The Devil's Company

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ECAUSE I WAS TIRED AND SULLEN FROM MY DIFFICULT AND ultimately unproductive night, I did not notice the dour mood when I arrived at the warehouses in the East India yard—at least not at first. It took me a few minutes to see that the watchmen and warehouse workers all were equally sullen and gloomy.

“What’s happening?” I asked one of them.

“There’s been an accident,” he told me. “In the early morning. No one knows what he was doing there; he had no business. Aadil thinks he was stealing, but Carmichael was in the west warehouse—where all the teas are kept, you know. And there was an accident.”

“Was he hurt?” I demanded.

“Aye,” the fellow told me. “He was hurt unto death. Crushed like a rat under the teas he was aiming to steal.”

TEAS.

A clever enough cover, I supposed, since whatever Forester and Aadil were up to, it had nothing to do with teas. And as there could be no defensible reason why Carmichael would have been moving crates in a tea warehouse in the small hours of the night, the only available conclusion was that he had been guilty of that most common of crimes, pilfering from the warehouses to augment his meager income.

These transgressions were an open secret and were allowed so long as no one grew too greedy. Indeed, the watchmen and warehouse workers were paid poorly because it was understood that they would augment their income with a judicious amount of socking. If their remuneration was increased, the logic went, they would sock no less, so there could hardly be anything to gain by paying them a living wage.

I remained stunned for long moments, standing still while men rushed about me. I broke out of my malaise when I saw Aadil pass by: I reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Tell me what happened,” I said.

He met my gaze and let out a laugh. How ugly his already unpleasant face grew when he wore a mask of cruel mirth! “Maybe you tell me. You overseer of watch.”

“Pray, don’t be petty. Tell me.”

He shrugged. “Why Carmichael here last night, I wonder? He where he not supposed to be. He doing what he not supposed to do, taking tea for himself. Maybe in hurry, afraid he get caught. Take chances. Get crushed.” He shrugged again. “Better than be hanged, yes?”

“Let me see the body.”

He looked at me quizzically. “Why for you want see it?”

“Because I do. Tell me where they’ve taken it.”

“Already carried away,” he said. “I know nothing where. Coroner, maybe. Family? No one tell me. I no ask.”

It was only with the greatest restraint that I was able to have this conversation. I had no doubt that Aadil had killed Carmichael, with Forester’s implicit or explicit approbation. Yet these were suspicions, conjectures I could not prove, and in the end they mattered little. All I knew was that Carmichael had acted for me and had died for his trouble, and I was powerless to see justice served on his behalf.

Lest I betray my emotions or reveal that I knew more of the matter, I walked away, heading for the interior of Craven House.

Did Aadil suspect my involvement? He kept secrets from me, but that was to be expected. Still, Carmichael had violated the sanctum of the secret warehouse only after I had come to work there. Forester knew I was working for Ellershaw and he mistrusted Ellershaw. Why did they not come after me? There was certainly no good reason to believe they would not, simply because they had not yet done so.

It was now more urgent than ever that I find out what Forester was keeping in that warehouse or, since we had discovered the banality of the room’s contents, why he was keeping it. Thus, with no useful outlet for my rage, I pursued the matter the only way I could imagine doing so—I went to speak to the accounts keeper, Mr. Blackburn.

He was in his office, scratching away at a piece of paper, hunched over it as his ink-stained hand whipped pen along page. He looked up after a moment. “Ah, Weaver. I presume you are come to inquire as to the means of replacing your lost worker.”

I shut the door behind me. “I had nothing so mercenary in mind. Carmichael was my friend, and I am not so eager to see his place filled.”

He looked at me with his puzzled expression, the one he always wore when not busy with his documents. It seemed to me that he could not imagine anything as uncomfortable or messy as friendship.

“Yes, well,” he managed, after a moment, “even so, schedules have to be ordered, hmm? The yards must be watched. It would be a foolish thing to let sentiment interfere with what must be done.”

“I suppose it would,” I said, taking a seat without being invited to do so.

