The Devil's Mask (10 page)

Carthy did not favour Thunderbolts. He preferred to take tea in Corn Street instead, declaring the brew there more refined, the service more courteous, and the company altogether more edifying. I knew this was a ruse to allow me a bolt-hole away from my lodgings and workplace, both of which were, after all, set squarely beneath his roof. So when, the morning after Edie's reading, my coffee bowl leapt to the smack of a newspaper thumped down upon the table over which I was hunched, I looked up expecting to see Mary – who had grown altogether more
direct
with me of late – and not my employer's looming face. I had never seen those eyebrows as fiercely dipped, or his brow as furrowed.

‘What did I do?'

‘Read it!' Carthy fairly shouted.

I looked at the folded page of newsprint. Carthy had scratched a square in ink around a paragraph of text which, with its familiar tone of gleeful despair, proclaimed further corruption in the city. A lawyer, this time, stood accused of misappropriating client funds. It took a second before Carthy's name hit home, and my first impulse, on making the connection, was to laugh out loud.

‘What is this?'

‘It's no joke!'

‘But –'

‘I –
we
– stand accused just as it says. While you were out yesterday, I received the news first hand. Bullivant's boy delivered the letter in person.'

Again I fought the urge to smile. ‘But … Bullivant! It's transparent. His grudge is common knowledge.'

David Bullivant had invested in the
Hopewell
, a ship which sank while returning from the Indies that spring. The merchant's share in the lost vessel was uninsured; pressed for funds, he'd taken a gamble. In subsequently casting around for somebody to blame for this ill fortune, Bullivant had instructed Carthy to investigate the possibility of suing his partners. He alleged that they had been responsible for overloading the ship, but we could find no evidence of this. Not liking our advice, the man had refused to pay for it. Now, it seemed, he was claiming we'd stolen the money he'd advanced us on account.

Carthy dragged a three-legged stool out from under the table and sat down heavily. He knotted his fingers together forcefully enough to raise tendons in the backs of his hands.

‘I prepared Bullivant's fee note myself,' I explained. ‘He hasn't yet settled it. Should anyone take a moment to inspect the file, they will see that he stands in debt to Carthy and Co., not the other way around.' My words were ineffectual as flakes of snow swirling seawards. I went on regardless. ‘We informed him repeatedly –'

Carthy lowered his head. ‘No, no, no,' he said.

‘But –'

‘Where were you yesterday?'

‘Nobody will take this seriously!'

‘Why were you not at work?'

‘It's a stunt. He's been put up to it.'

‘Of course he's been put up to it! I know that!' Carthy's knuckles bulged. ‘Don't be so literal-minded, Inigo! I asked you a question.'

To feel protective of my mentor was a reversal of Copernican profundity: I could not hoist its implications on board immediately. Better, instead, to concentrate on the injustice at hand than add further to Carthy's concerns. Taking responsibility in this way would be exactly what he would want. If Carthy knew I had been threatened he would not let the matter lie, and I had determined to do just that.

‘Dead ends,' I said. ‘I was chasing down the last leads in the Dock Company investigation. The books need balancing, monies are owed, we know as much. There's nothing untoward about the
Belsize
, not that I can see, at any rate. I was engaged in confirming that yesterday.'

Carthy's hands had stopped working at one another. He looked away from me and said, ‘Really.'

‘Yes. And I imagine we should inform Mr Orton. He asked for a written report: I'll have you a draft today.'

Mary now arrived at the table to take Carthy's order. She bent to wipe down the table before asking what he wanted to drink. Her hand was red, her forearm pink; the cloth worked hard circles around the fretted oak tabletop, and her hip brushed against my shoulder as she raised herself upright. She was suddenly infuriating. I barked, ‘Tea!' and waved away her nod at my empty cup. Her hip knocked my arm more forcefully when she spun to go. Carthy studied me as my thumb traced cloth-wiped circles across the black wood tabletop.

‘So you're also of the opinion that this clumsy attempt to besmirch our name is connected to the case,' he said.

I protested: ‘I didn't make such a connection.'

‘You should have. Because that's what this is.'

‘No. Bullivant is of no interest to Orton.'

Carthy shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

I went on. ‘I've not seen his name connected to the WTC.'

Carthy's thumb and fingers spread out to grip and knead his temples. They then slid inwards again, running across the grain of his eyebrows, which bristled like cat fur stroked backwards. He appeared more resigned than angry, disappointed by a shallowness he'd perceived in me. This stung, but I could say nothing. I saw full well that the WTC might seek to undermine Carthy & Co. via an unconnected third party, but I didn't want to admit as much, because doing so would mean acknowledging the wider web of my concerns. I hung my head. Carthy would be outraged if he heard I had been accosted. Far from retreating on the WTC and the
Belsize
, he'd raise a stink.

