A Spectacle Of Corruption Part 13

It was Dogmill standing in the doorway, looking even more ma.s.sive than he had when sitting in Mr. Moore's coffeehouse. I had thought him huge then, but now I caught sight of his hands, which were so large as to be almost absurd. His neck was wider than my skull. I had spoken manfully with Elias about who would persevere in the ring, but I knew in an instant that I should never want to try my luck with this colossus.

Yet I took some delight in Dogmill's blank and impatient gaze. The contempt he had shown me at the coffeehouse now worked in my favor, for it was clear he had no recollection of having seen me before. Nevertheless, the leg injury that ended my career as a pugilist now began to ache, as if to remind me that I was but a frail thing in comparison to this Hercules.

"I am Dennis Dogmill, sir," he said to me. "You have some business that I presume does not include my sister."

I rose to bow at Mr. Dogmill, all the while keeping my eyes upon his cold face. Here, I had good reason to believe, was the man responsible for every trouble I had in the world. Here was the man who had murdered Walter Yate and made certain the blame fell upon me. Here was the man who had convinced a judge to rule against me at my trial, that I might hang for what he had done himself. I suppose-despite his size and apparent strength-I ought to have wanted to strike him, to knock him from his feet and kick him senseless, but instead I felt a strangely cool dispa.s.sion, like a medical man studying some new disease for the first time.

"At this moment, sir, I regret to announce that I do have such business with you, but I can always remain optimistic that the future will hold some more inclusive affairs."

He stared at me for a moment, as though he could not credit his ears. His face was wide and boyish, but for the heaviness and the darkness about the eyes. He possessed what would certainly be called a handsome appearance, but I would have guessed that women were not quick to give him second or third glances. There are some men, no matter how pleasing their countenance or shape, who announce their hardness and cruelty in inexplicable and silent ways. Dogmill was such a man, and I admit I felt a queasy urge to discontinue my plan.

"Follow me, if you please," he said to me curtly.

I offered Miss Dogmill one more bow and smile and followed her brother into an adjoining room, where another gentleman sat reading through papers and drinking from a silver-stemmed goblet. Dogmill took a moment to study this man with disgust.

"I thought we had concluded our business," Dogmill said.

The gentleman looked up. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a slightly feminine appearance and an air of confusion I could not judge whether situational or permanent. He smiled broadly, but his eyes would not focus. "Oh, I was just looking through some things," he said, clearly ill at ease. "I had not thought you would be back so soon." The fellow now noticed me and rose to bow, as though he believed I might save him from some awkwardness. "Albert Hertcomb at your service."

I knew from my readings in the political papers that Hertcomb was the inc.u.mbent in Westminster, a Whig who would face Melbury in his race for the seat. The Tories decried him for a simpleton, a mere puppet of Dogmill's whims. There was nothing in his easy and open face to contradict those accusations.

I returned the bow. "Matthew Evans," I said. "You are, I believe, running once more for the House under the Whig banner."

He bowed again. "I am honored enough for that to be so," he said. "I hope I may count on your vote, sir."

"You may not count on anything from him," Dogmill said. "He's just returned from the West Indies and has no property here. He won't have the franchise for this election."

"Then perhaps the next election, seven years hence," he said, and laughed as though at the greatest joke in the world.

"We shall see how we are all feeling then," I said merrily.

"Very good, very good."

"Perhaps, Mr. Hertcomb, you might leave me and Mr. Evans alone," Dogmill suggested, not a little irritated.

"Oh, certainly, certainly," he said, oblivious to Dogmill's impatience. "I just wanted to talk a bit about this speech you've handed to me. It's grand, you know. Quite the picture of grandness. Grandeur, I suppose, really. But there is a point or two about which I'm not quite clear, you know. And, well-faith!-it should be a devilish business if I am to give speeches the meaning of which is lost on me."

Dogmill stared at Hertcomb as though he spoke some mysterious language of the American interior. "You are not to give that speech for nearly two weeks," he said at last. "I think in that time you will puzzle out the meaning. If not, we may talk later. As we have been in the habit of speaking every day for the past month, it is a likely prospect that we shall do so again."

Hertcomb laughed. "Oh, very likely, I should think. There's no need to be so sour with a fellow, you know, Dogmill. I just wanted to ask you a question or two."

