The Devil's Company

CHAPTER SIX

DID SWEAR. TO MY MIND, THIS WAS LIKE PROMISING A MAN HIS lottery ticket would answer with a fortune. Worse than that, for a lottery, as a game of chance, can be manipulated—as I knew well—but there could be no counterfeiting a meeting with the king. Still, the promise did the business, and two nights later, I found myself in the green market to the west of the East India complex, where I contrived to busy myself in the examination of discounted cabbages—for these were the goods that had not sold that day, and the clever and unhygienic consumer could find a bargain if he didn’t mind a bit of maggot with his leaves. The air had grown quite cold over the course of the afternoon, and I ran my gloved hands over a variety of vegetables and squinted in a show of disappointment. My coat was of a better quality than any of the scavengers, and I attracted more notice than I should have liked, so I was most relieved when the operation commenced.

At only a few minutes before the striking of the eight o’clock hour, I heard a woman cry out in fear, and I knew Mr. Hale and his men had upheld their part of the bargain. Along with the other late patrons-many of whom used the distraction as an excuse to depart the premises without paying for their moldy greens—I ran out to Leadenhall Street and observed a group of some thirty or forty silk weavers standing by the premises, braving the cold in their inadequate coats. A half dozen or so held torches. Another half dozen tossed chunks of old brick or rotten apples or dead rats at the walls surrounding the structure. They shouted a wide array of criticism at this barrier, claiming the Company practiced unfairly against common laborers, contrived to lower their wages, diffused their markets, and corrupted the common taste with Eastern luxuries. There were some epithets against France thrown in as well, because the Englishman has not been born who knows how to riot without mentioning that nation.

Though many have had cause to complain about the sluggish motion of British justice and the enforcement of laws, here was a case in which a certain slowness served me in good stead. In order to make the silk weavers disperse, a constable would have to rouse a justice of the peace brave enough to stand before them and read aloud the substance of the Riot Act. At such a point, the mutineers had one hour in which to disperse before the army might be deployed to end the violence—ironically, through the use of violence. Here was an old system, but one borne out by time, and many experiments had proved that the firing of muskets into one or two of the troublemakers would send the remaining rebels a-scatter.

Devout Hale had assured me that he and his men would prosecute my cause for as long as possible before the risk of harm overtook them. They would not, in short, endure musket fire on my behalf, but they would continue to fling dead rodents for as long as they might do so in safety.

Such was the most I could request of them. If I were to attempt to be truly safe, I would need to enter the premises, get what Cobb desired, and exit before the soldiers scared away the mischief makers. I therefore made my way past the riot, feeling the heat of the burning torches and smelling the rank perspiration of the laborers, and hurried around the corner to Lyme Street. Darkness was now fully upon me, and as any perambulators would have been drawn to the spectacle of riot, and the guards within the complex would be preparing for a siege of silk workers, I felt I might scale the wall with some reasonable hope of success. Should I be discovered, I decided, I would merely explain that I was being chased by a crazed rioter who believed me affiliated with the Company, and as that organization was the source of my woes, I hoped they would be willing to be the source of my succor as well.

Because I needed to explain myself if apprehended, I could not bring with me grappling equipment, for it is the rare innocent spectator indeed who inexplicably has such engines about him. Instead, I climbed the wall in the more primitive method practiced by boys and housebreakers without expensive tools and found the climb rather easy—more particularly so as the street was deserted, any perambulators having gone to observe the mayhem on Leadenhall. During a daylight surveying of the area, I had observed numerous cracks and crevices, and these proved more than equal to the task of providing footing up the ten feet to the top. The greatest difficulty lay in climbing while holding on to the rather heavy sack I carried, containing as it did its measure of living creatures, who writhed unhappily within.

Nevertheless, I managed, occasionally shifting the weight of the sack from my hand to my teeth, and in that manner I scaled the outer wall. I then lay prone for a moment to survey the grounds. The bulk of the watchmen, as I had anticipated, had abandoned their stations and now engaged themselves in the manly art of hurling insults at the rioters while the rioters hurled carrion at them. In addition to shouting, I heard incessant metal clanging and knew the rioters had improvised drums of some sort. These were good fellows, for they knew the more distraction and irritation they could devise, the greater the chance that I might enter and exit with impunity.

