A Spectacle Of Corruption

CHAPTER 23

THE SCENE at Covent Garden was scarcely to be believed. I might easily have imagined myself in Lisbon during the time of the Inquisition, or perhaps some medieval capital when the plague ravaged the lands. I wanted to see the events for myself, and I spent no small amount of time in the debate of whether I ought to attend as Evans or Weaver. Though I feared Weaver might be seen, I had come to realize that every passing man did not take the time to examine the face of his neighbor to see whether or no he might be a fugitive. Evans, on the other hand, as a gentleman, might draw unwanted attention from the election roughs, so Weaver won the day.

I marveled that a few men and light purses could so easily topple the monument of our cherished British liberties. A few stalwart voters braved the dangers, but they were mad to do so. If a rough heard him speak his party at the polling booth, the elector would at once be pulled out and pummeled. Then the opposing men would make themselves known and raise their fists to the offenders. Spectators gathered around to observe the festivities. The crowd was thick with oyster women and pickpockets and beggars, and I held myself a safe distance from the mayhem, not wishing to become a victim to anyone’s tricks.

In doing so I spied several men I recognized from Littleton’s gang and could conclude that Melbury had decided to take the fight to Dogmill’s doorstep. I took a bit of pleasure in this realization. For all his noble talk, Melbury was no better than the rest of them.

Nevertheless, the scene of confusion was not one I enjoyed, and after a small dead dog went flying through the air, nearly striking me in the head, I determined that it was time for me to depart the plaza. As I turned, however, I saw a man very far away that I recognized. I realized that I knew him, and his companion too, before I could think of who he was. And then it came on me all at once: These were the Riding Officers who had twice attempted to take me.

For a moment I froze in terror, certain that they had tracked me to this place and that they knew where I had taken up residence. Then I saw they were laughing and walking with the easy sway of drunkards. They were not there to follow me but to amuse themselves with the spectacle of violence. I nearly ducked away, relieved that I had seen them before they saw me. But then I had a better idea. I would follow them.

My work here was not difficult. They took themselves to a tavern off Covent Garden on Great Earl Street and seated themselves in the back, calling at once for drink. I was able to find a dark corner for myself that gave me a fine vantage point but offered little risk of being seen. I called the barman over and inquired what these two worthies were drinking.

“They ordered wine,” he said, “but wouldn’t pay for nothing but what was cheapest. Finally settled for some very poor claret that’s a week or more vinegar.”

“Send them two bottles of your best,” I said. “Say only they were paid for by a gentleman who overheard their order and then departed.”

He looked at me quizzically. “There’s something that don’t sound right in that. Oughtn’t they to know who it is that gets them drunk? Mayhap I should tell them your proposal and let them make up their own minds.”

“If you tell anything of me, I’ll break your leg,” I said to him. Then I grinned. “On the other hand, if you don’t I’ll give you an extra shilling.”

He nodded. “Well, then. Looks like I’ll be doing some lying, don’t it?”

“There are worse fates than being bought wine by a stranger,” I said, to further soften his misgivings, but my efforts were wasted. The promise of the extra shilling had already done all that could be done.

I sat in my dark corner for the better part of two hours, slowly drinking small beer and eating some hot rolls I had the barman fetch for me from the baker around the corner. Finally, the two men rose, and rose most unsteadily. They called their thanks to the barman, and one of them approached the fellow and shook his hand. He was easily the more drunk of the two, so I set my cap at him.

I rose and followed quickly so as not to lose them, but I needn’t have rushed. They remained just outside the tavern, dropping coins and then picking them up, only to drop them once more and then laugh. I remained in the dark of the doorway and waited an infuriating five minutes while they performed this ritual and then said their toddling goodbyes. One went off, presumably to safety. The other had a much harder fate awaiting him.

I did not wait long. As soon as he departed a more trafficked street, I quickened my pace. In doing so, I made my approach louder, but I was prepared to take that risk, given the depth of his inebriation. Nevertheless, he turned, startled at the sound of my approach. He stopped and opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced whatever words he had planned with my fist.

Down he went into the muck, his fall softened only by the large dead rat that served as a pillow under his head. While he lay in confusion, I reached over and pulled his pistols from his pocket and his blade from his scabbard. I little doubted he was unprepared to use these weapons, but I saw no point in letting him try the experiment. Now he stared at me. A thin stream of blood ran from his lip, and in the darkness it looked as black as tar.