Carthy spoke patiently. ‘Of course he's not on the WTC's books, Inigo. An overt link is the last thing the Company's members would want. But – in this town especially – everything's intertwined. Tell me you understand that, please.'

Mary arrived with Carthy's bowl of tea. The waitress was standing close to me again. When she bent forward with the milk jug, I could not help but notice the heaviness of her chest. That bare forearm, too, braced against the tabletop. She stood up and wiped her hand against her apron and I looked away. The babble of customers dropped for a moment;
I fancied I could hear Mary exhale. I looked up to see her … looking back at me. Her tongue appeared to be pressed into her cheek. ‘Enough!' I growled. ‘For God's sake. We're talking here, Mary. Leave us be!' Without rushing, the waitress walked away. I concentrated on the window, trying to gather sensible thoughts. It had begun to rain outside; the frontage opposite the coffee house had darkened oppressively; it seemed the sky had lowered itself like a lid upon the rooftops. The two of us sat in silence in the gathering gloom. Of course I understood the intertwining Carthy was pointing to, and the real likely motive behind Bullivant's claim. Like the rain, spearing down now, greasing the cobbles, it was irrefutable. But as my chances of denying the connection receded, I found myself all the more compelled to stick to my guns.

‘Bullivant's an ass. You know that better than anyone: it was your advice he refused to take. This assault is entirely within the ambit of the man's character, or lack of one. He's clutching at straws as he drowns.'

‘It's unlike you to speak to someone in that manner.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You were rude to the serving girl. Why? It betrays something.'

I felt an uncomfortable heat gather within my chest. I reached to my brow and looked down, attempting to shield my face from view as the warmth wound itself up my neck. I had to say something … anything … to regain my footing within the conversation.

‘Rude? I was straightforward. We're talking. She was loitering. It's the truth!'

The look Carthy gave me, eyebrows furrowed, a forced
smile, straddled incredulity and disappointment. ‘I see,' Carthy repeated. ‘So your counsel would be to scale down the Dock Company investigation –'

‘Which is what the client asked us to do!' I interrupted.

‘– and debunk Bullivant's posturing as something entirely unconnected –'

‘Squeal
conspiracy
instead and it will just appear that we have something to hide!'

Carthy drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I hear you,' he said softly. ‘But no. The Dock Company investigation goes on. We must dig deeper. If you prefer to concentrate upon your other cases, I will see to the matter myself. But you will assist me in issuing defamation proceedings against Bullivant. We must contact the news-sheet with a rebuttal forthwith. We cannot sit still here; we must attack.'

I rocked back on my stool hard enough to feel its joints creak. Outside, the rain was bouncing knee high now, raising a mist which helped veil the buildings just a few paces opposite. A similar fog had found its way between me and my mentor. It was apparent in the self-conscious manner with which Carthy was now inspecting his pocket-watch. Too closely; I sensed he was not really reading the time, but using the gesture to declare the conversation over.

Guilt swept through me. I rocked forward, but Carthy snapped the pocket-watch shut.

‘So –' I began.

But Carthy immediately cut in. ‘I must return home. Anne … has a … performance which she … has asked me …' He waved a hand as if to imply that the details were unimportant, manifestly unconcerned whether or not I
believed him, which made me all the more intent upon pretending that I did.

‘Yes, yes. Little Anne,' I said softly. ‘Her performance will transfix us all. I must not hold you back.'

When I was a boy I accidentally injured Phantom, one of Father's lurchers. The dog was a favourite. He allowed it to sleep upstairs on the end of his bed. I was roughhousing with it on the landing one morning, and slipped in my
bare-stockinged
feet upon the polished floorboards, plunging myself and the lurcher down a flight of stairs. The dog broke my fall – and a back leg. My father nursed it back to health, but Phantom never quite trusted me again. It didn't run away from my approach, much less snap at me, but from that moment it exhibited an … increased awareness, visible in the occasional shiver which ran across its shoulders when it sensed I was close by, and in the way it tracked me around the room with a wary eye, and the eighth of an inch its haunches would drop in the instant before I stroked its back. I feared a similar gap had opened up between myself and Carthy, and determined to do all I could to broach it.

A note had arrived for me while we were in the coffee shop. It wasn't one of Lilly's; her cards are a distinctive peach colour, never mind their scent. My next thought was of the poetess, Edie Dyer. But no, the spidery handwriting belonged to my youngest brother, Sebastian.

Come home
, the script read.

I set off without bothering to search for an umbrella, and slogged up the hill in the rain. My hair was matted with sweat by the time I made Bright House. My coat and hat were sodden, my boots filthy. I kicked them off at the door and left damp footprints across the tiles as I made my way to the music room. For a moment I stood outside the door listening. There was no pattern to my brother's playing; it was just so many notes strung together around pauses. I entered the room. I skirted the pianoforte and Sebastian looked up at me and smiled bleakly and did not stop playing, which irked me: had I rushed up the hill through the rain for no reason?

