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[Continuing chapter three]
Congressman Thomas Reynolds’s office was one of a handful occupying what had once been Washington’s first two-story building, the Hotel Claremont. The building was owned by the government now because the old Capitol was no longer large enough to accommodate both the House of Representatives and the Senate and all of their occupants. And these were the good offices; representatives and senators of lesser stature than Reynolds occupied offices over dry-goods and cigar stores.
The walls of Reynolds’s office were stained by the sticky haze of nearly two decades’ worth of accumulated lamp burnings. In a few places the stains were gummy enough that flies had become trapped; Travis had ample opportunity to study the desiccated corpses while waiting for Reynolds to return from what his secretary had insisted was a brief meeting down the hall. Why, he wondered, am I always the one kept waiting?
It would be different if Reynolds’s wife were here; it would be a pleasure to wait in her company. Susan Reynolds was a damned handsome woman, and Travis never saw her but that he felt that familiar stirring. She had never once given him a sign that she was interested, but he continued to hope. After all, he’d met few married women in Texas he couldn’t conquer, given enough time and opportunity.
“Mister Secretary,” Reynolds said from the doorway. “I see you’ve added another vest to your wardrobe. Very handsome. To what do I owe this honor?”
“I’ve had another meeting with Lord Pakenham, Reynolds, and there’s something I need to discuss.”
“Well, I’ve got a few minutes before I’m due on the floor. Can we do it now?”
“We can at least begin now.” Travis smiled thinly. “I suspect that this is not a subject we’ll be able to conclude with today, or this week, or possibly even this year.”
“Damnation,” Reynolds growled. “That can only mean one thing. I think I’ve already made it clear to you, Mister Secretary, how my constituents and I feel about what the bloody British want to do to our property.” Reynolds walked into the office, showing a great deal of reluctance, and sat himself down heavily in his chair. “I suppose you’d best tell me officially what it is you’re asking before I turn you down.” He laughed mirthlessly. “What is it you want?”
“What do I want?” Now it was Travis’s turn to laugh without joy. “I want to be free of the British, Reynolds, same as you do. I wish I could find a way of just telling them all to go to Hell, and take their money and their mills and factories with them.
“Of course, that’s not what I’m here to ask you.” He paused; Reynolds was staring at him, face a bit flushed. “Are you unwell?” Travis asked. “You look a bit uncomfortable.”
Reynolds stared a second longer, then shook his head. “I’m fine, Mister Secretary. I was just thinking of something I, uh, have to do later. Before the day is through. Please continue.”
He must be a strong speaker when he’s visiting his constituents and presiding over his committee, Travis thought. I can’t imagine how else a man as intellectually unsuitable as Thomas Reynolds could ever achieve a position of authority, even in a government as new and untried as ours.
“What I came here to ask you,” Travis said, “was whether or not you could see your way to joining me in a bit of subterfuge. A bit of politic bending of the truth, as it were.”
There it was again; Reynolds looked as though he’d swallowed a pear, sideways. “Mister Secretary,” Reynolds stammered, “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about.”
“Well, of course you don’t,” Travis said. Idiot, he thought. “I haven’t explained myself yet. Don’t worry, though. This idea of mine is to fool the British, not your constituents or fellow congressmen. Well, perhaps them as well, but just a little.”
Reynolds pushed back his chair and stood abruptly. “Forgive me,” he croaked. “I need a glass of water.” He moved—shakily, Travis observed with curiosity—to the sideboard, and succeeded in pouring almost as much water onto the wooden surface as he did into the glass. “I apologize,” Reynolds said to the wall. “Please continue, sir. I assure you I’m listening.”
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