by David Liss
I spat out a bitter laugh. “And if I should fail, good riddance to me. If I should succeed, you imagine I will be in your debt.”
He tilted his head just slightly, a mild gesture of agreement. “You have always shown yourself a reasonable man, Weaver. I have no doubt that a good turn done now might yield some fruit in the future. So I have come to see what I can do for you. Some money, perhaps?”
I scowled in contempt. I would not have Wild offering me money like a generous uncle. “I have no need of your money.”
“It spends quite as well as another man’s, I promise you. But as to your means, your judge-thieving methods seem to work out quite nicely for you. Though I must say that Rowley has always been a pliable fellow. I am sorry to see you’ve driven him into convalescent retirement.”
“I’d always believed him reliable as well. Why should he turn on me as he did?”
“It is an election season,” Wild said complaisantly. “They were dangerous enough when elections were held every three years. Now that they are every seven, the prize is worth a great deal more, and men will go to far greater lengths in support of their party or, I should say, their interests. Rowley only did what was required of him by Dogmill. There is no more to it than that.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Wild turned to Mendes. “It appears that our friend has been corrupted by his encounters with the South Sea men. Now he believes everything deeper than the appearance. You’ll never clear your name if you look for hidden plots and intrigues. The answer is on the surface, I promise you. It is but Dogmill’s greed.”
“And what can I do about it? Dogmill has power over every judge in Westminster.”
“I hardly know what to say,” Wild said, with a mischievous grin. “What are you doing about it now?” When I said nothing he added, “Other than killing fellows like Groston, I mean.”
I shifted uneasily. “That’s why I wished to see Mendes. I didn’t kill Groston.”
“Never laid a hand upon him, I suppose.”
“I gave him what he deserved, but no more than that. But whoever is behind Groston’s death will surely move against the two witnesses who testified against me at my trial.”
He nodded. “Mendes should be able to track them down without difficulty. Would you like to speak to them when we find them?”
I nodded. “Yes. I won’t have these sods killed just so that my enemies can pin more deaths upon my chest. And there is always the chance they might have information that could be of use.”
“Then we shall find them straightaway,” Wild assured me. We next took a moment to figure a means whereby they could contact me. “Is there any other way we might serve you?” he then asked.
I was now full of regret that I had trusted these men so far as I had, but these were trying times and I would resolve the tangles I made in the future. “No,” I said. “If you do that, it should suffice.”
CHAPTER 16
AS ELIAS had promised, news of Matthew Evans’s alleged arrival appeared in the London Gazette and a few other papers of note, so even while the Whig papers condemned Benjamin Weaver as a murderer and the Tories defended him as a maligned victim, the Tory Tobacco Man was making his glorious debut. While villains murdered men in my name, I remained a fugitive, and it struck me as almost frivolous that I had to see to the obligations of my private masquerade.
Nevertheless, this was the path I had chosen and I had no choice but to proceed. That night I arrived at the Hampstead assembly promptly at ten o’clock. I was a bit early, but I thought it best to be so that I might be noticed.
The room itself was gorgeous, a great domed assembly hall full of sparkling gilt chandeliers, bright red furnishings, tables of food, and a sparkling white-tiled floor. Already the space was filled by enough people that my presence would not prove conspicuous. Near one end, the musicians played adequately and dancers moved gaily across the floor. A crowd gathered around the banquet table, on which raisin cakes and sliced pears, shrimps pickled with prunes, and other dainties had been set out with great care. At a more crowded table, men gathered to collect punch for themselves and their ladies. Over on the far side of the hall was the entrance to the card room, where older women, chaperoning their daughters and wards, retired to amuse themselves while the young frolicked. No such closeting was required for older men, who were there as much as the younger to seek matrimonial companionship or, at the very least, to pretend to be engaged in such a quest.
I had circled the room twice before I heard my name called out—or at least my false name. It was called two or three times before I responded, not yet having grown used to the sound of it, and then I found myself surprised. Who, after all, knew me to call that name? But when I turned I saw none other than Griffin Melbury, who was standing with a small group of people.
“Ah, Mr. Evans,” Melbury said, taking my hand warmly. He continued to radiate the patrician reserve I had detected at our last meeting, but it seemed to me that I had earned his trust with my little ruse. I returned his embrace and forced myself to wear a mask of pleasure.
And forced it was. I felt a clammy revulsion as I touched him. Here was the hand that touched Miriam—touched her as only a husband can. For an instant I thought of crushing his flesh, of pounding upon him, but I knew this urge was both irrational and impolitic. So I maintained my smile instead, though the falseness of it made my flesh feel heavy and doughy.
“I’m glad to see you again, Melbury.”
“I wondered if you might not be here. I know you are new to town, so there are some people I should like you to meet.” He then began a dizzying array of introductions—to priests and old monied men and the sons of earls and dukes. I would have found it a challenge to repeat these names moments after they were given, let alone so many years later. But there were a few of these people whom I found remarkable at once.