"Then you may ask me tomorrow," Dogmill said, now with a ma.s.sive hand on Hertcomb's shoulder. In movements forceful without exactly being rough, he began to shove the Parliamentarian out of the room, but then he stopped and pulled Hertcomb back. "One moment." He let go and pointed a finger-long and thick and unnaturally flat, like a cricket bat-toward an empty decanter of wine. "Did you finish that?"

Hertcomb seemed like a child caught stealing pies. "No," he said meekly.

"d.a.m.n you to the devil," he swore, though not at Hertcomb-nor anyone I could see. He then rang a bell, and in almost an instant the same servant who had answered the door appeared.

"George, did I not tell you to fill that decanter?"

The servant nodded. "Yes, Mr. Dogmill. You did tell me so, but there was a bit of confusion in the kitchens with a collapsing rack of pots, and I thought to a.s.sist Miss Betty in collecting the mess, who had been slightly hurt, sir, when the pots came a-tumbling."

"You may conspire to get under Betty's skirts on your own time, not mine," Dogmill said. "Get me what I ask for when I ask for it, or you'll know my displeasure." He then turned and, with the same ease that you and I might demonstrate in closing a door or lifting a volume from a desk, he kicked the poor servant in his a.r.s.e.

I mean that quite literally. The thing of it is, we often talk of kicking this fellow or that in the a.r.s.e, and it is but a figure of speech. No one ever does such a thing. I have even seen the operation performed in comical stage plays, and part of the humor is the very absurdity of the act. But let me a.s.sure my readers that there was nothing comic here. Dogmill kicked the man quite soundly, deploying his toe as a weapon, and the servant's face collapsed into itself in pain. Perhaps because it is something we do not think of happening literally, there was a raw brutality about the act, a cruelty one a.s.sociates with nasty little boys who torment cats and puppies.

The servant himself let out a cry and stumbled, but I knew that the pain must be more in his heart than his posterior. He had been utterly humiliated before stranger and familiar alike. Me, he might never see again; Hertcomb he must see every day. Every day he would face the Parliamentarian, whose gaze, no matter how kind or placid, would remind him of this utter degradation. I understood well that if he should live another forty years, he would always cringe to think of this moment.

I have seen men abuse their servants, treat them no better than animals, but there was a cruelty here that made me wish to strike back. What have I set in motion? I wondered, as I glanced over at Dogmill's hard face. But I never once considered changing my plans. Dogmill, in all likelihood, had murdered Walter Yate and ordered matters so I would hang for his crime. He might kick every servant in the kingdom before I would run away from him.

"Well, then," Hertcomb said, "I'll be off, shall I?"

Dogmill waved a hand dismissively and shut the door behind him. He then gestured for me to sit with an impatient flick of the hand. "As to my sister," he said, as though we had been before in the midst of a conversation, "do not think to take her prattlings as anything but silly nonsense got from reading too many romances. She speaks thus to everyone and creates all manner of mischief in doing so, but she is a good girl all the same. She is a very good girl, and a man ought never to be caught by me in a mistaken notion concerning her. If you think that because you're a gentleman I'll treat you better than my manservant, you shall be unpleasantly surprised. I spare nothing to propriety where the welfare of my sister is concerned."

There was a tenderness in his voice I found surprising, and though I liked Miss Dogmill, I thought that her brother's affection for her might be a means of exploitation. "I promise your foot shall have no need to seek my a.r.s.e," I said. "I found Miss Dogmill to be delightful company and nothing more."

He smacked his lips together. "I never asked that you evaluate my sister's company, and your opinion of it cannot be relevant to whatever business you bring here. Now, what is it I can help you with, Mr. Evans?"

I told him what I had told his sister-viz., that I was newly arrived and in the tobacco trade.

"Jamaica tobacco is not fit for a dog. And I have never heard your name before, even in the context of foul Jamaica weed. Who is your purchasing agent?"

"Mr. Archibald Laidlaw in Glasgow," I told him promptly, making use of the name Elias had provided in the fict.i.tious biography he had penned. I was grateful both that he had produced a doc.u.ment of such detail and that I had taken the trouble to read it carefully. I cannot say how I would have hummed and hawed otherwise. "I do not know if his reputation has extended so far south, but I am told he is of some importance in North Britain."

Dogmill turned as red as a Norfolk apple. "Laidlaw!" he cried. "The man is nothing but a pirate. He sends his own cutters to meet his ships when they are still at sea and unloads them there-all to escape the Customs."

Strong words, I thought, considering what Mendes had told me of Dogmill's own practices. Yet I knew well that men can see the faults in others far more easily than they can in themselves.