“Do you recollect me?” I asked.

I could see the drunkenness spilling out of him. “Weaver,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“I wasn’t bothering you.”

“Not tonight you weren’t, but you might recall that you’ve tried to arrest me once or twice in the past.”

“That is only business,” he said.

“And so is this. Tell me why, precisely, Riding Officers are seeking to bring me in.” I knew the answer full well, but I wished to hear it from his own lips. He hesitated a moment, so I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up to a sitting position. “Tell me,” I said again.

“It’s Dennis Dogmill that wants it,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don’t ask such things. I just do what he tells me.”

I thought about this: how to find out information that would be of use to me. “How do you know what he wants of you? How does he contact you?”

“It’s his man,” the Riding Officer said. “All the customs men meet at a tavern near the Tower called the Broken Lamp, on Thursday nights. We get paid what we’re owed, and if he’s got special instructions, he tells us then. Sometimes if it’s urgent, such as when you broke loose, we get a note, but otherwise it’s always a Thursday.”

I sensed I was getting close to something. “And who is his man?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. He don’t say his name. He just pays us. If you want to find out, you can come Thursday.”

Good advice, but how could I dare to go if he knew I would be attending? “Where do you live?” I asked. He hesitated a moment, so I kicked him in the ribs. “Where do you live?” I asked again.

He groaned. “In Mrs. Trenchard’s house off Drury Lane.”

“You know I do not work alone,” I told him. “You have been thwarted by my aides in the past and you will be again, if you don’t leave the metropolis without mentioning a word of this to anyone. You may come back in a few months, but if I see you sooner, or if any of my allies see you sooner, we shall not hesitate to burn Mrs. Trenchard’s house down about your ears and with you still in it too.” I gave him another kick to cement my point, though I don’t know that my efforts were required. “Now get away,” I said, and watched him attempt to push himself to his feet.

I then walked off slowly in an effort to show my contempt. I would not know if my warning had meant anything until I visited the tavern come Thursday.

As for Littleton, I wanted to hear from his own lips that Melbury had hired him. I could not say what this information would give me other than the satisfaction of knowing the woman I loved was married to a liar, but that seemed reason enough. I awaited him as he came out of Mrs. Yate’s house that morning, and when he turned a corner I grabbed his arm.

“Off to do some rioting?” I asked.

He flashed me his easy grin. “It’s good weather for it, I think. I guess you’ve seen me and the boys down there, giving as good as Dogmill’s boys, and then some. We might not be able to make them go away, but we can keep the odds even. Sooner or later, Dogmill will agree to a truce.”

“That’s Melbury’s thinking, is it?”

He made a face as though he’d tasted something sour. “Melbury be damned. That tightpurse wouldn’t pay for a good riot if the election depended on it, which it does.”

“What?” I demanded. “If Melbury isn’t paying you, why are you rioting? Surely it is not for the pleasure of facing off against Greenbill and Dogmill.”

“I won’t deny there is a pleasure, but it’s more than that. We’re getting paid, I can tell you, only not by Melbury. It’s a risk, you know. If Dogmill wishes, he might send us to the devil for rioting against Greenbill, but I don’t think he will. If we go, he won’t have nothing but Greenbill’s boys on the quays, and then they’ll be able to set their wages as they like. No, this way we get a few shillings in our pockets to get us through the winter, and we have a fine time as well.”

“Who pays you?”

He shrugged. “The devil, for all I know. A dapper Irishman called Johnson offered me the coin if I would take Melbury’s part. It seemed to me too fine an offer to turn away; the boys had grown restless at any rate.” He stopped to stare at me. “Now that I think on it, did you not inquire of me regarding a man named Johnson? Is this the same?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

That evening I sat in my room, staring at a book without reading. Mrs. Sears knocked on my door and told me I had a visitor, so I dusted myself off and walked into my sitting room, where I found myself face-to-face with Johnson once more. He bowed to me and then politely dismissed the landlady.

“These are fine rooms you’ve taken, Mr. Evans.”

Until he spoke my name, I don’t think I recalled that in our previous encounter, Mr. Johnson had known me only as Weaver. It was now evident that he had discovered my false persona. I had made every effort to be careful when leaving and returning to these rooms, but I had not been careful enough.