It was clear to me, painfully clear, that Blackburn wanted nothing so much as for me to leave, that he might go back to whatever banal task absorbed him, but I would not have it. Indeed, his discomfort might only serve to make him speak in a less circumspect manner than was, perhaps, his wont.

“May I speak to you in confidence?” I inquired. “It is of a delicate matter, and one that involves a particularly unorthodox use of Company grounds and Company resources.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. He had set down his pen and was absently blotting the page while he looked at me. I had as near his full attention as I could reasonably expect.

“I hope I might have your confidence, sir. I should hate if my interest in righting something sloppy should be visited upon me with something so unfair as losing my post. You understand, sir, I trust. I want to do the right thing and make sure there is nothing amiss in the warehouses. Still, when there are powerful men involved, it is not always easy to be sure the right thing is in one’s best interest.”

He leaned forward, stretching his narrow frame across the desk like a turtle stretching its neck out of its shell. “You need not worry on that score, Mr. Weaver, not at all. You may speak in the strictest confidence, and you have my word that I shall not speak of what you say to anyone, not without your leave. I trust that is sufficient.”

It almost was. “I should very much like it to be,” I said, with some uncertainty. “Still, there is a great risk to me. Perhaps it would be wise if I came back when I knew more. Yes, that would be better.” I began to rise.

“No!” The word was not an order but a plea. “If you know something, we must resolve it. I cannot endure that there should be something amiss, some wound left untended, rotting upon the body of the Company. You do right, sir, in wanting to address it. I promise you, I shall do nothing you do not wish me to do. Only you must tell me what it is you know.”

It was so very odd, I thought. Here this clerk doted upon the Company as though it were a favored lapdog, or even a lover or a child. Had I not told him, he would have been driven mad by the unreachable itch, and yet he had nothing personal to gain from the intelligence, nothing personal to gain from correcting whatever impropriety to which I might allude. He was merely a man who liked to see geegaws aligned, be they his geegaws or a stranger’s, and would stop at nothing to correct an aberration.

I cleared my throat, wishing to speak in a roundabout way so that I might make his torture all the more exquisite. “Last week, Carmichael spoke to me of an impropriety. I thought the matter of little urgency and would have pursued it at a more leisurely pace, but—as you can see—I am no longer free to pursue it with him at all. And while he considered the matter of little moment, I—well, I think you understand, Mr. Blackburn. I believe we are in that way alike. I do not wish this thing to go unattended forever.”

I continued to avoid the topic, not only to further torment Blackburn but also because I wished to make it clear that I did not regard this issue too seriously. I in no way wanted to imply what I truly believed, that Carmichael had been killed over whatever I was about to say.

Indeed, he followed quite well. “Of course, of course,” he said, waving his hand at me as I spoke to further my speed of revelation.

It was time to get to the meat of it. “Carmichael mentioned to me that there was a portion of one of the warehouses, I cannot recall which one”—again, this seemed to me the best course—“in which calicoes were being secreted away by one of the members of the Court of Committees. He said these crates arrived in the dark of night, and great care was taken to be certain no one knew about them: that they were there, what they contained, or in what quantity. Now, I am not one to question members of the Court, but as overseer of the watch, the practice of regularly superseding our scrutiny struck me as troubling.”

It struck Blackburn as troubling as well. He leaned toward me, and his hands twittered in agitation. “Troubling? Troubling indeed, sir, most troubling. Secret stores, hidden quantities and qualities? That cannot be. That must not be. These records have three purposes. Three, sir.” He held up three fingers. “The establishment of order, the maintenance of order, and the securing of future order. If some men think they are above documenting their actions, if they may take and add at their own whims, then what is this”—he gestured to the vast stores of papers about the room—“what is all this for?”

“I had not thought of it from that perspective,” I said.

“But you must, you must. I do this work so that at any time any member of the Court may come here and know all there is to know about the Company. If someone chooses to run wild, sir, there is no point to it. No point to it at all.”

“I believe I understand you.”