"I have never met him and know nothing of his practices. I am merely used to selling him my goods."

"You ought," he said, "to sell your goods to a better man, and you ought to make a habit of learning the nature of the men with whom you trade." Here was something else. Though I sat more than six feet away from him, I realized that I felt a sudden and unexpected flash of fear for my safety. I was not used to being afraid of other men, but there was something about the way he sat, his muscles gone taut, that made him seem like a barrel of gunpowder on the verge of ignition.

I should not get what I wanted from him if he sensed my anxiety, so I offered a warm smile, the smile of a merchant who cares only for his trade. "You are certainly right, sir. I have often found it hard to find a purchasing agent in London, where the docks are full of the tobaccos of Virginia and Maryland. It is for that reason, now I am arrived here, that I thought of setting myself upon such a trade. As you are well known as the most respected purchasing agent in the city for tobacco, I had hoped I might impose on you for some advice on navigating the waters of such a business."

Dogmill had begun to redden again. "Mr. Evans, I cannot say how affairs are conducted in Jamaica or in any of His Majesty's other primitive domains, but I can a.s.sure you that in London it is no common thing for a man to provide the secrets of his business to a compet.i.tor. Did you believe you would walk in here and I would instruct you on how to take money from my own pocket?"

"I had not thought of it in those terms," I said. "I know you do not trade in Jamaica tobacco, so I did not consider myself a compet.i.tor."

"I do not trade in Jamaica tobacco because it is ghastly, and I do my utmost to keep it from the ports of London because it is so devilish cheap. I am afraid you will get no help here."

"If you will but give me a moment to explain myself further," I began.

"I have given you too many minutes. Perhaps you are unaware of it, but in this country we have a regular inst.i.tution known as Parliamentary elections, and as I am the election agent for Mr. Hertcomb, whom you have just met, my time is shorter than that to which even I am used. I must therefore bid you a good day."

I rose and bowed very slightly. "I thank you for what time you have granted me," I said.

"Yes, yes," he answered, and turned to some pages on his desk.

"I should add, sir, that your words are not offered in the spirit of brotherhood. You say that you don't know how we do business in Jamaica, so I will take one more instant of your time to inform you that in Jamaica men of a particular trade, even those whom we might regard as compet.i.tors, as you so style it, know the value of the trade itself over the interests of any one man in it."

This was all rubbish, of course. I knew no more how men conducted business in Jamaica than how they conduct business in the most hidden depths of Abyssinia, but I found myself warming to my performance and was of no mind to do anything but indulge myself.

"We work together to strengthen the trade before we work apart to line our pockets," I continued, "and this manner of doing business has served us very well."

"Yes, yes," he said once more. His pen scratched away at his paper.

"I have heard that your trade has dropped off somewhat since your father's time, sir. I wonder if perhaps a more open disposition might not help you to restore your family to the pinnacle of its glory."

Dogmill did not look up, but he ceased his writing. I could see that I had stuck him in his tenderest part, and I could hardly keep from smiling at the trueness of my aim. I might have left then, but I was not quite ready.

"Can it be that there is something else, Mr. Evans?" he asked.

"One more thing," I admitted. "Would you have any objections to my calling upon your sister?"

He studied me for a moment. "Yes," he said at last. "I would object most a.s.suredly."

CHAPTER 12.

THAT EVENING, I met briefly with Abraham Mendes and secured two favors from him before returning home for the night. The first was a bit of charity I dared not execute myself. I had not forgotten the good-natured Nate Lowth, whose cell had been adjacent to mine and who had graciously refrained from calling the guard during my departure from Newgate. I therefore gave Mendes a few coins and asked that he provide Lowth with food and drink as well as the companionship he had requested. The second request I made of Mendes I shall speak of more anon.

After returning to my rooms, I spent a few hours before sleep reviewing the political newspapers I'd bought that day, hoping to familiarize myself with the Tory cant. Despite Elias's a.s.surances, I had little confidence that a man as ignorant of politics as I could pa.s.s for an interested Tory. On the other hand, I knew well that my standing as a wealthy West Indian would compensate for any flaws I might display, and at least my ignorance was part of the character I was to portray. They might look at me and sneer and think, Who is this fellow to come here and pretend he can simply join our ranks? It is unlikely they would look at me and conclude that I was an escaped felon disguising himself to find evidence of his unjust ruin.

