A Conspiracy of Paper bw-1

by David Liss

  “You will indeed be there,” I said with a smile, “but instead of a beautiful actress, I think you would have a far superior time escorting a more manful companion.” I grinned at him. “And I have the very costume for you.” I showed him the disguise that came with the invitation.

  Elias stared in horror. “Gad, Weaver, surely you mock me. Can you expect me to give up my evening with fair Lucy in order to wander about Heidegger’s dressed as a bearded mendicant? I shall never get this close to such a beauty again; it seems as though every time I take a liking to an actress she disappears, only to become one of Jonathan Wild’s whores. And you do not seem to understand the effect my failure to bed this wench will have on my constitution.”

  I placed an arm about his shoulder. “I must say I am delighted with you. You come here with a ticket and, I am confident, a costume I might borrow. I think we shall have a splendid time.”

  Elias picked up the costume and stared at the mask. “It is true that Lucy lacks your wit,” he said mournfully, “but I must say that you are a devilish harsh companion. I have no other friends who ask me to do such things.”

  “And that is why you spend your time with me.” I grinned.

  “Will your uncle reward me for my efforts when we capture the murderous fiend?”

  “I am certain. If you were not already to be rich of the proceeds of your play, your help in this matter would make you a rich man.”

  “Splendid!” Elias chirped. “Now, let us talk about this widow cousin of yours.”

  MASQUERADES, AS MY READER will know well, were at the very height of their popularity at the time of this history, but until one has actually attended such a gathering, its precise nature cannot be imagined fully. Think of a large, gorgeously decorated space, exquisite music playing, delectable foods passed about in abundance, and hundreds of the most absurdly dressed men and women intermixing freely. Anonymity made women bold and men bolder, and the hiding of one’s face left one free to expose parts of one’s mind and body normally left concealed in public.

  To complement the disguise of the costume, no one spoke in his true voice, but obscured it with the masquerade squeak. Thus, to envision the assembly, think only of the Haymarket full of shrill and squawking Pans and milkmaids, devils and shepherdesses, and of course countless black, hooded dominos—the ideal costume for men who enjoyed the hunt of the masquerade but lacked the imagination, desire, or sense of humor to dress as a goatherd, harlequin, friar, or any of the characters in vogue. While the string band played delightful tunes from Italy, these identical blackened figures—enshrouded in shapeless robes, faces covered with masks that hid the visage above the nose—moved about the room as wolves circling a wounded hart.

  In such a black disguise I, too, moved about. I had originally thought to borrow Elias’s costume—with an appropriate sense of self, my friend had planned on attending dressed as Jove, and we traveled to his lodgings, where I found that the Olympian’s robes fit too snug upon me, so we set out to procure a masquerade domino.

  Elias took me to a tailor with whom he was friendly—that is to say, he currently owed him no money—and whose shop was well known to masqueraders. Even as we entered we saw a pair of gentlemen purchasing dominos. And as we engaged upon the errand, I made an effort to inform Elias of all I had recently discovered—most distressingly, the news that old Balfour had once owned twenty thousand pounds’ worth of South Sea stock.

  “No wonder he was ruined,” he said, as I slipped a black domino over me and adjusted the hood. “To lose so much. Inconceivable.”

  I put the mask upon my face, and looked in the mirror. I looked like a great black apparition. “But according to my man at South Sea House, Balfour sold the stock long before his death.”

  Elias fiddled with the sleeves in his fastidious way. “Could your man not inform you to whom he sold?”

  “He sold to no one,” I said, as I slipped the domino off. “He sold back to the Company.”

  I stepped forward from the secluded area to purchase the costume. Elias had grown red in the face, as though he could not stand to breathe. I knew he wished to tell me something in private, but he had to wait until I had paid for my costume and the tailor had wrapped it for me. After these excruciating minutes had passed, we stepped out in the street, and afforded privacy by noise and distraction, Elias let forth a long breath.

  “Have you no idea how that sounds, Weaver? You cannot just sell back to the Company. Stock is not a trinket that you can return to the shop.”

