New York - The Novel

an ocean; yet what is America if not the western frontier of our freedom-loving empire?” He gazed at them all. There was a light of enthusiasm in his eye. “Did you know, Master, that in America we marry earlier and produce twice as many healthy children as people do in Europe? The population of the American colonies is doubling every twenty years, yet there is enough land to settle for centuries. The farmlands of America will provide an ever-expanding market for British manufacture. Together, Britain and her American colonies may grow, regardless of other nations, for generations. I believe that is our destiny.”
    This was Ben Franklin’s prescription. There could be no doubt that he passionately believed it.
    “It is a noble vision,” said John.
    “Indeed,” and now Franklin grinned, “there is only one thing needed to perfect our English-speaking empire.”
    “What’s that?” asked John.
    “Kick the French out of Canada and have the whole place to ourselves,” the great man said cheerfully.
    He had just spoken these words when a serving maid came into the room with a tray of refreshments. It seemed to be a signal to end the serious part of their conversation, for their host’s mood lightened, as he insisted they all have tea with him before they left.
    As they walked back to their lodgings afterward, Master turned to Mercy a little reproachfully.
    “I had not known you felt such aversion for the English. I thought you were contented with our visit.”
    She felt an instant remorse. She had no wish to bring unhappiness to her dear husband, who tried so hard to please her.
    “I scarcely know what came over me,” she said. “I expect Mr. Franklin is right. But the English way of thinking is sometimes hard for me, John, for I am still a Quaker at heart.” And she resolved that, as long as they remained in London, she would do her best to make her husband happy.
    Satisfied with this half-truth, John Master asked young James what he thought.
    “I think Mr. Franklin is a great man, Father,” he answered.
    “You like his views on America’s destiny?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “So do I.” And as he thought of his son’s liking for London, and the huge possibilities Franklin had outlined for the British Empire, it seemed to John Master that the future looked bright.
    That evening as they were eating supper, and they were all in a cheerful mood, Mercy remarked upon something else.
    “Did you notice what happened,” she asked, “when the maid was serving tea?”
    “I don’t think so,” said John.
    “He thought no one saw, but Mr. Franklin patted the girl’s bottom as she passed.”
    “The old devil.”
    “They say, you know,” she smiled, “that he’s quite incorrigible.”

    But if Mercy kept her feelings about the British to herself after that, her sense of displeasure remained, and was heightened just before Christmas.
    It seemed that their offer of kindness to Captain Rivers, when they’d met him in Bath, had not been forgotten. For in mid-December they received an invitation to dine with his father, Lord Riverdale, the very next week.
    Riverdale House was not a palace, but a substantial mansion near Hanover Square. From the two-story hall, they mounted a grand staircase to the
piano nobile
, where a grand saloon ran from the front to the back of the house. The company was not large. His Lordship, who appeared to be an older, stouter version of his son, was a widower. His sister acted ashostess. Captain Rivers had invited a couple of his military friends. Mercy was placed on His Lordship’s right, where he made much of her, thanked her for their kind invitation to his son, and talked interestingly about the capital’s affairs.
    There was plenty to talk about. News had arrived in the morning that across the Atlantic, British forces had defeated the French up at Quebec. Though the daring young British general, Wolfe, had tragically been killed, it seemed that Ben Franklin’s wish was about to be realized, and the French kicked out of the north. When Mercy told Lord Riverdale about their visit to Franklin and his views on the empire’s destiny, he seemed delighted, and begged her to repeat it to the whole company.
    Yet if the old aristocrat was charming, the colonel on her right did not please her so much. He was a military man. She did not mind, therefore, that he was proud of British arms. “A well-trained redcoat is a match for even the best French troops, Mrs. Master,” he