Читать книгу Philip Nolan - Chuck Pfarrer - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCOLONEL BELL’S CORPSE WAS HURRIED BACK TO RICHMOND IN HIS FINE coach and four, though the reason for such dispatch was not obvious. News of the duel reached Doctor Rikard Kosinski in the breakfast room of the Union Hotel, and he mounted and rode south. He met Wendell Fitzgerald leading Nolan’s horse and a hay wagon near the Chimborazo Hill. Kosinski found Nolan sprawled on a carpet of filthy straw and at first judged him mortally wounded. Fitzgerald asked a tavern owner if Nolan might be taken to a bed. For various reasons the proprietor found this not convenient, and Nolan was trundled another several miles through cobbled streets to his room at the St. Charles. That Nolan survived this journey, and eventually his wound, was to be the last bit of luck that would ever attend him.
After some difficulty Doctor Kosinski managed to draw the ball from Nolan’s chest; in a long career as a surgeon, he had never known a man to survive such a wound, but kept this prognosis to himself. Weeping, Lorina was allowed to sit at Nolan’s bedside, but he did not open his eyes. While Nolan hovered near death, Fitzgerald and Judge Macon composed a joint statement for the newspapers, as was part of their duties. It was not surprising that they did not see eye to eye on the particulars.
When their letter appeared the next day in the Richmond Intelligencer, an attached, anonymous commentary skewed the events in Bell’s favor. The colonel’s lapsed marksmanship gave rise to a myth that he had attempted to spare Nolan’s life—though every man on the field that morning saw Bell aim and fire precisely. A separate obituary mentioned Bell’s “arduous and dangerous” service during the Revolutionary War. Forgotten utterly was Bell’s shared disgrace with the coward General Gates and his loitering attachment for the rest of the war to Thomas Jefferson’s staff in Charlottesville.
Bell’s funeral took place on a Friday, and many of the businesses in the city were obliged to close their doors. There were muffled drums, and a pair of house slaves dressed in white turbans and green pantaloons sat atop the hearse. A groom in a powdered wig led his master’s horse with boots reversed in the stirrups. Some found it particularly affecting that a young mulatto girl carried the colonel’s spectacles on a satin pillow. The cortege included many of Richmond’s persons of quality, but the route to Trinity Church was not thronged with onlookers. Colonel Bell’s firmness as a businessman and punctuality as a landlord were well established among the working class. Some of Richmond’s citizens could not appreciate Colonel Bell’s qualities with the same esteem as the moneylenders and plantation owners who were his relations and friends.
Nolan lay two days in a coma, tended around the clock by Doctor Kosinski, Alden Fitzgerald, and Lorina Rutledge. He woke in the middle part of the third morning, almost cheerful but in great pain. The windows were thrown open and the room was made airy, a particular tenet of Kosinski’s unique ideas of the practice of physic. Nolan was prevailed upon to take some barley water and a salted egg. After taking them he showed every sign of improvement, and during the day Lorina read aloud and Alden spoke quietly to him. Nolan lay listening, and sometimes he would smile and look at Lorina with his eyes half closed. Occasionally he answered with a word or two and sometimes a sigh. On the fourth night, the pain overwhelmed him; Nolan slipped again into unconsciousness, and his fever reached a new and dangerous peak.
In delirium Nolan poured out the secrets of his soul. Some of what he said was meaningless fever talk, but some of it was the stuff of his darkest fears. Nolan had imbibed French during a childhood spent in New Orleans, and Spanish on the Texas frontier. Much of his delirious raving was in these languages, and although Lorina spoke only a smattering of French, what she heard was heartbreaking. In a sweat-blotted frenzy Nolan twitched and moaned and spoke of all the errors and weaknesses and aching wants of his life. Doctor Kosinski did what he could to ease Nolan’s pain, and Alden and Lorina sat sometimes sponging Nolan’s brow, taking away bowls of bloody bandages, and listening unwillingly to the patient’s shouts and sobs. Alden had known him longest and admired Philip above every man she knew except her husband; for her, his rants were sometimes wounding. Once she placed a finger against lips to quiet him, but still he spoke of naked anguish and shame.