I spoke over the music. ‘Your note?'

‘I …' he started. ‘I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to c-cause you alarm.'

I grabbed an upholstered chair from the fireside and dragged it to the piano stool. I sat down beside my brother. Sebastian is nearly five years my junior; when I turned twelve
he was seven-and-a-half. At about that age his shyness and stuttering amounted to a pervasive twitchiness which was resistant to everything excepting my influence. When
confronted
by visitors to the house, Father's business associates, the Wiltshire branch of the family, anybody unfamiliar, Sebastian would immediately fidget himself beyond speech. Father construed this as rudeness: admonishment inevitably followed the spoiled visit. I discovered that if I stood behind Sebastian and held him still, a hand on each birdlike shoulder, thumbs pressed either side of his whipcord backbone, and whispered assurances, I could keep whatever it was that possessed my brother at bay. Little by little, Sebastian became more self-assured. The thumbs became unnecessary first, then the hands, finally the whispering; it was enough for me to stand close by to help Sebastian keep hold of himself. Music had a similarly calming influence; Sebastian gained in
confidence
through listening, more so when he learnt to play for himself. Now our conversation was underscored by the same rambling notes I'd heard on the way upstairs.

‘What's happened? You wouldn't have written unless you had cause.'

‘I was hasty. It-it's nothing.'

‘Come on now. Tell me what's wrong.'

‘Your hair is wet.'

‘I enjoyed the stroll. Rain is no more than rain.'

Sebastian's fingers swam lightly towards the higher notes.

‘What's wrong? Is it Father? John?'

The music ran uninterrupted for a moment. Then Sebastian said, ‘Yes. John and Father and work. The problem attaches to Bright & Co. A business matter.'

I kept my voice flat. ‘You want my help with a business problem.'

The piano was very quiet, high notes straddling empty pauses.

‘We have some concerns just now, that's right,' Sebastian said. ‘A d-debt or six going bad. The French war is to blame; everybody's affected, the longer the thing d-drags on … every end a false horizon. We failed to win the Adams contract. And, to top that, hopes are f-fading for the
Penny-Ann
. She will be the third ship we've backed this year and l-lost.'

‘But the last time I was here John was saying he was confident of the Adams business.'

‘After dancing with the b-bear,' Sebastian blinked. ‘I remember. But he was wrong. We lost out.' Sebastian struck a high chord a little harder and went on. ‘John took it badly.'

I could not help feeling half-pleased with this news; though I pretend otherwise, John's easy rapport with Father inspires jealousy in me. He would be appearing less perfect to the old man now.

‘John has become too f-familiar with the bottle,' Sebastian went on. ‘It makes him erratic. When Adams declined our offer, John took hold of him by the lapels and laid him across one of the n-nails, in broad daylight, before one and all. He had to be dragged off.'

Although this was shocking news, I knew it still wasn't the point. Sebastian went on.

‘F-father was livid. He set upon John outside the counting house, berated him before the men. But he knows the failed deal is the least of our real concerns. The r-rest of the business
is foundering. We've inadequate protection to weather this storm. Father's denying there's anything to worry about in the long term, but it's not true, not true.'

‘And you tell me all this because?'

‘B-because?' Sebastian caught my eye for a moment. ‘Because I thought you would want to know.'

All was not quite right here. I could sense Sebastian holding something back. The pale skin across his forehead appeared taut with some deeper concern. He doesn't care about business. His jagged movements and speech betokened a more personal collapse.

‘I could talk to John, or Father, if you think it would help?' I suggested.

Sebastian's fingers shivered over the keys before finding another chord.

‘N-no. It's not that. It's …' He shook his head as if trying to free an idea.

I bent close to Sebastian and in so doing saw the fine layer of dust covering the lid of the pianoforte. A realisation slid into place, clicking home like a well-oiled gun barrel snapping shut. ‘Is this about the Dock Company, Sebastian? The investigation I mentioned.
My
work?'

Beyond the dust-field stood a window through which I glimpsed the heavy moving sky.

‘W-what? No.'

I smiled, still certain I was on to something. ‘Good, because that has all fizzled out. It is not a thing anyone needs to worry about now.'

Sebastian's fingers pressed down on the keys, cutting off what sounded like the beginnings of a groan with another
chord. He overcame the tremor-blinking by closing his eyes and leaving them shut.

‘Sebastian? What is it? I'm saying Carthy and Co., the Dock Company, too, has no interest in pursuing unpaid duties. Not now at least.'

I stood up and moved behind the piano stool, took hold of my brother's shoulders, a knot of shivering in each hand. I pressed a thumb either side of the ridge of his backbone. He hung his head and played another, gentler, chord.

‘I'm glad if that's the case,' he said.