Chapter Eleven

Washington D.C. April 16, 1865

A light tap at the door brought Colin from a deep sleep. He threw the covers aside and knuckled the last vestige of sleep from his eyes. He grabbed his torn, tattered robe from the foot of the bed and struggled to get it on as he headed to the door. Colin paused and stared at the tattered garment remembering the moment his dear wife gave it to him, almost sixty years ago, on their first Christmas together. A tear fell from his eyes. One day he would have to replace it. He certainly never lacked the money to do so, but not this year, maybe not next year, but someday. Visions of his life over the last six decades flashed through his mind. Colin rubbed the robe with care. A smile crossed his face as he remembered the day their first child, a beautiful and charming son, was born. He passed away peacefully a few years ago. One daughter died during childbirth years ago, losing her child as well. His second son died earlier this year.  His eldest daughter, Dolly, was his only child still alive. Dolly was ill, so he arranged with a mortuary to have the funeral on Friday. He realized he would say goodbye to another loved one soon. This was the curse of immortal life. He loved. He lived. He grieved. Then the process would start all over again. A tap at the door brought him back to the present.

A hotel clerk waited nervously on the other side of the door. “I’m sorry to bother you sir, but there is a slight problem downstairs that needs your attention.”

“A problem? Can’t the hotel management solve this issue? I am only a guest,” Colin said drowsily. “What manner of the problem are we dealing with?”

“Sir, there is a large crowd gathering in the lobby.”

Colin rubbed the cricks from his back. “How is that my problem?” He cinched the top of his robe.

“Well, Sir, they are waiting for your arrival to finish your story,” the clerk said.

Colin stepped back, his eyes wide, “Waiting for me? I distinctly remember there were ten people yesterday, no more than that. I would not consider that a large crowd.”

“It seems, Sir, they have friends. All I know is we have opened the ballroom to facilitate them all. Oh, and a correspondent for The Washington Post is among the crowd. Sir, I was there yesterday. Your story is fascinating.”

“A reporter? I can’t tell this story in front of any journalists.” He ran a jerky hand through his hair. “I need my anonymity. I should not have started this in the first place.” Clasping his hands together, then standing, and sitting.  “If the public found out about my past, well, it could be very inconvenient for me.” He thought about his choice to tell Grant his story. “I never intended to make my story a public event.” Slipping his hands into his pocket and feeling the letter. “I needed to talk to someone. I have made a grotesque error in judgment.” Frowning he decided. “Perhaps I should sneak out the back,” Colin said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Well, Sir that would be an option. But this may only give further credence to your story.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right.” Colin stood in the doorway pounding his fist into his open palm.

“And, there were several members of your party sir, which I think would truly like to hear the end of your story and would consider your privacy a major concern. I’m thinking of myself, sir, as well perhaps General Grant.”

“That’s true. You have a point,” Colin said, as he paced the open doorway. He stood in silence for a moment. “Tell me, young man. Is the general in the crowd?”

“Yes, sir, he was the first to arrive this morning.” His eyebrow arched over one eye.

“And Sally and her mother are they also in the crowd?”

“Yes, sir, they are sitting with the general.” The clerk glanced at Colin’s attire and immediately concentrated at a small spot on the carpet.

“Excellent. Listen carefully,” Colin, said. “I have something I want you to do. Carry out my instructions precisely, and there will be something in it for you.”

“Yes, sir, I will try my best.”

“Discretely ask the General, Sally, and her mother to join me in my room at eight-thirty. Make sure they know not to draw attention to themselves. I don’t want them followed. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand, I think.” The clerk turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Colin said, “Could you please bring us a pot of coffee, some pastries, and maybe some milk for Sally at around nine?”

“Yes, sir. Uh, sir?”

“Yes, young man?”

“Would you mind if I joined you, sir? It was a fascinating story, and I would like to hear the rest,” the clerk pleaded.

Colin smiled. “Sure, as long as you aren’t a reporter from The Washington Post.”

“Oh, I’m not, sir. I can’t even read and write, sir.”

“Well, that is something you should remedy as soon as possible. Let that be a lesson in life for you.” Colin shut the door before the clerk could say another word. He needed time to perfect his speech, denying the truth.

The clerk left and stepped briskly down the corridor.

People packed the ballroom to capacity as Colin strolled in and saw Grant, Sally, and her mother in the front at a small table. Other tables and chairs were set up and filled. The aisles and edges of the room were standing room only. He noticed the young clerk as he whispered something to the general. As the clerk left, Colin meandered up to the podium and cleared his throat.  General Grant whispered to Sally’s Mother.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” As Colin spoke, the voices in the crowd slowed to a murmur and then to silence. “It appears I owe all of you an apology. I am a playwright and an actor.” The crowd became agitated.

General Grant stood up and silenced the crowd. “Give the man a chance to tell you his story.”

“I know how everyone feels about actors right now. I had an idea for a play and wanted to see if people would be interested in such a play. I did not intend for anyone to believe me. I am sorry I used a lack of judgment and timing. Look at me. Do I look eight-hundred years old to you? The thought is preposterous. I made the entire story up, and I apologize.” Colin gazed at the general, hoping he understood what Colin was trying to do.

“What about the necklace?” asked a man sitting in the front?

Colin brought the chain from its secure hiding place. “This is nothing but a prop. I found this in a book in the library, and I paid good money to an artisan in Boston to replicate this necklace.” Colin tucked it back inside his shirt.

“So, when does this so-called play open?” an angry man in the back wearing a black armband said.

“I do not understand. I didn’t say I’d finished writing the play. I wanted to see if anyone would be interested in the story. I’ll complete it soon. Then I’ll work out the details as to when and where it opens. I will see to it that the Post gets a press release when that happens.” Hands shot up all over the room. “No further questions will be answered at this time. Again, I apologize and please have a good day.”

