Chapter 20
They were in plenty of time to catch the steam tug Metahelios back to Hamburg, so far ahead that Hettie had hours to worry over the location and state of their bags and whether the provisions she had packed would last them on the twelve-hour journey. Seated on a wrought-iron and wooden bench near the gangplank, Margaret tried to stop thinking about the machines to come and the new vocabulary she had learned to describe them so none of it would come out in casual conversation on her return journey home. The crowd on the dock grew. To Margaret’s relief, most of them had their own business to attend to, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
At last, the men in one-piece suits had finished ministering to the ship’s boiler, and signed that passengers could board.
She and Hettie had the other forward cabin that time. Margaret wanted badly to talk to Hettie about the innovations that she intended to bring to Barlaston, and her lofty plans for an empire built on the novelty cloth, but there was no semblance of privacy. Voices carried too well through the wooden walls.
Instead, she forced herself to enjoy the people around them. This time there was a larger contingent of passengers. Many were soldiers, returning home on leave from the USE’s military, so they were full of good spirits. They offered drink and food to everyone in the car, even though it was an early-morning journey. No doubt their efforts were to make friends with the bevy of young women making their way to Hamburg to shop for goods for an upcoming wedding. A few of the soldiers had musical instruments, and persuaded everyone to join in singalongs that helped to pass the long trip. Margaret rose frequently to shake the numbness out of her limbs and to work off the nervous energy. So many good things had happened in Magdeburg! She imagined that her memories must be visible on her face like one of the up-timers’ photographs.
* * *
They were favored by good weather, so there were no delays on the journey. Once they reached Hamburg, they returned on a hired cart to Frau Englemann’s about an hour after sunset, and drove through streets lit by the blue flame of gaslights.
She spotted her brother alone at the end of a long table with a tall stein in his hand and an empty trencher before him.
“James!” she called, as she entered the inn. He set down his beer mug and came to embrace her.
“I’m glad to see you back safe,” James said. His face looked even more sunburned than when she had left him, a tribute to the brightening spring weather. “Come sit with me. Where are your boxes?”
“Outside with the porters,” Margaret said. “Hettie is negotiating with Frau Engelmann’s ostler to put it all safely in the box room.”
“How did it go?”
Margaret looked around at the other guests of the hostelry and slid onto the bench beside him.
“I’ve so much to tell you,” she said, but turned her hand palm down over the table. James nodded. That was a family gesture to keep matters private.
“We’ll have the whole voyage to discuss things,” he said. “We sailed from here to Amsterdam. I used about half of the money to buy Delft earthenware, which cannot help but please the ladies of Stoke. That handsome blue glaze draws all eyes. I even sold some to Frau Engelmann.”
“Curious that you should mention earthenware,” Margaret began, then swallowed her next words. She was so excited about the prospects that she had set in motion that it was difficult to think of anything else. Don’t mention the aqualators, she kept telling herself.
Behind her in Magdeburg—in Grantville, really, since he had to go back home and to school—Aaron Craig was working to formulate a computer that could weave the brocade pattern that she had sketched out for him. He was torn between certainty that he could create the right ebb and flow that would tell their weavers’ looms how to make the fantastic cloth she had dreamed up, and knowing he would fail miserably. Margaret had faith in him, partly because Rita did, but also from seeing his passion and hearing him talk about computers with such intelligence. She didn’t think she had ever known anyone who had delved as deeply into a subject that he could present it as the most interesting thing in the world. Margaret had written down as much of his discourse as she could to tell her father, along with the computer book, which she meant to study on the journey.
She secreted those notes along with the purchase orders and the letter of credit in her luggage in among the pages of the mathematics book she had carried from Barlaston. Since it was all too easy to overhear conversations on board the Meadowlark, she couldn’t tell James all the details until they had made landfall back in Liverpool. She had never thought about her family business having trade secrets, but now they did, and the words danced upon her tongue, demanding to be allowed out.
Still, plenty of details of her journey did not fall under the concept of trade secrets. She happily described her visit to the chocolate room. James had enjoyed chocolate in some of the places in England to which she could not go and they compared notes about the flavors and dishes used to serve it.
“Perhaps we’ll begin to trade in it ourselves,” he said, seeing a potential outlet for the de Beauchamp enterprise. “It’s been growing fast in France. Time is past when it should be wider spread. The room in Stoke has gone without a rival for too long.”
The two of them bandied business ideas back and forth, James adding lively anecdotes of his own. As soon as she tried to describe some of the evening receptions to which she had been invited, though, his interest diminished to nothing. Small wonder he was happier on a merchant ship at sea.
“I’ll come along tomorrow morning to escort you and your goods to the Meadowlark,” James said. “The captain is pleased by this voyage, and sees profit at the other end. I’ll have good news for Father.”
“I hope I will, too,” Margaret said.
James kissed her on the forehead and took his leave.
* * *
In the morning, there was a great bustling in Washington’s Crossing. Numerous travelers were making ready to depart on their onward journeys. Frau Engelmann had her hands full serving breakfast and seeing off her guests. Hettie had gone out early to the nearby market and obtained sausages, bread, and preserves for them to take on board the ship.
