Dr. Franklin eased his bulk into the great chair by the fire. It was his designated spot and no one ever usurped it. Adams left to go upstairs to write to his wife, Abigail. Dr. Franklin settled in, rested his gouty foot on the stool and huddled closer to the fire, pulling his woolen shawl tighter around his shoulders. He never saw nor heard her coming.
Betsy Freeman, provincially dressed, deposited a pewter mug of mulled cider on the table alongside Dr. Franklin. She watched as he automatically reached out, brought the mug to his lips and took a hesitant sip.
“Is it too hot for you?” Startled, Dr. Franklin hurriedly put down his mug and glanced up. “Betsy! What a pleasure. Come and join me.” She dropped a deep curtsy. “I'm paying off my passage. The kind gentlemen over there,” Freeman turned and waved to a man with reddish hair who wore homespun clothing, “he made it possible for me to stay here.”
Dr. Franklin straightened up and caught the man's eye. Honeyman didn't wave, but politely lifted his glass in a silent toast, and went on eating his meal. Freeman didn't even have the grace to blush.
“Newest conquest?” “Not yet. He tells me he's married and happily so.” She shrugged. “What brings you back so soon?” “London became tiresome.” Dr. Franklin's eyes twinkled. “Your Lord threw you over for another woman?” “What makes you think it was a she? He turns both ways, that one.” “When he's not with his wife.” “Or with me.” Dr. Franklin eyed her. Her clothes never did her justice, but for all their plainness, the material was costly and appealing. He tried another tack.
“Philadelphia isn't a safe city at the moment, Betsy. You should consider New York or returning home to London. You're perceived as a Tory by most of Philadelphia.”
“I've just arrived. If you can't be more fun than this, I'll join my redheaded friend. He's certainly having a good time.”
Hearing Betsy's throaty voice, Honeyman lifted his ale glass although the smile he turned upon Dr. Franklin wasn't inviting. Dr. Franklin slumped into his chair. Peevishly, he stared at the dying fire.
“It's gone out again. Betsy, lend me your strength. Grab the iron and give it a poke.”
Honeyman, noticing that the flames were flickering, drifted over. “Here, let me help.” He removed the iron from Betsy's clumsy hands and gave the brands a quick shove. They moved apart and allowed a tiny flame to escape from the glowing wood. Bending over, he grabbed three maple logs from the stack box and arranged them on the fiery embers so that the wood would catch quickly. As a sudden burst of flame engulfed the wood, Dr. Franklin leaned closer in to it, felt its welcome warmth and watched the flames dance merrily up the sooted bricked chimney.
“Better?” Honeyman asked, his attention fixed on Dr. Franklin's trembling frame.
“Thank you. The older I get, the colder my bones feel.” Betsy watched Honeyman's administrations closely. She couldn't decide whether Dr. Franklin knew this man or not. Sometimes, it was hard to know. He was such a consummate actor.
“Now that you're here, I might as well introduce you. Dr. Franklin, John Honeyman.” She watched as the two men greeted each other warily. Almost like dancing, Dr. Franklin leading while Honeyman, followed. Betsy cleared her throat. Both men stopped their idle conversation and looked over at her expectantly.
“Dr. Franklin was just telling me that Philadelphia isn't a safe haven for me anymore. Is that true? Is New York, better?”
“That depends.” Honeyman frowned. Surely, she wasn't that ignorant of recent political and military events. Dr. Franklin mentioned offhandedly that she worked for the Committee of Safety. Why the pretense … unless she had something to hide?
“It's not so much that Philadelphia is an unsafe city, but between an enforced early curfew and The Sons of Liberty, women shouldn't be out on the streets alone.”
Betsy glanced from Honeyman to Dr. Franklin. Why the lie? Colonial women were known for their bold actions and rude speech. Dr. Franklin broke into her thoughts.
“General Washington needs help. What can you tell us about the British? Is Lord Germain still pursuing his hard line of attack against us?”
“He believes that the colonies will fail in their attempt at separation. Not all of the cabinet members agree, but the King refuses to heed them. Hence, Lord Germain will continue his plan to beat the colonies for the King's pleasure.”
“Is that all?” Dr. Franklin asked. “I will tell you plainly. The King considers your act of defiance a rebellion, not a revolution.”
