David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

“Oh, that is nothing,” said Duer. “I can tend to Hammy. All he requires is a kind word, and he shall be satisfied. To know him is to understand he is more dog than man.”

Duer and I had more than once discussed Pearson’s need to exaggerate his own importance, but Duer was frequently guilty of the same sin. When Hamilton ’s name came up, he would pretend to a closeness and influence for which I had never seen evidence. This above all concerned me, for if Hamilton were to discover Duer’s activities too early, Duer would indeed be ruined but Hamilton would walk away-perhaps not unscathed but relatively intact.

“I think she’s right,” said Pearson, scenting Duer’s blood. He was now significantly in debt because of his involvement in Duer’s schemes, and he had borrowed recklessly from the Bank of the United States, in order to continue losing money and to have enough to invest personally in the Million Bank launch. There were rumors about town that he had even begun to sell off some of his real estate holdings, and if that was the case he was more precariously poised than I had realized or intended. If he fell from the precipice now, I had no notion of how I would save his wife and children, other than to give them money of my own.

“Mrs. Maycott is always sensible,” said Duer, “but that does not make her right.”

“ Hamilton has invested everything-his heart, his soul, his reputation, his career-into the Bank of the United States and the American financial system,” I said. “I cannot believe he will ignore suspicious activity simply because you are behind it, William.” I did not say what we were all thinking, yet the world knew: During the crisis that followed the bank’s launch, Hamilton had ignored Duer’s advice against stabilizing the market and had achieved calm at the expense of Duer’s profits.

“Well, what can he do?” asked Duer. “He can request that we stop, but he has no power to direct us.”

“If he knows too precisely what we plan, he can thwart us,” I said.

“And how would he learn what we plan?” Duer asked.

It was Pearson who spoke the name, saying it as if it were something vile, a bitter pill that, lodged under the tongue, blossoms foully in the mouth: “Ethan Saunders.”

“Who is that?” I asked. At that point, I’d not before heard the name.

“What?” said Duer. “Ethan Saunders from the war? Was he not cashiered from the army as a traitor?”

“He left under a cloud, yes,” said Pearson, “but Hamilton chose never to bring forth official treason charges. He was guilty, and everyone knew it, but no one could be troubled with it. The war was nearing its close, but he was Washington and Hamilton ’s pet, and I cannot imagine Hamilton will not use him now. I have seen him about town of late. He’s become a drunk and a womanizer-the sort of man you cannot look on without wanting to destroy.”

“Then it seems unlikely that Hamilton would engage his services,” I observed.

He looked at me a long moment, and I must admit it made me extraordinarily uncomfortable. “Must you always contradict me?” Pearson asked.

“These things concern me,” I said, attempting to keep my voice calm. “We do not discuss what we had for supper last week but what must be done next. I do not contradict, Mr. Pearson. I participate.”

“Yes, yes, you are a clever woman and all that,” he said. “But you must remember that I am a man, and that makes me cleverer. You are, at best, a parlor trick.”

Duer rose to his feet and looked to me like a little boy who needed to relieve himself but knew not where to do it. “I do not wish to involve myself in what must be a private dispute. You will excuse me for a moment.”

Seeing me abused, Duer wished to absent himself and so be rid of the discomfort.

I forced a pleasing smile at Pearson. My face was bright and full of nothing but admiration and congeniality. “We have no disagreement,” I said. “Mr. Duer may sit back down, and you, sir, may continue. We are all friends here.”

Duer looked not at me but at Pearson and, seeing something he liked, or at least found agreeable, he returned to his seat.

“With your leave,” Pearson said to me.

“Of course,” I answered easily.

And with that he continued as though there had been no disruption. “Saunders is not what he was, but Hamilton will bring him in, because he is here and because he was said to have been the cleverest spy of his day. I’m sure he wasn’t, but that is what they said of him. Besides, he owes Hamilton a debt for not bringing him up on charges. Hamilton would have to be a fool not to use a man who must regard him as the greatest of benefactors.”

“So what do you propose?” asked Duer, obviously exerting some effort to sound easy and natural. He did not wish to have Pearson explode before him as well.

“I’ll tend to Saunders,” said Pearson. “As it happens, I observed him not two weeks ago leaving a low sort of place with the wife of an acquaintance of mine. A word whispered in his ear will encourage this man, Dorland, to remove Saunders for us. Once he is fled or otherwise gone, Hamilton will have no spy at his command. If he learns what we plan, it will only be when it is too late.”

In truth, I did not consider this matter as important as Pearson seemed to. Whatever his experience had been with Saunders, it had evidently been unpleasant in the extreme, so if he wished to remove this potential asset to Hamilton, I would not object.

Once I was done speaking to the gentlemen, I went upstairs and found Mrs. Pearson in the sitting room. She was upon the sofa, reading from Pilgrim’s Progress to the children, who sat listening in rapt fascination. The fire reflected against her pale skin, and she seemed almost to glow.

Upon seeing me, she closed the book. “That’s enough for now, children. I would like a word with Mrs. Maycott.”

I expected groans and complaints, however halfhearted, for it is a time-honored tradition that children protest when story time ends. These children, however, unfolded themselves from the floor and quietly left the room. They were afraid and overdisciplined, and I knew it was not Mrs. Pearson’s hand that had rendered them so.

Once we were alone together, Mrs. Pearson rose and shut the door to the sitting room. She poured us wine and then sat near me on the sofa, that she might speak in low tones.

“I hope you will not be angry if I tell you I overheard some of what you spoke of with the gentlemen.”

“Of course not,” I said.

She, however, was not quite ready to begin. “I envy you, the way you move among them as an equal. You are so beautiful, and yet they don’t treat you as though you were a plaything. How do you gain their respect?”

“I gain it by demanding it,” I said.

She turned away. “I cannot demand respect from Mr. Pearson.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “I know what things are like here, Cynthia. Don’t think I haven’t seen it. And-and I mean to help you.”

She looked at me with great intensity, and I could not tell if it was surprise or hope. “Help me how?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know, but I will help you, Cynthia. You have my word. When this is over, you shall be the better for it.”

She turned back to me. “When what is over?”

“The business I do with your husband and Mr. Duer.”

She smiled at me. It was a strange thing. Mrs. Pearson was fair, and I dark; her eyes the palest blue, mine a heavy green; her features tiny and delicate, mine sharp and prominent. No one would ever have called us alike, and yet, for an instant, I felt as though I looked in a mirror. I knew that smile, in its stark cynicism and cold, penetrating understanding of the truth. “You command their respect, but you blind them with charm too.”