Lorina had seen only the proud face Nolan showed to the world. In their time together he had seemed to her carefree and blithely above the scorn and calumny that had been poured on him. From his nightmares Lorina discovered how deeply Nolan suffered the accusations made against him—steeped in months of frustration and disgrace, his ravings were heartbreaking to hear.
Dawn came, and then daylight. Nolan became quiet and the muscles around his jaw relaxed. He slept, woke, and slept again. Nolan’s iron constitution triumphed, and on the following day the fever abated. Nolan’s senses returned to him at last and, trembling, he took a sip of water.
The doctor felt Nolan’s pulse and smiled. “I am glad you are with us again, Mister Nolan.”
Nolan saw in the small circle of his room the faces of Wendell and then Alden and Lorina. They had passed the long ordeal at his side, and they too looked drawn and haggard. Nolan lifted his hand and Wendell took it in his own.
“Friend,” Nolan whispered hoarsely. Then, looking at them all, he said, “My friends.”
IT IS A HEADY THING FOR A YOUNG WOMAN TO REALIZE THAT SHE HAS BEEN THE reason for gunfire. For Lorina Rutledge, Nolan’s wounding had been the gravest calamity of her life, and his recovery one of her greatest joys.
It could be said that until the duel Lorina had not felt any particular attachment to Nolan, nothing much beyond an appreciation for his fine, attentive manners and his continuing good cheer. The nights she spent at his bedside had been like a passage through a storm. She had insisted to be allowed to help Doctor Kosinski; her father had been a surgeon, and she was not what anyone would call fainting. Through the long period of danger she impressed Kosinski and Alden alike with her determined composure. The experience kindled in her a tenderness that found delight in the small, daily triumphs of Nolan’s recovery. They were attached now, mutually, by feelings of obligation and growing affection.
Nolan’s steady improvement was seen as something of a marvel and wonderfully confirmed Kosinski’s reputation as a physician and surgeon. In ten days, Nolan was taking halting steps across the room, and the next week he was taking the air on the lawn behind the St. Charles. In the mornings, after the dew lifted, a pair of porters would bring him down the stairs and sit him in the shade of the spreading elms. There he was attended sometimes by Alden and more often by Lorina, who plied him with spoonfuls of Turlington’s Balsam and snippets from curious pamphlets by William Blake.
Lorina was touched by Nolan’s sincere gratitude—his thanks were heartfelt—and as his strength returned she found his boyish enthusiasm charming. In their conversations everything seemed mutually interesting; they pleased each other with trifles and were fascinated by the small things they had in common. After the colonel’s funeral, tattle painted Nolan as something of an infamous person. Lorina knew that Alden adored him, and she did not imagine half of the things she’d heard said about Nolan could be true. It could not rightly be said that Lorina had courted scandal herself, but they had occasionally danced. Her doting father guarded his daughter’s reputation with all the trappings of virtue. He had reason to strengthen her defenses. Lorina’s suitors were many, and only a few of them were judged suitable. At her father’s insistence, Lorina taught Sunday school at Trinity Episcopal and often read her catechism. Even if she had not strictly upheld every verse, she did know and follow the Ten Commandments, and at least three of its mortal sins were beyond any evil she could even imagine.
Pleasant to look at, clever, and rich, Lorina might have been guilty of thinking a bit too well of herself, and of generally having things too much her own way. Though others frequently made accommodation for her, she was always unabashedly herself. Lorina had her own secrets. She had concealed from Nolan the fact that her family was wealthy. A dowry changed things, she knew. Money turned men into puppies or reptiles, and she did not want Nolan to reveal himself as a whelp or a fortune hunter. For his part, Nolan did not mention the name of his father, or say much at all about his upbringing except to confirm that he had been born in Rhode Island and moved at a young age to New Orleans and then to the country of Texas.
