The Devil's Company

CHAPTER SEVEN

HE NEXT EVENING I ARRANGED FOR A MEETING AT MY UNCLE’S HOUSE that Elias also attended, for the three of us were the men most nearly connected with this trouble—with the exception of Mr. Franco, but I shall speak more of him later. We sat in my uncle’s study sipping his wine, though, in Elias’s case, gulping might be a more accurate description, for he had a hard time balancing the needs of clarity of thought with the quantity of claret in a wine merchant’s home.

“I have been unable to learn anything of the man, this Mr. Jerome Cobb,” my uncle said. He leaned back in an armchair, looking small and frail in its clutches. Despite the fire, he sat under a pile of heavy quits and had a scarf wrapped around his neck. His voice emerged with a rattling wheeze that made me most anxious for his health. “I’ve asked around, quite discreetly you understand, but his name produces nothing but blank stares.”

“Could those of whom you inquire be dissembling?” I asked. “Perhaps they are so afraid of Cobb they fear to cross him.”

My uncle shook his head. “I don’t believe so. I have not been a merchant for all these years without learning to sniff out deception—or, at the very least, uneasiness. No, Cobb meant nothing to those I asked.”

“What of the nephew, the customs man?” I asked.

My uncle shook his head. “He is known to work there, but he is well situated and aloof. Many men I spoke with had some passing knowledge of him and could report having seen him, but they could say no more.”

Elias, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, nodded vigorously. “I can report little more. I’ve learned that his servant arranged for a lease upon his house at auction, offering a generous amount and paying three years in advance. He did so some six months past. Beyond that, I have heard nothing. No one of means lives in London without attracting the notice of society. Since it became clear he had designs upon you, I’ve let the blood out of some of the most fashionable arms in London, pulled some well-placed teeth, and removed a rather lofty kidney stone. I even had the delight of applying cream to a rash upon a pair of the most exceedingly fashionable breasts in London, and no one of import has heard the name. And you know how these affairs go in the world of fashion, Weaver. Aman of this sort, with wealth not merely claimed by him but put into undeniable action, cannot enter the metropolis without generating attention. Yet he has managed to avoid all notice.”

“He appears to have no servant but his unpleasant man, so it would seem he has no cook,” I noted. “He must therefore eat out. Surely someone has observed him about town.”

“An astute question,” Elias said. “I believe I may be able to learn a thing or two on that score. I will redouble my efforts. There is a very fashionable son of a duke—a third or fourth son, so of no real consequence, you understand—who lives not far from Cobb. He suffers from some rather painful boils upon his arse. Upon the next lancing, I will inquire if he has made any observations on his neighbor.”

“You’ll provide us, I hope, with only his answer and no other details,” I said.

“Is it then only my love of human health that makes me so enjoy the sight of a lanced boil?”

“Yes,” I assured him.

“Well, look, Weaver, I hate to even mention this, but I think it worth saying. This Cobb fellow is quite obviously a man of some power and cunning. Would it not benefit you to seek an alliance with another man of power and cunning?”

“You mean that scoundrel Jonathan Wild,” my uncle said with evident distaste. It required some considerable effort, but he pushed himself forward in his chair. “I shan’t hear of it.”

Wild was the most famous thieftaker in the city, but he was also the most cunning thief in the nation, probably in the world, and very possibly in the history of the world. No one, as far as I knew, had ever established a criminal empire of the scope Wild had constructed, and he did it all while passing himself off as a great servant of the public. The men of power in the city either knew nothing of his true nature or pretended to know nothing because ignorance served their purposes.

Wild and I were adversaries, there could be no doubt of that, but we had also formed uneasy alliances in the past, and I had a cautious respect for Wild’s nearest lieutenant, one Abraham Mendes, a Jew of my own neighborhood.

“To speak the truth,” I explained, “I had already considered that option. Unfortunately, Wild and Mendes are pursuing their operations in Flanders and are not expected back these two or three months.”

“That’s rather bad timing,” Elias said.

“Not in my opinion.” My uncle settled back in his chair. “The less business you have with that man, the better.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” I said. “Were he here, I would have no choice but to seek his advice at the very least, possibly even his aid. That would be a dangerous precedent. I have worked with him before when we had overlapping goals, but I should hate baldly to ask him for a favor. To do so would be to grant him too much power.”

“Quite so,” my uncle intoned. “Nevertheless, Mr. Gordon, your suggestion is appreciated. I value your help.”

“I am hardly helping you,” Elias pointed out, “for my own finances and futurity are as bound up in this as yours.”

“Nevertheless,” my uncle continued, “I am in your debt, sir.”

Elias rose to bow.

“Now, I hope you will excuse us but I have a need to speak to my nephew alone.”

“Oh,” Elias said, understanding my uncle’s praise as an awkward transition. He looked somewhat dejectedly at his half-full glass of claret, wondering—I could see from the mournful look in his eye—if to finish it off now in a quick gulp would be an unforgivable rudeness. “Of course.”

