The Devil's Company

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LIAS SAT IN MY FRONT ROOM, HANDILY FINISHING OFF A BOTTLE of port I’d opened only that morning. He was well settled in my most comfortable chair, with his feet up, resting upon the very table I used for most of my meals.

“I’m rather unhappy about all of this,” he told me.

“I don’t doubt it,” I answered. I emerged at that moment wearing dark breeches and a dark shirt to match. I slipped into an equally dark coat—not quite a greatcoat since it was lighter than perhaps the weather demanded and clung more to my form. I could endure the cold, but I could not endure a cumbersome garment that would snag or hold me back.

“I hardly think you would want to go,” I told him. “Not that you would know how to conduct yourself if you did come along. And though you might like the sense of the adventure, you must understand there is always the risk of being caught, and I should very much doubt you would like to be sent off to prison.”

He put his feet back on the floor. “You may have a point,” he admitted, “but there are some rather nasty fellows about. What am I to do with myself until your return?”

“You may wait here if you like.”

“But I’ve finished your port,” he explained urgently.

“I do have more than one bottle.”

“Oh. Then I shall stay.”

IT HAD BEEN BITTERLY cold all day, but surprisingly nightfall brought a slight warming, and though I was dressed with less protection than I would like, I was nevertheless able to endure the chill. The sky was dark and heavy with clouds, and an intermittent sprinkling of wet snow dampened my hat and face and turned the filth of the London streets into a slick pool of kennel. Under less pressing circumstances, I might have walked carefully to avoid the streaks of mud and waste and decaying carcasses; that night I cared for nothing but keeping my step and my determination steady.

I silently prayed for luck. The meeting of the Court of Proprietors was the next day, and if I could not free Mr. Franco and take charge of Pepper’s engine plans before that, I did not know if afterward I’d be able to make matters right. In order to accomplish my goals, I would need to gain entrance to the house Cobb and Hammond had used. I had broken into my share of houses in the past, but never a fortress run by French spies. I had to believe that precautions, perhaps even traps, had been laid for intruders, and I should hate to take such chances. I would therefore have to gain the help of those who had already cracked the code.

After turning onto Sparrow Street, I stopped and surveyed the scene about me. Anyone who knew my face would be unlikely to know me at that moment. I leaned against a building, my hat pulled down to hide myself in the shadows; no hard trick when all was shadow. It was not yet ten o’clock, and some light spilled into the streets from windows or from lanterns upon passing coaches, but it was dark, make no mistake. And though the streets were far from deserted, an occasional pedestrian or coachman would prove small deterrent. That, at least, was what I hoped.

I removed from my pocket a purse and dropped it upon the ground, making sure to find an exposed stone with no filth or snow upon it. I hit my mark, and a few pennies spilled out, making the shimmering music upon which I had been depending.

In an instant I was surrounded by more than a dozen dark figures.

“Step away from your purse, you old nitty, unless you want to taste my boot.”

“I’ll step away with all my heart,” I answered, “and all the more so because it’s not my purse but yours. I am giving it to you, after all.” I raised my chin and looked full into the face of the urchin called Crooked Luke.

“Damme,” another one said. “Ain’t that the spark what took that posture-moll Edgar down a notch or two?”

“It’s him,” Crooked Luke said. He eyed me carefully, as though I might be a gift of food from an enemy with a history of using poison. “What’s this then? The clink of coin on stone was meant to draw us out, weren’t it?”

“It was,” I admitted. “I have a desire to speak with you. You may say or do as you like, you may help me or no, but the purse is yours.”

Crooked Luke nodded at one of his fellows, a small child with a running nose who appeared to be no more than seven or eight—but when he grew close, I could see he was older, though stunted in stature. He dashed forward, grabbed the purse, and retreated.

“You want us for something?” Luke said.

“I do. After our first meeting, I inquired of your friend Edgar the manservant why he harbored such dislike for you. He told me that you were housebreakers, that you had a way in and out of the house without getting caught.”

The boys laughed, none more so than Crooked Luke. “He don’t like it,” Luke agreed. “It drives him terrible angry.”

“They are particularly jealous of the security of their house,” I said, in as leading a way as I might.

Luke nodded sagely. “That’s it. We’ve nabbed a thing or two, I won’t deny it, but it’s more the fun of the game. We ain’t never taken too much since they’re always at home, and as like to fire a musket into us as not. But a few raids, savage-Indian-like, is the way, and they ain’t figured our means.”

“I wish to get in,” I said, “and I would know your secret.”

“It’s our secret though, ain’t it?”