“Please have a seat,” I said, unwilling to show my concern. I offered him some port, and he took it gladly. I then poured a glass for myself and sat across from him.

“Let us be honest with each other,” I said, having in that instant decided to take the more direct approach available to me. After all, Johnson, and therefore all the Jacobites, now knew my secret. Dissimulation and caution would get me little. “You have discovered my disguise, and you wish me to know it. What do you want of me?”

Johnson laughed agreeably, as though I had just recalled something witty from a mutual past. “You’re a suspicious man, sir, though I cannot say I much blame you. Yours is a difficult situation. I shall therefore be direct with you, as you have honored me with your forthrightness. I understand you went to visit Mr. Littleton today.”

“That’s right,” I said uneasily, for I began to see his meaning.

“And you inquired of my business.”

I smiled. “I did not know it was your business until I inquired.”

“Ah,” he said. He swirled his wine about his goblet. “Well, now you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll thank you not to concern yourself with it.” He set down his glass of wine. “I understand your affairs are important to you, and I shall not interfere if I don’t have to, but you must understand that I cannot permit you to trouble yourself with what I do or to whom I speak.”

“I am not certain what you tell me. Am I to refrain from speaking to anyone lest it be an acquaintance of yours?”

“You needn’t be so dramatic,” he said. “I shall be plain with you. Leave these riots alone, sir. Leave Littleton alone. He is no concern of yours.”

“It may be no concern of mine to interfere with the riots, but I should very much like to know more of them.”

“Of course. As I have said, we’ve no desire to see you harmed or captured. While you are free and an enemy of Dogmill, you do our cause as much good as we could hope. I only wish you might clear your name by implicating Dogmill immediately. That would provide us with just the thing.”

“It would provide me with just the thing too, I assure you.”

He laughed softly. “Of course. I speak of strategy, but you speak of your life.”

“You are quite right. And you cannot blame me for wishing to understand the mechanisms behind these riots. My difficulties are directly related to this election, and I must do all I can to understand the mechanisms that work against me.”

“Of course. But we shan’t privilege you over our cause.”

“I would not expect you to. But I do not see why my inquiries disturb you. I shall keep what I learn to myself.”

“For now, you will. Let me say this, Mr. Weaver. You would not want to learn anything that might make you our enemy in the future.”

I nodded. Johnson liked that I roamed around the city making things uncomfortable for the Whigs, but he did not like the idea that I might prove my innocence and then be at liberty to speak of what I knew of the Jacobites. I had already indicated an unwillingness to side with his cause, and Johnson feared that, should I vindicate myself, I would reveal what I had learned of him and his allies to the Whigs.

“I owe you a debt of loyalty,” I said. “You assisted me in the matter of the Riding Officers, and I shan’t forget it.”

“And you will say nothing about us to the ministry once you are safe?”

I shook my head. “I don’t yet know. Should a man hold his own honor above concerns of treason?”

He appeared nothing if not amused. “You can see that I am right. You must not learn what you do not wish to know.” He stood abruptly. “I trust I have made myself clear.”

I stood as well. “Thus far you have. I cannot say I entirely understand what it is you are asking of me.”

“Then I shall be plain. I am asking nothing of you, but you must understand that we are not some gang of thieves you cross and then outwit. We have left you alone thus far, sir, because you have achieved a certain popularity, and to move against you might cause us some difficulties. But please know that if you threaten us in any way, we will not hesitate to destroy you.”

Mr. Johnson’s speeches turned out to be nothing but pretty sentiment, for the next day Mr. Dogmill’s friends in the city could no longer stomach turning a blind eye to the violence and posted soldiers in Covent Garden. Had they marched upon the rioters, no doubt great violence would have resulted, for those who would destroy and murder and rob never love to see their English liberties curtailed by that most venomous of beasts, the standing army. Fortunately, these dragoons were deployed with uncommon strategy, stationed in the piazza long before dawn, so when the porters arrived they saw they would be met with a disappointing welcome and slinked off, satisfied that they had performed their duty for more than half a week.

During that time Melbury’s lead had suffered serious attrition, but there could be no doubt it would now recover, for the sentiment in Westminster was one of dissatisfaction with Dogmill’s influence. The rioters had been a gamble, and a bold one, and the Whigs had hoped to ruin the Tories’ lead. But it had only strengthened their cause, and for that I was grateful. I now had little doubt that once Melbury sat in the House, he would do all he could to serve my cause and send his old enemy to ruin.

