The Devil's Company (11 page)

At the top of the stairs I quickly checked for unwanted observers, but the space was as dark and abandoned as the rooms below. Getting a sense of direction, I quickly found which office I needed, or believed I needed, for I could in no way be certain if I had discovered the right place. With no choice but to hope I had struck home, I strode in, finding the room empty and made ready to plunder.

I was operating under a number of disabilities that made my task more complicated. It was dark; I had no familiarity with the documents I sought or the man who possessed them; I had a limited amount of time to find what Cobb wanted; and the consequences of being caught or failing were both dire.

My eyes were fairly well adjusted to the dark. Indeed, the lights of the mayhem outside helped illuminate the room; there were even muted cries of defiance from the silk weavers. I ignored the sound and took in as much as I could. The light was sufficient for me to make out the furnishings—a desk, a few chairs, bookshelves, side tables, and so forth—but insufficient for me to read the titles of the books without getting very close or to make out what images were within the frames upon the wall. There were a number of piles of documents upon the desk, and it was with these that I thought to start.

Cobb had told me as much as he thought I needed, and he had clearly thought it best to tell me no more. I was to look through the papers of a Mr. Ambrose Ellershaw, a man conveniently gone to his country estate for the next two days, who was one of the members of the Court of Committees. This group was currently preparing for a quarterly meeting of the much larger Court of Proprietors, the two hundred or so men who controlled the fate of the Company. Each member of the smaller Court was charged with preparing data for the larger meeting, and it was Ellershaw’s responsibility to report on the data involving the import of India cloth to the British Isles and the sales of forbidden cloths to European and colonial markets. In order to prepare these figures, Mr. Ellershaw would need to comb through countless records of accounting data to obtain the information he required.

My task was to find the only existing copy of his report and take it with me. How Cobb could know there were no duplicates I could not say, nor was it in my best interest to ask. I had no desire to find ways to make my task more difficult. Cobb said he could not know with any certainty how Ellershaw would store his report, only that it would be in his office and would be clearly marked.

I began to make my way through the documents on his desk, but I found nothing but correspondence. The light was insufficient for me to read the texts easily, but as I had no interest or reason to know more of his letters, I had little concern for this difficulty. Time was lost to me in my frantic review of the papers, and I know not how long it took to make my way through the documents on the desk. I only knew I was finishing up the last two or three pieces of paper when I heard the clock strike nine. The silk weavers might depend on rioting another half hour, three quarters at most, before their safety was at risk. I had to find what I wanted, and soon.

I was moving to open one of the desk drawers when something terrible transpired. There was a metallic groan I recognized in an instant-it was the sound of someone turning the door handle.

I dropped at once to the floor and hid myself behind the desk as best I could. It was not the hiding place I would have chosen—in the corner would have been preferable, since the person might have business with the desk and ignore a corner—but I had no time to discriminate. I listened and heard the door open, and the room was suddenly awash with light.

I overstate the case, for even hidden from view I could tell it was but the single flame of a candle or oil lamp, but it penetrated my precious protective darkness and left me feeling naked and exposed.

I could only hope that the intruder wanted a book or a document from the top of the desk, but such was not the case. I heard the muffled tap of something—I presumed the candle—being set on the top of the desk.

“Oh,” a female voice said.

I looked up and saw the young woman who’d given me her candle looking down at me with an entirely understandable curiosity.

I HAVE BEEN, I admit, in difficult situations before and one does not survive them without an ability to improvise upon the moment. Rather than suggest she call the estate guardians to take me to the nearest constable, instead I begged her to bring her light down to the floor. While she did so, I slipped a pen knife from my pocket and slid it under the desk. While she held the light for me, I went through the motions of finding it and then rose to a more dignified position.

“Thank you, my dear,” I said. “That knife, while it may look like a trivial thing, belonged to my father, and I should have hated to lose it.”

“Perhaps if you had not extinguished your own candle,” she suggested.

“Ah, well, it was a bit of a disaster. My candle went out, I dropped my knife—you know how such things go. One little accident leads to another.”