The crowd jostled to get near Colin, but a security detail from the hotel quickly removed him to safety. Hotel staff took him to his room via a secret passageway. The security detail prevented any guests from following him. The hotel manager pounded the gavel on the table. “We will have order,” he shouted. “As you can see this was just a misunderstanding. Mr. Harcourt meant no harm. If you will all please leave my hotel peacefully, I don’t wish to call the authorities. We have canceled breakfast and lunch for the day. We will resume dinner at the usual time. The special is our world famous roast beef and herbed potatoes.”

“What room is the actor in?” demanded a correspondent.

“Mr. Harcourt is a guest in this establishment, and he is afforded the same courtesy and privacy as the rest of our guests. I’m sure you can understand.”

“I would like to book a room. Can you book me a room on the same floor as Mr. Harcourt?” The reporter handed the manager his credentials.

The hotel manager looked at the young correspondent for a moment before answering. “I’m sorry, due to last Friday’s tragedy. All, of our rooms, are full. If you need a place to stay, you can remain in the room above the stables.”

“We have the right to know,” the reporter said.

“Mr. Harcourt has told you all everything you need to know. I can’t believe that room with intelligent adults could believe that the man could be eight-hundred-years- old. I’m sure that you have important things to write about. This is a very grievous time in our country’s history.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have a hotel to run.” He turned and then pivoted back. “And if you are thinking of causing any more trouble, General Grant has given me permission to call for the army.”

“Where is the general?”

“He has urgent business with the vice president, which is understandable if you were to consider recent events. He always understood that the story was untrue. The general regrets that anyone might have overheard their private conversation. He apologizes for any inconvenience on his part in the ruse. He has asked me to relay to Mr. Harcourt that he thinks he is writing an excellent play and is looking forward to the day the play opens at the theater.”

The crowd grumbled as they left the ballroom. A handful milled around the building, but they left as a squad of soldiers patrolled the streets.

The manager turned to the clerk at his side, “It is eight-fifteen. I believe you have a tray of coffee that needs to go to room 605?”

“Yes, sir,” the clerk said.

“Oh, and James, I want to hear every detail of Colin’s amazing life.”

“Yes, sir.” The clerk said as he headed to the kitchen.

Guards led Colin up the staff elevators and then to his room. He entered his room at twenty minutes after eight. He declined the offer for an armed guard outside his door. An armed guard would be a sure giveaway as to which room he occupied.

Once he was inside his room, he rearranged the room and made it ready for his guests to arrive. General Grant arrived first, looking over his shoulders before entering the room. Sally and her mother arrived five minutes later. Sally was dressed in a blue-striped Sunday dress and petticoats, her brown hair in pigtails. Her bright eyes sparkled as she smiled and gave Colin a huge bear hug. Mrs. Crawford, Sally’s mother, wore a widow’s black dress buttoned at the neck. Her eyes twinkled. General Grant wore a three-piece suit. A gold watch fob flashed from his vest pocket. General Grant sat on the end of the freshly made bed, Sally’s mother sat in the only chair in the room, and Sally sat on the floor with her knees tucked under her. Colin paced in front of the daintily curtained window.

General Grant was the first to speak, “Colin, I must congratulate you on how you handled the press. It was a genius, pure genius.”

“Thank you, General.”

A knock came at the door. The general stood up quickly and trotted to the door and motioned to Colin to stay out of sight.

“It’s all right, General. That should be our breakfast.”

Grant cautiously opened the door. James, the clerk, entered the room pushing a wooden cart.  A tray of the freshly brewed pot of coffee, four cups, and a tray piled high with various pastries and a large bottle of cold milk with a glass sat on the cart.

 “Are you expecting another guest, Colin?”

“No, why do you ask?” Colin said as he winked at Sally who erupted from the floor and grabbed a huge chocolate éclair. He poured her a glass of milk and handed her a napkin.

“There are four cups of coffee.”

“And there are four adults in the room. I have invited the clerk, uh, what was your name?”

“It’s James, and I appreciate your kindness. How do you like your coffee, Mr. Harcourt?” the clerk said as he poured the coffee.

“With milk and I’ll have one of those crullers.” Colin licked his lips.

“And you, General?” James poured a cup of coffee.

“Black and no sweets for me, my wife insists I need to shed a few pounds.” He peered over the tray of pastries and took in a deep breath. “Ah, hell, I’ll take a éclair too, but no one says a word to my wife.”

“And you Ma’am?” James grabbed a pastry for her.

“I am fine, thank you,” she said with a smile.

“Pour yourself a cup James and have a seat. There’s room on the bed.” Colin sipped his coffee and nibbled on his pastry.

“I believe I was in Calais about to board a ship provided by the Duke on Christmas Day.” Powder from his pastry dotted his chin. James pointed vigorously to his chin.

General Grant raised his hand. “Forgive my curiosity. Four years earlier, you could not cross the channel during the winter. Why were you able to cross the channel now? Isn’t winter the same on both sides of the channel?”

“I suppose that seasons matter little to a duke determined to claim his Kingdom. The Duke returned to Normandy to replenish his troops while he recruited a handful of spies to garner information for the imminent attack on Britain. They allowed me to passage on the scout ship. I faced certain death if the ship were captured.” Colin wiped his chin with a napkin provided by James. “Thank you, James.”

“So, you would surprise Alison on Christmas Day? You would be her Christmas present.” Sally smiled, as she took a napkin and dabbed the chocolate from her face.

“Amelia, it was supposed to be Amelia,” sighed Colin.