hotel. The next day they were seen purchasing uniforms. It is Mr. Flynn’s opinion that these were also expensive.”
“It appears that they’ve come to London well-heeled,” Flynn said.
“Jackals,” Lincoln pronounced.
“We are watching them,” Barker stated.
Ambassador Lincoln cleared his throat. “Watching them or abetting them?”
He leaned back and tapped the desk with a finger. Barker did not reply.
“I would like to hire you gentlemen.”
“I’m afraid we already have a client.”
“Are you working for the Confederacy?” Lincoln asked.
“Sir, you’ve just told me the Confederacy is dissolved. Pray be more precise with your speech.”
“You took Woodson and his associates to meet the prime minister,” the ambassador said. “Had you fulfilled your obligation to this group at that point?”
“We had,” my partner assured him.
“There is more to this,” Lincoln growled. “Perhaps much more.”
“I have no doubt, sir,” Barker replied. “But I’m not the one with the answers. I am a private enquiry agent, not a diplomat. The prime minister is the one you should speak to.”
“I will,” Lincoln answered. “Mr. Flynn, please see these gentlemen out.”
We filed past the secretary, passing the young marine Barker had knocked unconscious who was standing in the corner, watching us as we left. His eye was swollen and red. Like Lot’s wife, I looked back. John Flynn was regarding us with crossed arms. There was no doubt we would meet again.
CHAPTER 10
We went back to the offices and hung our hats on the hooks. When we were seated, we noted a sealed letter on Barker’s desk. He reached for the Sicilian dagger he keeps on his desk and cut open the envelope.
He read. He tends to read slowly, with no hurry, trying to glean every inference or clue in the words. It drives me mad. I’d rip through a letter and digest the pertinent matter and have done with it, while he’s still contemplating the introduction.
“What is it?” I ask, straight to the point.
“It’s a letter from my brother.”
He read through it as I waited impatiently. How long was it, I wondered? How much did he reveal? How did the Pinkerton agent get involved in the matter? When he finished, he passed the letter to me. I read the way a parched man guzzles water.
Cyrus,
There is a group of varmints I am sending your way. They claim to be the one and only true Confederate States of America, back from the grave, like a vampire resurrected. They’ve got a treaty that claims to be an alliance between the Brits and the Confederates. I can’t prove or disprove it, though it looks real enough. I believe they’re going to use it to try to get some money out of Old Queen Vicky if they can.
“Old Queen Vicky?” I asked.
“You’ve called her worse,” Barker answered.
“She supplanted my family as ruler of Wales.”
“About a thousand years ago,” he rejoined.
“Still,” I said. “Let me read.”
I don’t know much about General James Woodson or his subordinate David St. Ives, and I was unable to verify any one of those names in Washington, although a colonel named Zebedee Beaufort is known for his atrocities during the war. He also is head of a secret Confederate society called the Ku Klux Klan. It is claimed that the private army was disbanded after the war, but I have my doubts. It is very hard to exterminate a secret society; they merely go underground. There may be a few men with him. In fact, there may be many. I’m not sure. The group is based out of Havana.
Keep an eye out for someone named John Flynn. He’s a Treasury agent. Good man.
Sorry to send this mess your way. I’ve heard from various sources that the rebels are stashing weapons and money in the U.S. for another revolt. There are rumors, but I haven’t had any confirmation.
Stay alive, Little Brother,
Caleb
P.S. There’s a woman with them. She’s like having a rattlesnake in your bed. Keep watch for her. Her name is Bella Boyd, and she was a spy during the war. She works for Woodson, I suspect.
I looked up over the top of the note.
“Bed?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past my brother’s ability to help himself to just about anything. I don’t think he’d be good at any other occupation save a private police officer with few restraints. It’s just the sort of work he was born for.”
“Two brothers separated for decades, and yet both have the same occupation.”
Barker frowned. “I would not compare what we do with the work he does as a Pinkerton. To me, he is the lowest form of officer, little more than a hired gun. The man has no scruples.”
“I’m sure he thinks you have too many,” I replied.
“Therein lies the difference between us.” He stood and began to pace the room. “Let us parse this letter. Caleb does not verify the existence of either Woodson or St. Ives, although he doesn’t go so far as to claim these men are imposters.”
“Do you think that’s the case?” I asked.
“It’s possible,” he admitted. “It’s also common sense. Ambassador Lincoln might have the right to arrest Beaufort as a spy if he is revealed to be an American citizen. He could potentially be charged with sedition.”
“Provided he hasn’t become a legal citizen of another country,” I argued. “Mexico, didn’t he say?”
“Aye.”
“And now there’s a woman involved,” I added.
“You need not say it with such intrigue, lad. Fully half the human population consists of them.”