Getting down the wall would prove more complicated that getting up, but some twenty feet to the south, closer to the warehouses, a hillock rose by the wall, and there the drop would be no more than half my body length, so, snakelike I slithered to that spot and prepared to enter the grounds.

At that moment the dogs observed me; some five dragon-headed mastiffs sprang forward, thunderous barks booming from their terrible jaws. As they approached, I reached for my cumbersome sack and took out the first of the rabbits I had purchased at market that afternoon. I dropped it to the ground, where, after an instant of regaining its bearings, it saw the dogs descending upon it and sped away. The advantage went to the rabbit, for the sack had kept it warm, and the dogs were visibly chilled by the coldness of the night. Three of the dogs ran off in frigid pursuit, so I dropped the second of my rabbits, and this one carried the other two beasts off with it. I retained the third, having, I suspected, further use for the creature when I made my exit.

Next, I slipped onto the soft ground, landing in a practiced crouch. I continued to move in such a fashion until I slipped between the warehouses and Craven House itself. My task would prove far more complicated now, for the grounds were lit, and though I was dressed in a sufficiently gentlemanly fashion that my appearance would not send anyone fleeing for help, I presumed that the clerks and workers inside the house would notice an unfamiliar face. I could only hope that most of these men had already left for the day—though I was made to believe that many men worked long hours for the Company—and those who remained would be watching the riot with equal quantities of amusement and concern.

I slipped through the garden, sticking close to such shadows as I could find, and opened the rear door, thinking to find myself in a kitchen of some kind. Instead, two surprises lay in wait for me. The first was that the room I entered was no kitchen but a great meeting hall, a space equal to housing some sixty or seventy men, provided they all stood quite straight and not too many were exceedingly fat. Here was where, I surmised, the Company would hold sales of shares, share exchanges, and auctions of large quantities of East India goods to fairly small numbers of wealthy men. At this time of night, the room had no reason to be occupied, so it made a most agreeable point of entry.

On the less pleasing side, the door had attached to it a bell, which alerted anyone who cared to hear that someone had entered.

I dashed immediately to a far corner and into a slim space between two bookshelves, hoping that, should anyone come into the room, even with a candle, the shadows would conceal me. No one inquired into the bell, however, and I concluded after a few minutes that the coming and going of people was not a matter to send servants running in with torches. I would like to have concluded that it meant that no one was in the house to hear the bell, but that notion was disabused by the creak of footsteps on the floor above me.

I removed my outer coat and placed down my rabbit sack, making certain it was fully closed, prepared now to make my way into the heart of the building. Mr. Cobb had been so kind as to explain to me that the office I wanted was located in the southeast corner of the second floor. He knew no more than that, however, and it was up to me to locate the stairs of this mansion. I slinked across the floor and came to a closed door, one that offered no light spilling between the cracks—a good sign indeed. Trying the handle and finding it unlocked, I opened it swiftly. I was prepared, if necessary, to impersonate a man who had every business in Craven House rather than act like the sneak thief I was.

On the far side of the room, I found another door both unlocked and showing no light. Once more I made bold to open it and now found myself in a hallway. Here, at least, was some improvement. Though my sense of direction had been altered somewhat, I believed I knew which way to find the front of the house, and there, I concluded, I would find the stairs. I had made my way about halfway down the hall when a light entered my path. The glare momentarily blinded me, but after a few blinks I saw a young woman walking in my direction with a candle. Even in the darkness I could see she was a pretty thing, with dark hair only partially hidden by her bonnet and large expressionless eyes of some dark color, though I could hardly say what. And though I ought to have had more urgent things upon my mind, I could not help but admire her womanly shape, which her plain gown might have concealed but was unable to disguise.

“Ah, there you are,” she said to me. “With those wretched rioters out there, I thought you should not be able to find your way in, but I suspect you are cleverer than I’d been led to believe.”

I almost thought to ask if Cobb had sent her, but I held my tongue. If Cobb could have inserted a woman inside Craven House to do as she pleased, he would not have needed me. No, this was something else. I said to her, “I should hate to think who has been leading you to believe me unclever.”

In the darkness, I saw her eyes widen. “I do beg your pardon, sir. I thought you were someone else.” I could not be certain, but I believed her skin reddened as well. This mistake deeply embarrassed her, that much was clear.

