A Conspiracy of Paper bw-1

by David Liss

  “Before sundown?” I almost shouted. “I quite understand your concern, Mrs. Garrison, and I do not resent it, but before sundown is hardly reasonable. I shall not have time to search for other lodgings. I might remind you that I am paid through the end of the quarter.”

  “I’ll return your money. You needn’t worry on that score. But I must insist upon your departure, sir.” She stood there, continuing to wring her hands. I suppose I could have either charmed or frightened her into changing her mind, but I could not deny that my adventures had placed her in jeopardy. I had no great love for my landlady, but I should have been enraged had she been harmed by any enemy of mine. What she asked of me was an inconvenience, not an impossibility, and the right thing to do would be to comply.

  “Very well, madam,” I said. “I shall not cause you further grief.”

  She sighed with relief. “Thank you, Mr. Weaver. I am sorry to have to do this.”

  I thought this might be the beginning of a protracted apology, and I held up my hand. “Enough, Mrs. Garrison. I quite understand. You must do justice to yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir. Oh, and Mr. Weaver, sir, I think I should only tell you that there is another gentleman waiting for you upstairs. I told him I didn’t know if you wanted anyone up there and that there was no knowing when you was to be back, but he took me no mind and—”

  Without another word I turned and ran upstairs as best I could, reaching, as I moved, for the pistol I had only recently replaced into my coat pocket. There was no way of knowing who it could be. Perhaps Wild’s deception had not yet run its full course. Perhaps now I was to contend with the South Sea Company or even an agent of Bloathwait’s. I stood outside my door for a moment, my pistol held high, and with a fluid movement, I pushed the door open and stepped forward boldly, aiming my firearm at the figure who sat facing me.

  “You’ve had a lively day, then?” Elias said calmly. “The old bird’s been having seizures. I mollified her a bit by taking some of her blood. Shall I send a bill to Mr. Balfour?” Elias paused. “You can put that pistol down, you know.”

  I did as he suggested and threw myself into my armchair. “There’s no condition unbettered by the loss of blood,” I mumbled. “It’s a wonder men who have their limbs lopped off don’t stand healthier than we who still have all ours attached.”

  “You laugh,” Elias said cheerfully, “but were I to bleed you now, you’d soon discover a vast improvement in your disposition. Shall you tell me what happened? You look dreadful.”

  I briefly recounted my adventure with Wild, trying not to omit any detail that might be of value. Elias’s jaw hung open as he listened. “This is an impenetrable turn. Why should Wild wish to set you against the South Sea Company? What could a trading company be to a man like Wild?”

  I shook my head, suddenly quite thirsty. I wished that I kept something such as drinking water around my rooms, but that was a luxury I rarely indulged in. “I don’t know.” I sighed such that my ribs ached. “He mentioned counterfeiting, but if Wild were involved in a scheme to falsify stock, why would he point me to the Company? My inquiry would only risk exposing the scheme.”

  Elias nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe he wishes to put you off the Company?”

  I could not follow his thinking, and my eyes became unfocused.

  “Wild is devious,” Elias continued. “What if he tells you to look to the Company because he knows you mistrust him? Perhaps he claims the Company as his enemy precisely because it is his ally.”

  I closed my eyes. “It is a strange business, but I cannot believe that even if the Company were ruthless enough to involve itself in the murder of two prominent businessmen, it would be so reckless as to risk dealings with Wild. These men may be villains, but they are not fools.”

  “I have known several and found them as subject to buffoonery as men in any profession.”

  “If Wild were connected with the Company, why should he expose himself now? Why should he involve me? Surely it is a risk to call upon me. I cannot see what he or the South Sea Company or Bloathwait or anyone else has to gain by handing me these minute pieces of information and asking me to proceed from them. If anything, such actions suggest that they do not work together—that each individual who provides me with information accounts at least one of the others as his enemy. I cannot claim to understand it all, Elias, but if this is an inquiry of probability rather than fact, I believe it likely that whoever killed my father and Balfour has other enemies, and that all of those enemies are attempting to use this inquiry to serve their own aims.”

