by David Liss
Ellershaw’s stepdaughter, whom I must call Mrs. Pepper, despite her being now one of a small army of women bearing the name, appeared most distressed at the mention of her late husband. “Oh, Mr. Pepper. He was the best of men, sir. The very best of men.”
I could not but note the unlikelihood that three such different women should deliver their observations of the same man in precisely the same words. “Madam, begging your pardon, but did the late Mr. Pepper ever describe himself in those very terms?”
Her color heightened prodigiously, and I knew I had struck the nail true. I could hardly be surprised, however, that a man who should think so well of himself that he might marry three women (at the least) should be freighted down with vanity. “Mr. Pepper,” she explained, “was a most remarkable man, and he would have been less remarkable had he not possessed the insight to witness his own superiority.”
I bowed from my seat, for I could not but applaud her sophistry. “It must have been a great blessing to him to be possessed of so devoted a wife.”
“I pray it was so. But tell me, sir, how I may be of service to you and what your business might be with my late husband.”
What indeed? It occurred to me that I should have thought this matter through with greater care, but I had grown so comfortable with interrogating the widows Pepper that I had not rehearsed to myself the very particular difficulties of this particular interview. I knew nothing of the light in which Mr. Pepper had represented himself to this lady, so I could not take that approach, nor could I enter the harbor from the angle of my position at Craven House, for I presumed that my connection to Mr. Ellershaw could run the ship aground. The previous two widows had been, at least to my opinion, unsophisticated enough that I could paint my fictions with broad strokes, provided they were confident. However, I could not but perceive at least some cleverness in this lady’s eyes.
I therefore chose to adopt a course as close to a probable truth as I could easily devise upon such short notice. “Madam, I am something of a private constable,” I began, “and I currently conduct an inquiry into the untimely death of Mr. Pepper. There are those who believe his drowning not to be an unfortunate accident but rather an act of unspeakable malice.”
The lady let out a gasp and then shouted for her girl to bring her a fan. At once a marvelously painted gold and black fan of oriental design was in her hand, waving back and forth most violently. “I won’t hear of it,” she said, her voice an urgent staccato. “I can accept that it was the will of providence that my Absalom might be taken so young, but I cannot think it would be the will of a human being. Who could hate him so?”
“That is what I wish to learn, Mrs. Pepper. It may be that there is no more to this than meets the eye, but if someone has harmed your husband, I believe you would rather know the truth.”
She said nothing for a long moment and then abruptly ceased her frantic fanning and set that agent upon her side table. Instead, she picked up my card and examined it once more. “You are Benjamin Weaver,” she said. “I’ve heard of you, I believe.”
Again, I bowed from my seat. “I have been so fortunate as to receive some public notice. At times, sadly, the notice has not been laudatory, but I flatter myself that, on balance, I have been treated kindly by the Grub Street tribe.”
She worked her jaw slowly, as though masticating my words. “I am hardly familiar with these matters, but I cannot believe that a man of your skills can be retained cheaply. Who then inquires into Mr. Pepper’s death?”
I saw now that I had been right to be wary of her intelligence. “I serve both the great and the low. Though not averse to earning my bread, neither do I shy away from righting wrongs perpetrated against the poor.”
This bit of puffery mollified her not at all. “And whom, in this case, do you serve?”
It was time to put my plan to the test. I should either be struck dead upon the battlefield or carry home the victory. “It is ever my policy to keep such matters private, but as the man in question was your beloved husband, it would be inexcusable to stand upon ceremony with you. I have been hired by a gentleman of the silk industry who believes that Mr. Pepper may have been struck down with malicious intent.”
“The silk industry?” she asked. “What concern can his fate be to such as they?”
“Mrs. Pepper, forgive the delicacy of this question, but in what manner did your late husband make his way in the world?”
Her color rose once more. “Mr. Pepper was a gentleman,” she said with great force.
“He had no—?”
“He was to come into money of his father’s estate,” she said, “had not a pack of rapacious solicitors conspired to convert his inheritance into a private pool of wealth from which they might dip.” She once again worked the fan mightily. “He applied all the money of my dowry to his legal fees, but they would not give him justice, and since his death they have been so bold as to deny the very existence of the case.”
“Forgive me once more for the indelicacy of the question—”
“Let us say that you will know I have forgiven the indelicacy of all your questions unless I ask you to leave, at which point you will know that no further forgiveness is forthcoming. In any event, if you truly mean to find justice for Mr. Pepper, then you ask these questions for my own cause as well.”
“You are too kind, madam. As to my question, I have made some inquiries about town, and I have heard the sad rumor that your marriage was not approved by your family.”
“There were those in my family who forbade the marriage, but I had allies as well, who provided me my dowry secretly that Mr. Pepper’s cause might be best pursued.”
I nodded. If Mrs. Ellershaw had taken her daughter’s side in this clandestine marriage, it might explain at least a portion of the rift between that lady and her monstrous husband.
“Again, a most delicate question, but may I inquire into the worth of the dowry?”
From the look upon her face, I had no doubt that our interview came very close to ending precisely there, but she apparently thought better of it. “I hate to speak of such things, but the amount was fifteen hundred pounds.”
