Early Modern Period Story (Parts 1&2) Exposition to Climax

Frederick waited silently in bed. He could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Outside his large bedroom window, stars glistened in the deep black sky. The moon shone like abalone, lighting the steeple of St. Mary Cathedral. “Gong, gong, gong,” rang the steeple bells. Frederick pictured the bellboy swinging back and forth on the bell’s long rope. It was midnight and time to get to work.

Slipping his feet out from under his blankets, Frederick made his way to the hearth where his fire burned brightly. Taking a candle from the mantle, he lit it on the fire and crept back to his bed. Setting the candle on the floor, Frederick knelt down and pried up the floorboard. Reaching in, he fumbled until his hands grasped the mahogany box. Carefully pulling the box from under the floor, Frederick reached inside it and withdrew a long strip of parchment. Taking his quill and ink from his nightstand, Frederick made the way to his desk. Unrolling the parchment, he scrawled his name at the bottom.
“No one must ever see this,” he told himself. Laughing, he thought of what a wicked a man he was. Pulling his cloak around his shoulders, Frederick stowed the parchment in his pocket and grabbed his trunk of clothes. Quietly, he exited the room and made his way down to the carriage house.

“Psssst,” whispered Cornwallis’ voice.

“Where are you?” asked Frederick.

“Just to your right,” said the voice.

Turning, Frederick saw the carriage. A small candle gleamed inside.

“Good timing,” said Cornwallis, “hand me your things.”

Pulling open the door to the carriage, Frederick stepped in and was met by the King’s pompous grin, and Henry Clinton’s pudgy face. Following Frederick, Cornwallis hopped into the carriage as it departed, and patted Frederick on the back.

“Friends, is this trip really necessary?” asked Frederick in a sleepy voice.

“My colonies are in shambles. They want to trade with other countries. Considering these facts, yes, this trip is necessary my Lord Frederick Smith,” said the King in a worried tone. “I do need to visit them every once in a while, and Frederick, you know there is a little business we need to take care of. We need to visit the colonies!”

“He’s a little flustered,” said Clinton in a hushed tone. “The French have sent fleets out towards us. Nothing serious, but you know. By the way,” added Clinton. “I love those lavender breeches.” Frederick looked down, and to his horror discovered he still had on his lavender velvet bedtime breeches.

“How sweet,” Frederick grunted to Clinton, though he did agree lavender was a superb color on him.

“We need to talk, men,” said the King. “Frederick, the paper please.” Pulling the folded parchment from his pocket, Frederick handed it to the King. The King continued, “I need to get rid of France once and for all. Every day they come closer to our shores. We are stronger than they are, but it is costing us a fortune to protect our country. Honestly, I’m afraid France will attack us soon. You know that Louis wants revenge, and he is one of the most powerful military leaders in the world. I can’t lose my country to ‘Louis of France.’ It would be an embarrassment. So, I need your help. Frederick has crafted us a plan.” The King opened the parchment, and passed it around. “Would you care to explain?” he asked Frederick.

“All right,” acquiesced Frederick. He had this awful feeling that he shouldn’t have done this work for the King. He shouldn’t have thought of this plan, but the idea of turmoil, of mischief, was too alluring. “Here is the plan. We need a war. We’ll start by raising taxes in the Colonies. This will anger the people and raise money for us. We will get our friends in the colonies to start a rebellion against Britain.” Frederick could hear himself talking at super speed, but he wanted to get it all out as quickly as possible. “They’ll incite the people. All this time, no one will know that they are working for us, so we will even have insight into the Colonies’ battle strategies. France will jump at the opportunity to fight against us and join the colonies. If we win, France will be weakened and we can send our troops to France immediately and take it over.” Frederick stopped and sighed.

“It’s brilliant,” said Clinton. “But I’ll agree to it only as long as I get a matching pair of lavender breeches!”

Grabbing the paper from Frederick’s hands, the King signed the bottom of the page. “Of course…I’m signing on to the plan. It is glorious. Pure propaganda in its raw beautiful beginning,” said the King.