“On the way out, tell my man I’m instructing him to present you with a bottle. He’ll know where to find it.”

This pronouncement brought all the joy back to my friend’s countenance. “You are too good, sir.” He bowed once more and took his leave.

When he was gone, we sat together in silence for some minutes. Finally, it was I who spoke. “You must know how sorry I am to have brought this upon you.”

He shook his head. “You’ve done nothing. You are being harmed and have done no harming. I only wish I could offer you some assistance.”

“And what of you? How will you endure these trials?”

He raised to his lips a glass of a steaming wine posset, so thick with honey I could smell its sweetness across the room. “Think nothing of it. This is not the first time in my career that money has been hard to find. It shan’t be the last. A skillful merchant knows how to survive. See that you do the same.”

“And what of Mr. Franco? Have you heard anything from that quarter?”

“No,” my uncle said. “It may well be that he has not yet discovered his embarrassments.”

“Perhaps he need never discover them.”

“No, I don’t think that’s right. He may never learn that his fate is bound up with yours, but if he should be carted off to prison on your account, I think he should have heard something of the matter first.”

My uncle had the right of it, and I could not deny his wisdom. “How well do you know Mr. Franco?”

“Not so well as I would like. He has not lived here long, you know. He is a widower, and he and his lovely daughter removed themselves from Salonica to enjoy the liberties of life in Britain. Now the daughter has gone back. I still don’t understand why you did not pursue her more forcefully,” he added.

“Uncle, she and I would not have been a good match.”

“Come, Benjamin. I know you hold out hope for Miriam—”

“I do not,” I said, with all the force of conviction I could muster, much of it sincere. “Things with her are irrevocably broken.”

“They seem to be broken between the lady and myself, as well. I hear very little of her and nothing from her,” he told me. “Upon her conversion to the English church, she severed her connections with this family entire.”

“She has severed ties with me as well.”

He looked at me with some skepticism, for he did not believe it was her conversion and marriage that ended our friendship so permanently. Nor should he have believed it. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done, then.”

“No,” I said. “Now let us return to the subject of Mr. Franco.”

My uncle nodded. “He was a trader in his youth and did moderately well, but he is not a great man by any means. His desires are fairly modest. I understand he has no active life in the markets now and interests himself in reading and enjoying company.”

“And,” I noted with great unhappiness, “if he has collected only enough upon which to retire in relative comfort, a major burden of debt could quite destroy his comfort.”

“Just so.”

“Then I suppose I had better speak to him.”

MR. FRANCO KEPT his handsome and tastefully appointed house on Vine Street, an easy walk from my own residence and my uncle’s. Given the hour, it was possible, perhaps likely, that he should be entertaining or out, but I found the man at home, and eager to receive company. He saw me in his parlor, where he offered me a fine chair and a cup of cleverly mulled wine.

“I’m delighted to see you, sir,” he told me. “After Gabriella’s return to Salonica, I feared there would be no further connection between us. I expect her back soon and am glad of it, for a man should be with his family. It is a great blessing in one’s later years.”

Mr. Franco smiled kindly at me, and I felt hatred toward myself and rage toward Cobb for what it was I must tell him. He was a kind-looking man with a round face that suggested a plumpness of body he did not possess. Like my uncle, he eschewed London fashion and wore a closely cut beard that drew an interlocutor’s attention to his warm, intelligent eyes.

He was, in many ways, an unusual man. Part of the reason my uncle had been so eager for me to pursue the match was that, unlike many respectable Jews of London, Mr. Franco would not have regarded an alliance with a thieftaker as an insult to his family. Indeed, he rather took pleasure that I had achieved some recognition among the Gentiles of the city and regarded my successes as a sign—an overly optimistic one, in my estimate—of a greater tolerance to come.

“I had feared that when there failed to be a connection between my daughter and yourself—no, no, don’t protest. I see you would correct me, but it is not necessary. I know my daughter is charming and beautiful, so I need not hear it from you. I also know that not every charming and beautiful woman can appeal, in a matrimonial way, to every man, or the world would be a strange and awkward place. I take no insult. You will both find fine matches, and I wish it upon you sooner rather than later, for a man should know the blessings of matrimony.”

“You are very kind.” I bowed from my seat.

“I am led to understand that you had some connection to your uncle’s daughter-in-law,” he said probingly. “Perhaps this woman is an obstacle between you and my daughter?”

I sighed, for I felt I could not avoid this troublesome topic. “At one time I did indeed wish most earnestly to marry the lady,” I admitted, “but she sought happiness elsewhere. She is no obstacle to anything in my life.”

“She converted to the Church of England, they say.”

I nodded.

“But it is my understanding that she has since been widowed a second time.”

“You understand correctly,” I informed him.

He laughed softly. “And I perceive that you do not wish me to pursue this topic further.”

