A Spectacle Of Corruption Part 12

Elias raised an eyebrow. "What of him?"

"Should I not also get to know him better?"

"Surely you recognize that you are being absurd. If you are disguising yourself as a Whiggish West Indian, why should you seek out Griffin Melbury? And even more to the point, what would you gain by doing so? It is clear that Dogmill is your enemy, not Melbury."

"Rowley tried to point me toward Melbury. Perhaps Melbury would be able to help me if he thought we sought the same thing-the undoing of Dogmill."

"I understand you too well,Weaver. All you want is a way to get close to Mrs. Melbury. Don't think I can't see it."

"You're mistaken. I would prefer that this matter involve no one connected with her, but I have not set out the terms of this conflict and I must use them as best I can. If I can resolve my troubles without setting eyes on her, I should be the happier for it." Did I believe my own words? Even now, I cannot say.

"Very well, I'll indulge you for the moment. I beg you continue."

"You must know that I feel no fondness for Melbury, but I have come to the conclusion that he must succeed if I am to succeed. I wish to see him elected to Parliament, to aid him in his election. Once in office, he will have the power to expose the wrongs of my trial and to demonstrate the influence of Dogmill."

"And why should he do so?"

"Because he can have no love for Dogmill. Besides which, he and I will become friends," I said smugly.

"You make it sound so uncomplicated."

"I believe you were the one who, not long ago, advocated I become friends with a monster like Dogmill. But in my brief encounter with the man, and from all I've heard of him, attempting to attach myself to him will only incur his displeasure, something surely best avoided by a would-be toadeater. On the other hand, all state that Melbury is a reasonable man. His friendship should be far more easily secured. If I help him, if I work against Dogmill as a common enemy, should he not, in return, show me his grat.i.tude? Even more than that, by exonerating a man cruelly used by the Whigs, he advances his own career, his own party. Once I am able to prove my case to him, I don't know that he could be dissuaded from helping me."

"Perhaps," he said quietly. I could not tell if his hesitation stemmed from a weakness of the plan or from petulance that it was not he who had devised it.

"I want to meet Melbury," I said again. "He will be my friend, and Dogmill my foe. Can you think how I might do so?"

"I don't believe that you can set aside your feelings for his wife. Meeting with him, trying to earn his friendship, would be a mistake."

"It is my mistake to make," I said.

Elias sighed deeply and rolled his eyes for effect. "Well, I just now read that there is a breakfast for supporters of Mr. Melbury at the Ulysses Tavern near Covent Garden the day after tomorrow at eight in the morning. Frightfully early, I know, but you could attend if you were intent on doing so."

"No, that's no good. I would hardly know what to say, and I would reveal myself as an impostor in moments."

"Do you think everyone who attends these things is full of canny observations? Most are merely windbags who want to feel important. If you are at a loss for what to speak of, you may complain about Whig corruption or the Whig oligarchy. You may talk of the Church in danger or of villainous Whig lat.i.tudinarians who are little better than atheists. Rail against the South Sea scheme and the screening of the Company directors. If you wish to be a Tory, you must be a curmudgeon, just as if you wish to be a Whig, you must be an opportunist. All the rest is mere posturing."

I considered my strong but ultimately limited resources. "How much will I have to pay to attend?"

He laughed. "You pay? You know nothing of politics, I see. It is Mr. Melbury who pays. You pay, indeed! Politics is corrupt enough without asking the voters to pay for the campaigning. But I suppose that is one of the reasons why elections have become so expensive of late. I'm told that a hundred years ago a man could win Westminster with five pounds out of pocket. Today he will count himself lucky if his bill does not exceed a thousand." pay? You know nothing of politics, I see. It is Mr. Melbury who pays. You pay, indeed! Politics is corrupt enough without asking the voters to pay for the campaigning. But I suppose that is one of the reasons why elections have become so expensive of late. I'm told that a hundred years ago a man could win Westminster with five pounds out of pocket. Today he will count himself lucky if his bill does not exceed a thousand."

"Why does it cost so much?"

"Because there is a great deal of money to be made, and because the other fellow will spend if you don't. The man who wishes to sit in Parliament must offer food and drink and entertainment and pretty girls. And the Septennial Act has only made things more dear. When a man ran every three years, he could ill afford to expend a fortune on an election, but now that terms run seven years, he can ill afford not not to. The prize is of too much value." to. The prize is of too much value."

