by David Liss
“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.
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 ta
stefully 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.”
