One part of Roger’s mind was admiring Fergus’s performance, while another was noting in an abstract way that Jamie Fraser could never have been a forger: left-handed, but forced from childhood to write with his right hand—and that hand very recently crushed, at the time Fergus must be referring to. On the other hand, Fergus himself was a very accomplished forger, but he supposed that wasn’t something Fergus wanted to get around Charles Town society ….

The lawyer looked as though he’d been taxidermized by someone who hated him, but Beauchamp spluttered negus and began to protest. Fergus looked at Roger, who obligingly put back his coat to show his knife and set his hand on the hilt, keeping his face impassive.

Beauchamp froze. Fergus nodded approvingly.

“Just so. And so, gentlemen … say for the sake of argument that persons less discerning than I might accept the truth of this document. What did you propose to do, had I been willing to do that? Plainly, you had something in mind—something that Monsieur le Comte’s heir might accomplish for you, eh?”

Color was coming back into Beauchamp’s face, and the lawyer lost a little of his stuffing; they exchanged glances and some decision was made.

“All right.” Percival Beauchamp sat up straight and touched a linen napkin to his port-stained lips. “This is the situation.”

The situation, as explained by Beauchamp with minor interruptions from the lawyer, was that the Comte St. Germain, a very wealthy man, had owned—well, still did own, technically—a majority of the stock of a syndicate investing in land in the New World. The main asset of this syndicate was a large piece of land in the very large area known as the Northwest Territory.

Fergus managed to look as though he knew exactly what this was, and quite possibly he did, but it rang only faint bells of recognition for Roger. It was a lot of land in the far north and was part of what the French and Indian War had been fought over. And the British had won, he was pretty sure of that.

Evidently the French—or some portion of the French, whom Beauchamp referred to obliquely as “our interests”—were not so sure.

And now that France had officially entered the war in alliance with the Americans, Beauchamp’s “interests” had it in mind to take the first steps toward securing at least a foothold on the Territory.

“By establishing Mr. Fraser’s claim to it?” Roger hadn’t said anything to this point, but sheer astonishment compelled him. The lawyer gave him an austere look, but Beauchamp inclined his head gracefully.

“Yes. But the claim of an individual alone would not likely stand against the rapacity of the Americans. Therefore, our interests will assist Mr. Fraser in establishing colonists upon his land—French-speaking colonists, who would thus provide substance for a claim by France, once the war is over.

“Whereupon,” Beauchamp concluded, “our interests would purchase the land from you—for a significant sum.”