"And given the dear cost of elections, can any man go to this Tory breakfast and announce that he likes Mr. Melbury and would enjoy some beer and sausage?"

"Some events do work that way. Particularly in the provinces, a candidate might well rent out an inn for the day and give food and drink to anyone who comes by. But this breakfast is for supporters only. We need only write to his election agent and let him know that you wish to follow the banner of Melbury. But in doing so you will declare yourself a Tory and thus destroy any ability to befriend Dogmill-and, very possibly, any chance to interact with him at all on friendly terms. You had better think about this carefully, Weaver. If you truly believe you may advance your ends best by befriending Melbury, that is one thing-but do you wish to risk the gallows so that you might eat some b.u.t.tered bread with Miriam's husband?"

"I have told you my reasons. Can you deny them?"

"Of course I can deny them. Look at you, Weaver. You've been courting this woman for years and drinking yourself numb in her name for months. And never once has she given you a word of encouragement."

"She has," I told him, feeling myself angering.

"Words then, but no more. She is not available to you now. She is another man's wife. Though the truth is, she was never available to you. She was never going to leave her life of comfort and ease to marry a thieftaker, and you know it. You've always known it. That's why her being married is no impediment to your love for her. It should only make you feel it more deeply."

Elias was the greatest friend I had, so I chose not to strike him. I even bit back the bitter words that came to mind-that he, with his wh.o.r.es and serving girls, was no one to lecture on love-but I knew, angry though I was, that he said what he did because he wished to help. And he knew the risk. I saw his hands trembling.

"My interest in Melbury has nothing to do with his wife," I said again. "I want only to use him for my purposes."

He shook his head. "No doubt, but you gamble a great deal with poor odds. You must become friends with Melbury and and he must win the election he must win the election and and he must then agree to use his newly got powers to rescue you. He may consider it a great deal to ask from a man who once courted his wife." he must then agree to use his newly got powers to rescue you. He may consider it a great deal to ask from a man who once courted his wife."

"In truth, befriending Melbury is only part of my plan."

"Am I to hear the rest?" he asked, like a jealous wife.

I took a deep breath. "We know that Dogmill is of a violent disposition. My plan then is not only to befriend Melbury but also to make Dogmill my enemy. If he hates me, despises me, he will attempt to act on his feelings, and in doing so I may be able to discover something of his operations. Between these two approaches, I can only hope one will lead me to victory."

"You are mad." Elias's eyes went big. "Just a moment ago you were speaking of the danger of incurring his displeasure. Why do you now say you wish to do all in your power to secure it?"

"Because," I said, "if he comes after me, he will be off balance, and that is when I will have the greatest opportunity to discover his secrets. If he plans and plots against me, I will learn how he plans and plots."

Elias studied me for a moment. "You may be correct, but you may also be on the path to destruction."

"We shall see who has more to put forth in the ring, me or Dogmill. Now, the first step will be for me to befriend Melbury."

"I hate your scheme, but I must admit there is some logic in it. Very well, we'll try it your way. I suppose I will have to do some extra work, for I have already made it known that Mr. Evans is a Whig-seen to it that a few lines are planted in the papers and all that. But the damage can be undone, and it should hardly be the first time the papers have made such a mistake."

"Have you made anything else known about Mr. Evans?"

"Oh, a thing or two. For you to prosper in this disguise, people must have some idea of who you are, so I have gone to work in that regard. I should be a poor surgeon in this metropolis if I were incapable of spreading gossip. The hero of my little romance, Alexander Claren, is also quite gifted at the game of gossip. A whisper here and there, you know. I have just this evening penned a rather amusing scene in which he is attending the wife of a barrister who turns out to be the sister of the very woman he once-"

"Elias," I said, "when I am no longer in danger of execution, I should be very happy to learn of Mr. Claren's whimsical doings. Until then, let me hear no more."

"I hope, if I am ever convicted of murder and then on the run for my life, I won't be so dour about it. Very well then, Weaver. I've let it be known that you are recently arrived and have been in the process of establishing your household, but you are now prepared to enter the world. You are an unmarried man of singular success in the West Indies, and you are worth a thousand a year. Perhaps more."

"You do good work. My landlady has already announced my worth to me."