As the day was Thursday, I spent my time preparing to take myself that night to the tavern mentioned by the Riding Officer. Here was a risk, for I had no choice but to depend that he had followed my advice and fled the metropolis rather than face my wrath. I would, nevertheless, take precautions, the most significant of which was that I thought it best to attend to my business as Matthew Evans, not as Benjamin Weaver. If the Riding Officer had not held his tongue, the men there would be keeping watch for an escaped felon, not a finely dressed gentleman. Of course, because they looked for me in particular, they might well see through my disguise more easily than men not seeking me out. Nevertheless, I was determined to take the chance.

For all my determination, however, I did not entirely believe I would learn very much by going to this tavern. I already knew that Dogmill bribed the Customs men. The world knew it, and the world did not care. What, then, would I discover? The one thing I hoped to learn was the identity of the agent who paid the Customs men. This person might well be Dogmill’s primary tough, the fellow who executed the violent orders. I held out the faint hope that I might that very night learn the identity of the man who had actually beaten Walter Yate to death.

I took a seat in a dark corner, ordered a pot, and hoped to make myself as unnoticed as I might. Here was no difficult task, for the Customs men busied themselves with their own concerns.

They began to arrive at eight in the evening, as they had been advised to do. I understood well how they were being used, for this was an all too common bit of treachery perpetrated upon the laboring man. On rare occasion their wages would arrive at eight as they had been promised, but most times they would not arrive until eleven, so there was nothing for them to do in the time of waiting but eat and drink. For this consideration, the tardy paymaster would receive from the tavern keeper a little something for his troubles.

After nearly two hours I grew impatient and even considered abandoning my position, but I found that my patience was well rewarded. Some few minutes after ten, a man arrived and was greeted by the cheers of the customs men. They drank a bumper to him, and after he distributed wages all around, they drank another. They even bought this fellow a drink and treated him as though he were a king in his own right rather than an underling merely performing his master’s service.

It was Greenbill Billy. The leader of the labor combination worked in the service of the very man he claimed to resist.

My meeting with Greenbill now began to make far more sense to me. He had asked me what I knew of Dogmill’s involvement, not to discover for himself but to measure my own understanding. He had urged me to take my revenge against Dogmill, not in the hopes that I would act but rather so he could report back to his master on my willingness to do so.

I now observed him among the Customs men. He was good enough to let the men buy him a few drinks, but he appeared eager to move on afterward. Though they begged him to stay longer, he tipped his cap and bid them good night. I wasted no time and was out the door after him in an instant. To my relief, he took no hackney but appeared content to walk to wherever it was he was intending to go. I might have followed him to learn where he went. I could then pursue him on my own terms at my own leisure. But I had already enjoyed my fill of waiting and deferral. I would wait no longer.

When Greenbill walked past an alley, I broke into a run and knocked him hard in the back of the neck with both my hands clasped together. I had hoped for a bit of good luck here, that he would fall face forward and not catch sight of me, and this time the dice rolled my way. He fell into the alley’s filth- the kennel of emptied chamber pots, bits of dead dogs gnawed on by hungry rats, apple cores, and oyster shells- and I pushed him down hard, knocking his head into the soft earth. Desperate for some way to maintain my anonymity, I then ripped the cravat from around his neck and hastily wrapped it around his eyes. Using one knee to keep his arms pinned, I tied the blindfold tight and only then rolled him over so that his face was out of the muck.

“You seemed mightily keen on yourself at that tavern with the Customs men,” I observed, affecting an Irish accent. I did so both to protect my identity and to create a likely fiction as to the identity of his assailant- that is to say, a Jacobite agent. “You are not so keen on yourself now, are you, my spark?”

“Mayhap not,” he said, “but at the tavern I was not blindfolded and wallowing in shit. It’s hard to be keen on yourself when you’ve got that working against you.”

“You wallow in far worse than shit, friend. I have been watching, and now I know your little secret.”

“Which one is that? I’m burgeoned with so many, you know, I doubt you can have learned them all.”

“That you are in the service of Dennis Dogmill. I believe that revelation might ruin your reputation among the porters.”