  “If Cowper wished to sell me misinformation, would he not have sold me believable misinformation?”

  “You did believe it,” he pointed out, pushing his way past a slowmoving gathering of old ladies. “But I take your point. Perhaps what he wished was to make you suspicious.”

  “I shall go mad,” I announced, “if I must always suspect people of telling me lies so that I shall know they are lying. What ever happened to telling a man lies he meant a man to believe?”

  “The problem with you, Weaver,” Elias announced, “is that you are too invested in the values of the past.”

  After dining and taking a bottle of wine, we arrived at the masquerade, and I spent much of the evening drifting about, sometimes speaking to Elias, but mainly keeping my distance, so that it would not be obvious that the begging Jew was with me—or even that he had come with help should he need it. I was nevertheless shocked when, near enough to Elias to hear his conversation, yet inconspicuously acquiring a drink of wine from a serving boy, I saw a woman with a stunning shape, dressed as some Roman goddess or other, approach Elias, and from behind her mask, which entirely obscured her face, squeaked, “Do you know me?”

  When Elias squeaked the same response in reply, the goddess said, “I should think I do, Cousin. I must say, your costume is the talk of the ball.”

  Unable to contain myself, I stepped forward and grabbed her by her arm. “Good Lord, Miriam,” I whispered in my own voice. “What is it you do here?”

  It took her but a moment to sort out the confusion. “You surprise me,” she said, peering from one side of my hood to the other, as if to find some fissure that should allow her to see my face. “Why did you give away so original a costume?”

  I ignored the question. “Is my uncle aware that you attend such events?” I asked evenly.

  She laughed it off, though I could see I had insulted her. “Oh, he works late at his warehouse tonight, you know. And Mrs. Lienzo is always asleep long before I must leave the house.”

  “Have you eaten the food?” I asked her.

  Her eyes sparkled underneath her mask. “You are certainly preposterous, Benjamin. What do you care if I keep the dietary laws? They are nothing to you.”

  “You must go home,” I said. “This ball is no place for a lady.”

  “No place for a lady? Every fashionable lady in town is in attendance.”

  Elias leaned forward, sticking his enormous orange false beard between us. “She’s got you there, Weaver.”

  The string band struck up with a sprightly tune, and shocking myself as much as Miriam, I set a hand upon my cousin’s elbow, and without so much as asking for her permission, I guided her to the dance floor. I astonished myself, I say, because I was no accomplished dancer—indeed, even as I approached the dozens of couples, already turning about the floor with absolute grace, my throat tightened with apprehension. This business of dancing belonged to the genteel, not to a man of action such as myself. I hoped to show Miriam that I was not without some polite skills, but I feared I would show her the very reverse.

  I comforted myself with the thought that I did have some experience behind me. When I had fought under Mr. Yardley’s protection, he insisted that his boxers take dancing lessons, for he believed that from dancing one learned a kind of agility that invariably served even the most powerful man in the ring. “The strongest country blockhead you find,” he had said, “even if he could tear you in half, shall never be able to touch you if you
can but cut capers ’round him.”

  I could not be certain of Miriam’s response to my rather abrupt decision to serve as her partner, for her mask covered almost all of her face, but her lips parted with surprise, and speechlessly we commenced our movements about the floor. I felt a bit lumbering and oafish, and I could tell that Miriam struggled not to stumble upon my graceless motions, but she nevertheless followed my lead, and if I was any judge of these things, enjoyed herself somewhat.

  “You know,” she said at last, a grin suspended beneath her mask, “that I am already engaged to a dancing partner for this night. You have committed a great social affront.”

  “We shall see if he challenges me,” I grumbled, attempting to maintain my balance. “Who is this dancing partner of yours?” I asked after a moment, though I knew the answer full well.

  “Is that your concern, Cousin?”

  “I think it is.”

  “I thought you wished to dance with me so we might have a gay time. Do you plan to spoil that by playing the father with me?”

