The Devil's Company

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.”

“In matters of trade, a season or two is an eternity,” Ellershaw said. “I disdain to look farther ahead than that. Indeed, I live from one meeting of the Court of Proprietors to the next, and if the world be damned in six months, I care nothing for it.”

“That position,” he said, “is an absurdity—much like your suits.”

“Think what you like, sir. You may choose to defy the Company if you wish. For all I know, that is the only thing that will continue to get you elected to your seat. But we shall see who survives longer, the East India Company or your desiccated wool. Oh, I daresay. Is that young man coming in not the duke of Norwich’s heir? And, I do believe those cheerful friends he’s with are the very toast of the world of fashion.”

Thurmond turned to look, and his jaw fell open with surprise and even something like horror. Here came Ellershaw’s Holy Trinity, his fashionable cadre—all handsome and self-satisfied young men—with an equal number of young ladies about them. Each one wore a suit made out of blue India cotton. The ladies, too, wore gowns of blue India cotton, so that they moved together in a great azure swirl. The entire assembly hall glanced over to them and then back to us, and I understood at once that though we were regarded as objects of derision when we first entered, we now became objects of envy.

Ellershaw nodded with satisfaction. “Every man in this room is now thinking of how he can best reach his tailor to have one of these suits made up.”

Thurmond pushed himself away from the table. “It is but a temporary victory,” he said.

Ellershaw smiled. “My dear sir, I am a man of business, and I have spent my entire life with the knowledge that there is no other kind.”

THE REST OF THE EVENING, Ellershaw remained in high spirits, claiming that this was the very thing, that the Court meeting would present no obstacles now. I thought it rather optimistic, but it was nevertheless easy to see why he felt such enthusiasm. We were the very height of attention, with no shortage of pretty young women and strapping young sparks taking their turn to come over and share some insipid thought. As Mr. Ellershaw basked in his success, it was no difficult thing for me to excuse myself, alluding only to a great fatigue.

I immediately went home to change into something plainer and less conspicuous. Then I once more made my way outside and to a hackney—this time to near Bloomsbury Square, where Elias made his home.

Since Cobb had made Elias’s fate dependent on my behavior, I had not risked a visit, but as Elias was now working for Ellershaw as well, I believed a single trip of this nature was an acceptable risk. And I wished, to whatever extent I could, to resolve all remaining questions this night.

I was met at the door by his very kind and attentive landlady Mrs. Henry, who welcomed me inside and offered me a seat and a glass of wine. My hostess was a very attractive woman of perhaps forty years or more, and I knew that Elias maintained a special, if not amorous, friendship with her. The two of us rarely shared an adventure, at least an adventure of the nonribald variety, that he did not repeat to her. I feared then that she would hold some sort of grudge against me for having so troubled Elias with my difficulties, but if there was anger in her heart, she showed none of it.

“Your offer is very kind, madam,” I said with a bow, “but I fear I haven’t the time for pleasantries. There are matters to which Mr. Gordon and I must attend, and if you would be so good as to fetch him, I would be most indebted.”

“I am not entirely certain that fetching him is convenient,” she told me.

“Oh, I should be very happy to go abovestairs myself, Mrs. Henry. You hardly need trouble yourself, if you have some other matter—”

I stopped because I observed that Mrs. Henry’s ears had turned the color of ripe strawberries. When she saw that I saw, she coughed delicately into her hand. “Perhaps you would care to share a glass of wine,” she tried again.

I attempted a gentle smile, one that would not suggest I was immune to the scandalous nature of Elias’s conduct but rather that his nonsense surprised me no longer. “Madam,” I said, “though it may not be comfortable for you to disturb him, I can assure you he will take no umbrage if I fetch him myself.”

“I am not entirely sure he will take it kindly,” Mrs. Henry said softly.

“Oh, you may depend upon his taking it most unkindly, but it must be done for all that.” I bowed once more and ascended to Elias’s rooms.

Once I was at the top of the stairs, I pressed my ear against the door—not to satisfy any prurient curiosity, you must understand, but because if I were to interrupt I should hate to do so at the wrong moment. I heard nothing that would tell me one way or the other if this was a good time. So I knocked on the door, firmly enough so that my friend would know this was an urgent matter, but not so firmly that he would throw on a pair of breeches and a shirt and climb out his window—a maneuver he had deployed on at least two occasions to my knowledge when attempting to elude some pesky creditors.

For a moment nothing, and then shuffling noises and a creaking of hinges. The door opened just a crack, and one of Elias’s wary brown eyes peered out from the gloom of the chamber. “What is it?” he asked me.

“What is it?” I repeated in disbelief. “What it is is that we have much to do. You know I hate to interrupt your dalliance, but the sooner we put all this business behind us, the better off we shall all be.”

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt at all,” he said. “But tomorrow is much the better day for me.”

I let out a snort. “Really, Elias, I understand your need to pursue your pleasure, but you must understand that now is the time to set those needs aside. We must act tonight. Cobb will be laying new demands on me tomorrow, you may depend on it, and I’ve already told him far more than I would wish. We must see what we can learn of Absalom Pepper and his connection to this Teaser fellow—”

“Hush!” It came out as a bark. “You need not speak of it here. I know all their names. Very well, Weaver, if it is of such urgency to you, go wait at the Rusted Chain just around the corner. I’ll be there in one half of an hour.”

I snorted once more. Elias’s half hours, when he was breaking free of an amour, had been known to stretch for two hours or more. It was not that he was irresponsible, of course, merely that he was inclined to be forgetful.

Elias and I had been friends for some years, and I knew his ways well. He would not bring a whore back to his room, for fear of offending Mrs. Henry (who, over time, had become increasingly less shocked by Elias’s behavior), but neither would he bring a woman of any stature—who would find his rooms disagreeable and the openness of their amour compromising. So, in his bed right now would be some actress or tavern girl or tradesman’s daughter, a woman of enough standing that Elias could walk with her down the street without attracting hoots, but not so much that she would refuse to walk with him at all.

Knowing all this as I did, I therefore took a bold if not entirely unprecedented step. I shoved myself against the door, knocking Elias backward. Not hard, mind you, but merely with the intention of jarring him out of his refusal.

Elias was, to my surprise, fully dressed, not even having removed his waistcoat. I must have shoved harder against the door than I’d intended, because he stumbled backward and fell on his arse.

“Have you lost your senses?” he cried out. “You must get out of here at once!”

“Sorry to shove you so hard,” I said, hardly able to contain my grin. This would take more than the usual pot of ale and chophouse meal to mollify, I saw, but there was nothing for it. Undaunted, I turned toward the bedroom, but circumstances required I take no steps in that direction. The lady resided not therein but rather in one of his comfortable sitting chairs, her delicate fingers around the stem of a goblet.

Her fingers trembled ever so slightly, as did her lips. I saw, even in the diminished light, that she struggled to appear unaffected by the scene, but something had overcome her, though I knew not if it were shame, fear, or anger.

“I would offer you a seat,” she said, “but it is not my place to play the hostess.”

I could neither move nor speak but only gape like an idiot, for sitting upon that chair was Celia Glade.