I arrived at the inn shortly before eight in the morning. It was on the east side of Covent Garden, and it afforded me a fine view of the electoral camp set up in the piazza. Though the election was not to commence for more than another week, already the grounds were astir as though it were a great fair, featuring all but fire-eaters and rope dancers. Men in the green and white colors of Melbury or the blue and orange of his opponent, Albert Hertcomb, paraded about, carrying placards and handing out leaflets. Pretty girls strolled to and fro, eager to canva.s.s for this candidate or that. Peddlers pushed their carts through the crowds, and of course there was no shortage of the pickpockets and cutpurses that these gatherings attracted. The cold air smelled of roast pig flesh and oysters just turning foul.

I entered the inn and gave my name to a gentleman who sat by the door. He examined a roster that had been written in a neat hand and then urged me inside. I seated myself at an empty table, but it was soon filled as men of the prosperous sort filed in. Many seemed to know one another, but others were alone as I was. After the first few pots of small beer were served and some fresh loaves of white bread pa.s.sed around, I began to feel myself warming to the proceedings.

The fellow who sat on my left was a corpulent man, an importer of oriental curiosities, he told me. He praised Melbury for his fairness, his dedication to the Church, and his willingness to speak out against Whig corruption. Indeed, I was able to hear these things for myself, for not long after we ate I noticed a handsome gentleman making his way toward the front of the room, greeting this man and that as he walked. I could not doubt but that this was Melbury, and I felt a kind of panic stir within me. Here was the man who had bested me in the contest I had considered most important. I had never laid eyes on him before, and while he struck me as somewhat ordinary in appearance, lacking any radiance or hint of the divine about him, he also struck me as inexplicably-worthy was the word that came to mind-and I felt small and insignificant by comparison. was the word that came to mind-and I felt small and insignificant by comparison.

I hardly even listened to his words as he first spoke, so intent was I on examining his shape and face and the way he held himself. But as I realized his talk was coming to a period, I forced myself out of my reverie that I might at least hear some of his remarks.

"I cannot say that all of the electors of Westminster should vote for me," the candidate announced, by way of conclusion, "only those who disdain corruption. If any of you gentlemen relish that the House should take your money to line the pockets of thieving members and their creatures, if you take pleasure in seeing the Church gutted and weakened, and if you think small men of petty ambition should determine the course of this nation based on their own greed and acquisitiveness, then by all means vote for Mr. Hertcomb. No one here will resent you for it. I thank my Maker that I live in a land of liberty where each man may make this decision for himself. But if, on the other hand, you prefer someone who will fight corruption and G.o.dless deism, someone who will do his utmost to restore the former glory of this kingdom to the days before stockjobbers and debt and disgrace, then I invite you to cast your vote for me. And if you are so inclined to vote that way, I will also invite you to have another gla.s.s of beer and to toast this great kingdom."

After the speech, my importer friend lauded his words as though Melbury were a second Cicero. I admit that he proved himself eloquent and had a charismatic quality to him, but I was as yet unmoved to anything but envy.

"You must know," said my companion, "he is ever more personable in conversation. It is a shame that each voter in Westminster cannot have five minutes with Mr. Melbury. I am sure the affair would be most easily decided that way, for if you have ever heard Mr. Hertcomb speak, you know he is little more than a blockhead. Melbury, on the other hand, cannot but show his wit and intelligence."

"I will have to take your word for it," I said, "for I have never met him."

The fellow took most quickly to my hint and promised to secure me an introduction before the breakfast ended. And not a moment later he pulled me to my feet and led me to the far end of the tavern, where Mr. Melbury sat in close conversation with a very grim-looking young man.

"Excuse me, Mr. Melbury, sir, but there is someone I very much wish for you to meet."

Melbury looked up and offered us his politician's smile. I admit he managed it astonishingly well, for-if only for a single instant when I was off my guard-I found him an appealing man with strong cheekbones, a nose that was manly without being large, and vibrant blue eyes. Some men know themselves to be attractive and wear their looks with a sort of arrogance, but Melbury seemed at ease with himself and the world, and that comfort gave him a powerful charm. He had a fashionable bob wig and a handsome blue suit, but, more impressively, he had a fine white smile that radiated a friendship I resented most fervently. I admit that even I began to feel my loathing of the man recede, though I fought hard against these benevolent sentiments.

"Why, h.e.l.lo, sir," he said to the importer, clearly having forgotten this man. No doubt they had once met in very much the fashion he was now to meet me.

"Wonderful speech, Mr. Melbury. Wonderful. Ah, yes. This, sir, is Mr. Matthew Evans, lately returned to this island from the West Indies, and he has now taken a most fervent interest in the Tory cause."