It was morning by the time they had finished discussing Frederick’s plan. Their candle had burned down to a pool of wax. Outside, a rooster crowed. The four men were relieved when the carriage reached smooth road. The country roads were bumpy and uneven.

“We must be almost there,” said Cornwallis. Frederick realized that he had not said anything after he introduced his plan, but knew that his best friend would always back him up. Wouldn’t he?

The carriage slowed to a halt. Stepping from the coach, Frederick took in the air. It smelled of salty seawater and morning dew. A ray of sunlight cast a glow, making his brown hair shine and sending a shiver of warmth down his back. He opened his eyes and saw the King’s ship, “The Devil,” in front of him. “How fitting its name is for the King,” thought Frederick. Then he realized…the name fit him too.

Frederick stood in front of the mirror. It had been one week since they arrived in the colonies. He tightened his red cropped breaches. Pulling on a pair of white stockings, he cross-gartered them with a new strand of red ribbon. Pulling on his lined matador vest, Frederick was ready to go. He had butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t usually get this way before parties, but this party was different. It was Jane Jefferson’s birthday. Frederick had known her sister Mary for a long time, and this night, he had to convince her to convince her brother to start the rebellion. His name was Thomas, and he was already quite popular with the colonies’ population. He had powerful friends in Boston, and would be the perfect route to a war.

Cornwallis had to drag Frederick from the carriage to the party. The room was crowded. The Jefferson’s’ home was lavish. Thick red drapes hung at the windows, framing the sunset. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and candles danced on the faces of finely dressed guests. Frederick made his way around the party in search of Mary. “Everything is normal,” he told himself. “There is no need to get worked up.”

Mary was sitting at a table alone, drinking from a golden goblet. Her pearl earrings swung merrily about her neck. Frederick was reminded of a Vermeer painting, like the one he had seen on his trip to Amsterdam. “Lady Jefferson,” he said as he sat beside her at the table.

“Frederick!” she exclaimed. “I’m delighted to see you.” Frederick began by asking about her life here in the Colonies. She seemed happy. Finally he couldn’t bear it any more.

“Would a walk in the garden please you Mary? There is something we need to discuss,” he said.

“Of course. What is it?” she asked. So Frederick told her his story. About the French, money, and his plan. “Frederick, I couldn’t,” said Mary pulling away. “He would be a traitor to his own family.”

“It wouldn’t work that way,” reasoned Frederick. “We would honor him. He would be supporting his homeland, Britain!”

“It would be dishonest, Frederick.” Mary’s voice had shrunk to an uncertain stammer. “Frederick, I would do anything for you, because I love you like a brother.”

“Then why won’t you convince him,” yelled Frederick.

“BECAUSE I LOVE THOMAS AS A BROTHER TOO. FOR GOODNESS SAKE HE IS MY BROTHER,” Mary yelled back.

Frederick was desperate. “I’m sorry Mary. I shouldn’t have yelled,” he said superficially. “I’m just not cut out for starting a war. Life is too large, my plans too big. I just thought maybe your brother could help.” Frederick turned and began walking back to the house.

Just before he reached the door, Mary called to him, “Frederick. Come back…please.” He turned. Her face was flushed and her mouth had softened to a contented smile. “I’ll try. I can’t promise you anything, but I will try to convince him. If anyone can deceive an entire colony of people it would be my brother.” And with that, she turned and ran inside.

Frederick looked over the bow of “The Devil” as it pulled into Britain’s main harbor. He was home. The carriage ride back to Northampton was a long one. The King, Clinton, and Cornwallis were still strategizing the scandal when the carriage pulled up at the gate to Frederick’s mansion. As he neared the entrance to his plaza the door swung open. His butler Gregory handed him a stack of letters.

“Sir,” added his butler. “The accountant from your weapons factory visited yesterday. The company has made you quite a bit in the last couple of months.”

