by David Liss
I knew not if I felt anger or elation, fear or joy. “Who was this ruffian?” I demanded.
“The villain quite escaped.” He flashed me a smile, a look of unrestrained mischief. I should have liked to have seen villainy, but there was something boyish, pranksterish about his look. Adelman wished me to know that the South Sea Company had disposed of Sir Owen. “It’s rather shocking he could have gotten away, with all those people there,” he said, smirking. “Sir Owen was a man with many enemies, and I suppose we shall never know the truth of it.”
“I quite believe it,” I said, conveying more to Adelman with my looks than my words. “We shall never know a great deal, I have begun to realize.”
“But there were papers found upon Sir Owen’s body that suggest unequivocally that he was the man known as Martin Rochester. There was even a draft of a letter, written to one of the South Sea directors.” Adelman handed me several folded pieces of paper.
I opened them to find a difficult hand, but I scanned the pages quickly. The letter was as Adelman claimed. “I seek now only to allow the Company to proceed with its plan,” it said. “In exchange for the consideration of thirty thousand pounds, I shall quit this isle, never to return nor speak of what has passed here.”
I handed him back the letter. “It looks enough like what little of Sir Owen’s hand as I have seen,” I said. “But then the matter before us is forgery.”
“You can rest assured that the man who murdered your father has been punished.”
I shook my head. “How did you get this letter from his person?”
“We could take no chances.”
“I see that,” I said dryly.
“Surely you do not believe that the South Sea Company had him murdered,” Adelman said with a gregarious smile. He wished to make certain I had no ambiguity in my mind. I think, however, the look upon my face was one of confusion—though of a moral rather than a factual nature. “Weaver,” he said in response, “I would have thought you might be happier at having found your justice.”
My stomach churned. I knew I should feel that this unpleasant affair had reached a resolution, but I could not quite believe it. “I wish I knew that I had,” I said quietly. “I assume, sir, that you still wish to deny any involvement in the attacks on my person?”
Adelman’s face flushed a bit. “I shall not lie to you, Mr. Weaver. We took measures that we found distasteful because we believe the good of the nation depends upon it. When the South Sea Company receives approval from Parliament to launch its plan to reduce the national debt, I do not doubt but that we shall be applauded throughout the Kingdom for our ingenuity in aiding the nation and our investors.”
“And yourselves, I am certain.”
He smiled. “We are public servants, but we wish to enrich ourselves as well. And if we can do all these things, I cannot see why we should not. In any event, the exigencies of the moment forced us to behave in ways that we wished avoidable. The attacks upon you on the street and at Heidegger’s masquerade were regrettable, but I can assure you we never wished you any real harm—only to convince you that the cost of looking into this nasty business would prove too dear. I see now that these attacks only drove you on. In my defense I must tell you that I argued against any efforts to intimidate you with violence, but in the Company I am but one voice.”
I was speechless for a moment, but I found my voice soon enough, though my teeth gritted together. My mouth grew suddenly dry. “In those attacks I was set upon by the very man who ran down my father. Surely you cannot expect me to believe—”
“We can only imagine,” Adelman interrupted, “that Sir Owen exerted his influence with the desperate fellows we employed—for how can men of that order be aught but desperate, and therefore infinitely corruptible—to insert his element within the gang. The blackguard you killed—the man who killed Samuel—was none of our hiring, I can assure you. As for the rest, I presume that Sir Owen swayed the ruffians in our employ that he might have use of them on occasions such as these. Nevertheless, for the small harm we intended, I must apologize to you. I believe we owe you much, and you, indeed, owe us much. For as you have relieved us from the threat of a pernicious forger, we have rescued you from the consequences of your actions and from the clutches of those who would have forced a trial that I need not tell you could easily have concluded with your hanging. Is it not time for us to reach a rapprochement?”
“A rapprochement,” I observed, “that I am certain will involve a promise on my part of silence.”