“I wonder what sort she is,” I said. “A wealthy Southern woman perhaps, being duped by these charlatans? A woman of bad morals or the daughter of a soldier who died in the Civil War, hoping to honor her father?”
“She could even be married to someone in the delegation,” Barker replied. “This situation is dangerous. We must be cautious and circumspect.”
“Our lives may depend upon it.”
“Tell me, Thomas,” Barker said. “Have you any new observations of Mr. St. Ives?”
“Several. First of all,” I said. “I don’t trust anyone with the word ‘Saint’ in his surname. It sounds fanciful.”
“It does,” the Guv admitted. “But some people have it.”
“Yes, but he’s too theatrical,” I argued. “And only more so with that name. His hair is dyed, and his face is so smooth he must get himself shaved every morning. I’ve never seen a man of his age so fastidious.”
“You’ve been accused of being a dandy yourself,” my partner said. “Even Mrs. Llewelyn has noted it.”
“Yes, but not to that extent,” I argued. “He’s certainly doing everything to conceal his advancing years.”
“Advancing years?” Barker echoed. “I’m in my sixth decade as well.”
“Yes, sir, but you do not conceal your age. If anything, you are proud of it.”
He nodded. “I never expected to reach fifty. I was certain I’d die by ball or blade.”
“Or bomb,” I added.
“Precisely.”
“Being a dandy is not a crime, but it shows a certain duplicitousness.”
“Not all men are satisfied with growing older, Thomas,” the Guv said. “They’ll fight to the death to turn back the clock for a few years in the name of vanity, St. Ives included.”
“I rather like the fellow,” I said. “But he is one of the oddest clients I’ve ever encountered, and we’ve had some prizes.”
* * *
Jenkins entered our chambers around one o’clock that afternoon. He looked tired and drawn. He carried a leather portfolio under one arm and balanced a cup of tea in his hand. In all our years together, I’d never seen him drink anything but ale. I gave him a look and he grinned. Then he swallowed the contents in one gulp and set the cup on the edge of his desk. I recognized the china. It came from the Silver Cross at the entrance to Craig’s Court.
“No jokes,” he remarked to me. “I’m knackered. Mr. L., I’ve been seeing people and tearing through papers since the Public Records Office opened.”
“What did you find out?” Barker asked.
Jenkins came into our office with a few items which he placed in one of the visitor’s chairs.
“First, I went to Edward Reeves in Lewes High Street, the photographic studio General Woodson mentioned, and was able to obtain copies of the Confederate’s treaty,” he said. “They had a new method of enlarging parts of the photographs of the treaty and so I commissioned several. I hope you don’t mind. Wonderful thing this new science, but hard on forgers. You can see the signatures clear as day and three times their normal size. It’s astounding!”
“Do you have it?” my partner asked.
I came ’round the desk and looked over Barker’s shoulder as Jeremy lay down a half dozen photographs in front of the Guv, some of which were of signatures enlarged to a full-sized sheet.
“How did you manage this?” Baker asked.
“I claimed to be Woodson’s private secretary. Then I asked to see the prints the colonel had ordered. Then I asked him to enlarge several images from the original. He didn’t seem in the least suspicious, sir, and was happy for more work. I don’t believe his business gets a great deal of trade so early in the morning.”
Barker grunted, sitting back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his waistcoat. “Good thinking, Jeremy.”
“The document was signed on the third of April 1865,” Jenkins continued. “The prime minister was Henry John Temple, Lord Palmerston. I was not able to acquire a personal schedule or memoranda book in my research, but according to a court circular he was in London that afternoon and met with some kind of American organization. The information was vague. Nothing implied that it was a Confederate delegation, but that could have been a mistake on the recorder’s part.”
“Where is the signature?” Barker asked.
Jenkins bent over the document and pointed. “Here, Mr. B. Quite a good hand, he has. An even stroke. I have compared it to his other signatures, and though I’ve never seen the original I feel certain that it is genuine. The viscount died later that year. I was able to track down the calligrapher who scripted the document. He is in his late eighties. He has confirmed that he did create such a document and delivered it to Downing Street, but was not present when it was signed.”
“Good work,” Barker replied.
“Here are the signatures of the Confederate envoys, James Murray Mason and Jubal Slidell. Both were involved in the Trent Affair.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“From what I found out, the two envoys were traveling to England on a British mail ship called the RMS Trent in 1861, which was stopped and boarded by the United States government,” Jenkins said. “Mason and Slidell were detained, but not arrested. However, the Americans had no right to seize a British ship. Lord Palmerston’s government claimed there were neutral rights, and it was an insult to our national honor for the United States to board one of our ships and detain any of its passengers.”