Frederick ran into his study. Frantically he flipped through the letters. At the bottom of the stack was the one he was looking for. It was from Thomas. Frederick tore the seal and slowly began to read the letter. “Lord Frederick,” read the note. “It would be my pleasure to assist you in your war. I am honored you thought of me, and am happy to serve my country. Thomas Jefferson.”

At last he could relax. Dragging his body up the stairs to his bedroom, he pulled on his lavender bed breeches and slept. In his sleep, Thomas dreamt of their scandal. They had lost the war. He had profited by his weapons sales, but his friends had no such opportunity. France was now more powerful than Britain. He woke up with sweat dripping down his face. What if the war does go awry? He finally understood why he was so hesitant about the plan. He was afraid of losing. “Be a man,” he told himself, but even the voice in his head sounded shaky.

“Master!” yelled Gregory as he burst into the room. Frederick jumped at his sudden arrival. “The colonies…they, they, they have started a rebellion!” shrieked Gregory.

“Have they?” asked Frederick, trying to sound shocked and scared. “What type of rebellion?”

“Well, just yesterday the King raised taxes on British goods, and the people say it’s unfair. This loathsome brute, some Thomas man, is trying to get people all excited,” said Gregory.

“I must talk to the King immediately,” said Frederick.

“He is already on his way, Master.”

Frederick jumped from bed. He pulled on a suitable pair of pants, and ran down to his study. Quickly tidying his clutter, he sat down at his desk, and tried to look prepared for the King’s arrival. It seemed like hours before there was a knock on his study door. “Enter,” permitted Frederick. The King walked in. Shutting the door behind him, both men let out a whoop!

“It worked, it really worked,” rejoiced the King. Both men sat down, and the King told Frederick of the taxes he had raised.

“I decided to gain control of basic goods, like tea. Oh, the taxes now are wonderfully brutal.”

“Thomas needs to instigate some action, your Majesty. The people are restless. They need to do something, like, I don’t know…dump some tea. Something harmless like that, something that will get them even more excited,” said Frederick.

“Frederick, that is not a bad idea. A tea dumping. They could dump tons of if. It would make them feel powerful, and give us the chance to retaliate,” King Henry said in an excited tone.

Snatching a piece of paper and quill from Frederick’s desk, the King dabbed the quill into the ink and began a letter. “Dear Thomas, I am ecstatic that you have agreed to participate in our plan. Your rallying of the colonies has been superb. I feel that the people will grow restless if they do not take part in a rebellious act. So, here is what I have planned. We will dock a ship filled with British tea in Boston harbor. You will anger the people over our new tea tax, and instigate a massive tea dumping. I will instruct the crew to be away at a time of your choosing. Oh, and to make it seem like your group of tea dumpers doesn’t want to get caught, dress in disguise. I don’t know what…something silly, it doesn’t matter. We applaud your work here in the Britain. My most humble regards, King George.”

“Done,” said the King in a satisfied voice. Frederick looked over the letter.

“Well crafted your Majesty,” complimented Frederick. Ringing a small bell on his desk, Frederick summoned Gregory. “Gregory,” said Frederick in a superficial disgruntled tone. “Please have this delivered to the horrid brute…that Thomas man in the colonies. And by no means should you read it.” Gregory took the letter, folding it to show his master that he had no interest in its contents. “Would you like to stay the night your Majesty?” asked Frederick.

“Actually,” said the King. “I would be delighted to have your presence at my palace. Cornwallis and Clinton will be there as well. A carriage should be here at 3.”

“It would be my pleasure to come,” said Frederick. Locating Gregory, Frederick ordered his things to be packed. “I will be leaving for a while Gregory. This ‘rebellion’ is too important for me to stay at home. Keep my things safe,” commanded Frederick.

When the bells of St. Mary cathedral rang three, Frederick and Henry made their way to the entry-way. Their bags had been packed, and the King’s coach awaited them outside. The trip took four days. By the time they reached the King’s palace, Clinton and Cornwallis awaited them.

“Good news,” shrieked Clinton.

“Please,” begged Cornwallis. “Is that tone of voice really necessary?”