“Indeed, and I do not think it much to ask. You have, after all, uncovered the identity of your father’s murderer, which is what you desired, and this fiend has surely paid the ultimate price for his crimes. I cannot think but that your reputation will grow of this. Further, we shall pay you one thousand pounds in company stock. I think this a most amicable offer.”
I shook my head. “How can I trust what you say, Mr. Adelman? Did you not, in the South Sea House, look me in the eye and tell me things you knew to be utterly false—that the Bank had deceived me, that you knew of no connection between Rochester and my father’s death?”
Adelman’s jowly face quivered as he sighed. “Alas, lying to you then was necessary. It is no longer so.”
“So you say. But how am I to know that? Your word is meaningless. You have rendered it so. Now you tell me to believe you, but there is no basis for that belief.”
He smiled. “You need only choose to believe, Mr. Weaver. That is your basis.”
“Like the new finance,” I observed. “It is true only so long as we believe it to be true.”
“The world has changed, you know. You can either change with it and prosper or shake your fists at the heavens. I prefer to do the former. What about you, Mr. Weaver? What do you prefer?”
I thought that I should not hold myself indebted to the South Sea Company and that a man of principle would reject their bargain, but I needed the money. Part of me wished to ask for more, for what was the harm in asking for more of something that could be printed for the mere cost of paper yet exchanged for real money, assuming there existed such a thing. In the end I accepted this offer and I kept silent of their secret for as long as it mattered, and perhaps even longer. I suppose it no longer matters who knows of these things, and in light of the disaster that the South Sea Company was yet to face, I think hardly anyone would care now that once false stock circulated among murderers and their victims.
THIRTY-FIVE
THE NEXT DAY Elias affected an unwillingness to talk to me, blaming me for the failure of his play, which the management of the Drury Lane Theatre indicated would not continue for a second night. Elias was not to have even one benefit performance. His play had not earned him a single penny.
After some grueling hours of explanation, supplication, and promise of silver, Elias agreed that I had probably not shown up at the theatre with the intent of throwing anyone upon the stage, but he demanded the right to retain his foul disposition. He also demanded an immediate loan of five guineas. I had been prepared for a request of this sort, knowing the extent to which Elias had been depending on the proceeds of the benefit night. And as I, too, blamed myself in some small measure for the failure of The Unsuspecting Lover, and I wished to make amends as best I could, I handed an envelope to my friend.
He opened it and stared at the contents.
“You suffered no small amount at the hands of this inquiry,” I said. “I thought it only fair that you share in the rewards. Adelman has bribed me with a thousand pounds’ worth of stock, so now you will have half of it and together we shall share in the fortunes or misfortunes of the South Sea Company.”
“I think I hate you considerably less than I did this morning,” Elias said, as he examined the issues. “I should never have made half so much had my play lasted to a benefit night. You won’t forget that we need to transfer this to my name?”
“I think I have sufficiently familiarized myself with the procedures.” I took the
stock away from him for a moment that I might get his attention. “However, I do still require your opinion on some unresolved matters. I have been hardly used, I fear, and I know not by whom.”
“I would have thought your adventures to be at a finish,” Elias said absently, pretending he felt perfectly comfortable while I held his shares. “The villain is dead. What more could you wish?”
“I cannot but have doubts,” I told him. I proceeded to explain how I had been visited by a woman claiming to be Sarah Decker, and how she had exposed Sir Owen in a series of lies. “It was at that moment I concluded Sir Owen to be the villain behind all of these crimes.”
“And now you are uncertain.”
“Uncertain—yes, that is the very word,” I said.
“Is it not the best word to describe this age?” Elias asked pointedly.
“I should like if it were not the best word to describe this month, however. That woman told me she was Sarah Decker so that I might become convinced that Sir Owen was Martin Rochester. But if she lied about her identity and her motives, how do I know Sir Owen truly was Rochester?”