With some effort, I kept my face impassive upon hearing this massive sum.
“And this amount was lost to legal fees?”
“As vile as it sounds, so it was. These solicitors are skilled at nothing but lies and tricks and delays.”
I made some sympathetic comments meant to mask my disbelief. “Can you not conceive of any reason why the silk workers of this city might take an interest in the cause of your husband’s unfortunate accident?”
She shook her head. “I cannot think of it.”
“He never spoke to you of silk engines? You never observed him making notes upon such things, contemplating projects, anything of that nature?”
“As I have said, he was a gentleman born, pursuing his just inheritance. I believe you mistake him for a ’Change Alley projector.”
“Then the error is mine,” I said, with my third bow of our session.
“What did these men tell you, sir? Why should they take an interest in Mr. Pepper?”
I could only hope that she knew so little of how these affairs were conducted that my untruth would not surprise her. “I have not inquired into that.”
“And do they believe they know who would do him harm?”
Here I decided to take a considerable risk. If this lady chose to take my accusations to her stepfather I would have exploded my disguise, and I shuddered to think of the consequences for my friends. “Out of respect for you and your loss, I shall tell you, but I must have your word that you will tell no one. There are networks of communication and rumor, channels of intelligence that will undermine my pursuit of justice, perhaps even endanger my life, if what I tell you now is revealed prematurely. No matter the anger this accusation engenders within you, you must keep it locked in your breast.”
Her head snapped violently to her left. “Leave the room, Lizzy.”
“Go upstairs now, I say. If I don’t hear the creaking of the upper stairs in a moment’s time, you can seek another position and without a reference from me.”
This threat provided the girl with the incentive she needed, and she fled the room.
I took a sip of my wine, now grown cool, and set it back down. “I beg you to recall this is but an accusation. Nevertheless, there are men among the silk workers of this metropolis who believe that Mr. Pepper’s death was arranged by the East India Company.”
The color at once drained from her face, and her limbs began to tremble violently. Her eyes grew red, but no tears emerged. Then, at once, she propelled herself to her feet so violently that I feared she might hurl herself at me. Instead, she left the room, shutting the door hard behind her.
I hardly knew how to conduct myself. Had I been excused? I rang for the servant, but no one answered. Then, after what felt like an interminable period, but might have been no more than five minutes, Mrs. Pepper reappeared. As she did not sit, I rose to meet her gaze from across the room.
“They brought him here, you know,” she said. “They dragged his body out of the river and brought him to this house. I held his cold hands in my own and wept over him until my physician insisted I withdraw. I have never known such sadness and such loss, Mr. Weaver. If Mr. Pepper was killed by a malicious agent, I want you to find him. Whatever these laborers pay you, I shall treble as your reward. And if you find that it was the East India Company, I shall stand by your side and make certain that they pay for their crimes.”
“You have my word—”
“Your word is nothing to me,” she said. “Return when you have something to tell me. Trouble me no further with idle speculations. I cannot endure the pain.”
“Of course, Mrs. Pepper. I shall endeavor—”
“Endeavor to show yourself out,” she said. “For now that must suffice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HAD NO NOTION OF WHAT TIME IT WAS WHEN I EXITED THE WIDOW’S house, only that the world had gone dark and the streets were full of the drunken shouts and shrill laughter of nighttime. When I removed my watch—guardedly, of course, for at such a time it only took but one tick of a timepiece for those items to be lost to artful hands—I saw that it was not yet seven o’clock, though I felt as though it were past midnight. At the nearest opportunity, I found a coach to take me home.
I had much to do. I knew of Pepper’s dealings with the mysterious Mr. Teaser, as I knew him to be married to three different women—and I should hardly have been surprised if I were to find more. But why did Cobb care about Pepper? What was Pepper’s relationship with the East India Company—or with Cobb, for that matter? How was this all connected to Forester’s plot or Ellershaw’s need to overturn the 1721 legislation? Did Celia Glade’s presence mean that the French had a hand in all of this, or had I merely stumbled upon a spy—no doubt one of hundreds scattered across the metropolis—who collected information and sent it home, where wiser heads would determine if it had merit?
I had no answers and threatened to find no answers. I only knew I was tired and that an innocent and helpful man, the good-natured Carmichael, had died because of all this double-dealing. I wanted no more of it. Perhaps it was time to cease resisting Cobb. My efforts to undermine him and find his truths for my own purposes had granted me nothing but the imprisonment of one friend, and I would not risk the imprisonment of more.
I had been considering these matters and working myself into a very high state of agitation and anger. It was for this reason, then, that I could hardly understand, let alone manage my emotions, when I entered my house and found a visitor awaiting me in the drawing room.
It was Cobb.
I FELT NO GREAT CONCERN for his well-being, but I immediately noted that he looked unwell. He appeared drawn and quite agitated. He rose as soon as I entered the room, and, holding his hands together, he took a few tentative steps toward me.
“I must speak with you, Weaver. It cannot wait.”