  “Perhaps these men were part of a cabal that has broken down. Perhaps the different elements have gone off in their own direction to manage their own affairs as they see best. I cannot say. What did you learn from your visit at the South Sea House?”

  I told Elias about my encounter with the clerk, Cowper. “Until I hear what he has learned, I do not know that we can advance on that front. I wonder if it is not time for me to pay a visit to Mr. Balfour. After all, he is my employer. I ought to keep him informed.”

  “Selectively, I should think,” Elias said.

  “Oh, I quite agree. No one is above suspicion, Elias, and Balfour is a strange fish indeed. Perhaps if I apply a bit of pressure we shall see a crack in his edifice.”

  “Splendid.”

  “In the meantime, I have more immediate concerns, such as where I shall sleep tonight. Mrs. Garrison has sent me packing over the small matter of Wild’s ruffians forcing their way into her parlor.”

  “That’s a nasty bit of news, isn’t it? Where shall you go?”

  “Perhaps I’ll impose on my uncle for a while—until I have the time to search for a place. He has shown himself in favor of families helping one another out.” I said nothing to Elias about the uneasiness I had about my uncle. I can hardly explain why I found the very idea of villainy within my own family most embarrassing, but if my uncle had been less than forthright with me, what better way to uncover his deception than by moving in with him?

  Elias then inspected the wounds inflicted by Wild’s soldiers, all the while indicating that my recovery would be speeded by the removal of a small quantity of my blood, but I would not have it. When he had finished his ministrations, I screwed up my resolve to face my pain and set off in search of my uncle. I found him at his warehouse, reviewing some ledgers in his closet, and I approached him with trepidation as I made my request, fearing that he would suspect me of taking advantage of his good nature. Such was not the case.

  “You will have Aaron’s room,” he said after a moment of consideration. He then looked down at his ledgers, suggesting our business was complete.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” I said after a moment.

  He raised his eyes from his book. “I shall see you tonight, then.”

  So, having had my favor granted in the style of a punishment meted out, I returned to Mrs. Garrison’s to put my effects in order, collect those things I could not wait upon her servant sending, and make my way out of her house.

  This final departure took far longer than I had anticipated, and its taste was more bitter than I could have imagined. I suppose I had been foolish for not taking better care of it, for not locking it within a strongbox, or hiding it, or disguising its nature. Simply sliding it within a pile of papers on my writing desk had seemed sufficient, but I was proved wrong indeed. It was, therefore, with a kind of ignominious shame that I went forth to the generosity of my uncle’s lodgings to inform him that my father’s pamphlet, perhaps the most convincing evidence that his death had been orchestrated by the powers of ’Change Alley, had disappeared from my possession.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I SAT IN MY uncle’s study staring at the mug of mulled wine that stood steaming on the table beside me. I had already moved most of my things to the room that I had been given on the second floor. I had already thought about my location strategically; Miriam’s room was located on the third floor, so while I had no cause to walk by her door,
she had cause to walk by mine. I had only to wonder precisely how aggressive a widow she was.

  In the meantime, my mind focused more upon the events of the day. Isaac had made the wine too hot, and in his efforts to handle the hot pewter, my uncle had already spilled a healthy amount on his austere brown coat. He hardly seemed to care, however, just as he hardly seemed to care that I had lost our only copy of A Conspiracy of Paper. “It would be better if we still had it,” he had said with a shrug, “but these men, they killed your father to keep him silent. If you escape with only having it stolen, perhaps that is not so very terrible.”

  It had taken a great deal of courage, and two glasses of scalding wine, for me to confess the loss to my uncle. It was a confession that had hurt, for I felt that I had failed in my responsibility to my family, and this failure tasted far too much like the time I had run away from my father. But Uncle Miguel had only clucked in concern, asked me about my injuries, and uttered a blessing to thank God that I had not been further injured. I tried to put myself in his place, to imagine how he should feel, and I in no way could understand why he cared not about the loss of the manuscript. I wished that I could banish the suspicions conjured by his composed spirits, but I could only think that it no longer mattered to him if I found my father’s killer—if it had ever mattered.