“Why would he have been murdered if he had not been guilty? You must surely have concluded that either the South Sea Company or someone else, equally implicit in these crimes, removed him in order to prevent him from speaking of what he knows.”
“It is true,” I agreed, “but perhaps this murderer made the same mistake I did. Perhaps Sir Owen’s assassin was tricked as I was. For if the South Sea Company had known Sir Owen to be Martin Rochester, why would they not have dealt with him long before?”
The puzzle had his attention. He squinted and dug his shoes into the dirt. “If someone wished you to believe that Sir Owen was Martin Rochester, why not simply write you a note telling you so instead of sending you hints from pretty heiresses? Why engage in an elaborate performance in the hope that you will reach the conclusion the schemer wishes?”
I had thought about this question as well. “Had I just received word that Sir Owen was Martin Rochester, I would have certainly looked into the matter, but as things have been set up, I did not hear that Sir Owen was the villain, I discovered it. You see, it was the discovery that fired my actions. Had I simply looked into an accusation, I should have done so quietly and discreetly. I believe that someone wished to see me turn to violence. The schemer knew Rochester’s true name all along but needed for someone else to remove Sir Owen. I just wish I knew who the schemer is.”
“You may never know who the schemer is,” Elias said as he took his stock back from my hand. “But I would bet that you can guess—in all probability, that is.”
He was right. I could.
IT TOOK ME some days to work up the will to do so, but I knew I had to understand the events that transpired in these pages, and I knew that there was but one man who could clarify much of what I had seen. I had no desire to seek him out, to engage with him more than I had to, but I would know the truth, and no one else could tell me. I therefore mustered my resolve and paid a visit to Jonathan Wild’s home. He had me wait almost not at all, and when he entered his drawing room he greeted me with a smile that might have suggested amusement or anxiety. In truth, he was as uncertain about me as I was about him, and his uncertainty made me feel far more at ease.
“How kind of you to call.” He poured me a glass of port and then limped across the room to sit across from me upon his princely throne, utterly confident in his powers. As always, Abraham Mendes stood silent sentry over his master. “I trust you are here on a matter of business.” A smile spread across Wild’s wide, square face.
I smiled falsely in return. “Of a sort. I wish for you to help make things clear for me, for much that has happened still confuses me. I know that you were to some degree involved with the late baronet, and that you attempted to control my actions from behind the scenes. But I do not entirely understand the scope or the motivation of your involvement.”
He took a long drink of his port. “And why should I tell you, sir?”
I thought on this for a moment. “Because I asked,” I said, “and because I was treated rudely by your hands, and I feel you owe me. After all, had things gone your way, I would be in Newgate this moment. But despite your efforts to keep me from contacting anyone while inside the Compter, you see I have emerged victorious.”
“I know not what you mean,” he told me unconvincingly. He did not wish to convince me.
“It could only have been you who prevented me from sending messages during my night of confinement. Had the Bank of England involved itself so early, surely Duncombe would have ruled against me. You would not have so extended yourself as the Bank would, but it would have been no large thing for you to convince the turnkeys at that jail to perform such a small service for you. So, as I say, Mr. Wild—I believe you owe me.”
“Perhaps I shall be open with you,” he said after a long pause, “because at this point I have nothing to lose by being so. After all, anything I say to you can never be used against me at the law, for you are the only witness of what I shall say.” He glanced at Mendes, I suspected for my benefit. He wished to make clear that any friendly exchanges between Jews should serve me not at all. “In any rate,” he continued, “as you are so clever, perhaps you might tell me what you suspect.”
“I shall tell you what I know, sir. I know that you had a personal investment in my inquiry continuing, and I can only presume it is because you wished to see the demise of Sir Owen, whom you knew to be the same as Martin Rochester. Your reason for doing so was that you, at some earlier point, were Mr. Rochester’s partner.”
The corners of Wild’s mouth twitched slightly. “Why do you believe that?”