"Gossip is but one of my talents, sir, in addition to penning clever tales. But I shan't tell you about them."

"Unmarried and a thousand a year. I shall find myself using my pugilist's skills to keep the young ladies away."

"It should prove quite diverting, but you would do well to recall that your goal is to return to being Benjamin Weaver, and you should not like to sour your reputation before you do so. Now, if you are going to fulfill this role, you must know something of your background. Here is a bit of authorial musing I believe you won't object to learning of."

He handed me an envelope, which I opened to find three pieces of paper scribbled over in Elias's neat, impossibly compact hand. At the very top he had written The History of Matthew Evans, Esq. The History of Matthew Evans, Esq.

"I suggest you study what I have written. You may make what changes you like, of course, but it would be in your best interests to learn the details of your alleged life. If you are intent on making Dogmill your enemy, you may alter all the Whig bits to Tory, but otherwise it should hold. It is far less amusing than the adventures of Mr. Alexander Claren, but it will serve. Learn it well."

"I shall." I examined the first page, which began, "After five years of barren matrimony, Mrs. Evans prayed to the Lord to grant her a son, and her prayers were rewarded one chill December evening with the birth of twin boys, Matthew and James, though James died of a fever before his first birthday." I could see these pages contained perhaps more information than I required, but flipping ahead I found rich detail of Evans's involvement in the tobacco trade. For all its literary indulgences, this doc.u.ment would prove invaluable.

"I thank you for this."

"No need, no need." He cleared his throat. "You might also wish to be advised that I have made certain that word of your presence on our isle will reach men of a journalistic stamp, so you ought not to be surprised if you read of yourself in the papers. All of this should make for a delightful debut at Hampstead."

"Hampstead?"

"The Hampstead a.s.sembly will be held in four days." He reached into his jacket and produced a ticket, which he then slapped on the table. "If you wish to reveal yourself to the bon ton, then this will be the place to do so. There is no more agreeable or vivacious event in London society this week."

"The event of the week. How can I refuse?"

"You may laugh if you like, but this is what you must do if Mr. Evans is to meet the sort of people he needs to meet in order to proceed."

"Surely some attendee will have set eyes on Benjamin Weaver at some time or other."

"It is possible. I can only say that had I not known it was you, I should not have recognized you-at least not right away. I suppose I might have thought you looked familiar, but that is all. Remember, this is misdirection. No one is looking for you, so they will not see you. They will see what they expect to see."

"Will you be there?"

"Under normal circ.u.mstances I would not have thought of missing it, but I might serve as the agent to make someone recognize you, and we cannot have that. I have, in fact, volunteered my own ticket."

"You are very generous."

"I am," he said. "Though I should point out that I require of you the two shillings that the ticket cost me."

CHAPTER 11.

I HAD FAILED HAD FAILED to mention to Elias my plans for the following morning because I knew he would have told me I was taking too great a risk. Perhaps I did not want to argue with him, and perhaps I did not want to risk his argument's prevailing over mine. I therefore went back to my rooms, studied the biography he had written for the persona of Matthew Evans, made some adjustments, and contemplated my strategy. to mention to Elias my plans for the following morning because I knew he would have told me I was taking too great a risk. Perhaps I did not want to argue with him, and perhaps I did not want to risk his argument's prevailing over mine. I therefore went back to my rooms, studied the biography he had written for the persona of Matthew Evans, made some adjustments, and contemplated my strategy.

I arrived at Mr. Dogmill's fine house at Cleveland Street just after ten in the morning. Though anxious in the extreme, I did my utmost to conceal my concern. I merely knocked upon the door and presented my card to his unusually tall manservant. The fellow held it in his gloved hands and studied it for a moment the way a p.a.w.nbroker gazes at a piece of jewelry offered for evaluation.

"I promise you, he will want to speak with me," I said.

"Any man may make a promise," he said. "Mr. Dogmill is very busy."

"I am certain he has time to speak with a brother of the tobacco trade," I proposed.

The mention of my fabulous business appeared to turn the tide. Donning the slouch of a man surrendering to the inevitable, the servant showed me to a pleasant little room where I was invited to sit in a high-backed soft chair, clearly of French construction. The fellow knew not how long Mr. Dogmill should be nor how much time he might be able to spare for me. I nodded and folded my hands agreeably and gazed down at the intricate Turkey rug on the floor to lose myself for a moment in the swirl of its blue and red patterns. Across from where I sat, over the marbled fireplace, I studied a picture of an aging plump man and his aging plump wife. Dogmill's father, perhaps?