  He sat across from me, eyeing me with concern as his fingers cautiously probed the hot silver handle of his mug. “I fear,” he said, “that this inquiry of yours grows too dangerous.”

  The pain throughout my body had begun to subside into a dull ache. My legs and my neck were both stiff, and my head pounded horribly. “I can hardly stop now,” I said, hoping to draw him out. “Does not this violence confirm our suspicions?”

  “This family has suffered too many losses,” he said as he shook his head. “I cannot look quietly on while you are threatened as well.”

  “I don’t understand. You wanted this inquiry. Has something happened to make you change your mind? Has Mr. Adelman convinced you?”

  He laughed. “Adelman,” he said, as though the name were enough to explain his mirth. “You think me so easily persuaded by Adelman?”

  “I could not say,” I mumbled. I thought about what Sarmento had told me—that my father hated Adelman. And I thought about how my uncle welcomed him at his table for Sabbath dinner. “We cannot just walk away from something because it is dangerous, Uncle.”

  “That is precisely why we should walk away. Because it is dangerous. But”—he held a hand in the air—“you know your business more than I. I would not presume to tell you how to proceed or how to take care for your own safety. I merely wished to say, Benjamin, that I will not have you press on, put yourself in harm’s way, on my account.”

  I could longer remain silent. “Why do you maintain a friendship with Adelman, a man who was my father’s enemy?”

  He thought to laugh, but held his laughter back, as though it would offend me. Perhaps it would have. “Who told you he and your father were enemies?” He did not pause for an answer. “Mr. Adelman and I have had dealings since he arrived on this island. Your father cared not much for his involvement with the Company, it is true, and he was a man who could little trouble himself to conceal his feelings, but they were not enemies. Merely cool acquaintances.”

  Perhaps I had misunderstood my uncle. Perhaps he did only wish to see me stay clear of danger. My uncle, unlike my father, was not a coward, but I knew him to be cautious, to guard his position in the community with care, to wish always to say the right thing before the watchful eyes of our Christian neighbors. His concern made me feel ungenerous for doubting him.

  Intending to change the topic, I cleared my throat and took a gulp of wine, which had cooled enough that it was pleasingly hot. “Would you object if I wished to escort Miriam to the theatre?”

  He shifted uneasily in his chair. “I am not certain that the theatre is the best place for a woman such as Miriam. Perhaps some other social event,” he suggested.

  “You are very protective of her,” I observed.

  “She has grown up in this house since she was hardly more than a child, and she married my own son. I feel I have a great responsibility toward her.”

  “A responsibility to keep her from the theatre?”

  “To keep her from harm,” he corrected. “You know the sort of elements that haunt the theatre, Benjamin. And you know what a delicate thing a lady’s reputation is. To be seen simply talking with the wrong man can ruin her forever. You would not want that, I’m sure.”

  “Of course not,” I said nervously. Uncle Miguel’s eyes hung upon every change in my face.

  “I shall be direct with you, Benjamin. I notice that you have developed a certain fondness for Miriam. I have not inquired of the matter with her, but I believe she may have it within her to feel the same. You know that she has other suitors, but I do not believe she cares for any of them, and as I say, I wish for her happiness. But I am not such a fool as to send her off in a love match with a man who cannot do her justice.”

  “I see.” I nodded, wishing nothing so much as that this conversation had never happened.

  “It would be inappropriate to consider you as a suitor in your current state, but there are always options. You may know that I still have need of an agent in the Levant, and since Aaron’s death, I have not found a suitable substitute. You would have to travel a great deal, but there are many opportunities to earn a substantial fortune for both yourself and your family. And, as I’m sure you know, Miriam has one hundred a year settled on her, which should provide an initial level of comfort in establishing a household.”