“Because I can think of no other involvement you might have with Sir Owen, and because if Sir Owen had wished to sell and distribute this counterfeit stock, he must have needed your help. After all, anyone who engages in a certain kind of trade must sooner or later do business with Mr. Wild. Is that not true?”
I looked at Mendes, and I took some satisfaction in his very slight nod.
“It is still conjecture,” Wild told me.
“Ah, but it is all so probable. You sent the much-beleaguered Quilt Arnold to watch me when I put my notice in the Daily Advertiser. He told me that he had once been more trusted of you, and that you wished for him to see if he recognized anyone who came to meet with me, and if not, to describe them. Is it not probable, then, as Mr. Arnold had been more trusted of you in the past, that he had been more privy to your dealings with this counterfeit stock? Thus he might recognize a purchaser, and even if he did not, you might from Arnold’s description. None of these details on their own are condemnatory, but combined I believe there is no other way to interpret them.”
Wild nodded. “You are perhaps more impressive than I have given you credit for, Mr. Weaver. And yes, you are quite correct. More than a year ago, Sir Owen approached me because he wished to engage in a scheme to produce false South Sea stock. He had been, in the past, involved with the South Sea’s parent organization, the Sword Blade Company, and as a result he had great insight into their inner workings. But he wished to recruit those who knew their way about the underworld, and he needed connections to make his plan work, and so he wisely approached me. He offered me a percentage I thought generous, and soon we reached an agreement. It was a complex operation, you understand. He wished earnestly that no one should know who he was, because he rightly feared the power of the Company. And so he established the identity of Martin Rochester. With the aid of my men upon the street, and an inside operator at the company itself.”
“Virgil Cowper,” I speculated.
“The same,” Wild acknowledged. “And thus, with all these pieces in place, we had business upon our hands.”
“But you later wished to be out of that business,” I said. “You told Quilt Arnold to keep a watchful eye for South Sea men. You knew enough of their determination to fear them, yes?”
He nodded. “It took some time
, but I came to realize the dangers this operation presented to me, for it left me at another man’s mercy, a state I was unused to. When I finally understood what the South Sea Company was, I realized it was a dangerous thing to have such an enemy. When I had first entered into the venture, I presumed the directors to be but a bloated collection of lazy gentlemen, but I soon saw that I should be much better off with the Company caring nothing for me, for if they chose to destroy me I had little confidence that I could equal their power. And so I had to find a way to release myself of the connection.”
“Yet,” I surmised, “Sir Owen knew at this point too much of your operations, and should you turn on him, you need fear his vengeance.”
“Precisely.” Wild fairly glowed with the pleasure of his own cleverness. “I needed to find a way to remove him without his suspecting my involvement. It was about the time that Sir Owen and I went our separate ways that he learned that your father and Mr. Balfour had discovered the truth about the false stocks. As near as I can determine, Mr. Balfour discovered the false stocks in his possession, and he approached your father for assistance. When Sir Owen learned that your father wished to make this information public, he lashed out venomously—far too venomously for my taste, for in my business, sir, discretion is all. I knew him to have organized the murder of your father, Balfour, and the bookseller. I knew also that Sir Owen kept about his person a document written by your father detailing evidence of this forgery. I cannot say why he kept these letters—perhaps he thought they would give him leverage with the Company should he ever need it. At any rate, I directed Kate Cole to steal this document from him, knowing it would be easy, for his taste in whores was legendary. And then I planted some rumors that would make him believe that I might be behind the theft—might be, you understand. I simultaneously planted rumors that I was in no way involved. I could not have him know me to be his enemy. I merely circulated information to make him not quite comfortable trusting me—but not so uncomfortable that he should risk acting against me. Now, Mr. Weaver, should a man have something lost he wished recovered in this city, and he be unable to trust Jonathan Wild to recover it for him, to whom would he turn? It seemed he would have but one choice.”