Aimée’s social life was thoroughly American. This was not difficult for her, because the Patriots, in New York and elsewhere, were decidedly among the “best people,” among whom she moved with the brilliant grace that was natural to an uprooted aristocrat. On two occasions—one in a drawing-room, the other in a ballroom—she was thrown in with French nobility—a count and his wife, and then a baron; but she had foreseen such meetings, and had memorized from the Armorial général de la France, while still in Montreal, all that she felt she would ever need to sustain her personage with panache. A few of the “best people” just mentioned were compelled to move from drawing-room to prison as a result of notes from Aimée to Gage. But her personal meetings with Gage remained, needless to say, rare and discreet: New York, in those days, was poorly lit at night.
When Gage became Royal Governor of Massachusetts—in the year 1774—Aimée continued her work in New York, but she received regular dispatches from him. She did not much care that Madeleine, now grown into a much-admired but very uneasy young woman, was acquainted (somewhat vaguely) with her game, disliked it, feared to talk of it with her, and was openly charmed and thrilled (such is youth) by the ideals of Liberty. Indeed, her unconcealed sympathies helped Aimée’s work. Aimée herself, need one say it? thought both parties fools for whipping themselves into states of political excitement, but fools, she believed, were manna for the clever.
By 1775, rebellion in and around Boston was at a boil. Gage sent Aimée on a mission to Nantucket for which he believed her to be well suited.
3
WEAMISH HAD TAKEN a seat facing the two women. Aimée brought a sealed letter out of her reticule, and invited the Judge to break the seal and read. Weamish obeyed, cried out “From Governor Gage!” and sprang to his feet. Aimée was amused.
“Do read it, sir. I know its content, of course, but shall be glad to hear it in so many words. Don’t fidget, Madeleine.”
The Judge began to read. “The person who has given you this letter is the Marquise Aimée de Tourville—”
“Marquise!” uttered Weamish, gaping but delighted.
“Come, my dear Judge, we are two-legged animals all the same. Read on.”
The letter continued as follows: “The Marquise de Tourville” (and here Weamish, still erect, bowed to Aimée), “accompanied by her daughter” (and now he bowed to Madeleine), “is sent to the island of Nantucket with verbal orders that you are requested to obey without question. She will name the gentlemen who are the objects of our present concern and inform you of the high importance we attach to her mission.”
This was followed by a noise of something falling outside the parlor door. Aimée pointed and Weamish strode to the door and bruskly opened it. There stood Mamack. “What were you doing behind that door?” thundered the Judge. “I dropped my chisel,” said the eavesdropper sheepishly, picking up the tool and dashing out of the house.
“War, Judge Weamish, war,” said Aimée.
“To be sure; although an untutored Indian—”
“Will you be so kind as to sit beside me?”
“Certainly. And allow me to assure you at that you will be punctiliously obeyed.”
“Here is the heart of the matter,” said Aimée; but at this point Jenny, not accustomed to knocking, entered holding a large tray. “Chocolate and buttered buns,” she announced.
“Get out! Not now!” the Judge roared.
“Tut tut,” said Aimée, “why not now? Madeleine, you haven’t said a word all morning. Do you fancy a little refreshment?”
“I should love a cup of chocolate,” said the girl.
The ceremony of serving and partaking was properly performed and Jenny had left, closing the door behind her, when Aimée resumed.
“Here, as I said, is the heart of the matter. My daughter and I have been sent to Sherburne to investigate Colonel William Mayhew and his nephew Nicholas. You look surprised, Judge Weamish.”
The Judge had in fact opened his mouth wide.
“Surprised?” he cried, “oh, not I!”
“Can it be that you entertain no suspicions in that quarter?”
“I do entertain suspicions. This island is a hatchery of rebels!”
“That is more than I can say,” said Aimée, looking sharply at the Judge. “My instructions are limited to the two Mayhews. Are they presently on the island?”
“They are, my lady; indeed, they were seen at the wharf where you and your fair daughter disembarked, looking for their mail. Tell me, Marquise, what are they guilty of? I’ll proceed with every severity known to the law.”
“Who said they were guilty of anything? I spoke of suspicions. You know of course that Colonel Mayhew fought side by side with Colonel Washington in fifty-nine. And with General Amherst at Montreal in 1760. Fought for the Crown, to be sure, and against us of France. But that is neither here nor there.”
“Precisely,” said Weamish. “Neither here nor there. And allow me to inform you, Marquise, that Colonel Mayhew has a brother serving at this very moment in the congress of traitors at Philadelphia.”
“A cousin, I believe.”
“Though he himself laughs at the matter, babbles about his loyal relations in Boston, and tells the world he has been a peaceful merchant for a dozen years. ‘Mayhew & Mayhew’: a thriving commercial enterprise.”
“That brings me to the nephew,” said Aimée.
“Dashing Nicholas!”
“Yes. Soldier, sailor, captain’s mate on the Lively, but before that, a special commendation by General Forbes in fifty-seven though he was a mere lad. Has killed many a Frenchman and Indian. Sometimes, to be sure, I feel that I am betraying my people by so firmly supporting King George, but these brawls are of long ago, and wounds do heal.”
“Indeed, indeed,” said Weamish, trying to follow these delicacies of feeling.
“To the point. It appears that Colonel Washington is to be appointed by the Rebels to a particularly brilliant post of command. This cannot have reached you yet.”
“I assure you, Marquise, that we receive prompt and accurate intelligence here.”
“Then you know that the Rebels who now besiege Boston are anxious to enlist capable officers to lead their ragged bands.”
“They’ll never find them.”
“Perhaps you will put two and two together. Or, if inconvenient, one and one.”
“Of course. A terrifying plot—”
“What terrifying plot?”
A diversion seemed advisable. The Judge turned to Madeleine.
“Sugar, mademoiselle?”
“Thank you,”