“I pray you do. I pray it most earnestly, sir. You must tell me more of this. Did Carmichael say anything to you of which member of the Court might be acting so recklessly?”

“No, nothing of that. I don’t believe he knew himself.”

“And you don’t know which warehouse.”

Here I decided I would be wise to retrench. After all, I had to give the man something on which to base his inquiry. “I believe he might have mentioned a building called the Greene House, though I cannot be certain.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Bought from a Mr. Greene in 1689, I believe, a gentleman whose loyalties and preferments were too closely bound with the late Catholic king, and when he fled, Mr. Greene did not long linger. The Greene House has generally been used as a storage facility of, at best, tertiary importance. Indeed, it is scheduled to be brought down and replaced in future. If a devious man wished to hide something within the yard, that might well be the place to do it.”

“Perhaps you can find some records,” I suggested. “Manifests and such like. Something that will let us know who is misusing the system and for what purpose.”

“Yes, yes. That is the very thing. It is the very thing to do. This sort of irregularity must not be countenanced, sir. I shan’t turn a blind eye, I promise you.”

“Good, good. I am glad to hear it. I trust you will let me know if you discover something.”

“Come back later today,” he mumbled, already opening a massive folio that spewed out a storm of papers. “I shall have this problem solved, I warrant.”

IN CRAVEN HOUSE ITSELF, the mood was black among the servants. Carmichael had been well liked, and his death darkened everyone’s spirits. I was passing through the kitchens to attend to my duties on the ground when Celia Glade stopped me by placing her slender fingers around my wrist.

“It’s very sad news,” she said quietly, not bothering to affect her servant’s voice.

“Indeed it is.”

She released my wrist now in favor of my hand. I confess I had a difficult time not pulling her close. The sight of those great eyes, her shining face, her scent. I felt my body rebelling against my intellect, and despite the cruel violence of the day I longed to kiss her. Indeed, I believe I might have done something as dangerous as that had not a pair of kitchen boys entered at that moment.

Celia and I parted wordlessly.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, after a black day of grumbling among the men and of my having to resist the impulse to strike Aadil in the head each time his back was turned, I returned to Blackburn’s office, hoping to find some useful intelligence. Alas, it was not so.

His face was pale and his hands trembling. “I can find nothing, sir. No records and no manifests. I shall have to order an inventory of the Greene House, discover what is there, and attempt to determine how it came and where it is destined to go.”

“And by whom,” I proposed.

He looked at me with a knowing expression. “Just so.”

“Except,” I countered, “do you really wish to pursue a general investigation? After all, if a member of the Court has gone to such lengths to hide his scheme, he may go one step further.”

“You mean remove me from my place?”

“Tis something to ponder.”

“My services have never been questioned.” A tone of desperation now entered his voice. “I have been here for six years, sir, working my way into this position, and no one has spoken anything but words of praise. Indeed, more than one member of the Court has wondered aloud to me how the Company functioned before my arrival.”

“I doubt none of that,” I told him. “But I hardly need tell you, sir, that a man of your position is at the mercy of those who stand above him. One or two unjust persons of power could undermine all you have done in the time you have toiled here. You must know it.”

“Then how do we proceed?”

“Quietly, sir. Very quietly. It is all that can be done for the nonce, I’m afraid. We must both be determined to keep our eyes open, looking for any signs of deception, and perhaps then we will be able to link this aberration to its origins.”

He gave a sullen nod. “Perhaps you are right. I will certainly do all I can to discover more, though I shall follow your advice and pursue the matter quietly, with books and ledgers rather than with words.”

I commended him for his determination and left his office; indeed, I was out of Craven House and nearly at the main warehouse when I stopped in my tracks.

The idea came upon me all at once and in such a rush that I nearly ran back to Blackburn’s office, though doing so was hardly necessary. He would be there, and time was certainly of no great issue. It was for myself that I ran, for I desired above all else to know at once.