After more than half an hour, I rose from my chair and began to pace. I have never loved being made to cool my heels, as the saying goes, and I found the experience to be, if anything, far more trying when I was in disguise and visiting the very man I believed responsible for every difficulty I faced in the world. How could I know that Dogmill would not recognize me at once? I hardly thought it likely. He might well have orchestrated my ruin, but he and I were not acquainted. He could not know me so well as to spot me in this disguise-at least, so I told myself.

At last the door opened and pulled me from a reverie of exposure and ruin. I turned, perhaps too quickly, but instead of seeing the imperious servant come to lead me to his master, a pretty young lady faced me. She was unusually tall, nearly my height, but neither gangling nor overly plump, as tall women tend to be. Rather, she was most striking in appearance, with dark, almost wine-colored hair and very pale orange eyes. The features of her face were regular and finely formed, though her nose was strong-possessing a rugged beauty perhaps better suited for a man's face than a woman's. I found her appearance most charming, however, and I bowed to her at once. "Good morning, madam," I said.

"George informs me that you have been in here for some time. I thought you might wish for something to make the wait pa.s.s more easily." She reached out with a graceful arm and presented an octavo volume. A quick glance showed it to be the plays of William Congreve. How ought I to interpret her giving me a book of plays by so naughty an author? She might easily have offered me a volume of Otway.

"My name is Matthew Evans," I told her, still feeling the tug of doubt at using this nom de guerre.

"I am pleased to meet you, sir. I am Grace Dogmill, Mr. Dogmill's sister."

"Please come sit with me and make my wait more pleasant. I very much like Mr. Congreve, but I think I might like talking with you more."

I had meant to be forward, perhaps even a bit rude. I hardly expected her to comply, but she did just that. Like a proper lady, she left the door behind her open and came and took a chair across from me.

"Thank you for your company," I said, now somewhat softened. My first impulse had been to make Dogmill dislike me by insulting his sister. I now had other ideas.

"I must confess, sir, to something of a wicked tendency to review my brother's appointments when I can. He is cruelly inconsistent in speaking of his business to me-sometimes he will seek my advice earnestly, other times he will refuse to speak to me at all. In those times, I must discover his affairs as best I can on my own."

"I see nothing wicked in your offering conversation to a man with no other diversion. Particularly when he is a man new to the city, and with very little acquaintance as yet."

"Oh?" she said. Her lips curled into a delightful little smile. "Where do you come from, Mr. Evans?"

"I am just this month arrived from Jamaica," I told her. "My father purchased a plantation on that island when I was but a boy, and now that it is grown to self-sufficient status, I have returned to this island from where I come, but of which I have so little memory."

"I hope someone will show you all the interesting sights," she said.

"I hope so too."

"I am blessed with a large circle of acquaintance," she said. "Perhaps we might impose upon you to join us for one excursion or another."

"I should be delighted," I told her. And I spoke the truth. Miss Dogmill was turning out to be a curious creature-strangely forward without seeming improper. I knew I would have to be careful lest I find myself liking her more than would be prudent.

"You are in the tobacco trade in Jamaica?" she asked me.

I raised my eyebrows. "How could you know that?"

She laughed. "You are newly arrived in London and know no one, but you call on my brother. It seemed to me a likely prospect."

"And you are right, Miss Dogmill. I am in the tobacco trade. It is the princ.i.p.al crop of my plantation."

She bit her lower lip. "Mr. Dogmill will be certain to inform you, and perhaps in none the politest way, that he believes Jamaica tobacco inferior to the Virginia that he princ.i.p.ally imports."

"Mayhap your brother's opinion is sound, madam, but even the poor must have their tobacco, and they cannot always afford that of Virginia or Maryland."

She laughed. "You are a philosopher, I see."

"No, not a philosopher. Only a man who grew weary of the limitations of island life and sought the fine scenery of London."

"And do you like what you see, Mr. Evans?"

I could not mistake her meaning, so I met her eyes. "Indeed, I do, Miss Dogmill."

"I thank you for entertaining my visitor, Grace," said a voice from behind me, "but you may now return to your affairs."