We left by coach the next day, and over the days of our trip, Frobisher
debated and planned strategy, aloud and at length, aided only by the occasional
monosyllable from me. It was all politics, and the political side of our
business never engaged me. I was more preoccupied with my usual travel
sickness.
It boiled down to this. Mr.
Jefferson had established our Department, as part of his government. His
successors, Mr. Madison, and until recently, Mr. Monroe, had honored his
creation. Monroe's ambitions had left his administration somewhat impoverished,
and he was looking for economies. Frobisher had not heard from Jefferson for
some time and was unsure of his continued interest and support.
Frobisher came back, over
and over, to one conclusion, as if to press it home to me, and reassure
himself.
"If we can help him
with this haunting, if we can either rid him of this spirit or discover if some
deception is being practiced on him, I'm sure we can get a strongly worded
letter of support. Monroe will not -- even at this late date -- go against
Jefferson's advice."
Finally I could not stand
the vain repetition any longer.
"Ballentine," I
said sternly. "You must compose yourself. This nervousness will serve no
useful purpose. Consider: what if the worst happens, and we fail? The Bureau is
dismantled. Then what? You still have your law practice. I still have my
studies. The sun will still rise, and the waters still run. And there will
still be good folk to fight these dark powers, as there have been for thousands
of years before us."
"But not as efficiently
as we do." He subsided, grumbling. I knew he thought of the Department as
his legacy, almost as his brain child, but I also knew that many a child never
reaches its promise. Alas, how many books I have conceived that remain
unwritten! Frobisher, admonished, spoke no more of it the remainder of the
journey, but I could see by the darting of his eyes and restless turning of his
head that it still occupied his thoughts.
Once in Charlottesville we
left the coach and hired a couple of horses, leaving our luggage to be
delivered and riding the short way to Monticello, Mr. Jefferson's dream castle.
Seen from a distance, this house, built mostly in the Palladian style, was a
red and white vision of order, floating on a green hillside, a veritable
fortress on a hill.
As we drew closer to it, of
course, one began to see its flaws, its weathering, the compromises of its
working life. I learned later that it was constantly having parts torn down and
built up again, as new ideas and improvements flitted through its master's
head. The yard around the building was slovenly, with footpaths running like
ant trails through the grass. Still, its grand portico, supported by massive
pillars, was most impressive and made me feel rather insignificant as we
ascended the steps.
We were greeted by a footman
at the front door, a slave as it turned out, although he was rather
"bright" as they call lighter-skinned negroes, and dressed in elegant
clothes, so that I did not at first realize his status. We announced our names,
and were told we were expected, then ushered into the vast cavern of the house.
I felt at first that we were going through some kind of museum, or even
mausoleum, for the rooms though impeccably kept were devoid of any sign of
occupancy, beautiful but lifeless, like flowers dipped in wax. That changed as
we neared what I soon saw was the brain of the house.
We turned down a dim
corridor. Our escort knocked discreetly on a battered door, opened it, and we
were announced. We entered Mr. Jefferson's library.
He rose from his desk as we
entered, flanked on either side by ranks of books. He was a tall man,
majestical, but a little stiff from arthritis. He was dressed in an ancient
green coat, trimmed with grey fur, and his clothes were loose on his gaunt
frame and rumpled with work and wear. I only noticed all this later. What held
me immediately was his expression, pale-eyed, distant, tight-lipped. I had seen
that look when I was with the French in Egypt, looking out over the eternal
sands.
The Director led me up to
the desk.
"Mr. President,"
he said, bowing, the slightest tremor in his voice. I was surprised to note the
sweat suddenly beading my old friend's balding head. I have never known him to
be anything but under utmost control.
"Frobisher,"
Jefferson replied. The slightest tilt of the head in acknowledgement. His eyes
slid to me.
"May I present Mr.
Augustus Jandt, our best man. I am sure he will be able to get to the bottom of
this trouble for you and bring it to a swift and successful conclusion."
I stepped forward, performed
a military bow, and proffered my hand. After a slight hesitation he took it. We
shook briefly, and without warmth. He dropped my hand immediately.
"You are welcome to
Monticello, Mr. Jandt," he drawled. "I do hope your stay here will be
brief and satisfactory. This... apparition has been most upsetting for my
people."
"And for yourself,
surely, Mr. President?"
Again, the distance.
"You may drop the
title, Mr. Jandt. I am at present a simple farmer and a private citizen. The
appellation belongs to another. And to be frank with you, I do not care about
this phenomenon one way or another. What concerns me is the effect it is having
on my household."
"And what effect is
that, sir?"
Jefferson arched an eyebrow.
"Am I to presume the
investigation is starting already?"
"It began a half hour
ago, sir. This is simply the part when the questions begin."
He turned to Frobisher.
"Your best man wastes
no time, I see."
"Would you want me to,
Mr. Jefferson? It is perhaps best to think of me in this process as a
physician. I am going to ask some rather personal questions, and I will require
very honest answers, the better to diagnose the case. In return, I pledge the
discretion of a doctor for whatever you reveal to me. I may ask things that
seem irrelevant or even impertinent, but believe me it is not from some
perverse curiosity."
Jefferson looked at me like
I was some new species of beetle he had suddenly found crawling on his desk.
"Does the Bureau
initiate all its investigations in so straightforward a manner?"
"Of course not,
sir," Frobisher began apologetically, but I interrupted.
"You are the founder of
the Department, Mr. Jefferson. You summoned us here. I see no reason for
subterfuge or hidden agenda, no disguises or delicacy. Do you? I find the
circumstances most refreshing myself, being able to begin with no dancing around
the subject, the client being so obviously intelligent and completely aware of
the situation. So should I waste time?"
We stood toe to toe for an
agonized instant. Frobisher looked as if he were waiting for the pin to
transfix the beetle. Then Jefferson smiled a wintery smile.
"You think logically,
Jandt. Good. I appreciate that. By all means, let us begin." He gestured
for us to be seated.
I pulled out my small pad
and a pencil. Jefferson sat back at his desk and began the facts as follows.
(To Be Continued)
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