“Why yes,” squealed Clinton in an even higher voice.

The four men sprinted into the King’s private library.

“ We have a letter,” said Cornwallis, waving it in the air. The three men ran at him, and the group played a boyish round of tag, until all four fell to the ground laughing.

“Your highness, how could you be so immature as to play tag with a group of country bumpkins?” scolded Clinton.

“Just as easily as you fell into an amorous love with Frederick’s lavender breeches,” retorted the King.

Ripping the seal from the letter, Cornwallis read it in his most dramatic voice. “Dear Colleagues, I must recount every detail to you of the Boston Harbor tea dumping. I collected a whole group of men. We met at my house early, early the Saturday morning of the dumping. I could barely keep the men hushed, for they were all ecstatic with anticipation. One man, a Mr. Barkley, wanted us all to dress up in the most ridiculous feathered costumes to look like Indians. The other men, so intoxicated with their own glee, agreed! So, we set about pasting feathers to leather breeches and tunics. Good gracious, you should have seen us, all decked out like un-plucked turkey dinners. With our lanterns lit, we made our way through town, out onto the pier, and into the harbor. One of the fellows in our party, a Mr. Grayson, had an apartment by the water. So, we all crammed into the room that smelled heavily of must and burnt cooking. At noon, the time I had arranged with the crew, we assembled. We were to head single file into the street, where we would make a ruckus to get the people’s attention, and then we would proceed onto the boat. Some of the men gathered pots, pans, and spoons to bang. The ruckus was delightful. Exactly what I had I mind. Then we charged full on to the ship. We flung not only tea, but our feathers. The men were having so much fun, I could barely drag them off the boat. Back at the apartment they could barely stop laughing. I had to remind them in the most serious of tones that this is important business. The British need to be stopped, and it is our duty to overthrow them! Oh how splendidly it worked out, and your police did a wonderful job of trying to ‘arrest us.’ Oh, if only you could have been there. The men are now fully ready for battle, but beware…it looks as if they want to make a sport out of dumping goods. Sincerely, Thomas Jefferson.”

“It sounds fantastic,” said Clinton. At that moment one of the King’s guards burst into the room.

“Your Majesty, excuse me for interrupting, but there has been some shocking news from the colonies. They dumped an entire ship of British tea into the water as a tax protest, and some say they want war.”
“Really?” said the King trying his hardest not to let on. “Guard, please send our military chief in tomorrow for tea. If the colonies want war, they will get it,” said the King. “Oh, how terrible,” he added in a falsely worried voice. “Frederick,” said the King. “I need as many weapons as possible. I will settle payment with you tomorrow.”

“Anything for the war your Majesty,” said Frederick.

Frederick returned home, and sat down to take care of business.

“Gregory,” he called. The butler came into his study with a flourish. “I need you to place an order at my weapons factory. 400 cannons and 900 new guns with bayonets to be sent to the King as quickly as possible.”

“Yes Master,” said Gregory, as he ducked out of the room.

The next month was painstaking for Frederick. Had the troops arrived in the colonies? Where we winning? Frederick began to feel sick with worry. He stayed in bed, a hot water bottle at his feet. Looking out of his large bedroom window, Frederick was startled when the door to his room opened suddenly.

“Master sir,” said Gregory. “The paper came today, with news you will be interested in.” He thrust the paper at Frederick.

“COLONY NEWS,” read the front page. “British troops reached Boston harbor two weeks ago. Not only were they met with colony forces, but also French militants.” Frederick sat straight up in bed.

“It’s working!” he said.

“What is working master?’ asked Gregory. Frederick had not realized Gregory was still in the room, and regretted every word of his last phrase.

“My hot water bottle,” he lied, as he slid back under the covers. He could feel his face reddening. “My hot water bottle has, has…warmed my feet. You may take it now Gregory. Thank you.” Frederick relaxed in bed, thankful he had not been discovered. What next, he pondered? It was at that moment Frederick realized he should not have given away his hot water bottle. His feet were freezing!