“I’ve even got a crock of jam for the captain,” she pointed out, displaying the contents of their provision basket. “Lingonberry, whatever that is. It’ll be a nice change for what he’s been dining on. But we’ve good white bread. It’s better for your digestion than this coarse brown stuff, tasty as it is. There are dry-cured meats. I’ve tried them, and they’re of good quality. And butter. I met the woman who churned it, and she knows her way around a dairy. She recommended this cheese, which is not too salty. It’s been cured two months.”
“I admire your resourcefulness,” Margaret said, with a smile. “You always do your best to smooth the way.”
“Ah, mistress, you don’t have to keep the fine American words, now that we’re on our way home,” Hettie said, her freckled cheeks blooming with embarrassment. “Things’ll go back to the same way they always were.”
“Things will never be the same,” Margaret said. “One way or another.”
* * *
By loitering in the corridor of the Presidential Palace near her room, O’Connor and Fitzroyce had spotted Mistress de Beauchamp emerge early in the morning and make her way out to the pavement in front of the palace in Magdeburg. Her maidservant was with her, and both were wearing bonnets and cloaks. The maid had a basket, and the girl herself had a big, thick book. Was she going back to Hamburg, or onward to Grantville? His lordship wanted them to go to the latter eventually.
Rita Simpson awaited her, along with a large number of the staff of the palace to say their farewells. As soon as the tall American woman started talking about boarding the Hamburg-bound steam tug again, Fitzroyce had gone off on a dead run to obtain them passage on the same journey. O’Connor stayed close by, knowing it would take time to load all the boxes piled beside her. They’d never get a chance to take her aside there, as one of the cursed motor cars came along, and swept her away like a bird on the wing. O’Connor envied her the chance for a ride. Never during the weeks they’d spent in the palace did an opportunity arise, for all their hinting to the drivers who fetched up now and again with guests, or those who drove their own horseless carriages.
Instead, Fitzroyce left O’Connor’s ticket in the window with the seller, and had a catbird seat’s view as the de Beauchamp girl boarded, followed by her servant. They sat together, as if they were friends, just proving that the Americans’ rhetoric could ruin decent folks in just a few weeks’ time. The servant ought to know her place.
The two men had gleaned precious little information about her during those weeks except for her name and that the Americans thought highly enough of her to put themselves at her disposal. O’Connor had no confirmation of it, but he knew in his belly that she was deeply involved with them while in London. Whether she had traveled there in order to help the king’s “guests” escape, he couldn’t guess, but the pieces were starting to go together like reassembling a torn-up letter. The Earl of Cork was demanding more detailed answers. The only way they could get more information was if they spoke to her before she boarded ship. The fact that she had remained out of their grasp for weeks dismayed them.
The amount of money and attention that the Americans spent on Mistress de Beauchamp spoke of a debt that needed repaying. But what? Nothing in her demeanor said she was an explosives merchant, or that she seemed to be a siren who could tempt the king’s men into turning away from their duties and joining the enemy to stage an escape. And taking the cursed Cromwell with them, too! She seemed an unlikely ally to the nearly all-powerful Americans, but needs must when the devil drives. O’Connor had heard the predictions from the history books that the Americans had brought with them from the future. Cromwell would enslave their precious Ireland and even execute the king! In no decent way should he be allowed to live, let alone escape and enjoy freedom.
Although she seemed bound for Hamburg, that didn’t mean she might not make a run for it at one of the three refueling stations. Every time the ship slowed and nosed inward to a dock on the long voyage, they kept an eye on her and her servant, to ensure she wasn’t alighting there. It made for a tense journey.
If it had been possible to take her aside and strike up a conversation, they might have done it. Fitzroyce had a knack for charm, after all. But, at no time were they able to find her alone. A veritable hive of women had taken her under their wing in the train carriage to share food and stories. The women even visited the necessary all together, like a flock of hens. Since there was no hope of taking her aside without being observed, they stayed at the rear of the cabin block with their hats over their faces. Pretending to sleep for twelve hours made them both more tired than actually sleeping.
The wench was happy to tell her new friends that she was taking ship from Hamburg and returning home. O’Connor didn’t hear the name Meadowlark, but what other craft would she travel on, since her brother was an officer aboard the ship? They couldn’t travel on the same boat, no. The entire crew would defend her against any slight. O’Connor had no wish to swim all the way across the North Sea.
So, the sole option for getting information from her had to be in Hamburg before she boarded ship. If she stayed in the same inn, they could try to take her in the night.
They’d no time to arrange for a private place to do their questioning, but when they had stayed in Hamburg before the Meadowlark arrived for the first time, they’d snooped around, and knew there were rows upon rows of sturdy, thick-walled warehouses on the quay, many of which were vacant. They’d broken into one not far from the pier and slept in it, despite having some of the money from the peddler left over, because why pay for something that they didn’t need to? They could carry the girl to their doss house and ask what they would.