Ready to make another glib response though I was, I thought it better to hold my tongue for a moment. I needed her to believe I was an East India Company clerk, and I must act that part, not the part of a man who sees a lovely young woman. “Your mistakes are your own and no concern of mine,” I told her, hurrying past her in the gruff manner I hoped would be typical of Craven House men.

“Sir,” she called out. “Sir, a moment.”

I had no choice but to stop as well, for were I to run off she would surely guess I did not belong. Were this a man, I decided, I would take no chances and lash out with a blow that would render the troublemaker unfit for further interference, but I am too delicate a soul to pummel so pretty a thing, so I merely turned and glared at her with the impatience of an overworked clerk who needed to be doing three different things at that moment.

“What is it?”

She held forth her candle. I felt certain that she did so to study my features, but then I was thinking like a man with something to hide when she would in all likelihood be thinking like a servant. “I see you have no light, and as there aren’t many people about, I thought you should like my taper. I should not bother you, sir, but with the rioters outside I feared for your safety.”

She put the candle too close to my face, and for a moment I was half blinded by the flame and half blinded by her charm. Some clever remark bubbled up inside me, perhaps about how no mere tallow and wick could outshine her beauties, but I choked it down, thinking it inappropriate for the identity I assumed, and snatched away her offering. “Kind of you,” I muttered and took the light, wondering what sort of man takes a light from a lady because there is danger about. The answer came easily enough: an East India man. I headed in the direction to which I’d set out.

I hardly wanted the candle, and I extinguished it the moment she was out of sight, but she had provided me with some useful intelligence, mainly that the house was mostly deserted. This knowledge gave me the courage to act with an eagerness that bordered on recklessness. I strolled forth confidently and, finding the stairs, climbed them like a man who visited Craven House both regularly and licitly.

At the top of the stairs I quickly checked for unwanted observers, but the space was as dark and abandoned as the rooms below. Getting a sense of direction, I quickly found which office I needed, or believed I needed, for I could in no way be certain if I had discovered the right place. With no choice but to hope I had struck home, I strode in, finding the room empty and made ready to plunder.

I was operating under a number of disabilities that made my task more complicated. It was dark; I had no familiarity with the documents I sought or the man who possessed them; I had a limited amount of time to find what Cobb wanted; and the consequences of being caught or failing were both dire.

My eyes were fairly well adjusted to the dark. Indeed, the lights of the mayhem outside helped illuminate the room; there were even muted cries of defiance from the silk weavers. I ignored the sound and took in as much as I could. The light was sufficient for me to make out the furnishings—a desk, a few chairs, bookshelves, side tables, and so forth—but insufficient for me to read the titles of the books without getting very close or to make out what images were within the frames upon the wall. There were a number of piles of documents upon the desk, and it was with these that I thought to start.

Cobb had told me as much as he thought I needed, and he had clearly thought it best to tell me no more. I was to look through the papers of a Mr. Ambrose Ellershaw, a man conveniently gone to his country estate for the next two days, who was one of the members of the Court of Committees. This group was currently preparing for a quarterly meeting of the much larger Court of Proprietors, the two hundred or so men who controlled the fate of the Company. Each member of the smaller Court was charged with preparing data for the larger meeting, and it was Ellershaw’s responsibility to report on the data involving the import of India cloth to the British Isles and the sales of forbidden cloths to European and colonial markets. In order to prepare these figures, Mr. Ellershaw would need to comb through countless records of accounting data to obtain the information he required.

My task was to find the only existing copy of his report and take it with me. How Cobb could know there were no duplicates I could not say, nor was it in my best interest to ask. I had no desire to find ways to make my task more difficult. Cobb said he could not know with any certainty how Ellershaw would store his report, only that it would be in his office and would be clearly marked.

I began to make my way through the documents on his desk, but I found nothing but correspondence. The light was insufficient for me to read the texts easily, but as I had no interest or reason to know more of his letters, I had little concern for this difficulty. Time was lost to me in my frantic review of the papers, and I know not how long it took to make my way through the documents on the desk. I only knew I was finishing up the last two or three pieces of paper when I heard the clock strike nine. The silk weavers might depend on rioting another half hour, three quarters at most, before their safety was at risk. I had to find what I wanted, and soon.