  “I would never choose to spoil a gay time,” I said, nearly colliding with a plump lady of Arabia, “but is it not my responsibility as a man and a kinsman to look after your well-being?”

  “My being has never been more well,” she assured me. “It is a rare thing I am allowed to put to use the dancing skills. And what could be more delightful than the variety of the masquerade?”

  I pressed onward, knowing I should spoil this dance by doing so. “Do you not risk your honor, as well as your family’s, by coming here without my uncle’s knowledge, consorting with men he knows not who?”

  Miriam’s jaw tightened. She had wished to make banter, to play the free woman unconcerned with what the world thinks, and I was determined to shatter this illusion. I had angered her, but I truly feared for her reputation. From what Elias told me of this Deloney rascal she consorted with, I could not even be certain that her honor remained unbesieged. I suspected that Deloney was somewhere at the ball, and I heartily wished that he should confront me for dancing with his partner. In this way I should show Miriam that a man such as myself should protect her with honor, and the pretty talk of a spark was but a bubble.

  At last she spoke. “Would you lecture me on disobedience? You left your family, almost forever, when you were younger than I. You believed yourself capable of choosing your own way in the world. You would deny me that same choice?”

  I found her so perplexing it was all I could do to continue the dance. “You are being absurd. You are a lady, and cannot assume that the avenues open to a man are open to you. A man may do many things, take many risks, that a lady must never even consider. It is monstrous strange that you should even think of taking the same liberties I did.”

  “So because more liberties are denied me, I should presume to take for myself even fewer?” Miriam pushed away, breaking from the dance floor in the midst of the minuet. Her anger sparked the interest of the crowd, and as I rushed after her, I did all I could to obscure our exit from the gathering. Ignoring the knot of tension that twisted in my stomach, I caught up to her as she hurried along, her Roman goddess robes rustling as she went, and led her through a maze of men identically dressed in black dominos. We emerged close to one of the large punch bowls, and by that point some other reveler had certainly behaved either badly or comically enough to create a new diversion, freeing us from the ignominy of public spectacle.

  “Miriam,” I began, uncertain what to say after that. Her eyes, behind her mask, looked away, but I pressed onward. “Miriam, surely you understand that I am only concerned for your safety.”

  Her eyes softened as she began to relent. “I understand your motivations entirely, but I do not think that you understand mine. Do you not know what a masquerade ball means to a woman? I can be bold and forward and coquettish, or masculine and learned in my ideas—and no one knows who I am. My reputation will not suffer. Where else could I go to indulge these freedoms and hope to escape with my name unblemished?”

  I could not but see the reason of her argument, but I had no wish to admit as much. Fortunately my response was cut short by the arrival of a gentleman dressed in a Venetian-style costume, featuring a birdlike mask with an elongated beak, and a suit of varicolored robes. “Miriam?” he asked in the masquerade squeak.

  Miriam remained motionless, uncertain how to respond. So I spoke for her. “The lady is occupied at present,” I told this man in a clipped tone. Neither the mask nor the squeak concealed him from me. I recognized him as Deloney, though he surely did not recognize me.

  “I say!” he exclaimed in his natural voice. “You are a rude enough fellow behind that mask, but I’ll wager that if I could see your face you would not be so free with your insults.”

  I took a step forward and leaned toward him, clutching the beak of his mask in my hand. “Why, you know me, Deloney,” I whispered. “My name is Benjamin Weaver, and I am available to answer your commands at any time. I trust you will repay my loan before you call me to a duel. One would not want to fight with a debt of honor upon his conscience.”

  He staggered backward, as though my challenge had been an actual violence upon him. I could hardly feel comforted by Miriam’s having this weakling for an escort. “Come,” I said to her. “I shall put you in a hackney and send you home.”

  She cast a glance at this fellow, whose bird mask now hung in shame, but they exchanged no words. We exited the Haymarket, and I directed a footman to procure for us a hackney, and while he did so we stood in silence until the coach rode up and the footman we had sent jumped off.

  Miriam walked toward the door, and then turned to me. “I had come hoping to feel emboldened, but I only feel shamed.”