I entered once more and, as was now becoming my habit, I closed the door. I sat down before Mr. Blackburn and offered him a generous smile. The impulse to bombard him with questions was strong, but I beat it back. To demand he tell me what I wanted to know might strike him as, in its own way, disorderly. I knew he did not like to speak of rough edges and puzzle pieces that did not fit, and I would have to approach the question with a certain amount of caution.

“Sir,” I began, “I was halfway across the yard when I had a sudden desire to return and tell you that I have come to be a great admirer of yours.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your gift for order, sir, and regularity. It is the very thing. You have inspired me in my work with the watchmen.”

“I am flattered by your words.”

“I say no more than what any man must acknowledge. I wonder, however, if there is more to know than what I have gleaned from our brief conversations.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, I wonder if you might spare a moment tonight, at an alehouse perhaps, to talk with me about your philosophy of order, if you will. Needless to say, as you are assuming the role of master and I the one of pupil, I shall pay your expenses most gladly.”

Though he served the Company with his every breath, I believed Blackburn understood himself an object of some derision, so he observed me most skeptically at first, but as I spoke I believe I convinced him of the veracity of my words.

“You do know that it is not permitted.”

“Not permitted?”

“The Court of Committees has forbidden clerks from attending taverns, brothels, and playhouses, for in the past they have observed that debauched behavior has led to a loss of productivity. If I were to be discovered in such a place, I should lose my position at once.”

“But surely there is a place we might meet.”

The hint of a wicked smile crossed his lips. “A tavern,” he said in a very low voice. “These things may be arranged if ordered carefully. I know the very place where we can take a pot or two at our liberty.”

I RETURNED TO MY DUTIES and observed the men of the India yards watch go about their work gloomily, as did I until three o’clock, when I received a summons from Mr. Forester. I was most unwilling to spend time alone with him, for I in no small way believed him to be responsible for Carmichael’s death, though I knew not how or, to be blunt, why. Nevertheless, he appeared to me the most likely cause of this pretended accident, and I had no choice but to act ignorant. If I were to avenge my friend’s death, I needs must play my part and let all out in the end.

I found Forester’s door open; he bade me close the door and sit.

I looked up to find him smiling on me, looking rather like a man wearing a comical mask. “You have been in Mr. Ellershaw’s personal employ about a week now, is that not right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“It is a rather unusual arrangement, do you not think so?”

I attempted to appear confused. “I cannot say what is usual or unusual here, for I have not been in attendance long enough. I can say that at times unusual arrangements are all that we have available to us, and we must make do as we can.”

Color rose to his face, and I could not but observe that he understood my allusion to his liaison with Mrs. Ellershaw. “I do not understand why your benefactor has taken upon himself and his own purse to have you manage the watch,” he said.

“I know little of internal politics, but he is a member of the Court of Committees, and so the whole of the Company is his concern, or perhaps that is how he sees it. I hardly think it strange that he should take steps to aid the Company. And as I understand it, a man in my position could not be hired until after the meeting of the Court of Committees. If Mr. Ellershaw saw an urgent need, his handling of the matter appears to me quite ordinary.”

“Perhaps so,” Forester conceded. “It may well be that this is nothing more than a matter of Ellershaw’s wisdom. I do have one difficulty with that theory, however, based on other actions, other inclinations, the man has adopted.”

“And what is that?”

“I believe Ellershaw has grown quite mad. His mind is disordered with an amorous disease. I’m sure you have heard it. Everyone knows it to be true.”

“Sometimes,” I said, with deliberate caginess, “those things everyone knows to be true are the most false things of all.”

“Play not such games with me. You’ve witnessed his behavior for yourself, I’ve no doubt. And even if you choose to ignore the signs of madness engendered by the French pox, you’ve seen that he is a slave to the betel nut, a most disgusting habit he learned from savages in India.”

“Those brown things he eats?” I asked. I chose to let down my guard, for I truly had no idea of this food.

“Yes. I am told they are most addicting, and half of India is in the thrall of this poison. It affects the body, it is said, like coffee—only more strongly; once tasted, it holds its victim in its grip forever. And it produces another side effect.”

“Madness?” I guessed.

“Precisely.”

