spoken so highly of
you."
A sardonic grin twisting
his lips, Jason murmured, "I see that my fame has preceded me. Do not, I request you most earnestly, base your opinion of me
on what those two have said. They are, for reasons best known to themselves , prejudiced in my favor."
Rufus laughed politely.
"Yes, I'm afraid that is how it is with most relatives. But now, tell me.
What can I do for you?"
Glad not to have to waste
time in exchanging further banalities, Jason stood up, and before King's
astonished gaze began to remove his slim fitting coat of dark blue cloth.
Grinning at King's expression, Jason said, "Do not be alarmed, I am not
ready for Bedlam—yet! I have some dispatches for you from Jefferson, and nothing would do but the damned things be concealed under my clothing. I
beg you bear with me."
Rufus relaxed slightly in
his chair, although his brown eyes were definitely speculative as Jason handed
him the leather pouch. Shrugging back into his shirt and coat, Jason remarked, "That is the entire reason behind my visit to you. For myself, I'm devilishly happy
to be rid of it!"
A preoccupied grunt was his
answer. Rapidly, King scanned the large, scrawling script and finishing it, he lifted his head and stared with open curiosity at
Jason.
"Do you know what is
in this?" he asked finally.
Jason nodded. "Some of it, but not all. I did not feel it was
necessary for me to know anything beyond Jefferson's desire for a treaty
between England and the United States. His instructions to you concerning the
negotiations of such a treaty are beyond my interest or capabilities."
With a disarming smile he added, "Monsieur King, I am merely a messenger.
And the only reason I know something of Jefferson's desire is because I would
not blindly agree to his request without first knowing precisely what it
entailed." And that, Jason said to himself, is a bloody lie.
"I see," said
Rufus slowly. And partially he did. The president had his own system for
receiving information and delivering messages, and some of Jefferson's ways
were decidedly unorthodox—the present situation, a splendid example. Yet as
the young man had stated, he was merely a messenger. But was he?
A very clever and
intelligent man, King could find no flaw in Jason's story or demeanor, but he
was left with the feeling that there was more to Jason's involvement—if
Jefferson had used him to carry these messages, might the president not have
given him further instructions? Concealing his suspicions behind a bland
smile, he said, "Well, then, if this is everything, there is nothing more
to be said, is there? Let me thank you for your promptness in their
delivery." Rising from his chair and extending his hand, he added, "I
hope you enjoy your stay in England. And if there is anything I can do to help
you, please do not hesitate to call upon me."
Jason grinned. "Are
you knowledgeable in the buying of breeding stock? If so, I may call upon you
sooner than you think."
"Breeding stock?"
"Yes. My grandfather,
Armand Beauvais, and I are intending to experiment with the breeding of
thoroughbred horses in Louisiana. I am here in England to buy what I hope will
be the foundation of a stud farm."
"Ah yes, your uncle
mentioned something of that nature. I would suggest that you start buying at
Tattersalls."
And Jason did just that.
With Barrymore and Harris in tow, he attended the February sales at
Tattersalls, and, overall, was pleased with the results. It had been a mixed
blessing having his two boon companions with him. In the first bidding of the
afternoon, Barrymore instantly had become enraptured of a showy two-year-old
filly of impeccable lineage. Unfortunately, upon closer inspection, Jason was
not impressed. The animal's back was too short, and the hindquarters were not
as perfectly formed as they should have been, and he said as much.
Highly affronted, Barrymore
had cried, "Damnit, Jason, I've as good an eye as anyone when it comes to
horseflesh. You're just
you."
A sardonic grin twisting
his lips, Jason murmured, "I see that my fame has preceded me. Do not, I request you most earnestly, base your opinion of me
on what those two have said. They are, for reasons best known to themselves , prejudiced in my favor."
Rufus laughed politely.
"Yes, I'm afraid that is how it is with most relatives. But now, tell me.
What can I do for you?"
Glad not to have to waste
time in exchanging further banalities, Jason stood up, and before King's
astonished gaze began to remove his slim fitting coat of dark blue cloth.
Grinning at King's expression, Jason said, "Do not be alarmed, I am not
ready for Bedlam—yet! I have some dispatches for you from Jefferson, and nothing would do but the damned things be concealed under my clothing. I
beg you bear with me."
Rufus relaxed slightly in
his chair, although his brown eyes were definitely speculative as Jason handed
him the leather pouch. Shrugging back into his shirt and coat, Jason remarked, "That is the entire reason behind my visit to you. For myself, I'm devilishly happy
to be rid of it!"
A preoccupied grunt was his
answer. Rapidly, King scanned the large, scrawling script and finishing it, he lifted his head and stared with open curiosity at
Jason.
"Do you know what is
in this?" he asked finally.
Jason nodded. "Some of it, but not all. I did not feel it was
necessary for me to know anything beyond Jefferson's desire for a treaty
between England and the United States. His instructions to you concerning the
negotiations of such a treaty are beyond my interest or capabilities."
With a disarming smile he added, "Monsieur King, I am merely a messenger.
And the only reason I know something of Jefferson's desire is because I would
not blindly agree to his request without first knowing precisely what it
entailed." And that, Jason said to himself, is a bloody lie.
"I see," said
Rufus slowly. And partially he did. The president had his own system for
receiving information and delivering messages, and some of Jefferson's ways
were decidedly unorthodox—the present situation, a splendid example. Yet as
the young man had stated, he was merely a messenger. But was he?
A very clever and
intelligent man, King could find no flaw in Jason's story or demeanor, but he
was left with the feeling that there was more to Jason's involvement—if
Jefferson had used him to carry these messages, might the president not have
given him further instructions? Concealing his suspicions behind a bland
smile, he said, "Well, then, if this is everything, there is nothing more
to be said, is there? Let me thank you for your promptness in their
delivery." Rising from his chair and extending his hand, he added, "I
hope you enjoy your stay in England. And if there is anything I can do to help
you, please do not hesitate to call upon me."
Jason grinned. "Are
you knowledgeable in the buying of breeding stock? If so, I may call upon you
sooner than you think."
"Breeding stock?"
"Yes. My grandfather,
Armand Beauvais, and I are intending to experiment with the breeding of
thoroughbred horses in Louisiana. I am here in England to buy what I hope will
be the foundation of a stud farm."
"Ah yes, your uncle
mentioned something of that nature. I would suggest that you start buying at
Tattersalls."
And Jason did just that.
With Barrymore and Harris in tow, he attended the February sales at
Tattersalls, and, overall, was pleased with the results. It had been a mixed
blessing having his two boon companions with him. In the first bidding of the
afternoon, Barrymore instantly had become enraptured of a showy two-year-old
filly of impeccable lineage. Unfortunately, upon closer inspection, Jason was
not impressed. The animal's back was too short, and the hindquarters were not
as perfectly formed as they should have been, and he said as much.
Highly affronted, Barrymore
had cried, "Damnit, Jason, I've as good an eye as anyone when it comes to
horseflesh. You're just
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