I was moving to open one of the desk drawers when something terrible transpired. There was a metallic groan I recognized in an instant-it was the sound of someone turning the door handle.

I dropped at once to the floor and hid myself behind the desk as best I could. It was not the hiding place I would have chosen—in the corner would have been preferable, since the person might have business with the desk and ignore a corner—but I had no time to discriminate. I listened and heard the door open, and the room was suddenly awash with light.

I overstate the case, for even hidden from view I could tell it was but the single flame of a candle or oil lamp, but it penetrated my precious protective darkness and left me feeling naked and exposed.

I could only hope that the intruder wanted a book or a document from the top of the desk, but such was not the case. I heard the muffled tap of something—I presumed the candle—being set on the top of the desk.

“Oh,” a female voice said.

I looked up and saw the young woman who’d given me her candle looking down at me with an entirely understandable curiosity.

I HAVE BEEN, I admit, in difficult situations before and one does not survive them without an ability to improvise upon the moment. Rather than suggest she call the estate guardians to take me to the nearest constable, instead I begged her to bring her light down to the floor. While she did so, I slipped a pen knife from my pocket and slid it under the desk. While she held the light for me, I went through the motions of finding it and then rose to a more dignified position.

“Thank you, my dear,” I said. “That knife, while it may look like a trivial thing, belonged to my father, and I should have hated to lose it.”

“Perhaps if you had not extinguished your own candle,” she suggested.

“Ah, well, it was a bit of a disaster. My candle went out, I dropped my knife—you know how such things go. One little accident leads to another.”

“Who are you, sir?” she asked, peering more closely at me now. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes, I am rather new here. I’m Mr. Ward,” I said, hardly knowing why the name of that scandalous poet rose to my mind before all others. “I am a new clerk in the service of Mr. Ambrose Ellershaw. I’ve not seen you before either.”

“I am here most regularly, I assure you.” She set down the candle but continued to stare.

“Please sit, miss …” I let my voice trail off.

“Miss Glade,” she said. “Celia Glade.”

I bowed at her and then we stood together, somewhat awkwardly. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Glade.” Who, I wondered, could this woman be? Her mode of speech was most proper, and she sounded nothing at all like a servant. Could she be some sort of a female clerk? Was it possible that the East India Company held to such modern notions?

My confusion was not a little increased by the impropriety of being in so dark and private a space with a remarkably attractive woman of apparent breeding.

“Mr. Ward, what brings you to Mr. Ellershaw’s office this night? Would you not rather be outside watching the silk weavers toss manure at the guards?”

“It is a temptation, I am sure, but I must sacrifice my pleasure for my work. Mr. Ellershaw, whom you know to be out of town for another two days, has asked me to review his report to the Court of Proprietors. I left for the day and was prepared to go home when I recollected the report and thought to come back, take it, and review it this night in my rooms. And then I dropped my knife and so forth. But I’m glad to have you here to help me relight my candle.”

I lifted my taper and allowed my wick to touch hers, and the gesture felt to me so ripe with amorous suggestion that I feared that more than wick and wax might burst into flame. I set the candle down. “Now, if only I could recollect where Mr. Ellershaw said he put the devilish thing. Pardon the coarseness of my language, Miss Glade.”

She let out a musical laugh. “Think nothing of it. I work among men and hear that sort of talk all the day. Now, as for that document.” She rose and approached the desk, moving into such close quarters with me that I could smell the womanly scent of her. She slid open one of the desk drawers and withdrew from it a leather packet thick with papers. “I believe this is Mr. Ellershaw’s report to the Court of Proprietors. It is a rather lengthy document. You’ll be up rather late if you review it tonight. You might be wise to leave it here and read it in the morning.”

I took it from her hand. How could she know of its location? Presumably, my lady clerk theory had proved well founded. “In the morning I shall have other work that requires my attention. I thank you for your concern, however.” I rose, and she backed off accordingly.

With the packet tucked under my arm and one of the candles in my hand, I approached the door.

“Mr. Ward,” she called out, “when did Mr. Ellershaw take you into his employ?”

I stopped at the door. “Just this past week.”

“It is very unusual, is it not, for there to be a new position prior to the meeting of the Court of Proprietors? From where did he obtain the funding?”

