A Day In Paris Spying On Ben Franklin, 1778
The Time Travel Series
The Time Travel Series - Daily Episode Guide.
Historical Backdrop
In March 1778, Benjamin Franklin stood at the center of a high-stakes gamble in Paris, negotiating a military alliance that could tip the American Revolution in favor of the colonies. On March 20, King Louis XVI formally received the American commissioners at Versailles, marking France’s official recognition of the United States—a diplomatic earthquake that would bring French troops, ships, and gold into the war against Britain.
Yet surrounding Franklin was a web of espionage: his trusted secretary Edward Bancroft, who translated documents and attended confidential meetings alongside fellow commissioners Silas Deane and Arthur Lee, was secretly selling American secrets to British intelligence handler Paul Wentworth. Using invisible ink and dead drops in the Tuileries Gardens, Bancroft fed London details of French strategy and treaty negotiations even as he smiled at Franklin’s table.
04:45 — Hôtel de Valentinois, 66 rue Raynouard at rue Singer, Passy
You wake before the household because secrets prefer darkness. The tallow candle on your writing table gutters in its own smoke, throwing shadows that jump when you move. Your room smells of cold wool and yesterday’s ink—iron-gall, slightly acidic. You lay out two kits side by side: the honest tools (clean quills, sand, sealing wafers) and the dishonest ones (the “white ink” vial no bigger than your thumb, the extra sheet you’ll fold between innocuous pages, the twine). Your fingers are stiff from cold; you flex them twice before touching paper. Through the shutters you hear a muffled cartwheel on frozen ground, a dog barking somewhere toward the river. In the next room Franklin is already dressed—sober brown coat, spectacles on, hair unpowered and loose to his shoulders—practicing the calm he will sell to Versailles. Temple hovers near him with folded papers, anxious energy radiating off his slim frame. You catch the boy’s eye and coach him in silence: which packet to hand Franklin first, which to keep back until you can see who’s watching. The paper under your fingertips feels slightly gritty where sand dried the last line. You blot the new page twice, methodical, while your pulse counts the hours until you must perform loyalty.
06:05 — Courtyard approach of the Hôtel de Valentinois grounds, Passy
You step into the courtyard and find Deane already talking too loudly—excited, defensive, his breath pluming white in the cold. Lee stands slightly apart, upright and austere, watching Franklin as if the old man might slip and expose them all. The air tastes metallic, like frozen iron. Leather harness creaks as grooms adjust buckles on the carriage; horses stamp and steam, their breath thick clouds. You take the role you were born for: you steady the schedule, you steady the papers, you steady the men. Your portfolio is clamped under your left arm like a shield. Franklin climbs into the carriage with the patience of a man who knows the crowd wants a symbol more than a speech. His brown coat brushes against the doorframe; he settles onto the bench without hurrying. You sit opposite Temple, knees to knees in the cramped interior. Wool coats rasp and brush; powder from someone’s wig floats like pale dust in the lantern glow. The carriage sways as Deane hauls himself up, still talking—something about protocol, about who should speak first. Lee follows in silence, his gloves immaculate. You watch the courtyard gate for tails before you even leave Passy: any coach that turns when you turn, any pedestrian who pauses too long. Your true packet is buried beneath harmless correspondence, but your heart knows it’s there.
09:10 — Château de Versailles — Place d’Armes / Cour d’Honneur area, Versailles
Versailles hits you like a wall of stone and choreography. You guide Franklin through the tide of silk and uniforms—clerks, ushers, a man with a list who pretends the list is destiny. The palace smells of beeswax polish layered over perfume, over wet wool drying near unseen heat. Footsteps slap and echo on stone floors; distant voices blur into a constant hiss like wind through trees. Light is gray-blue through high windows, then abruptly gold near chandeliers. You keep Temple at Franklin’s right elbow; the boy walks stiffly, trying not to gawk. Vergennes appears long enough to make the room behave: tall, stately, dark coat with embroidered cuffs, his powdered wig immaculate. The audience will proceed, the commissioners will be received, France will be seen doing what it has already decided. Franklin nods once, as if this were a scientific demonstration rather than a political rupture. You note the faces near Vergennes: which clerk carries keys tucked in his waistcoat, which usher repeats names too precisely, whose eyes follow Franklin and whose ignore him. You rehearse your cover story for sudden interrogation—you are only the secretary, only ink and obedience. Your leather portfolio presses against your ribs. Someone’s shoe buckle clicks on marble when they shift weight. The air is warm now from bodies packed close, and you feel sweat prickle under your cravat.
10:50 — Oeil-de-Boeuf anteroom and King’s Chamber, Château de Versailles