“It is, but I have a secret or two myself, and perhaps an exchange might be in order.”

“And what secret is that?”

I smiled, because I knew I had his interest now. “Mr. Cobb is gone. Mr. Hammond will soon be gone. I have no doubt that within a day of Mr. Hammond’s disappearance, the creditors will come in and take charge. If, however, some clever young fellows knew precisely when to strike, they might move through the house taking what they liked with impunity.”

Luke exchanged looks with a couple of his fellows. “You ain’t lying, are you?”

I handed Luke a card. “If I am, come calling upon me. I will give you five pounds if I tell you false. I have come to your aid, young sir, and I hope you won’t abuse my generosity with doubt.”

He nodded. “I know a thing or two about you,” he said. “I ain’t got no cause to think you’d tell me false, and if you’ve made an honest mistake you promise to make good, so I can take your bargain.” He turned to look at his companions, who nodded in solemn assent. I did not flatter myself that they nodded in agreement with Luke’s assessment of my character, but with the anticipation of claiming the valuables of so fine a house.

“Now you will show me?” I asked.

“Aye, I will. But I hope you haven’t too much of a fondness for those clothes upon your back, for they won’t be worth much soon.”

A MAN WHO, LIKE MYSELF, has broken out of the most notorious prison in London will hardly wince at the thought of a nail snagging his breeches or some soot staining his sleeve. My greatest fear was that some secret passage sufficient for boys should prove a sad obstacle for a man, but this was not the case. Luke took me to a small house around the corner from where Cobb had lived. I could see at once it was a boardinghouse, clean and respectable—not the sort of place generally open to rascals like my friend Luke.

“Now listen good, sir, for this is our freak, and I’ll not look kind if you ruin it for us. We have made this work for some months now because the man what owns this house ain’t never heard so much as a squeak from us. So you’ll tread careful?”

“You may depend upon it.”

“And for the clearing of the house?”

“By sundown tomorrow,” I said, “if all goes as I anticipate, Mr. Hammond, Edgar, and anyone else associated with that house will be in hiding, afraid to return. Assuming,” I added, “they do not get in my way tonight.”

“What if all don’t go as you anticipate?” Luke asked.

“Then I will make conditions more to my liking. It will only take a word or two whispered about their secret nature to destroy them.”

“You mean their being French spies?” Luke said.

I stared at him. “How could you know?”

“I’ve been in the house, you might remember, and I’ve heard and seen things. I have me letters, you know.”

The boardinghouse had a door leading to the basement. I should have been able to pick the lock, but it was old and easily manipulated, and I let Luke work it for me as a means of showing I respected his command of the terrain. With that, Luke gave me surprisingly clear and concise directions. Once it was open, he bid me farewell, and the boys fled.

Inside the basement. I shut the door and, in accordance with Luke’s preference, I locked it again, lest the owners happen upon it. Then I sat upon the stairs, and remained there for ten minutes waiting for my eyes to adjust as well as I could hope. There was little light that came in through the door, but there was enough to give me a fair concept of the layout of the space, and I could find the markers Luke had so well described.

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.”

I could not speak as to Mr. Hammond’s ability to extract information. I could, however, rejoice that Edgar had just now told me precisely what I wished to know: Hammond was still asleep.

“Has anyone ever observed,” I asked, “that you look remarkably like a duck? The truth of the matter is, I have always been kindly disposed toward ducks. When I was a boy, a good-hearted relative brought me one as a present. And now, years later, I meet you, the very image of that duck, and I cannot help but think that we ought to be friends. Come, let us set down our weapons and go find ourselves a pond where I may eat bread and cheese by the shore and you may paddle upon the waters. I shall be happy to toss you bits of crust.”

“Shut your foul mouth,” he snapped. “Hammond will be able to question you just as effectively if you have a lead ball in your leg.”

I did not doubt it. “One moment. There are three facts about the life of the duck that I consider to be of great importance to the matters at hand. First, the female duck makes for a particularly tender and caring parent. Second,” I began, but the truth was I did not have a second point. One point sufficed, for I deployed the advice of Mr. Blackburn, who had instructed me upon the rhetorical device of the series. Having informed Edgar that there would be three points, I knew he would remain in expectation of the remaining items. Thus I had the opportunity to surprise him with something else.

In this case, I surprised Edgar the servant and French spy with a powerful blow to his stomach. In my fanciful thoughts, a blow to the nose or mouth, one likely to produce blood and flying teeth, would have been more satisfying, but a blow to the stomach produces the reflex of doubling over. And that meant that even if he managed to fire his pistol, he would be firing down rather than forward.