I thought to say I had no idea how he should obtain the funding, but surely Mr. Ellershaw’s clerk would be aware of such issues, wouldn’t he? Of course, I had no real idea of what a clerk did, let alone Ellershaw’s clerk, but I felt certain I ought to say something.

“Mr. Ellershaw has not yet received funding from the Court, and until he does he is paying me from his own funds. As he prepares for the meeting, however, he wished to avail himself of additional hands.”

“You must provide him with vital services.”

“It is my most earnest desire to do so,” I assured her, and excused myself from the room.

I wasted no time in extinguishing the candle, making my way down the stairs, and toward the back door. Ring be damned, I thought. I would be far away before anyone thought it odd that I should leave through the rear. And, in truth, there was nothing odd, for why should I vacate by way of the front while riot raged?

I reclaimed my coat and my sack, and was fortunate enough to find the grounds still free of guards, who continued to trade words with the rioters. I observed none of the dogs, but I clutched my remaining rabbit most tightly. From the front of the building I heard curses, now mixed with threats that the soldiers would soon be upon them and they would have a hard time tossing filth with a musket hole through their chests.

Returning to the hillock, I once more scaled the wall. Now I would have a much harder time approaching the other side, for I did not wish to drop all ten feet, and there was no higher ground on which to land. Instead, I clambered down as best I could to close the gap between me and the ground, and then, when the distance looked manageable, I let go and fell to the earth. It was an uncomfortable landing, but not a terribly dangerous one, and I emerged from my efforts unharmed and remarkably unmussed. I then opened the bag and freed the rabbit, allowing that it might run at its liberty and do the best it could. Certainly it was better that one of us might do so.

I HURRIED BACK to Leadenhall Street, where the silk weavers shouted and tossed filth and pranced about in the shadow of a company of red-clad soldiers whose expressions bespoke a frightening combination of tedium and cruelty. In the space it took me to approach, I saw the officer in charge glance twice at the tower clock of St. Michael’s. He would, I knew, discharge his ammunition the very moment so permitted by law. Therefore it was with great relief that I found Devout Hale and informed him that I had done my duty and he and his men might disperse freely. He made the call, and the silk weavers desisted at once and marched off peaceably while the soldiers taunted them, accusing them of not being men enough to take their musket fire.

I could not be more delighted that my time of servitude was at an end, so rather than wait until morning I took a hackney to the vicinity of Swallow Street and knocked upon Mr. Cobb’s door. When Edgar answered I immediately had cause to regret the roughness with which I treated him. Not that marks of a severe thrashing upon his face gave me pain. I should have been only too happy to serve him with the same sauce again should he deserve it. Nevertheless, I knew I had made an enemy, and one who would be unwilling to forgive me even when his master had cause to forget.

“Weaver,” he groused, his voice slurred from the bruises and loss of teeth. The swelling of his muzzle only increased the duckishness of his appearance. “You are damnably fortunate that Mr. Cobb has told me not to harm you.”

“I feel fortunate,” I assured him. “And whatever the source of your divine mercy, I shall always be grateful for it.”

He only squinted with his unmaimed eye, seeming to think my words none the most honest, and led me to the sitting room. I delivered unto him my coat and gloves, and he took them with all the disdain he could summon.

After my ordeal in Craven House, it seemed to me the height of luxury to sit in so warmed and well-illuminated a space. Each sconce on the wall held a lit candle, and there were lit lamps about the room as well, and a well-tended fire took the chill from me. A rather expensive indulgence, I thought, unless Cobb knew he was expecting a visitor. I could only conclude then that either someone else was due to visit that night or he had had an agent watching my progress at the mansion, one who informed him I was on my way.

After what felt like an interminable time, Cobb entered the room and took my hand. I should like to have ignored this gesture, but I returned his grip out of habit.

“Have you got it?” he asked.

“I believe so,” I said. It occurred to me for the first time that I had not reviewed the contents of the package. What if Miss Glade had been deceiving me? I could not imagine why she should do so, but then I could not imagine why any of these things transpired.

Cobb opened up the leather folder and removed the pages, which he examined quickly. “Ah, yes. Just so. The very thing.” He put them back and slid the folder onto the table. “Well done, Weaver. Your reputation is well deserved. There’s hardly a more secure ground in London, and yet you’ve somehow got yourself in, took what you desired, and removed yourself. I am awed by your talents, sir.”

