The Devil's Company (43 page)

“Endeavor to show yourself out,” she said. “For now that must suffice.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HAD NO NOTION OF WHAT TIME IT WAS WHEN I EXITED THE WIDOW’S house, only that the world had gone dark and the streets were full of the drunken shouts and shrill laughter of nighttime. When I removed my watch—guardedly, of course, for at such a time it only took but one tick of a timepiece for those items to be lost to artful hands—I saw that it was not yet seven o’clock, though I felt as though it were past midnight. At the nearest opportunity, I found a coach to take me home.

I had much to do. I knew of Pepper’s dealings with the mysterious Mr. Teaser, as I knew him to be married to three different women—and I should hardly have been surprised if I were to find more. But why did Cobb care about Pepper? What was Pepper’s relationship with the East India Company—or with Cobb, for that matter? How was this all connected to Forester’s plot or Ellershaw’s need to overturn the 1721 legislation? Did Celia Glade’s presence mean that the French had a hand in all of this, or had I merely stumbled upon a spy—no doubt one of hundreds scattered across the metropolis—who collected information and sent it home, where wiser heads would determine if it had merit?

I had no answers and threatened to find no answers. I only knew I was tired and that an innocent and helpful man, the good-natured Carmichael, had died because of all this double-dealing. I wanted no more of it. Perhaps it was time to cease resisting Cobb. My efforts to undermine him and find his truths for my own purposes had granted me nothing but the imprisonment of one friend, and I would not risk the imprisonment of more.

I had been considering these matters and working myself into a very high state of agitation and anger. It was for this reason, then, that I could hardly understand, let alone manage my emotions, when I entered my house and found a visitor awaiting me in the drawing room.

It was Cobb.

I FELT NO GREAT CONCERN for his well-being, but I immediately noted that he looked unwell. He appeared drawn and quite agitated. He rose as soon as I entered the room, and, holding his hands together, he took a few tentative steps toward me.

“I must speak with you, Weaver. It cannot wait.”

I will not say the rage I felt toward him disappeared, but curiosity stayed my temper. Edgar, after all, had been ready to thrash me for sending a boy to Cobb’s house. Now Cobb himself appeared at mine.

I therefore directed him to my rooms, that we might enjoy privacy, and there, once I had lit my candles, I poured myself a glass of port, and chose not to invite him to join me, though his hands twitched and his lips trembled, and I saw he wished for a drink of something bracing above all things.

“Your presence here surprises me,” I told him.

“It surprises me as well, but there is no helping it. I must speak with you man-to-man. I know you have had cause to feel anger toward me, and you must believe I wish things could have been otherwise. Hammond suspects you are holding back, and so do I. But I come here without him to plead with you to tell me what you have not already told us. I do not threaten you or your friends. I just wish for you to tell me.”

“I have told you all.”

“What of
him
?” he asked, and whispered the name:
“Pepper.”

I shook my head. “I have learned nothing of his death.”

“But what of his book?” He leaned forward. “Have you learned anything of that?”

“Book?” I asked, rather convincingly, if I may say so. Cobb had made no mention of the book, and I thought it wisest to feign ignorance.

“I beg of you. If you have any idea where it can be found, you must get it to me before the Court of Proprietors meeting. Ellershaw cannot be allowed to have it.”

It was a convincing performance on his part, and I confess I felt a moiety of compassion for him. But a moiety only, for I did not fail to recollect Mr. Franco in the Fleet, and though Cobb might be a pathetic figure at the moment, he was still my enemy.

“You must tell me about this book. I know nothing of it. Indeed, sir, I resent you sending me upon this quixotic quest, chasing after a man of whom I may not speak, and now, I discover, in search of a book no one has mentioned. Perhaps I might have been done with you already if you had only told me of this book.”

He looked into the black of my window. “The devil take it. If you have been unable to find it, it cannot be found.”

“Or,” I suggested, “perhaps, if Ellershaw knows what this book is and why you value it, he has it already, possessing the advantage of knowing it when he sees it. I cannot even say that I have not held this book in my hands, for I know nothing of it.”

“Do not torment me so. Do you swear you know nothing of it?”

“I tell you I remain ignorant.” It was an evasion, but if Cobb noticed it, he gave no indication.

He shook his head. “Then that will have to do.” He rose from his chair. “It will have to do, and I will have to pray that things stand as they are until the Court meeting.”

“Perhaps if you told me more,” I suggested.

He either did not hear me or could not. He opened my door and took himself from my home.

WHEN I ARRIVED at Craven House the next morning, I was informed at once that Mr. Ellershaw wished to see me in his office. I was fifteen minutes late, and I feared he might use the opportunity to chastise me for my failure to observe form, but it was nothing of the kind. He was in his room with an officious-looking younger man who held a measuring tape in his hands and a dangerous-looking bunch of needles in his mouth.

“Good, good,” Ellershaw said. “Here he is. Weaver, be so kind as to let Viner here measure you, would you? This will be just the thing. Just the thing for the Court.”

“Of course,” I said, stopping in the middle of the room. In an instant, the tailor was whipping the measuring tape about me as though it were a weapon. “What is this for?”

“Arms up,” said Viner.

I raised my arms.

“Worry not, worry not,” Ellershaw said. “Viner here is a miracle worker, are you not, sir?”

“A miracle worker,” he agreed, mumbling the words through his pins. “All done here.”