Beyond that, they weren’t certain what they would do with Mistress de Beauchamp. They ought to bring her home to London and let his lordship have her, but taking her on board another vessel and keeping her quiet for an entire ocean voyage wasn’t going to be easy. Finesse wasn’t something with which they had much experience. In a city as big as Hamburg, yes, someone could disappear, but their window of opportunity would be brief. Perhaps best to leave her tied up and wait for someone to come and free her.
But O’Connor couldn’t help but think of the entire city of Copenhagen having been laid waste by the USE Navy for the sake of one young man. What would the Americans do if a favorite of theirs was known to have been kidnapped? No, she probably could not be allowed to see the light of day again.
They hated to kill anyone without necessity, especially an engaging young lass like that one. The women on the ship had made fast friends with her.
“She reminds me of my little cousin,” he mentioned, seeing her lift a smiling face to yet another new acquaintance.
“Ach, don’t be soft,” Fitzroyce hissed at him. “Himself wasn’t happy in his last letter that we hadn’t gleaned anything of use so far, and him already sending us money. We must learn what she knows and if she did anything for the Americans in London before she takes passage. Hamburg’s our last chance. She must be made to talk. And she mustn’t be able to get a word to anyone afterwards.”
O’Connor had to harden his heart. It went against his principles to kill someone whom he didn’t have to. But letting her get word out to her friends might cause all hell to be visited upon Great Britain. Even if he didn’t care what happened to the English, the Earl of Cork would see to it that the two of them never had a quiet resting spot this side of the grave.
“To hell with her, then,” he said.
* * *
They followed her to the Washington’s Crossing Inn, and had thick, heady beers and solid brown bread not five paces from their quarry. Her conversation was so ordinary, not hinting at all of the treason that they were certain that she had committed. After a time, the girl and her servant went up the painted wooden stairs to the sleeping rooms. The Irishmen waited until the busy common room had all but emptied out, nodded thanks to the landlady, and sauntered out into the street. They found a quiet corner and kept an eye on the building for anyone passing in or out.
In the dead of night, O’Connor crept around the side of the inn. Fitzroyce loitered in the street, keeping a lookout. A half dozen sailors and their plump doxies from the pub at the corner staggered gleefully downhill in the direction of the boat slips. Could be another “son of a gun” or more was going to be conceived on the night. He glanced back.
Fitzroyce gave him a nod. O’Connor had a flour sack over his shoulder, and a couple of torn up rags in his pockets to stuff in the girl’s mouth. He had a dagger ready for the maidservant. By the time anyone came into the room, he’d be long gone.
Dogs howled in the distance. A new moon hung in the sky, casting a thin, ghostly glow. The side of the yard had one small gas lamp that shone on the side exit to the inn and on the door to the stable, which was latched closed at that hour. He heard horses shifting from hoof to hoof and blowing out gentle breaths. A moment to listen for ostlers moving around, but there was nothing.
Inside the inn, the landlady and her staff had banked down the fire. Everyone had gone to bed. Even the last drunks had gone.
On soft feet, O’Connor made his way to the rear. Bins reeking of rotting vegetables and vomit were set against the wall. The stench made O’Connor’s eyes water, but at least they’d provide a leg up to the upper floor windows and give him an easy stage to move the girl out once he’d taken her.
The men had made sure to note in which room of the four the girl was staying, second to the right as you faced the stairs. Often, there would be many people in each bedchamber, but the frau who ran the house didn’t put a woman traveling alone with strangers unless it was another woman. The girl’s door was undoubtedly latched from the inside, so even if she cried out, there would be no one to come to her rescue. He grinned. It’d be the matter of minutes to climb up, dispose of the maidservant, and be on his way. When the hue and cry was raised, they’d be well-hidden with their prey.
He counted windows. The second from the left belonged to the girl. O’Connor shifted the bag from one shoulder to the other and slipped between the bin and the ash barrel beside it. Something soft shifted under his foot.
“Ooogh,” came a voice. “Ach, meine kopf!” It was followed by groaning.
O’Connor jumped back. He peered around the bin.
Hell’s teeth, not all the drunks had gone. A big, stout man lay sprawled there. His clothes were stained and torn, and the once-white shirt hiked up to display an expanse of hairy belly. He squinted at O’Connor and pulled himself to a sitting position. “Was? Hast du bier? Lasst uns zusammen singen! Oh, mein schöner Liebling.” He wrapped an arm around the ash barrel and started singing a drinking song.
The window above banged open and another man leaned out. “Scheisse! Halt den mund!”
The drunk kept warbling, attempting to stand up. The angry man above disappeared, and reappeared the next moment. O’Connor spied the jurden in his hand just in time to jump back before the contents were poured on the man on the ground. The drunk squawked, and started swearing and brushing at himself. O’Connor smelled the stench of feces and snarled. Had he been splashed, too?
Frustrated, he retreated, slipping around the rear of the inn to the other side, where he wiped down his shoes with the flour sack and emerged onto the street.
Fitzroyce spotted him.
“What news? Where’s the girl?” he whispered.
“Couldn’t get to her.” O’Connor was too angry to give more details. He marched down the street toward the warehouse where they could doss down. “We’ll catch her on the wharf before she takes ship.”