First, he pulled me off to one far side and introduced me to a man I had already met. “This,” Melbury told me, “is my great enemy, Mr. Albert Hertcomb.”
I shook Hertcomb’s hand, and he smiled agreeably at me. “Mr. Evans and I have already met. Sir, you must not look so surprised,” he told me. “You must not think Mr. Melbury and I need be uncivil because we compete for the same seat in Parliament. After all, you and I can be friendly with each other, and we are of different parties.”
“I own that party need not rule all things or men, but I confess that I am surprised to see you on such merry terms.”
Melbury laughed. “I rejoice that things are not so grim that I must hate a man simply because he vies for the same prize I do.”
“Faith,” said Hertcomb, “I have never felt animosity toward any man, even if he be what is termed a political enemy. To my mind, an enemy is but a man who is opposed to me, and nothing more.”
“How would another man define the word?” I asked.
“Oh, much more harshly than I do, I am sure. But I don’t care to trouble myself with this word or that. A political man is, after all, not a doctor of rhetoric.”
“But you must make speeches,” I proposed.
“Of course. The speeches are the very thing in the House, but they’re not about words, you know. They’re about the ideas behind the words. That’s what matters.”
“It is good advice,” Melbury said. “I shall be certain to remember it when I assume my seat. Ha-ha.”
Melbury then excused us, and he pulled me with a little too much force to one side. “What a fool,” he whispered to me, as we moved away. “I cannot say that I’ve ever met such a dunderhead above the station of shoeblack. It takes an idiot like that to have Dogmill as a sponsor.”
“You presented a very different opinion to the man himself,” I said, taking some delight in my unveiling of his hypocrisy.
“In truth, I have something of a fondness for Mr. Hertcomb. He is a simple man, and in all likelihood he means no harm. It is Mr. Dogmill, his agent, I object to.”
I could not have asked for a better
introduction to a topic of such import. “I get the impression he has no love for Dogmill himself.”
“It shouldn’t surprise me. I have never met a man less deserving to be loved. I tell you, I cannot abide that man. I long to serve the House in Westminster, I don’t deny it. I am a patriot, Mr. Evans, in the truest sense of the word. I want only to do good for my kingdom and my Church. I want only to see the men whose families have built up this island—old families like ours, whose fathers have bled in defense of the realm—retain their rightful place. I cannot love to look upon true Englishmen robbed of their influence by a pack of Jews and stockjobbers and atheists. But when I win my seat, I will relish it all the more for taking the power away from Dogmill. I want to destroy him, to grind him into the dust.”
I did not try to hide my surprise. “I honor your competitive spirit, sir, but are these sentiments not beyond the normal bounds of politics?”
“Perhaps so. I confess to you that I am prone to hatreds. I do not hate many men in this world, but those I do I hate with passion—some with good reason and some, I admit, for little reason at all. But Dogmill—he is a species unto himself. I lost a bit of money in that South Sea Company confidence game; many of us did, of course. But there were some friends of Dogmill’s family on the board, and he directed Hertcomb to shelter them, to use all the influence he could muster in the House to protect these criminals. I ask you, sir. Is it not contemptible for a man to use the full power of the government merely to look after the business of his friends?”
“I admire the strength of your feeling,” I said, though I felt certain there must be more to this animosity than Dogmill’s wade into the Whiggish pool of corruption.
“You know nothing of the strength of my feeling. I tell you, there are some days when I am exhausted from my work, but the thought of dashing Dogmill’s hopes invigorates me and makes me feel like a man who has slept ten hours.”
“Is there nothing more to this rage than that he directed Hertcomb to shelter South Sea men?” I found this hard to believe. There had to be some other root to this anger, and discovering it might well aid my cause.
“Why, is not that enough? He is a villain, sir, one of the worst kind. I believe I would rather die than lose to him.”
After a moment, I said, “I honor your determination, sir, and promise you that I shall do all in my power to see that you take your rightful place.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Evans, I do indeed. For the moment, I shall only inform you that the most expedient thing you can do in my cause is to cast your vote for me.”
“I fear I cannot. I must remind you of how recently I am arrived on this island.”
“It appears to me,” he said, “you have forgotten that you established a residence here long before you arrived, and as you have paid all sufficient taxes on that residence, I think you will find your name is in the register of voters, as it should be.”
Clearly Melbury had used his influence to add my name to the books. I could not imagine that I was the only voter he had illegally added. If he had managed to insert so many as a hundred men into the register, it could make the difference in a tight race.
“How can you manage such a thing?” I asked.
“As for that, it is nothing. I have more than my share of contacts with the men who order these matters, and I may owe one or two of them a few pounds incurred at play. If I owe a man a small debt, he is more inclined to make things go my way, as it shall make me more inclined to pay him. It is nothing more complicated than that.”
“I have never before heard that debts of honor could be deployed so effectively,” I told him, “but you will have my vote with all my heart.”
He smiled and shook my hand and led me back to his party. Hertcomb had been joined by Dennis Dogmill and his sister, and the three of them made some small chatter together. I flatter myself that Miss Dogmill’s face brightened upon seeing me.
