The Devil's Company (52 page)

I therefore descended the stairs and carefully moved along the dirt floor of the cellar. In the far corner of the room I found, as I was told I would, an old and decrepit bookshelf with nothing upon it but some equally old and decrepit masonry jars. I removed the jars and slowly slid the bookshelf forward as instructed. Behind it was the hole in the wall Luke had spoken of, covered by a soft sheet of wood.

I had been in fear of a tiny crawl space, but what I found was a smooth cool tunnel, tall enough to walk in with only a slight slouch, wide enough that I would have been able to avoid the walls entirely if I had a light, which I lacked. I could not imagine how such a passage came to be, and it was not until many years later, while entertaining a group of friends with the tale, that a gentleman who was something of a historian of the city’s geography was able to inform me. It would seem that the large house that Hammond and Cobb leased had been built by a man whose wife’s jealousy and ill temper were matched only by her rudeness in having her separate property settled upon her. This gentleman set up his mistress in the house that now served as the boardinghouse, and the two moved about freely in the late hours of the night, when the wife was asleep. She would ask the servants if her husband had left the house, and in all innocence they could say that he had not.

I was certain that when this gentleman traveled through the tunnel he had the good sense to bring a light, but I had not. In those originary days, too, I could only suspect the walls were still somewhat clean, and perhaps even regularly cleaned. Now they had suffered much neglect, and Luke had been quite right in warning me of my clothes. Every time I bumped against the wall, I felt some new filth splatter me. I heard the scattering of rats, and I felt the sticky tangle of spiderwebs. But it was only filth, and one does not live in so great a city without growing accustomed to such things. I was determined not to let it bother me.

It took some ten minutes to travel the passage, though I don’t doubt it would have taken but a minute or two with light. I walked with one hand forward, and at last I came upon another piece of soft wood which, in accordance with Luke’s directions, I slid sideways, for this one was on a rail and moved quite easily. I then stepped forward and slid it back. I could not see how it fit, but I heard a satisfying click and had no doubt that Luke’s words were true; if you did not know it was a door, you should never suspect it.

My guides had informed me that I would be emerging within the pantry. And so, even more careful to avoid upsetting anything, I made my way to the door, opened it, and stepped out into a poorly lit kitchen.

It was a peculiarity of the house that the kitchen was in the cellar, but it fit the original owner’s needs. It hardly mattered to me. I oriented myself, and—after taking a moment to dust some of the more disturbing filth from my clothes—I began to climb the stairs.

Prior to entering the tunnel, I’d heard the watchman call the eleventh hour, so it was indeed reasonable to suppose that most of the house was asleep. But I could not even suspect what most of the house might consist of. How, after all, could Hammond and Edgar keep Mr. Franco against his will? On the other hand, I knew perfectly well it might not be physical bonds that held my friend. I, after all, had been made to do Cobb’s bidding without any palpable threat that a stranger might observe. That was, indeed, what I hoped to be the case. If it were but the two of them, I would be able to accomplish what I desired, and do so without bloodshed. If, on the other hand, there were armed men here, servants of the French Crown, things could get violent very quickly, and my chances of success were diminished. There was, however, only one way to learn. I climbed the stairs, and with a gentle twist of the doorknob I made my way into the main portion of the house.

IT WAS A LARGE HOUSE, and though Miss Glade had explained that the French agents could not risk servants, I remained skeptical that there would be no butler, no scullery maid, no laundry girl, no cook. Nevertheless, I found no one. Upon the first floor, I did as rapid a survey as I dared, measuring each step, avoiding every creak of the floor where I could. No one was awake, no one moved, and I heard nothing from abovestairs.

In what I would have earlier imagined to be Cobb’s study, I conducted as thorough a search as I could for the plans Miss Glade had described but saw no sign of the little octavo volume of the sort Pepper had been inclined to use. Indeed, it was clear that the space had been put in order, and I could find no signs that there were any private documents. Of course, having just entered the house through a private passage, I could not feel any certainty that there were no means of hiding the book that would escape my notice, but there was only so much I could accomplish in the dark of night with the necessity of quiet. Once I had Hammond in my power, I felt certain I could convince him to give me the book.

With the first floor effectively searched, I proceeded upward, wondering where it was that Edgar slept. A servant, after all, ought not to have his rooms abovestairs. I could, however, speculate on two reasons to explain the anomaly. First of all, because Edgar was the only servant, he would need to be close in case his masters—now master—had any needs in the night. The other possibility, and the one I was more inclined to accept, was that Edgar was no servant, at least not of the sort he pretended. He was, in other words, an agent of the French Crown like his masters. If that were the case, I should have to be most cautious of him.

Climbing the stairs took an inordinate amount of time, but I reached the top safely. I believed there to be three suites of rooms on the floor, and I moved to my left, following the wall carefully until I came to the first door. I slowly turned the knob, and despite my best efforts it squeaked—just a tiny gasp of metal upon metal, though to me it might as well have been cannon fire.

Prepared for the worst, I opened the door and peered inside. It was a front room—inhabited, as best as I could tell, for there were books, a half-empty cup of wine, papers upon the desk. I pushed on, therefore, and opened the next door, with slightly more luck than the first. It was quiet and I entered the room and approached the bed, inhabited by what appeared to me to be nothing more than a lump. I risked the candle, and the figure turned and moved but did not awaken, and I let out a breath of relief. It was Mr. Franco.

I closed the door that we might have more privacy. I regretted that I had to awaken my friend in a most inhospitable manner, but there was no help for it; I placed a hand over his mouth. Though I was prepared to shake him, no such effort was required. His eyes went wide.

I did not know how well he could see me, so I hastened to whisper words of comfort. “Do not cry out, Mr. Franco. It’s Weaver. Nod if you understand.”