Nolan had very few friends in Richmond before the arrival of the Fitzgeralds, and after the duel he found he had none. Wendell and Alden he had known for years, and they were unfalteringly attached. Alden Fitzgerald had once been Alden Schuyler (of the New York Schuylers), and her family was too prominent to be trifled with; there was not a chance she would be insulted in the street. She had known Philip and Wendell since they were cadets, a very happy and long time before. No gossip reached Alden’s ears, and she was not interested in the things said about a friend behind his back. Oddly, the insults Lorina heard about Nolan, especially the more outrageous ones, served only to make her more stubborn in her affection.
Nolan was not invited to the governor’s dinner, but Wendell, Alden, and Lorina were. Lorina was connected enough to make certain they were seated together at a table where they could see, but not necessarily hear, the speechification from the dais.
Between amuse and intermezzo, Lorina asked, “Please tell me, Wendell, what is misprision of treason? I have heard it said about Philip.”
“It is having knowledge of a treasonable act.”
“It is a crime to simply know of treason?” she asked.
“You might say that.” Wendell poured the wine, a dusty claret that had not traveled well. “It is a stipulation of English Common Law that treason is considered the very apex of felony—equal to regicide itself. All persons are obligated instantly to put it down. Failing to report even a suspicion of it is a crime.”
“Philip is not a traitor,” said Alden.
“Misprision of treason is unique in that guilt is determined not for acting unlawfully but for failing to act,” Wendell said. “The accusation is that Nolan knew of Burr’s treason and did not report it.”
“How I detest an informer,” Alden frowned.
“Do you think he is innocent?” asked Lorina.
“Innocence is a measure of virtue,” Wendell answered. “And I would not say that our friend is superior to other men. He’s no goody-two-shoes. If you are asking me if the charges against Philip are true, I would say that no act of treason has yet been proven—by Burr’s accusers or anyone else. Not yet.”
Wendell helped himself to a slice of venison pie and said, “At West Point, Nolan swore the same oath as I, to uphold the Constitution. All the officers of our service take an oath—not to the government, or to the president, but to the document itself, to the law of the land.
“While we were cadets, Philip came to blows with a classmate, Joseph Swift. Their disagreement was whether or not the president or the Constitution was the supreme deity. Swift had it that the commander in chief was Jehovah—I should say Moses, rather, we were after all just cadets—but Nolan held that we were all serving the law. We served it, you see. Our one loyalty was to the Constitution and not the officers appointed above us. Nolan thought that people were fallible, but the law served us all. It was a bit optimistic, but Nolan thought the ideals enshrined in the charter were more important than any elected leader. Philip insisted even the commander in chief must serve the Constitution. The spirit of the law was for Philip the burning bush. Well, Joe Swift called Nolan an insubordinate puppy. And Philip broke Swift’s nose.”
Lorina held out her glass to be filled. “He seems a confirmed patriot.”
“He is that. And was nearly expelled from the Academy.”
“I must ask you directly, Wendell, how much of it is true? How much of what is said in the streets about Nolan? I cannot think that he is truly wicked.”
Fitzgerald looked at Lorina. “He is not. Pray, what have you heard?”
Lorina said, “Nolan is held out as one of the most ardent and desperate of Burr’s conspirators. It is put about that he shot dead the first marshal sent to arrest him, and that he is the son of a British lord.”
Wendell examined his wineglass carefully as Lorina spoke and quietly cleared his throat. “Philip has yet to be proven guilty of any crime, and I know of no harm he has ever done to an officer of the court. He is not, and has never been, gratuitously violent. That he is a desperate conspirator is all havers and nonsense, I assure you. There is much taking of sides, sure. And Colonel Bell, though not much esteemed when he was alive, has been transformed into a hero, while Nolan is called both Judas and a mercenary.”
Alden said to her cousin, “Those who know Philip know better than to judge him by gossip.”
“But he carried a ciphered letter to Colonel Burr, did he not?” Lorina asked this with a blush of shame. “I read it in the newspaper. Is it not incriminating that the letter was in code?”
“It is not,” Wendell answered. “Officers frequently carry coded messages.”
“Is it really true that he could have carried Burr’s dispatches and not have known what was in them?” Lorina asked.