“And so it would, boglander,” he admitted, “but at least it would make it inevitable that Dogmill would find a more dignified post for me. You think to frighten me by revealing that little tidbit. Why, you’d be doing me a favor. So go ahead and do your Irish worst, Dear Joy. We’ll see who benefits and who ends up with nothing for his trouble but a dish of boiled oats.”

In a move I had learned during some of my less honorable performances as a fighter, I rolled him over and grabbed his arm, which I bent hard behind his back until he yowled quite unhappily.

“It’s the Scots that are famous for their oats,” I told him, “not the Irish. And as for my worst, well, bending your arm isn’t nearly so bad as what else I have in mind. So now that you see I’m in no mood for nonsense, perhaps you’d like to answer a few of my questions. Or do I have to give another demonstration of my earnestness?” And I pushed hard against the arm.

“What?” he shouted. “Ask me and be damned.”

“Who killed Walter Yate?”

“Who do you think, you blockhead?” he growled. “I did. I knocked the fellow over with a metal bar and killed him as he deserved.”

I remained stunned in silence. I had been seeking the answer to that question for so long now, I could hardly believe what I had just heard. A confession. An admission of guilt. We both knew I could do nothing about it. Without two witnesses, the confession had no value in a court of law, even assuming I could find an honest judge. But it meant something to me to know that I had finally learned the answer to so pressing a question.

“Did you do it under Dogmill’s orders?” I asked.

“Not in the way you mean, Teague. Things ain’t always so clear.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sucked in some air. “Dogmill said to take care of Yate, so I took care of Yate. I don’t know if he meant for me to kill him or not. I don’t know if he noticed Yate was dead or not. He only knew that a man he wanted out of the way was gone, and that was enough for him. Dogmill’s a great merchant, and to him it don’t matter if the likes of us live or die. We’re not real men to him, only vermin to be brushed away or squashed- it don’t matter which. It only matters to him that we trouble his quiet or we don’t.”

“But you killed Yate without remorse.”

“You say it was without remorse, but you don’t mitigate it for certain. I done what I had to in order to keep my place. That’s all. I can’t say it was good or bad, only that it had to be remunerated.”

“And why Benjamin Weaver?” I asked. “Why did Dogmill choose to blame him?”

If my question made him suspect he was in Weaver’s hands, he did not show it. “That I can’t tell you. I thought it an odd choice meself, and not a man I would have trifled with for no cause. But I never thought to ask Dogmill his motives. They’re his own, and I suggest you inquire yourself.”

“And what of Arthur Groston, the evidence broker, and the men who testified at Weaver’s trial? Did you kill them as well?”

“Dogmill said make it look like the Jew is out to protect himself, and that’s just what I done. It ain’t nothing more than that. It ain’t as though I had something against those sods.”

I said nothing. There was no sound but that of both our breathing, thick and heavy in the night air. There was no easy course for me now. I could not bring the man to a justice of the peace or a constable, for the route of honest procedure was foreclosed to me. It could be that an honest judge might inquire honestly into these affairs, but that seemed a fond hope. Therefore, either I could kill Greenbill for what he had done and exact my own petty justice, or I could let him go, perhaps to walk free of the crime of murder, perhaps to lead me better to a chance of clearing my name. The former seemed more satisfying, the latter more practical.

If I let him go, however, he might take himself forever beyond my grasp, and should I be recaptured and hang for his crime, the memory of this moment would be the bitterness of my last days on earth.

I relaxed my grip on him. “Go,” I said in a low voice, just above a whisper. “Go and tell your master what you have done in his name. And tell him I am coming for him.”

“And who are you?” Greenbill rasped. “An agent of Melbury or the Pretender- or both? If I am to tell him, I must know what to say.”

“You may say he will face justice soon enough. He can’t hide from me- from us,” I added, lest my indulgent speech be understood too well.

I released him and stepped back, allowing Greenbill to struggle to his feet. The arm upon which I had worked my mayhem hung limply by his side, but the other pushed into the filth so he could right himself. Once to his feet, he used his good hand to untie his blindfold, and then he scurried off. I watched him go and felt a remarkable sadness. Before I knew all the facts, I had had the hope of a wondrous discovery that would clarify everything and make my course seem certain and inevitable. I had found just the opposite, the murkiness of ambiguous orders and cowardly deeds. And I hardly knew what to do next.