“He's not taking us seriously enough. Just like Boston Harbor. He's not paying attention,” Honeyman said.
“You don't like the British?” Betsy asked him. “I don't trust the British. They're quick to hire foreign mercenaries when they believe it's beneath their Empire's dignity to use their own soldiers.”
He stared down at his calloused palms. Dr. Franklin turned away from him and spoke to the flames.
“I want you to carry some misinformation for me to London. If Lord Germain is determined for war, I think I can oblige him in that area. Honeyman will see you to the Dock. There's a ship bound for Plymouth and I know the sailing master. He'll take you without asking too many questions.”
“What sort of misinformation?” Betsy leaned closer to Dr. Franklin's chair and pushed her ears close to his lips. Honeyman dragged over a nearby screen and positioned it around the two co-conspirators. No sense in inviting trouble.
“Tell Lord Germain that General Washington knows about General Howe's plans for severing the colonies at the Hudson River so that he can capture New York City. He understands that General Howe plans on taking oaths of allegiance from The Island's citizens, preventing them from joining up with the rebels once General Washington recommences attacking the British. He will burn New York City if he evacuates it rather than allow it to fall to the British … that should give him pause.”
“What about Honeyman?” Betsy gazed at his loitering figure by the bar. “How well do you know him?”
“John Honeyman? General Washington told me that he fought with him during the French and Indian Wars. He was impressed by the British when he was a young man and was appointed as General Wolfe's bodyguard. After the war, he settled in Boston, then relocated to New Jersey. He supplies the British and General Washington's army with fresh beef and horses.”
“Honeyman's an old man.” Betsy probed, “What else?” Dr. Franklin raised his voice. “I believe that Honeyman is secretly sympathetic to the British. Rumor has it that he collects information on our troops and passes it along to General Howe.”
“Funny, Lord Germain never mentioned his name to me.” Honeyman smiled to himself at the bar. Dr. Franklin was certainly laying it thick, he thought, as he slipped out of the room for a breath of fresh air.
On tiptoes, Betsy peered over the screen. Honeyman had disappeared. She squirmed beneath Dr. Franklin's steady gaze. He was the only one who could discomfit her. Betsy seated herself gently on his lap and curled her arms around his neck.
“Miss me?” Dr. Franklin untwined her arms and kissed her. “Maybe next time. Adams will have a fit if he saw us together.”
“I'm not decorous? And Honeyman?”
“He'll take it in stride. He doesn't embarrass easily.”
Betsy wondered about Dr. Franklin's last statement. Maybe he didn't know Honeyman at all and was being polite. Yet her gut told her that he bore further surveillance.
“Here, get me more cider and find Honeyman. I require further speech with him.” Betsy slid off his lap reluctantly, gave him a peck on the cheek and left, taking Dr. Franklin's empty mug with her to the bar. She saw Honeyman coming back into the room out of the corner of her eye and watched as he ambled towards Dr. Franklin. Betsy noticed that Dr. Franklin's face remained serene, but impassive.
Honeyman pushed a chair closer to Dr. Franklin and sat down. “Told her about the general, didn't you? How much did you exaggerate?” Dr. Franklin held Honeyman's eyes.
“Enough to convince her that we're all on the same side of the law.” “British or American?” “Whichever side she convinces herself of…” Dr. Franklin laughed and his entire body shook. “I often wonder whether she doubts me as much as I doubt her.” He glanced towards Betsy as she received the refilled mug back from the tap man. “Here's her passage money and the written draft of our conversation. Take the missive to General Washington and let me know his thoughts. I've heard some disquieting rumors.” The coins clunked in Honeyman's hands and Dr. Franklin leaned back into his chair, closed his eyes and stretched out his one good leg.
He waited by the sleepy Dr. Franklin. When Betsy arrived with Dr. Franklin's mug of cider, Honeyman took it from her and placed it on the table.
Dr. Franklin mumbled, “Thank you, my dear. Have a safe voyage back and write me often. I miss our repartee.”
This time, Betsy's smile was genuine. Honeyman took her by the arm and led Betsy out of the room. Dr. Franklin watched them leave. At the same time Adams entered the room rubbing his hands.
“Ready for supper?” Dr. Franklin, still caught up with Honeyman and Freeman answered crossly. “The King doesn't take us seriously, but he will by God, he will!”