“It would be the rule rather than the exception,” Wendell said patiently. “As it bears on the case, it is less germane that the letter was encoded than what exactly Burr requested Nolan to do.”
“Burr is a vile, grasping creature.” Alden shuddered. “I remember him from Manhattan. He is perfectly odious.”
“Nolan was unfortunate to trust the man. But that is not a crime.”
Alden’s face took on genuine displeasure when she said, “What is it that Mister Jefferson called Burr? A Cataline. That was it, a new Cataline.”
Lorina felt a strange flutter.
“The government must prove its case, first against Burr and only then against Nolan,” Wendell said. “Philip can hardly be party to an imaginary act.”
SOON AFTER LORINA WROTE A LETTER TO HER PARENTS THAT ALARMED THEM greatly. Before her father had agreed that she might go with the Fitzgeralds to Richmond, Doctor Rutledge extracted from his daughter a promise that she would consider—at least consider—the marriage proposal of Richard Graff, the wealthy and moonstruck son of the chancellor of the University of Pennsylvania. Graff had a thriving medical practice and had recently published a well-regarded book on phrenology. Her father thought Doctor Graff a perfect match—Graff’s future was as bright as Nolan’s was bleak—and although the young surgeon was thought highly suitable, everything that recommended him had begun to make him wearisome to Lorina.
As Nolan returned to health before her eyes, the far-away Doctor Graff was made into a sexless, bloodless shadow. Lorina wrote that she no longer wished to entertain Graff’s proposal. The news was most disappointing to her parents and fell like a thunderbolt on Graff, who had believed that an understanding was imminent. When he received the intelligence of Lorina’s dismissal, Doctor Graff published a melancholy sonnet in the Philadelphia Gazette. Then, after sending several alarming notes to his friends, he retired to his rooms and took a very mild overdose of calomel and laudanum. Both poem and potion fell somewhat short of the mark. Graff’s stomach was pumped, and he did his best to pine away in conspicuous and brooding melancholy.
Lorina’s parents considered having Alden return their daughter but relented, thinking that her cousin (who was after all a respectable married woman) would speak plain sense to Lorina. Doctor Rutledge went so far as to write Alden, urging her to tell Lorina that a prompt marriage to Doctor Graff was preferable to spinsterhood or gossip. Of course, Lorina’s parents knew nothing of Nolan, as his infamy was yet confined to Richmond and the federal charges against him were not yet public. Had they any inkling of their daughter’s attachment to the young officer, they would have coached down by express and returned Lorina bodily home to Philadelphia.
Nolan knew nothing of this. Miss Rutledge had said nothing about it to him, and she wished harm to no one—not even the swooning doctor. Nolan’s own feelings were anything but clear to him. He had never before in his life felt such reciprocal affection, and his own innocence gave him no measure by which to understand the things he felt. Those around him saw it more plainly than he could; Alden certainly did, and Wendell too. Both hoped brightly for the couple.
Although his cheerfulness returned, Nolan had a hundred reasons to doubt himself. His future was clouded and he had a secret in his past, one he felt that put him aside from respectable people. Nolan knew that his illegitimacy and his mother’s mottled reputation posed an impediment to his social connexions. The Fitzgeralds loved him, but they had known him for most of a decade. It pained them very much to think that Nolan might be found out to be unworthy of Lorina’s attentions.
THEN, ON A BRIGHT APRIL MORNING A SQUADRON OF CAVALRY RATTLED ACROSS Mayo’s Bridge. Word spread quickly that Aaron Burr had at last been brought to heel. After a months-long manhunt, he had been captured in the Alabama territory under circumstances as ambiguous as his plot. Townsmen surged down Cary Street to see the most nefarious person in the Republic handed down from a wagon by a file of grim-faced Marines. The short, spare fugitive was wearing an outrageous sombrero and canvas chaps—the same outfit he’d been arrested in six weeks earlier near the Tombigbee River.