I will not say the rage I felt toward him disappeared, but curiosity stayed my temper. Edgar, after all, had been ready to thrash me for sending a boy to Cobb’s house. Now Cobb himself appeared at mine.
I therefore directed him to my rooms, that we might enjoy privacy, and there, once I had lit my candles, I poured myself a glass of port, and chose not to invite him to join me, though his hands twitched and his lips trembled, and I saw he wished for a drink of something bracing above all things.
“Your presence here surprises me,” I told him.
“It surprises me as well, but there is no helping it. I must speak with you man-to-man. I know you have had cause to feel anger toward me, and you must believe I wish things could have been otherwise. Hammond suspects you are holding back, and so do I. But I come here without him to plead with you to tell me what you have not already told us. I do not threaten you or your friends. I just wish for you to tell me.”
“I have told you all.”
“What of him?” he asked, and whispered the name: “Pepper.”
I shook my head. “I have learned nothing of his death.”
“But what of his book?” He leaned forward. “Have you learned anything of that?”
“Book?” I asked, rather convincingly, if I may say so. Cobb had made no mention of the book, and I thought it wisest to feign ignorance.
“I beg of you. If you have any idea where it can be found, you must get it to me before the Court of Proprietors meeting. Ellershaw cannot be allowed to have it.”
It was a convincing performance on his part, and I confess I felt a moiety of compassion for him. But a moiety only, for I did not fail to recollect Mr. Franco in the Fleet, and though Cobb might be a pathetic figure at the moment, he was still my enemy.
“You must tell me about this book. I know nothing of it. Indeed, sir, I resent you sending me upon this quixotic quest, chasing after a man of whom I may not speak, and now, I discover, in search of a book no one has mentioned. Perhaps I might have been done with you already if you had only told me of this book.”
He looked into the black of my window. “The devil take it. If you have been unable to find it, it cannot be found.”
“Or,” I suggested, “perhaps, if Ellershaw knows what this book is and why you value it, he has it already, possessing the advantage of knowing it when he sees it. I cannot even say that I have not held this book in my hands, for I know nothing of it.”
“Do not torment me so. Do you swear you know nothing of it?”
“I tell you I remain ignorant.” It was an evasion, but if Cobb noticed it, he gave no indication.
He shook his head. “Then that will have to do.” He rose from his chair. “It will have to do, and I will have to pray that things stand as they are until the Court meeting.”
“Perhaps if you told me more,” I suggested.
He either did not hear me or could not. He opened my door and took himself from my home.
WHEN I ARRIVED at Craven House the next morning, I was informed at once that Mr. Ellershaw wished to see me in his office. I was fifteen minutes late, and I feared he might use the opportunity to chastise me for my failure to observe form, but it was nothing of the kind. He was in his room with an officious-looking younger man who held a measuring tape in his hands and a dangerous-looking bunch of needles in his mouth.
“Good, good,” Ellershaw said. “Here he is. Weaver, be so kind as to let Viner here measure you, would you? This will be just the thing. Just the thing for the Court.”
“Of course,” I said, stopping in the middle of the room. In an instant, the tailor was whipping the measuring tape about me as though it were a weapon. “What is this for?”
“Arms up,” said Viner.
I raised my arms.
“Worry not, worry not,” Ellershaw said. “Viner here is a miracle worker, are you not, sir?”
“A mi
racle worker,” he agreed, mumbling the words through his pins. “All done here.”
“Very nice. Now be off with you, Weaver. You’ve something to do, haven’t you?”
AADIL DID NOT SHOW himself that day, and I began to wonder if he would show himself at all. He must have known I had seen him, and now he could no longer pretend to be a disinterested if hostile worker and no more. He had played his hand too openly, and while I had no doubt he would continue to serve Forester, I suspected his days of doing so at Craven House had come to an end.
I planned that night to pursue my final unexplored link to the seemingly charming Pepper—that is to say, his Mr. Teaser, whom his Twickenham wife had set me upon. I no sooner was ready to leave the India yard when Ellershaw, once more, requested me.
In his office, again, was the very efficient Mr. Viner. Efficient, I say, because he had already managed to construct a suit based on the measurements he had taken that morning. He held out to me a neatly folded pile of clothes of light blue cast, as Mr. Ellershaw stood observing in an absurd posture, showing off a suit of exactly the same color.
I understood at once, recalling—and regretting—my own suggestion that this feminine cloth be turned into masculine suits. Ellershaw had taken my notion to heart and chosen to grab the domestic market in the only way possible, should his efforts fail.
“Put it on,” he said, with an eager nod.
I stared at him and I stared at the suit. It is difficult for me to explain just how precisely absurd he looked, and how absurd I was sure to look by his side. These cottons would surely make pretty bonnets, but a suit of robin’s-egg blue for a man—a man who was not the most absurd dandy—could hardly be imagined. And yet, as I stood there, I knew I could not very well say that such a thing was not to my taste. I could hardly turn my nose up at it, however aesthetically practical but socially and morally abhorrent.
“It is very kind of you,” I said, hearing the weakness in my own voice.
“Well, put it on, put it on. Let’s see if Viner is up to his usual good work.”
