New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [99]
Mercy also was excited. Though she knew that Ben Franklin’s experiments with electricity and his other inventions had brought him world renown, her memory of him from Philadelphia was as the author of Poor Richard’s Almanack: the jolly friend who’d gone with her to the preaching. The man with the round, spectacled face, like a kindly storekeeper; the thin brown hair falling to his shoulders; the twinkling eyes.
When the two Masters and their son were ushered in, the man who rose to greet them was still the man she knew. And yet he was different.
Mr. Benjamin Franklin was now in his early fifties. He was fashionably dressed in a rich blue coat with big gold buttons. He wore a spotless white stock round his neck, and a powdered wig. His face was somewhat leaner than she’d expected. His eyes did not twinkle. They were intelligent and alert. He might have been a successful lawyer. There was also in his manner a faint hint that, though ready to welcome fellow colonists, his time was limited.
“Remember, Franklin made a fortune in business before he entered public life,” John had remarked to her the day before. “And whatever he does, he always makes sure he is paid. The British government pays him a large salary as Postmaster of the Colonies—even though he’s three thousand miles away from his duties. And the people of Pennsylvania are paying him a second salary to represent them here in London.” He’d grinned. “Your friend Mr. Franklin is a very cunning fellow.”
Franklin bade them welcome though, remembered Mercy, and made young James sit beside him. Apologizing for his poor hospitality, he explained that he’d been on a tour of the Scottish universities, where he’d met Adam Smith and other Scottish men of genius. “Six weeks of the greatest contentment in my life,” he declared. But he’d returned to find all manner of business awaiting him.
He chatted to them very amiably. But it soon became clear that the Masters were not acquainted with any of the London printers, writers and scientific men whose company Franklin enjoyed, and John was afraid the great man might become a little bored with them; so, hoping to keep him talking, he ventured to ask him about his mission for the people of Pennsylvania.
The Pennsylvanians might be paying Ben Franklin handsomely to represent them in London, but they hadn’t given him an easy task. If William Penn in the last century had devoutly desired to establish a Quaker colony in America, his descendants, who lived in England, desired only to receive their tax-free income from the huge Pennsylvania land grants they’d inherited. The people of Pennsylvania were sick of them and their proprietorial rights, and wanted a charter like other colonies.
But the Penns had friends at court, Franklin now explained. And if the Pennsylvania grant was disturbed, then Maryland and other proprietorships might also be called in question. The British government was unwilling to upset the apple cart. It seemed like too much trouble.
“The further difficulty, which I had not foreseen,” he continued, “is that in the minds of many government ministers, the administration of the colonies is a special department, where the views of the colonial assemblies, beyond local matters, are not strictly relevant. They think that the colonies should be ruled either through proprietors like the Penns, or directly by the king and his council.”
It was now that young James interposed.
“Would not that leave the colonies, sir, in the same position as England was under Charles I, where the king was free to rule as he pleased?”
“You have studied history,” Franklin said to the boy with a smile. “But not quite, I think, for the Parliament in London still keeps watch over the king.” He paused. “It is true that there are some, even friends of mine in the London Parliament, who fear that one day the American colonists will want to separate from the mother country, though I assured them that I had