Burr was lodged in the state penitentiary, where he was given the entire top floor. Carpets, drapery, and furniture were sent up, and he received visitors like an emperor. Burr’s supporters may have chosen to remain anonymous, but they were generous. When bail was set in the staggering amount of ten thousand dollars, it was put forward in gold. A second subscription raised more than a thousand dollars to buy the former vice president clothing for court. Dressed in silk, Burr went to levees and banquets. Most of the derision formerly directed at Nolan was now aimed at Burr. Beyond a cordon of supporters and sycophants, the crowd howled for Burr’s head. The little man seemed to revel in the frustration of the mob.
Burr made no attempt to speak to or correspond with his former courier. He had used Nolan as he had used everyone else. The federal prosecutors, predictably, had less time to devote to the secondary cases, and Fitzgerald hoped that the gathering storm would pass over his client.
As Nolan continued his recovery, Aaron Burr’s trial went forward. Burr was defended by some of the ablest lawyers in the nation: Luther Martin, Edmund Randolph, and John Wickham. The proceedings were closely monitored in Washington, and the federal prosecutor, Mister Hay, dispatched daily summaries to President Jefferson. On most mornings, Wendell Fitzgerald was in the gallery and paid close attention to a contradictory flood of testimony. The prosecution’s chief witness, General Wilkinson, was so ludicrous as to make Fitzgerald suspect that the charges against Nolan would be quashed.
Questioned by Luther Martin, the sweating general admitted that he had received the coded letter from Aaron Burr. Nolan was identified as the courier. Cross-examination revealed that after deciphering the letter, Wilkinson had rewritten the contents before sending them along to Washington. Under a withering barrage of questions Wilkinson confessed that his editing had removed several sentences regarding his own foreknowledge of Burr’s plot. Each word out of the general’s mouth seemed to implicate him further, and many in the gallery believed that Wilkinson himself would be charged with treason and perjury. The government’s case against Burr was falling apart, but Fitzgerald was slow to admit optimism.
Despite Wilkinson’s buffoonery, the prosecution was relentless and eloquent. Mister Hay, the chief prosecutor, distinguished himself in the government’s closing arguments, calling Burr an arch deceiver and a threat to American posterity. From Washington City came news that President Jefferson had told Congress that Burr was “without question” guilty of treason. These were unprecedented words from a sitting executive, but reflected the mood of the nation. At the end of August, Chief Justice John Marshall rendered an opinion that Burr’s indictment was flawed, but nevertheless turned the matter over to the jury.
The nation held its breath and Fitzgerald waited in the packed courtroom until the verdict was announced. On hearing it, Wendell made his way through the stunned and angry crowds. He walked first to the offices of the military provost and then at once to the St. Charles. Wendell went upstairs and into the bright front room where Philip had been moved.
Nolan was propped up in bed, and Lorina sat by the window reading aloud from The Age of Reason by Thomas Paine.
“Ah,” Nolan said. “The second most hated man in Richmond.”
“Perhaps the third. How is your patient, Lorina?”
“Not as well or as charming as he thinks.”
Nolan studied his friend. “What news, Wendell?”
Fitzgerald sat down and tapped his fingers on the table. “Aaron Burr has been acquitted.”
Nolan made no attempt to hide his delight. Lorina put down the book and went to his side.
“He is free?” Alden asked.
Wendell nodded. “He walked out of the courtroom. They may charge him on misdemeanors relating to filibuster—I think they will—but he has escaped the noose.”
Nolan squeezed Lorina’s hand. “And when I can walk, we will dance out of Richmond.”
Fitzgerald alone was not smiling.
“What is the matter?” Alden asked.
“It has been decided the military trials will continue.” Fitzgerald walked to the window. “Feeling runs particularly high against you, Philip, following the death of Colonel Bell.”
“I would dig him up and shoot him again.”
“He would still be a nephew of Patrick Henry. And that has not helped your case.”
Lorina paced the room. “How is it that Burr is found not guilty when he intended to set himself up as dictator?”
“No one is sure anymore what Burr set out to do. His followers are at each other’s throats. Wilkinson made a fool of himself trying to keep his own skirts clean. That the general gave false testimony is obvious. His credibility is blown, and he may face his own trial.”