“Who are you, sir?” she asked, peering more closely at me now. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes, I am rather new here. I’m Mr. Ward,” I said, hardly knowing why the name of that scandalous poet rose to my mind before all others. “I am a new clerk in the service of Mr. Ambrose Ellershaw. I’ve not seen you before either.”

“I am here most regularly, I assure you.” She set down the candle but continued to stare.

“Please sit, miss …” I let my voice trail off.

“Miss Glade,” she said. “Celia Glade.”

I bowed at her and then we stood together, somewhat awkwardly. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Glade.” Who, I wondered, could this woman be? Her mode of speech was most proper, and she sounded nothing at all like a servant. Could she be some sort of a female clerk? Was it possible that the East India Company held to such modern notions?

My confusion was not a little increased by the impropriety of being in so dark and private a space with a remarkably attractive woman of apparent breeding.

“Mr. Ward, what brings you to Mr. Ellershaw’s office this night? Would you not rather be outside watching the silk weavers toss manure at the guards?”

“It is a temptation, I am sure, but I must sacrifice my pleasure for my work. Mr. Ellershaw, whom you know to be out of town for another two days, has asked me to review his report to the Court of Proprietors. I left for the day and was prepared to go home when I recollected the report and thought to come back, take it, and review it this night in my rooms. And then I dropped my knife and so forth. But I’m glad to have you here to help me relight my candle.”

I lifted my taper and allowed my wick to touch hers, and the gesture felt to me so ripe with amorous suggestion that I feared that more than wick and wax might burst into flame. I set the candle down. “Now, if only I could recollect where Mr. Ellershaw said he put the devilish thing. Pardon the coarseness of my language, Miss Glade.”

She let out a musical laugh. “Think nothing of it. I work among men and hear that sort of talk all the day. Now, as for that document.” She rose and approached the desk, moving into such close quarters with me that I could smell the womanly scent of her. She slid open one of the desk drawers and withdrew from it a leather packet thick with papers. “I believe this is Mr. Ellershaw’s report to the Court of Proprietors. It is a rather lengthy document. You’ll be up rather late if you review it tonight. You might be wise to leave it here and read it in the morning.”

I took it from her hand. How could she know of its location? Presumably, my lady clerk theory had proved well founded. “In the morning I shall have other work that requires my attention. I thank you for your concern, however.” I rose, and she backed off accordingly.

With the packet tucked under my arm and one of the candles in my hand, I approached the door.

“Mr. Ward,” she called out, “when did Mr. Ellershaw take you into his employ?”

I stopped at the door. “Just this past week.”

“It is very unusual, is it not, for there to be a new position prior to the meeting of the Court of Proprietors? From where did he obtain the funding?”

I thought to say I had no idea how he should obtain the funding, but surely Mr. Ellershaw’s clerk would be aware of such issues, wouldn’t he? Of course, I had no real idea of what a clerk did, let alone Ellershaw’s clerk, but I felt certain I ought to say something.

“Mr. Ellershaw has not yet received funding from the Court, and until he does he is paying me from his own funds. As he prepares for the meeting, however, he wished to avail himself of additional hands.”

“You must provide him with vital services.”

“It is my most earnest desire to do so,” I assured her, and excused myself from the room.

I wasted no time in extinguishing the candle, making my way down the stairs, and toward the back door. Ring be damned, I thought. I would be far away before anyone thought it odd that I should leave through the rear. And, in truth, there was nothing odd, for why should I vacate by way of the front while riot raged?

I reclaimed my coat and my sack, and was fortunate enough to find the grounds still free of guards, who continued to trade words with the rioters. I observed none of the dogs, but I clutched my remaining rabbit most tightly. From the front of the building I heard curses, now mixed with threats that the soldiers would soon be upon them and they would have a hard time tossing filth with a musket hole through their chests.