“Very nice. Now be off with you, Weaver. You’ve something to do, haven’t you?”

AADIL DID NOT SHOW himself that day, and I began to wonder if he would show himself at all. He must have known I had seen him, and now he could no longer pretend to be a disinterested if hostile worker and no more. He had played his hand too openly, and while I had no doubt he would continue to serve Forester, I suspected his days of doing so at Craven House had come to an end.

I planned that night to pursue my final unexplored link to the seemingly charming Pepper—that is to say, his Mr. Teaser, whom his Twickenham wife had set me upon. I no sooner was ready to leave the India yard when Ellershaw, once more, requested me.

In his office, again, was the very efficient Mr. Viner. Efficient, I say, because he had already managed to construct a suit based on the measurements he had taken that morning. He held out to me a neatly folded pile of clothes of light blue cast, as Mr. Ellershaw stood observing in an absurd posture, showing off a suit of exactly the same color.

I understood at once, recalling—and regretting—my own suggestion that this feminine cloth be turned into masculine suits. Ellershaw had taken my notion to heart and chosen to grab the domestic market in the only way possible, should his efforts fail.

“Put it on,” he said, with an eager nod.

I stared at him and I stared at the suit. It is difficult for me to explain just how precisely absurd he looked, and how absurd I was sure to look by his side. These cottons would surely make pretty bonnets, but a suit of robin’s-egg blue for a man—a man who was not the most absurd dandy—could hardly be imagined. And yet, as I stood there, I knew I could not very well say that such a thing was not to my taste. I could hardly turn my nose up at it, however aesthetically practical but socially and morally abhorrent.

“It is very kind of you,” I said, hearing the weakness in my own voice.

“Well, put it on, put it on. Let’s see if Viner is up to his usual good work.”

I looked about the office. “Is there some place for me to change?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re bashful. Come, come. Let’s see that suit on your back.”

And so I stripped to my shirt and stockings and put on over them this monstrous blue suit. And as much as I disliked the thing, I had to be impressed with how well such a hastily constructed thing fit.

Viner circled around me, tugging here and pulling there, and finally turned to Ellershaw with evident satisfaction. “It’s very nice,” he said, as though praising Ellershaw’s work rather than his own.

“Oh, indeed. Very nice indeed, Viner. Your usual fine work.”

“Your servant.” The tailor bowed deeply and left the room, dismissed by some unseen cue.

“Are you prepared to go?” Ellershaw asked me.

“To go, sir?”

“Oh, yes. These suits are not meant for private enjoyment. Hardly does us any good at all, now, does it? We must be seen. We are going out to let London have a look at us in these clothes.”

“I had a rather urgent appointment tonight,” I began. “Perhaps if you had mentioned this earlier, but as things stand now I’m not sure I can order—”

“Whatever appointment you have, you should be delighted to miss.” He said it with such confidence that for an instant even I didn’t doubt it. “Good, then. Let’s be off.”

I nodded and affected an enthusiastic smile, though I felt absolute certain that I resembled a man choking to his death.

IN HIS EQUIPAGE, Ellershaw explained that we were heading for Sadler’s Wells to feast upon food and the gaze of others. He cryptically warned that I must expect there an unpleasant surprise, but when we arrived I could divine nothing unpleasant about the gardens except our own attire and the stares and sniggers we drew. Great fires had been set outside to make dining al fresco possible in the cold, but everyone chose to stay in the main house.

It was still early, but there were a fair number of people already in attendance, enjoying the expensive and not particularly good food served at such vivacious places of entertainment. I must say that our entrance sparked a great deal of notice, but Mr. Ellershaw met each open stare and sneer with a good-natured bow. He led me to a table and then ordered wine and some cheese pastries. A few gentlemen came over to greet him, but Ellershaw made no return of any friendly nature. He merely exchanged platitudes and, without bothering to introduce me, sent them on their way.

“I wonder,” I said, “if this was a terribly good idea.”

“Don’t you worry, my good man,” he said. “All will be well.”

We sat there for an hour or more, listening to a group of musicians whose bare competence strained the imagination. I lost myself in a silent reverie of discomfort until a shadow crossed over me, and when I looked up I was astonished to find none other than Mr. Thurmond before us.

“You both look absurd,” he said.

“Ah, Thurmond.” Ellershaw shifted in his seat, clearly delighted. “Please, join us.”

“I think not,” he said, but he nevertheless pulled out a chair and sat at our table. He reached over and poured a healthy quantity of our wine into his own glass. I must admit I was somewhat impressed by his casual air. “I really can’t think what you hope to accomplish. Do you imagine that the two of you can, single-handedly, create a fashion frenzy? Who among the bon ton would wear such a suit?”

“As to that, I cannot say,” Ellershaw answered. “Perhaps no one, perhaps everyone. But if you and your kind are determined to limit what we can import into this country, I think you will find that I am equally determined to prevent your measures from having any effect. It is a new kind of world trade, Mr. Thurmond, and you can no longer pretend that what happens in London shall have no influence on Bombay—or, perhaps more importantly, the other way around.”

“You are nothing but fools,” Thurmond said. “You think to save yourself with this nonsense? It shall never happen. Even if these liveries of yours were to be popular, blue suits would rule the day for but a season or two. You would have a few good years and then be no better off than you are now. You might have gained some time, but nothing more.”