  “Miriam has a hundred a year?” I nearly blurted out. While it might be difficult to maintain a luxurious household upon such an amount, for a woman who had no concerns of food or rent, it was an enormous sum. I could not think why Miriam had needed to borrow money, nor why she had tried to deny that she ever made the request. “Does she receive this money now?” I asked.

  “Of course. She receives quarterly payments. She received the last one only a few weeks ago. Why do you ask?”

  Why did I ask, indeed. “Your offer is very generous, Uncle.” I took another drink of my wine and pushed myself to my feet, feeling the ache as I did so. “I do not wish you to think me insensible to what you propose. But I know that I am not the right man to be your Turkey merchant. And though the prize you offer is an estimable one, it shall do me little good if I am so far away.”

  My uncle stood as well, and placed a hand gently upon my shoulder. “I am perhaps not the most observant man, Benjamin, but I do notice some things. Miriam chose not to travel with Aaron for certain reasons. I am not sure she would feel the same way about you. In any case, I hope you will consider what I offer you. It stands whether you marry or no. I should very much like to see you within the family trade.”

  I bowed at my uncle, even as I condemned myself for the formal politeness I offered in return for his generous warmth. But I had no wish to live and trade amongst a pack of turbaned Turks, and I had less of a desire to slip so easily into the role of my dead cousin.

  THE NEXT DAY I awoke to find myself stiff from the beating I had taken of Wild’s men, and the area around my right eye was purple and swollen. My uncle had already left for the warehouse by the time I came downstairs, so I sat at the breakfast table with the two ladies of the house. My aunt inquired if I had taken to fighting in the ring again. Miriam stared at me with a kind of horror.

  After breakfast I followed Miriam to the parlor, where she had begun leafing through the newspapers. I could not but feel that there was a coolness in her demeanor, and I suppose there was in mine. I knew that I had no right to resent her for having a lover, but I resented her all the same. I think I wanted her to behave somehow to make my resentment disappear or to make it grow. I knew only that I cared for her and that her intrigue with a man I knew to be a rascal tormented me.

  “You are to be part of the family in earnest now,” she said to
me.

  “My uncle has graciously permitted me to stay here during a difficult period.”

  She turned a page. “He is a generous man, then.”

  I stared at her. “Have I somehow offended you, Miriam?”

  She looked up at me. “You know something of the social politenesses. Have you?”

  Had she somehow learned about my following Deloney? If she had, would she dare confront me? I could hardly think so. “I cannot think that I have, madam.”

  “Then,” she said, “it is likely you have not.”

  I had no mind to play these games with her. “If you decide otherwise,” I said, “I can only hope that you will inform me of my transgression so that I may make amends.”

  “You are too good,” she said, and looked back at her paper.

  I had too much to do to press on, so I simply bowed and departed. I believed the hour was sufficiently seasonable, so I quit the house and made my way to Balfour’s lodgings, but I was told by his landlady that he no longer resided there. “The gentleman is now lodged with his mother,” she said. “I thought I knew his type, and I was sure I would have to call the bailiff were I ever to see the rent from the likes of him. But he gives me all what he owes me not three days ago and bids me pack up his things and send them to his mother, he says. And that’s what I done.”

  I retrieved Balfour’s new address and thanked her for her time. I then hired a chair to his mother’s town house on the Tottenham Court Road. The footman had me cool my heels for well over an hour in a neatly decorated parlor before Balfour whirled into the room, looking about for something or another, which at last he placed in his pocket before turning to address me. He had, I noted, already made an appointment with a tailor, for he had traded his fine but worn suit of clothes for something much finer and newer. He wore a brownish outer coat with a burgundy waistcoat beneath, lined about the sleeve with ample gold stuff. His shirt was of the finest and cleanest white silk, and even his wig—much in the style of his old wig—was quite full, well proportioned, and properly groomed. Balfour was a new man, and he had the clothing to bespeak his newness.