Returning to the hillock, I once more scaled the wall. Now I would have a much harder time approaching the other side, for I did not wish to drop all ten feet, and there was no higher ground on which to land. Instead, I clambered down as best I could to close the gap between me and the ground, and then, when the distance looked manageable, I let go and fell to the earth. It was an uncomfortable landing, but not a terribly dangerous one, and I emerged from my efforts unharmed and remarkably unmussed. I then opened the bag and freed the rabbit, allowing that it might run at its liberty and do the best it could. Certainly it was better that one of us might do so.

I HURRIED BACK to Leadenhall Street, where the silk weavers shouted and tossed filth and pranced about in the shadow of a company of red-clad soldiers whose expressions bespoke a frightening combination of tedium and cruelty. In the space it took me to approach, I saw the officer in charge glance twice at the tower clock of St. Michael’s. He would, I knew, discharge his ammunition the very moment so permitted by law. Therefore it was with great relief that I found Devout Hale and informed him that I had done my duty and he and his men might disperse freely. He made the call, and the silk weavers desisted at once and marched off peaceably while the soldiers taunted them, accusing them of not being men enough to take their musket fire.

I could not be more delighted that my time of servitude was at an end, so rather than wait until morning I took a hackney to the vicinity of Swallow Street and knocked upon Mr. Cobb’s door. When Edgar answered I immediately had cause to regret the roughness with which I treated him. Not that marks of a severe thrashing upon his face gave me pain. I should have been only too happy to serve him with the same sauce again should he deserve it. Nevertheless, I knew I had made an enemy, and one who would be unwilling to forgive me even when his master had cause to forget.

“Weaver,” he groused, his voice slurred from the bruises and loss of teeth. The swelling of his muzzle only increased the duckishness of his appearance. “You are damnably fortunate that Mr. Cobb has told me not to harm you.”

“I feel fortunate,” I assured him. “And whatever the source of your divine mercy, I shall always be grateful for it.”

He only squinted with his unmaimed eye, seeming to think my words none the most honest, and led me to the sitting room. I delivered unto him my coat and gloves, and he took them with all the disdain he could summon.

After my ordeal in Craven House, it seemed to me the height of luxury to sit in so warmed and well-illuminated a space. Each sconce on the wall held a lit candle, and there were lit lamps about the room as well, and a well-tended fire took the chill from me. A rather expensive indulgence, I thought, unless Cobb knew he was expecting a visitor. I could only conclude then that either someone else was due to visit that night or he had had an agent watching my progress at the mansion, one who informed him I was on my way.

After what felt like an interminable time, Cobb entered the room and took my hand. I should like to have ignored this gesture, but I returned his grip out of habit.

“Have you got it?” he asked.

“I believe so,” I said. It occurred to me for the first time that I had not reviewed the contents of the package. What if Miss Glade had been deceiving me? I could not imagine why she should do so, but then I could not imagine why any of these things transpired.

Cobb opened up the leather folder and removed the pages, which he examined quickly. “Ah, yes. Just so. The very thing.” He put them back and slid the folder onto the table. “Well done, Weaver. Your reputation is well deserved. There’s hardly a more secure ground in London, and yet you’ve somehow got yourself in, took what you desired, and removed yourself. I am awed by your talents, sir.”

Without waiting to be asked, I sat by the fire and stretched out my hands before it. “Your pleasure signifies little. I’ve done what you asked, so now it is time to release me and my friends from your obligation.”

“Release you?” Cobb frowned at me. “Why should I do such an absurd thing?”

I jumped to my feet. “Do not toy with me. You told me if I did what you asked, you would undo the harm you’ve done. And I’ve now done what you asked.”

“As I recall, I said you must do
all
I asked. You’ve done the first thing, to be sure.” He little moved, seemed not to recognize that I was on my feet, my fists balled. “There is more, much more, that I require of you. Oh, no, Mr. Weaver. Our work is just beginning here.”

Perhaps I ought to have anticipated this turn, but I hadn’t. Cobb, I had believed, wanted these documents, and once they were in hand he would have no more use for me. “How long do you think to abuse me thus?”