It took a moment for me to think how I should respond to these accusations. “You appear rather determined to believe that Mr. Ellershaw is mad, and you are most desirous that I believe it too. I wish to please all members of the Court of Committees, but in this I am afraid I cannot help you. You say my benefactor is mad, but I hardly know him well enough to ascertain such a thing, for I have only known him as he is now.”

“Were you to come across a stranger howling at a flock of sheep, Mr. Weaver, you would not need to learn his life’s story nor interview his friends to know the behavior was strange, only if it was unusual for this particular man. Similarly, you should have no difficulty in evaluation by observation, by placing it in context.”

“I must restate my position that I think your observation flawed.”

“Gad, sir, did you not hear him threaten to impale an old man with a burning poker? Is that not madness?”

“He would say it was naught but strategy, and I am new enough to Craven House to know nothing different. I have seen nothing to bring me to such a conclusion. I do know that such charges can be regarded with suspicion when the man making the accusations has much to gain from the ruin of the accused.”

He leaned forward now, adopting an almost avuncular pose. “You have me at a disadvantage, to be certain, but I am not ashamed of what has transpired between me and that lady. You must not think that my accusations stem from my actions. Indeed, it is precisely the opposite. I first met that lady when I grew concerned about her husband’s behavior.”

“Again, I must tell you I have seen no just reason for these accusations.”

“Hmm. And would you tell me if you did? Pray, don’t answer. It is an unfair question, and Mr. Ellershaw is your patron. I know you to be a man of honor, sir, who does not like to betray a man who has helped you. But I beg you to recollect that your true business is to help the Company, not a single man within it. If you should see anything that would indicate that Mr. Ellershaw is not acting within the Company’s interest, or perhaps is not capable of so acting, I hope you will come to me. That is the nature of a company, after all.”

“I believed the nature of a company was making money regardless of the consequences.”

“Nonsense. The word derives from the Latin, com panis, signifying the act of baking bread together. That is what we do. We are not individual men seeking our own fortune; rather we are a collective, baking our bread in union.”

“I am delighted to learn that we engage in such useful and brotherly activities.”

“Now that you have learned, I must beg you not to encourage him with any further nonsense. Blue cloth suits, indeed. Do you believe you shall further your cause here by making him the object of public humiliation?”

“I only made a suggestion. I hardly think it of such great import.”

“Then you do not understand how impressionable his mind has become. Or perhaps you do not wish to. Mr. Ellershaw pays you, so you, I suspect, will feel an impulse to inform him of this conversation. I beg you not to do so. It is important you understand that I am not his enemy but the Company’s friend, and if he were to believe I conspired against him, the Company would suffer in the ensuing confusion. And you must know I don’t conspire against him, I merely work for the good of the Company. Someone must rise to his stature once he is gone.”

“And that would be you, I suppose. An interesting thing to say, as he has made no suggestion that he wishes to be gone. Yet you claim to act only out of concern for the Company’s interest.” I chose to nock my arrow and let it fly. “In whose interest is your congress with his wife?”

To his credit, he did not look away. “Matters of the heart cannot always be controlled by will alone. You are a man, Weaver, and must know that.”

I could not but think of Miss Glade, and for a moment I felt a true sympathy for Forester. I soon recollected myself, however, when I considered the death of Carmichael. Whatever sadness of the heart he might feel did not excuse his monstrous schemes. “I have already told you I should not like to be the one to make such a revelation to Mr. Ellershaw. And as to this conversation, I would hate to be the cause of discord within these walls, particularly while I inhabit them myself.”

He smiled at me. “You show great wisdom.”

“It is not wisdom, merely prudence. I hardly wish to involve myself in matters outside the purview of our bread-baking, despite what Mrs. Ellershaw believes. That lady accused me of involving myself in an inquiry about which I know nothing. What precisely does she think to be Mr. Ellershaw’s interest in her daughter?”

He smiled. “You are sly, sir. You tell me you have no interest in the matter, and yet you attempt to trick me into revealing information of the most delicate nature.”