He nodded, and so I removed my hand.

“I am sorry to have had to frighten you so,” I said, as quietly as I could manage. “I dared not risk another course.”

“I understand,” he said, as he sat up. “But what do you here?”

“Things are coming to a head,” I said. “After tomorrow these men will present no danger. Already they present no danger, but they do not know it. Yet if we are to defeat them, I must escape with something precious to them.”

“The plans for the engine,” Franco said.

“You know of it?”

He nodded. “They have made no secret of what they wanted. I feared it meant they intended to kill me when they had accomplished all they wished, so you can well imagine how pleased I am to see you.”

“Why have they kept you here?”

“Do you know who these men are?”

“French spies,” I said. “I have only just learned.”

“Yes. They wanted nothing more than to keep it a secret, but Hammond seemed to know the secret was in danger. He feared that once you discovered it, you would be able to involve the King’s Messengers or some other branch of the British government to offer me protection. Hammond is afraid of you, sir. He is afraid the matter is now out of his control, and he had nothing to keep you from destroying him, so he took me hostage.”

“But how does he keep you here?”

“He has threatened my daughter, sir. He claims to have agents in Salonica, capable of doing her harm. I dared not risk Gabriella, so instead I was forced to risk you. I pray you will forgive me.”

I put a hand upon his shoulder. “Do not be absurd. Your daughter is but one more innocent, and I could not have endured your jeopardizing her safety for my sake. You are here because of me—no, stay your words. I do not take responsibility for what these men have done, nor do I blame myself. You have been caught in my wake, and it has become my responsibility.”

“You are here, so you have acquitted your responsibility with much skill.”

“When we are all back in Duke’s Place and these scoundrels are dead or in the Tower, we may speak of that. As for now, I must get the plans for the engine and get you free. Have you any knowledge of who is in the house and where they rest?”

He nodded. “I believe that Mr. Hammond is sufficiently unimpressed with me that he does not take the necessary cautions in hiding things. I have heard him speak to his servant, Edgar, that he keeps the plans, written in an octavo volume, about his person at all times. That, I imagine, presents certain difficulties for you.”

“It does, but it also makes things easier as well. It means I do not have to waste my time in fruitless search. Now, besides ourselves, Hammond and Edgar, who is in the house?”

“No one. It is just the two of them.”

“Where do they sleep?”

“Edgar sleeps in the next set of rooms.” He pointed to my left. “I suppose it makes them believe that I feel more under their watchful eye, but that is clearly not the case. Hammond sleeps in the large bedroom on the third floor. Climb the stairs and turn right. That door will lead to a sitting room, and the door beyond that is to his bedroom. During the day, Hammond keeps the octavo in his waistcoat pocket. I do not know where he keeps it at night.”

“That shan’t concern me,” I said. “He will know, and that will be enough. Do you believe you can make your way from this house silently?”

“Yes,” he said, but there was something in his voice, some hesitation.

“You fear I might fail,” I said. “You fear that they will best me and then, if you are gone, they will take out their revenge upon your daughter.”

He nodded.

“Then stay here,” I said. “You may as well hear what transpires. I only ask that you remain hidden until I come to get you. I can well understand your desire to protect your daughter, and I am confident you can understand my desire to protect you.”

He nodded once more.

I shook his hand, this man who had stood with me in the way I had always wished my own father would have but never did. He stood by my family when my uncle died, when I lost the man who had become more like a father than any I had known. He was no warrior, and perhaps even wanting in the area of bravery, but I respected him no less for it. He was the man he was, not built for such struggles as had been visited upon him, and he dealt with them with fortitude. He fretted not about his own difficulties but worried only for his daughter. He expended far more energy in the preservation of my feelings than his own. How could I not respect him?

We embraced, and I left his rooms, determined to finish my business in this house forever.

WITH MR. FRANCO SECURED, I moved on to Edgar’s room. I opened the door very slowly and moved through his sitting room. The space was neat and spare, hardly lived in at all. At the next door I turned the handle with excruciating slowness and proceeded into the dark.

As with his sitting room, the bedroom was spare and largely unused. I stepped forward toward the bed, prepared to grab Edgar in much the same way I had grabbed Mr. Franco, though with less gentleness. But I did not grab him, for there was no one to grab. The bed was unmade but empty, and that could mean but one thing: Edgar knew I was in the house.

I turned to rush back to Franco’s room. Despite his concerns for his daughter, I saw now that my main task was to get him out of the house unharmed. There would be no time for these French agents to pursue petty revenge. They would be captured or fleeing. Gabriella could come to no harm.

When I turned, however, I found myself facing a dark figure I recognized at once as Edgar. He stood with his legs planted firmly apart, one hand raised with a pistol, the other holding a dagger of some sort.

“You idiot Jew,” he said. “I heard you come blundering in. A bear could have made less noise.”

“A large bear or a small bear?” I asked.

“Do you think to quip your way out of this predicament?”

I shrugged. “It had occurred to me to attempt to do so.”

“That has ever been your problem,” he said. “You have been so impressed with your own cleverness, you refuse to believe anyone might be clever but yourself. Now, tell me why you’ve come here. Did you come for the plans?”

“I came for you,” I said. “After visiting Mother Clap’s house, I realized that certain inclinations I possessed could no longer be denied.”

“You cannot hope to confuse me with your nonsense. I know you are here for the engine plans. You think I care for Franco? He may hide or escape as he wishes, though he should be far better off if he escapes. The question is, who sent you? How much do the British agents know? Has Cobb been taken, or did he escape? You can either tell me now, or I’ll take you upstairs. Once we awaken Hammond, he will not hesitate to make you tell him precisely what he wishes to know.”