Melbury embraced my right hand in both of his and shook it. "I am heartily glad to hear that, Mr. Evans. It seems to me that your name is now bandied about town, and I am happy to meet so celebrated a personage, particularly when he is a supporter of our party. The returned West Indian is nearly always a Whig, but I am glad to find you otherwise inclined."

There was something of a coolness in his manner that I had noticed at first. His winsome smile and handsome face masked well a hint of reserve that I rejoiced in, for upon it I could place some measure of dislike and resentment. But my role was not to find fault with Melbury nor to delight in exposing a hidden stiffness in his manner-a stiffness not uncommon in members of old families. I was there to make him like me, to make him my ally, and to use his support when he won his election.

"My father was a Tory, and my grandfather fought in the war for the king." Nothing wrong, I thought, in suggesting some Royalist blood. Just the sort of thing to make him take a liking to me. "As I have been in Jamaica most of my life, I have not, until now, had much opportunity to partic.i.p.ate in politics."

He smiled, though I knew a false smile when I saw one. "When did you arrive in England?"

"Only last month."

"Then I must welcome you here with all my heart. And what was your business in Jamaica, Mr. Evans?"

"My father established a plantation there, and I had been involved in running it ever since I was a boy, but as it has become prosperous I have turned the matter over to a trustworthy nephew. Now I am determined to reap the rewards of many years' labor by returning to the land of my ancestors. Though I can hardly recall a time I did not live there, the West Indies offer a most unwholesome climate, and I have discovered that I am, by nature, more inclined to British temperateness."

"Quite understandable. There is something remarkably British about you, if I may say so. The West Indian, I'm sure you know, has the reputation of being without social graces, as he has not had the advantage of our public schools and society. I am delighted to see you explode that myth."

I bowed in response. Here I was, trading pleasant chatter with the man who had taken from me the woman I loved: he with his ba.n.a.lities, me with my falseness.

"I am afraid I must make my way to another appointment just now," he told me, "but I am pleased to meet you, sir, and I hope our paths will cross once more." With that, he stepped out of the tavern into the light of day.

I followed him closely. "If I might have one more moment of your time, sir. Perhaps a private moment."

"I beg you to excuse me for now," he said, as he and his agent quickened their pace. I could only imagine that he must have found himself perpetually hounded by such men as me, and he had clearly grown skillful at dodging their advances.

However, his own advances were suddenly halted by a trio of very rough-looking fellows in undyed clothes and caps pulled down along their faces. One of them carried a blue-and-orange banner.

"Vote for Hertcomb or be d.a.m.ned!" the tallest of them shouted in Melbury's face.

The Tory rose up to his full height and puffed out his chest. "I fear I cannot do that," he said, "for I am Griffin Melbury."

I understood his pride well enough, but this was hardly the most efficacious of all available approaches. Better for his own safety to have agreed to vote for Hertcomb, but Melbury would not swallow medicine so bitter, not for an instant. I admired him for it-a begrudging and resentful sort of admiration, you understand-foolish though it was.

"My a.r.s.e you're Melbury," another of the ruffians said. "Melbury is a Jacobite devil, and I know a Jacobite devil when I see one."

"I am Melbury, and neither a Jacobite nor a devil, which leads me to question your ability to recognize either on sight. What you ought to recognize, however, is that you have been listening to Whig lies, my friend, and you have been hardly used by men who do not wish you well."

"You're the liar," the large fellow said, "and what you'll be listening to is my fist against your ear."

I suppose I cannot blame Melbury or curse him for a coward because he cringed and held up his arms for protection. Here, after all, were three uncouth ruffians who appeared for all the world to have lost their minds to the fervor of an election not yet commenced and in which they were surely too poor to partic.i.p.ate. How could he have defended himself? On the other hand, he might have drawn his hanger and put the blade to the tallest man's throat.

I certainly found that such a course did my business very well. My blade flashed in the sun as I drew it out and pressed it against his flesh, using just enough pressure to keep the skin from breaking. There would be no blood drawn, I was determined.

The lead ruffian remained motionless, his faced pointed upward, the skin of his throat taut. The others took a step back.

"You three don't look like electors to me," I said, "though I honor your desire to partic.i.p.ate in this election despite your lacking the franchise. But I must tell you that beating up on one of the candidates will make a poor showing for your cause." I pulled back the blade an inch. "Flee," I said.