Without waiting to be asked, I sat by the fire and stretched out my hands before it. “Your pleasure signifies little. I’ve done what you asked, so now it is time to release me and my friends from your obligation.”

“Release you?” Cobb frowned at me. “Why should I do such an absurd thing?”

I jumped to my feet. “Do not toy with me. You told me if I did what you asked, you would undo the harm you’ve done. And I’ve now done what you asked.”

“As I recall, I said you must do all I asked. You’ve done the first thing, to be sure.” He little moved, seemed not to recognize that I was on my feet, my fists balled. “There is more, much more, that I require of you. Oh, no, Mr. Weaver. Our work is just beginning here.”

Perhaps I ought to have anticipated this turn, but I hadn’t. Cobb, I had believed, wanted these documents, and once they were in hand he would have no more use for me. “How long do you think to abuse me thus?”

“It’s not a matter of time, really. It’s a matter of goals we must achieve. I need certain things. Only you can provide them. You would not agree to do so. We will work together until my goals are met. It is that simple.”

“I shan’t keep breaking houses open for you.”

“Of course you shan’t. Nothing of the sort. I have a much more delicate business in mind.”

“What business is that?”

“I cannot tell you, not in such detail as you would desire. Tis too soon, but you will find I’m very generous. Sit, sit. Please sit.”

I don’t know why, but I sat. Perhaps it was something in his voice, and perhaps it was my recognition of the futile position I inhabited. I could not harm him, not without bringing horrific ruin upon my head and the others’. Cobb had managed his affairs masterfully, and I needed more time if I were to discover a means of besting him. I could not use my fists and end this tonight.

“Now,” he continued, “you will, for the time being, allow yourself to be hired no more. I will be your only patron. In addition to the thirty pounds I have promised you for this task, I will pay you another forty pounds per quarter, which is a very generous sum—I suspect quite as much as you would earn in a typical span of time, and perhaps rather more. In addition, you will not have the distress of wondering whence your income will arise.”

“I will have the distress of being slave to another man’s whims and having the lives of others hanging upon my actions.”

“I think of that as less a distress than an incentive. Come, only consider upon it, sir. If you are loyal to me and give me no cause to prod you, none of your friends will find themselves in any harm.”

“And for how many quarters will you require my services?” I asked, forcing my teeth to ungrit.

“That I am unable to say. It may be a few months. It may be a year or even more.”

“More than a year!” I barked. “You cannot leave my uncle in his current condition for a year. Return his shipment to him, and I will consent to move forward.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do. I cannot believe you would feel obligated to keep your word to a man who has used you as ill as I have. In a few months’ time, perhaps, when you have further committed yourself, when you have too much to lose from ending this yourself, we can discuss your uncle. In the meantime, he will help make certain you do not stray too far from our goals.”

“And what are those goals?”

“Come see me in three days, Weaver. We’ll discuss it then. Until that time, you may away with your earnings and indulge your liberty. Edmund will pay you for tonight’s adventure and your first quarter’s wages on your way out.”

“I’m sure he will delight in paying me.”

“His delights are no matter to me, and if you think you incur my anger by thrashing him, you are mistaken, so you may cease doing so.”

“You might give me a better motivation.”

“If beating upon my servant calms your humors and makes you more agreeable, then beat him as you like, and I’ll consider his wages well earned. There is one other thing, however. I cannot help but presume that you are curious as to why I go to such extremes to pursue this end. You will want to know about these documents and Mr. Ellershaw and so forth. It is my advice that you dampen your curiosity, snuff it out entire. It is a spark that could lead to a great conflagration that would destroy you and your friends. I do not want you looking into me or my goals. If I find you have not heeded my words, one of your friends will suffer to prove my earnestness. You must content yourself with a state of ignorance.”

I’d been dismissed. I rose and stepped out into the hall, but Cobb called me back.

“Oh, Weaver. You mustn’t forget this.” He held out the documents.

I stared at the papers in his hand. “You do not want them?”

“They are worthless to me. Take them, but keep them safe. You will have need of them in a few days.”

By the door, Edgar returned my things to me and placed a purse in my hand without a word. It was well for me that the thieves who haunted the streets like hungry ghosts did not smell my silver, for they would have had an easy target that night. I was too dazed to fight back, or perhaps even to understand danger when I saw it.