“If you do not wish to speak of it, that is of no concern. I may choose to ask Mr. Ellershaw after all.”

He half rose. “You must not. I believe Mrs. Ellershaw is wrong, and her husband does not pursue her daughter, but if you speak of this, it may well awaken the sleeping beast of curiosity.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me.”

He sighed. “I will tell you only this. The girl, Bridget Alton, was Mrs. Ellershaw’s daughter by a previous marriage. Truly a striking girl, if I may be permitted to so observe. Very much like her mother—tall, with the whitest skin I have ever observed, and hair so blond as to be nearly white, yet her eyes are of the most remarkably dark brown. It made her most arresting, and we could take her nowhere without men stopping to stare. That she was attached to a family of some importance and possessed a significant settlement only increased her luster. Yet, despite these advantages, she chose to wed without her family’s permission. It was one of those sordid clandestine marriages; you know the sort. Mr. Ellershaw, though he would hardly exchange two words with her at table, flew into a rage. He promised to track the girl down and punish her, so Mrs. Ellershaw has made every effort to conceal the girl from her husband’s attentions.”

“It is a private family matter, then,” I proposed. “Nothing to do with the baking of bread.”

“Precisely.”

I thought it most expedient to act as though I believed him and thus rose and offered him an immediate bow. As I reached for the door, he called me once more.

“How much is it that Mr. Ellershaw pays you?”

“We agreed upon forty pounds a year.”

He nodded. “For a man with your varied mode of income, the regularity of payment must be very pleasant.”

I paused for a moment. Was he toying with me? Did he have some inkling that Mr. Ellershaw paid me only a fraction of what I might hope to earn if I practiced my usual trade? I had to presume not, so I merely assented and left the room.

I SUPPOSE THE DEVIL was in me, for I did not hesitate upon leaving Forester’s office to pay a visit to Mr. Ellershaw. Perhaps I wished to punish the man I believed responsible for Carmichael’s death, and perhaps I merely wished to stir up the hornet’s nest to see what emerged. No matter, I decided; I had let things stand long enough, and if I were to make progress I would need to make a move, even if it be the wrong one.

I found Ellershaw alone, and he invited me in though he was busy reviewing some lengthy documents and appeared to resent the intrusion. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

I closed his door. “Sir, I have just come from the summons of Mr. Forester.”

He looked up from his document. “Yes?”

“I believe, Mr. Ellershaw, he may mean you more harm than you know.”

I now had his full attention. “Explain yourself.”

“He wished me to confess your schemes and meanings.” I took a deep breath. “He warned me from putting my faith in you and—well, sir, he told me you were mad.”

“The devil take it!” he shouted, and slammed his hand so hard upon his desk that a bowl of tea rattled and spilled. “Damn you, Weaver, have I asked you to play tattler with my fellow members of the Court? What impudence is this? This damn Court of Proprietors meeting is breathing down my neck, I tell you. I am fighting for my very stature, and you bring me this nonsense!”

I confess his rage at me took me by the greatest surprise. For a moment, I felt the full force of his upbraiding. “I believe,” I managed to say, “that you informed me of secret committees plotting against you and the need to discover this prior to the meeting of the Court. Surely Mr. Forester’s efforts to undermine your work and reputation—”

“Quiet!” he shouted. “Enough of your palaver. I shan’t endure such disloyal talk from a mere underling. If I were in India, I should have you thrown to tigers for what you say. Have you no knowledge of what a company is, what it means to be part of a company?”

“I understand you put much stock in the communal baking of bread,” I ventured.

“Go see to your tasks,” he said to me, his voice now more quiet, his temper more restrained, though he still appeared as though he might once more roar with the least provocation. “See to your duties and I shall see to mine, and trouble me no more with your theories of secret committees and plots. If you make trouble for me, Weaver, when there is so much to be lost, you will regret it, I promise you. And replace that damned dead man, I tell you. I shan’t have any positions unfilled because there’s a fool crushed by crates.”

And so I was dismissed, that I might contemplate all the errors I had made during the day.