As it happened, he did not fire, and though he did not let the pistol fall from his grasp, I had it out of his hand before he had even reached the ground. I slipped it into my pocket and, just as Edgar began to push himself upward, I leveled a kick, this time to his ribs. He slid a few inches along the floor and dropped his dagger, which I collected and quickly used to cut several lengths of rope from his bed canopy. These were used, as my practical-minded reader might guess, to bind Edgar’s feet and hands. During this process I leveled a few more blows to his abdomen, not out of cruelty or malice, but because I wished to keep him unable to call out until I was able to gag him.

At last I cut a swath of cloth, which I used to do just that. When he was fully incapacitated, I stood up and towered over him. “The ironic thing,” I said, “was that you originally observed that I would not be able to quip my way out of my predicament. Now, as for your fate, I see no need to do much at all with you. You perhaps wonder if I will inform the King’s Messengers that you are here. The answer is, I shall not. Crooked Luke and the rest of the boys will be having their way with this house at some point tomorrow, and I shall leave them to deal with you.”

Edgar grunted and struggled against his bonds, but I affected no interest as I left him.

ONE FLOOR UP and into the bedroom. Events went quickly and smoothly. As promised, Hammond was asleep, and it took no great effort to overpower him. I held his chin in one hand and pressed the tip of Edgar’s blade into his chest with the other. It was deep enough to draw blood and to hurt, quite badly from the look upon Hammond’s face, but no more than that.

“Give me the plans,” I said.

“Never.” His voice remained calm and even.

I shook my head. “Hammond, you chose to employ me. You knew who I was when you brought me into your scheme. That means you know what I am willing to do. I will cut off fingers, gouge out eyes, extract teeth. I don’t believe you are made of stuff to endure these torments. I shall count to five, and then we will find out.”

And so we would have, and he must have known it, because he did not even wait for me to begin my count. “Under my pillow,” he said. “It hardly matters if you have the original. A fair copy is already out of the country and, with it, the power to destroy the English East India Company’s textile trade.”

I chose not to tell him that his copy had been intercepted and that he now surrendered the last hope of his mission succeeding. Instead, I set the blade down, kept a cruel grip on his face, and reached under the pillow to retrieve the rough calfskin volume—an octavo much like the one I had already seen. It was, according to one of his widows, the sort of book that Pepper favored, and a quick flip through, to observe the many schemes and intricate details, told me this was precisely the thing for which I had been searching.

Hammond, however, showed an unexpected display of strength. He quickly maneuvered away from me and then darted to the other end of the room. I slipped the book into my pocket and removed a pistol, but in the dark I could not guarantee much in the way of aim. The fact distressed me but also offered me some comfort if it was a pistol that he himself was after.

I moved forward and caught a better look at my adversary. He stood in the darkness, his night clothes draped around him loosely like the ethereal nimbus of a spirit, and his eyes were wide with terror. He raised his arm and for a moment I thought he brought forward a pistol. Indeed, I nearly fired before I saw it was no weapon but only a small glass vial.

“You may shoot me if you like,” he said, “but it will answer little. I have already died, you see.” The vial fell to the ground. I suspect he should have liked a dramatic shattering of glass, but instead there was only a weak bounce.

I have been called a cynical man in my life, and perhaps it was unkind of me to wonder if he merely pretended to have swallowed poison. I would certainly take no chances on that score.

“Is there anything you wish to tell me before you meet your maker?” I asked.

“You blockhead,” he spat. “Can you not discern that I have taken this poison so that I can’t be made to tell you anything?”

“Of course,” I said. “I ought to have considered that myself. Perhaps, in your remaining time, you would like to offer an apology? An encomium upon my virtues?”

“Weaver, you are the devil himself. What sort of monster mocks a dying man?”

“I have little else to do,” I said, keeping the pistol trained on him. “I cannot take the chance that you are tricking me and have taken no poison at all, and I can hardly engage in cold-blooded murder and shoot you. I am forced to wait and watch, and I thought perhaps you might wish to use your final moment to converse.”

He shook his head and sank to the floor. “I am told it works quickly,” he said. “I don’t know how much time there is for conversation. I will tell you nothing of our plans, what we have hoped to accomplish or what we have already done. I may be a coward, but I will not betray my country.”

“Your country or the new French East India Company?”

“Hah,” he said. “You have the right of it. The days of serving one’s king with honor are done. Now we must serve his chartered companies. But if I cannot tell you of my nation, I can tell you of yours, and how you have been played for a fool.”

“And how is that?” I asked.

Mr. Hammond, however, was unable to respond, for he was already dead.