“Then his charges against me are valueless,” Nolan said firmly.
“Normally, they would be. But Wilkinson’s duplicity has cast doubt on the loyalty of the entire Army. President Jefferson has spent several hundred thousand on this trial. He intends to make an example. He must. The case against Burr has miscarried so badly that the prosecution will now proceed with great caution. Perhaps even incrementally.” Wendell looked at Nolan. “They are very likely to start with you, Philip.”
Lorina frowned. “Why?”
“A case against a junior officer would involve a more straightforward application of the law. Military law.”
“Because of Wilkinson? Philip is one man—not the Army,” Alden said.
“He is a serving officer.”
Nolan’s face darkened. “So I am a symbol.”
Below the window, a cart passed and a vendor shouted. Fitzgerald turned, the sun on his broad shoulders. “The provost informs me that if you plead guilty to a charge of manslaughter regarding Colonel Bell, the military court will drop the specifications of desertion and sedition against you.”
“Manslaughter?” cried Nolan. “It was an affair of honor.”
“Honor, my friend, is going out of fashion.”
“So this is their bargain? I am to plead guilty for being a gentleman? Half the men of the court have fought duels before me. They are a mumping great set of hypocrites.”
“The law does not blush at hypocrisy, friend. They mean to have something, someone, after this. Burr’s acquittal has brought them to a perfect boil.”
“Let them stew, damn them.”
Lorina shook her head. “This has been a wicked farce. Is Philip to make himself a sacrifice for Mister Jefferson’s grudge? What could be more low?”
“Philip, I know you to be brave, even fearless,” Wendell said. “But choose your course carefully. Burr is acquitted, but the government believes that he intended not only to start a war, but also to separate the western territory from the union.”
“They proved none of that.”
“But it is widely believed.”
“I do not believe it.” Nolan’s face twisted and he winced as he drew breath. “I volunteered to lead a battery against the Spanish, not make Burr a dictator.”
“I am sure of that,” Fitzgerald said. “But all of the evidence gathered against Burr will now be brought to bear against you. As your attorney—” Nolan started to say something that was likely to be indelicate, and Wendell cut him off. “—as your advocate, I urge you to consider the offer. There are some members of the court, particularly Colonel Morgan, who have told me in confidence that they find you a brave and likeable officer.”
“But consider me guilty.”
“They will likely take your commission, Philip. Be careful lest they take your life.”
IN THE EVENING THE PORTER ANNOUNCED THAT NOLAN HAD A CALLER IN THE public rooms. A pair of footmen helped Nolan negotiate the stairs and brought him into the alcove at the back of the main floor. Lorina was there. In the moonlight outside the bowed windows Nolan could see a hired carriage—a four-in-hand with its lamps lighted.
Lorina helped him into a chair and called for two pints of sherry.
“You are risking tattle, madam,” Nolan smiled.
“So I am,” she said. The wine was put before them. “I hope you will allow me to speak as your friend.”
“Of course.”
“You may not take to what I have to say, but I want you to deliberate upon it. I want very much to persuade you, but I do not want to be considered a scold.”
“Never in life,” Nolan said.
“The newspapers came today from Washington filled with lurid ravings. The administration is incensed at Burr’s release, and Mister Jefferson’s partisans are in full bay—”
Nolan’s ribs creaked as he drew a laborious breath. “Damn them. I am not to be convicted by the president’s editors.”
“You are not. But there was much grumbling today in the market and on the streets. Burr’s acquittal has enraged the larger portion of the town, both above and below Broad Street.” Nolan started to say something, but Lorina touched his hand. “Please, hear me. I know that you do not care a fig about politics and consider the practitioners as less than, well, as diminished beings, but I must mention to you that today I heard four different speakers, members of the House of Delegates, agitating about the failure to punish Burr.”
“No one knows what Burr intended—least of all the government, for they have failed in all their proceedings.”
“And Burr is hated all the more for it. He has had the good sense to leave town.”