“I hope you will feel free to discuss any matter you like with me, Mr. Franco. I cannot take offense when a man of your good nature speaks with a free and open heart.”

“Oh, you may stop being so formal with me. When you and Gabriella failed to pursue a more solemn connection, I feared that we must cease being friends. I do hope that is not the case.”

“I, too, had flattered myself that we might continue our friendship,” I said, “although when you have heard what I have to say, you may find yourself wishing you had never invited me into your home. I am afraid that I must be circumspect and keep more details from you than I would like, but the truth is, sir, that someone means to do you harm as a means of doing me harm.”

He leaned forward, and the creak of his chair startled me. “Do us both harm? What do you mean?”

I explained, as clearly as I could despite my discomfort, that my enemies had selected a few of my nearest contacts whose finances they disrupted. “It appears that because of my frequent visits, they mistook you for a very near connection.”

“But there is nothing wrong with my finances.”

“Have you any debts, Mr. Franco?”

“All men have debts,” he said, his voice now strained.

“Of course. But what these men have almost certainly done is to buy up such debts as they can find. If all of your outstanding debts were to be called in at one time, would you find yourself in great difficulty?”

He said nothing for a few moments, but his face had gone pale around his beard, and his fingers, locked around his cup, also turned toward an ivory color.

“I am very sorry to have visited this upon you,” I offered, wincing at the weakness of it.

He shook his head. “From what you tell me, you have done nothing. These men must be base enough to prey upon your good nature, knowing that you could endure suffering for yourself but not for others. I am indeed angry, Mr. Weaver, but not at you, who have done no harm.”

“I do not deserve such understanding, though I am grateful to receive it.”

“No, but you must tell me more. Who are these enemies of yours? What do they want from you?”

“I think it best I not say too much. But they wish me to perform services I would not perform otherwise.”

“What sort of services? You must not, even to preserve me from prison, do anything that conflicts either with your own sense of moral duty or the laws of this kingdom.”

I thought it best to ignore this point. “As to the nature of the services, perhaps the less said the better.”

“You may have done no wrong to put me in this predicament, Mr. Weaver, but I am in it, and it would be unkind to leave me ignorant.”

He was undeniably correct, and so after impressing upon him the need for secrecy, for his own good as well as that of others, I told him as much as I thought safe. I explained that a very wealthy man of great influence wished to deploy my services against one of the East India Company directors.

“Ha,” he said, with a kind of triumph. “I’ve had dealings with the East India Company and their competitors too. I promise you I am no novice in this game, and we shall outmaneuver them.”

“That may not be done so easily,” I said.

He smiled a knowing smile at me. “You think because these men are rich and great they cannot be dealt with? That is the beauty of ’Change Alley. Fortune is a fickle goddess and can strike blows where no one expects and elevate the mendicant to great heights. The East India men have no cause to love me, but their enmity has never done me harm. There are rules in this game we play, you know.”

“Given that you, I, my uncle, and my dear friend are now dangling with our feet over the flames of ruin, I would say the rules of the game have changed.”

“It does sound rather like. Tell me then, who is the man who wishes the Company harm? What is his name? What are his connections?”

“No one has heard of him, and I dare not speak his name more often than I must. I believe the slightest slip could have disastrous results for you or one of my other friends. Indeed, I have been warned not to have conversations precisely like this one, and I risk it only because I believe you deserve to know that there are invisible agents who act upon you. Yet, though this knowledge is your right, I must urge you to resist all temptation to act upon it. Until I see a better opportunity, there is little for any of us to do but appear as placid as sheep while we wait for the main chance to present itself.”

“You do not know me very well, Mr. Weaver, but I think you know I am not a man who would break his oath. I can assure you I am even less inclined to do so when breaking my oath will land me in the Marshalsea or some other equally terrible place. In addition, I have traded—indirectly, mind you—with the eastern-looking companies of this nation as well as of the Dutch and the fledgling project of the French. If this man is an actor upon the East Indian stage, I will know him, and you will then have an advantage you did not previously possess.”

I could not deny the request, so with an unexpected amount of difficulty I spoke his name. “Jerome Cobb.”

Mr. Franco said nothing for a long while. “I’ve not heard of him.”

“No one has. Neither my uncle nor the other victim, my friend Elias Gordon, a well-connected surgeon, can discover anything of him. He is a man with a great deal of money, and yet no one in London knows him.”

“Perhaps it is not his real name.”

“I have already considered that.”

“No doubt. In truth, Mr. Weaver, this certainly presents some difficulties. I beg you will keep me informed of your progress. If I am to find myself in debtor’s prison, I can only ask for some advance warning. And as I know the trade, I may be able to provide some advice.”

I assured him I would do as he asked, and indeed I felt that Mr. Franco might prove an unexpected ally in these matters, but to use his services I would have to jeopardize his freedom, and I did not know how much of a risk I dared to take.