  I shook my head. “The next time you wish for an adventure, I hope you will come speak to me. We shall arrange something that you will find delightful but will involve no unnecessary intrigues.”

  I thought for a moment that I had won her over—that she understood and respected my concern—but when she looked up, I saw none of these things. Only anger.

  “You misunderstand my shame. I would have liked to have trusted you,” she said. “I would have liked to believe you cared something of my safety and my reputation.”

  I shook my head. I could not understand her, and I could not even understand my confusion. I thought hard on what I had said, what I had done. I had given her reasons to think me bold and overbearing, but not untrustworthy. “What do you say?”

  “I know what you are about,” she said, just above a whisper. Through her mask I saw voluptuous tears welling in her eyes. “I know why you are in Mr. Lienzo’s house, and I know the nature of your inquiry. Is he so jealous of the insurance money from Aaron’s lost ship—money he has refused to give me, though it is in truth, if not in law, mine? Ruin me if you wish, and collect your little reward for doing it. I cannot pretend any longer to find you anything but a villain.” With that she rushed into her coach and ordered the driver to ride.

  I did not even think to chase after her. I stood still in a kind of foolish stupor, wondering what I had said and done, wondering what her words could mean.

  I could indulge in this wonderment only a short while, for I had left Elias, dressed as he was in his Jew costume, awaiting someone who believed he was me. I pushed Miriam from my thoughts and rushed back in.

  Elias had not been molested in my absence. I found him tolerably well, if a bit overly jolly, taking refreshment at the punch bowl.

  “Ah, there you are,” he chirped. “I don’t think I was aware of what a truly terrible dancer you are, but I believe I like your cousin. She’s a girl of some spirit.”

  “That is the trouble,” I muttered and separated from him again, hoping that whoever had invited me to the ball would make himself known soon. I had grown weary of costumes and dances.

  Elias ventured into a crowd of nymphs, but I was careful never to let my friend out of my sight. While I found myself disgusted with the gawking and laughing o
f the other masqueraders as they pointed to his costume with delight, I could not but be grateful the disguise was as conspicuous as it was, for it was never long out of my view. Elias very much enjoyed the notoriety the Jewish peddler costume afforded him, and danced companionably with an assortment of Chloes, Phyllises, Phoebes, and Dorindas. For my part I kept my distance, concerned only to watch Elias and those in his vicinity. Aiming to keep myself unoccupied, I was astonished to discover how many ladies approached me with an inquisitive squeak, asking if they knew me. And while I have certainly been guilty of vanity in my days, it was hard to take pride of one’s appearance when dressed in a formless black robe and a mask that covered all of one’s face. Nevertheless, these masked ladies were aggressive, and I found that responding to the “Do I know you?” introduction with “I do not believe so, madam,” only produced further unwelcome conversation. I soon discovered that “Certainly not!” did my business admirably, and I was free to watch Elias’s feet, as well as his hands, roam nimbly about the dance floor.

  The night wore on, and the hall began to thin out, and I soon wondered if our enemies had somehow detected our ruse, or if our allies had been too frightened to make the connection they had thought to make. Then, as I watched Elias bow a farewell to a striking sultana, I saw four domino-clad men approach him and, after a moment of discussion, beckon him to join them. I must say that while Elias was somewhat unsuited in constitution for combat between men of grit, he knew to keep his head about him, and he demonstrated an implicit trust in my vigilance. Without straining his neck to see if I observed what transpired, Elias nodded to the men and followed along.

  I was dismayed to see that they escorted him with two behind and two before, for it would make it hard for me to get to Elias should the confrontation turn vicious. Nevertheless, as inconspicuously as I could, I followed along. They led him out of the ballroom and into a hallway. Hanging back, I turned the corner to see that they were already gone, but I surmised that they had taken a staircase, which I then quietly, though with stealth, ascended. Within a moment I was not far behind these men as they spiraled upward in silence. I, too, had to be entirely silent, for if they but looked down they would see me in pursuit.