Nolan leaned back in his chair and frowned.
“Colonel Bell’s partisans are putting it about that Burr’s true purposes were to raise troops to attack Washington City and arrest the Congress.”
“That is absurd,” Nolan scoffed.
“Some people believe it, Philip. Bell’s cousin paid for a public house to distribute beer and liquor gratis while a series of noxious speakers harangued against Burr and you personally. The crowds they have incited are planning to gather at the armory tomorrow for your court-martial.” She paused. “There may be a riot.”
Nolan looked at her with a detached expression. “Let them burn their own hovels.”
“Philip, whether you think it or not, a public clamor is very likely to affect the government’s determination to punish.”
Nolan collected himself with a sip and said evenly, “I thank you for the things you have said. For your concern I am deeply beholden. I know very little of law or lawyers and, as you say, even less of politicians, but I will be judged by a military court, composed of fellow officers. They are men very far removed from politics. Since Burr has been found innocent, I see no way that they can convict me.”
“You did leave your post. Is that not a mortal offense? And how can you know that the military judges do not want command of a regiment or the governorship of a territory? Would not President Jefferson have it in his power to reward them for your conviction?”
Nolan was silent. Across the dining room he watched as an infantry officer poured wine for his wife. They were laughing.
“I care for you, Philip, but you are nothing to the prosecutors. You are a statistic, a jot on a clerk’s ledger. You said you will not allow yourself to be made a scapegoat.”
“I will not.”
She leaned forward. “Then you must leave the city. You must.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have given my parole.”
“Words.”
“I nearly lost my life over a few words, madam.”
“Do you not understand that they must have a conviction? This is no longer a storm that is passing overhead, Philip. You cannot be so proud as to attract lightning. What I have is yours. I have enough, more than enough, to get you away and keep you in a safe place.”
“Keep me?”
“To keep you safe.”
“I do not wish to be kept.”
“Kept from the noose, then, Philip. The coach is there in the livery yard. You can be on the packet in Newport News before dawn tomorrow and can take ship to Charleston or even Savannah. I will go to meet you as soon as I can.”
“And then what? Would I pretend to be someone else?”
Lorina blinked at Nolan as though he were an obstinate child. “Would you stay here and be lampooned by a crooked court?”
“If I lied to you, would you still care for me?”
“I would not. I would be mortally offended if you lied to me.”
“So I am to lie to everyone but you?”
“Have you not been lied to by Burr? And that greasy oaf Wilkinson—he couldn’t tell the truth except by accident. Don’t be a fool Philip, and don’t be too virtuous to walk through a door that has been opened for you.”
“Don’t tell me what is right or wrong.”
Lorina felt indignation warm her face. “You are ungrateful.”
“Is this how you would have me show gratitude to Wendell and Alden? By bolting?”
“Is your pride so cast iron that you will not step out of a fire?”
“To go where? Into some cloud of perfume? To hide under your petticoats?”
“I am offering you a way out.”
“If I did sneak aboard a ship, would you come for me? Even if you did start, you would soon think better of it. You would turn around halfway when you realized that a man willing to turn his back on his friends must inevitably betray you as well.”
Lorina’s eyes flashed. “Then damn you for a fool, Philip Nolan.”
“I have been fool enough—for you.”
The trembling silence between them went through the close room like a ripple across a pond, working itself between the laughter from other tables. The tavern keeper turned and peered into their circle of candlelight. He watched Nolan say something. He could not hear it but he saw Lorina stand and place her napkin on the table. It was a gesture of poignant finality.
The keeper came over and bowed. “May I be of assistance?”
“Mister Nolan is tired,” Lorina said coolly. “I am afraid I have kept him up too late.”
“I’ll have the porters bring you to your room, sir.” The tavern keeper went away to fetch the footmen, and almost a full minute passed in silence.
Lorina said quietly, “Shall I see you in the morning?”
“You may do what you wish.”
Lorina turned and walked out of the salon, and Nolan heard the inn door open and then close behind her. Until this moment he had not known that anything other than the swirl of battle could confuse and stab him so.