“Why, it’s Mr. Evans, the Tobacco Tory,” she said.
“The lover of geese,” Dogmill said, with a kind of ease only to be found among those born with wealth. He sounded both furious and calm at the same moment. “For a Tory, you seem to find yourself in Whiggish company often enough.”
“In Jamaica, we never fretted so about party,” I explained.
“All those years in the sun,” Dogmill proposed, “explain your swarthy complexion.”
I laughed agreeably, for I thought doing so would anger more than a show of irritation. I even felt an undesired kinship with Melbury in our mutual dislike of this brute. “Yes, in that clime, one cannot be squeamish about the sun or working under it. Many’s the day I had to inspect my fields and my laborers in heat that you of this temperate land cannot even imagine.”
“Did you not cover yourself,” Miss Dogmill asked, “as I have heard men do?”
“The ladies always keep themselves covered,” I said, “and so do many men, but I found the feel of the sun on one’s body one of the few pleasures the island’s clime had to offer, and some days I would strip to my breeches as I made my way about my lands.”
I would not have my reader think I spoke so boldly always to ladies, but she had asked her question with an unmistakable twinkle in her eye, and I knew at once that she wished me to further tease her brother. I hardly needed more encouragement, and though she now blushed, she clandestinely winked to show that she had taken no offense.
“Did you also put a bone in your nose like the natives?” Dogmill asked me. “I’ve been to the colonies many times, to find that in a place where it is often hot enough to cook an egg on the sands of the beach, English rules of propriety often don’t apply. But as they apply here, I should inform Mr. Evans, lest he embarrass himself further for his ignorance, that it is not considered polite to speak of stripping to your breeches in the company of ladies.”
“Don’t be such a blockhead,” Miss Dogmill said sweetly.
Her brother, however, turned a bright red, and his massive neck began to stiffen with anger. I thought for a moment that he would strike out—at me, at her, I hardly knew. Instead he smiled at her. “A brother can never be said to be a blockhead if he acts out of concern for a sister. I may know a thing or two more things than you, my dear, regarding the rules of propriety—if only because I have been alive for more years than you.”
I found that when I stood in Dogmill’s company, my mind raced to think of the most stinging reply to anything that ventured from his mouth, but here I could only keep quiet. There was an unexpected kindness in his voice, and I understood that no matter the harshness of his behavior, no matter what crimes with which he had dirtied his hands, no matter the cruelty with which he had struck down Walter Yate and caused me to stand in his stead before the law, he truly cared for his sister. I should have been busy attempting to determine how best to put this weakness to use were I not under the impression that I cared for his sister too.
The band now struck up a new piece. Miss Dogmill looked over my shoulder and observed that the floor was now crowded with dancers, and unless I was mistaken there was a gleam of yearning in her eyes.
“Perhaps, then, I might invite you to dance with me,” I proposed.
She did not even look to her brother. She offered me her hand, and I led her out to the dance floor.
“I am afraid Mr. Dogmill is not overly fond of you,” she said, as we glided along to a pleasing bit of music.
“I hope that does not make you disinclined to be overly fond of me,” I said.
“It hasn’t yet,” she said merrily.
“I am glad to hear that, for I am fond of you already.”
“We have only just met. I hope you will not begin your protestations of love before our dance is complete.”
“I have said nothing of love. I hardly even know you well enough to like you. But I think I know you well enough to be fond of you.”
“What an unusual response. But I must say that I like it. You’re very honest, Mr. Evans.”
“I endeavor
always to be honest,” I said guiltily, for I do not believe I had ever in my life been so false to a woman I admired than I was to her, pretending to be a man I was not with means I did not have.
“That may not always serve you well. There has been much talk of you among the ladies, you know. It is far enough along into the season that the arrival of a new man with a fortune to his name is bound to excite interest. If you are honest with all of them, you will not make many friends.”
“I think a man can be honest without being unkind.”
“I have known very few who were capable of it,” she said.
“I think your brother has yet to master that skill.”
“You are certainly right there. I don’t know why he dislikes you, sir, but I must tell you his behavior toward you is mortifying.”
“If that mortification played any role in your agreeing to dance with me, I would gladly endure the barbs of a thousand brothers.”
“You are beginning to sound like an untruthful man, sir.”
“A dozen brothers, then. No more.”
“I do believe you would be more than a match for them, sir.”
“Have you lived with your brother alone for long?” I asked, in an effort to change our subject to something more material.
“Oh, yes. My mother died when I was but six years of age, and my father some two years later.”
“I am sorry to hear of your early losses. I can only imagine the grief you must have endured.”
“At the risk of sounding unfeeling, I must tell you that it occasioned far less grief than you might suppose. My parents were of the habit of sending me off to school from the earliest age and, before that, of leaving me in the care of my nurse night and day. Upon their deaths, I understood that people materially close to me had been taken, but I hardly knew either better, sir, than I know you now.”
“Your brother seems some years older than you. I hope he proved a more tender parent.”
