Part 6 (1/2)

I had no clear idea of how best to use the information that Rowley had provided me, what course of action I would pursue, or where I should find myself a safe hiding place. I knew, however, where I would go next.

CHAPTER 6.

I HAD NEVER HAD NEVER before imagined the life of a footman, but in my travels toward Bloomsbury Square I found myself greeted by wh.o.r.es, jeered by other men in livery who observed something lacking in my presentment, taunted by linkboys, and offered drinks by apprentices. A footman walks the thinnest of boundaries between privilege and powerlessness, living in both camps and mocked by each if he dares to step too far into the territory of one or the other. before imagined the life of a footman, but in my travels toward Bloomsbury Square I found myself greeted by wh.o.r.es, jeered by other men in livery who observed something lacking in my presentment, taunted by linkboys, and offered drinks by apprentices. A footman walks the thinnest of boundaries between privilege and powerlessness, living in both camps and mocked by each if he dares to step too far into the territory of one or the other.

I avoided these tormentors as best I could, for I had no idea how convincing I might appear should anyone get too close. Most footmen were somewhat younger than I, though not all, and my age would not prove the most treacherous of my features. My ill-fitting wig did far more damage, for though I had taken some pains to tuck my own locks underneath, it sat oddly and bulging on my head, and I knew it would answer poorly to any extended scrutiny.

I approached my friend Elias Gordon's lodgings with some trepidation. I could only presume that my escape had, by now, been discovered, and anyone familiar with my habits would know that Elias, who often lent his a.s.sistance in my inquiries, might well be the first man from whom I sought refuge. If his house was being watched, I could presume that my uncle's was as well, along with those of a half dozen or so of my closest friends and relations. But of all the people I knew, I believed I could most trust Elias, not only to protect my safety but to consider the problems I faced with a clear and open mind.

Elias, though a surgeon by trade, was something of a philosopher. During my efforts to unravel the knot of secrecy surrounding my father's death, it had been Elias who introduced me to the mysterious workings of the great financial inst.i.tutions of this kingdom. More important, it had been he who taught me to understand the theory of probability-the very philosophical engine that ran the machinery of finance-and to use it to solve a crime without witnesses or evidence. My troubles now seemed far more dire than they had then, but I had hope that Elias might see what I could not.

I therefore chose to take the chance in visiting him, relying on my disguise, my quickness of mind, and-somewhat diminished but nevertheless dependable-strength of body. Unless a small army awaited me, I convinced myself I should dispatch easily enough any man who interfered.

The rain had eased since my escape from Newgate, though not let up entirely, and the streets were dark and slick with muck. As I approached Elias's lodgings, I saw two men posted guard outside, hunched over to protect themselves from the drizzle. They were both of about my years, neither particularly dominating of body. They wore dark clothes of the respectable middling sort, short wigs, and small hats, all of which were heavy with water. Not quite a livery, but near enough to one. I could not guess who they were, though I could see most clearly that they were neither constables nor soldiers. They were, however, quite well armed. I saw each clutched a pistol in one hand, and their pockets were heavy, surely well loaded with spares. I, on the other hand, had no weapons upon me but the carving knife, which I had hidden in the interior of my coat.

I thought to go around these men and enter through the back way, but one of them sighted me and called me to him.

”Ho, there, fellow,” he said. ”What business have you?”

”I'm come to see Mr. Jacob Monck, what lives here,” I said, using the name of a lodger I knew to dwell within. I also affected a heavy Yorks.h.i.+re accent, hoping this would put them off my scent.

The two men approached. ”What's your business with this Monck?” asked the one who had called out to me.

”The delivering of a message.” I took a step closer.

”Whose message?” He wiped the cold rain off his face.

I did not pause for an instant. ”Me lady's,” I told him, hoping he had not done his business so well that he knew Monck to be septuagenarian and little likely to be involved in intrigues.

”Who is your lady?”

I smirked at him and rolled my eyes as I had seen saucy footmen do a hundred times before. ”That ain't none of your business, nor for you to know neither. Who might you be, who stand in my way like insolent fellows?”

”These fart catchers think themselves great gentlemen,” one of the centuries announced. ”We're Riding Officers, that's who we be, and you are but a bootlick. You oughtn't to forget that.”

”Go and deliver the message, me lord,” the other one said. ”And I beg you pardon our disturbing you as you carry out your important task. I should hate to think I had stood between Mr. Monck and your lady's cunny.”

I offered a sneer to the one who had spoken and then knocked upon the door; despite my haughty performance, I'd grown restless with alarm. Riding Officers: the agents who enforced the laws of customs and excise. Why would men whose role was to search for smugglers and customs evaders come in search of a supposed murderer who had broken his way out of Newgate? It made no sense, but it suggested that there was even more to the matter of my prosecution than I had yet supposed.

When I heard the doork.n.o.b turn, I had further cause for alarm, for Elias's landlady, Mrs. Henry, would surely recognize me, and I did not know if I could depend on her silence. She had always looked upon me more kindly than is perhaps ordinary, but I was now generally believed to be a murderer, and I knew well that there would be those who might interpret my actions at Mr. Rowley's house in none the best light.

Fortunately, I had little cause for alarm. Mrs. Henry opened the door, glanced at my face, and, as though she had no idea who I was, asked me my business. I simply repeated what I had told the centuries, and she invited me inside.

I thought she might have questions for me, or pleading words about how I must return myself to prison and have faith in the law and the Lord, but she offered none of that, only a warm smile and a gesture of her head. ”Go upstairs, then. He's there.”

Elias opened the door almost immediately upon my knocking. His eyes went wide for a moment, and then he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside. ”Are you mad coming here? There are men downstairs looking for you.”

”I know,” I said. ”Riding Officers.”

”Customs men? What business can they have with this?” He began to say something on the peculiarity of my pursuers, but changed his mind and instead approached a sideboard with a bottle of wine and some unwashed gla.s.ses upon it. Elias's rooms were pleasant enough, but none the neatest, and old clothes, books, papers, and dirty dishes were spread throughout. He had several candles burning upon his writing table, and he appeared to have been at work on some project or another when I called. Though a surgeon of some reputation, Elias preferred the literary arts to the medical ones and had tried his hand already at playwriting and poetry. He was now, he had told me, at work upon a fictional memoir of a das.h.i.+ng Scottish surgeon making his way through the social labyrinth of London.

”Obviously, you have been through a great deal,” he said, ”but before we discuss it, I must urge you to take an enema.” He held a cylinder the size of my index finger. It was brown and looked as hard as a stone.

”Pardon me?”

”An enema,” he explained with great earnestness. ”It is a purging of the bowels.”

”Yes, I'm familiar with the concept. But having escaped from the most dreaded prison in the kingdom, I haven't the inclination to celebrate my freedom by s.h.i.+tting in your pot while you stand by, ready to examine the goods.”

”No one relishes an enema, but that is hardly the point. I've been doing a great deal of studying of the matter, and I have come to the conclusion that it is the best thing for you-better even than bleeding. Ideally, you would combine it with a diuretic and a purging, but I suspect you're not quite willing to subject yourself to all three.”

”It is amazing how well our friends know us,” I observed. ”You see my innermost soul as no stranger could, and you perceive that I am in no mood to s.h.i.+t, p.i.s.s, and vomit all at once.”

He held up his hand. ”Let us set the matter aside for the nonce. I have only your health in mind, you know, but I see I cannot force good medicine upon you. I suppose you shan't object to a gla.s.s of wine, however.”

”For reasons I cannot fully articulate, that offer appeals to me more than your other.”

”There's no need to be sour,” he said, while he poured a gla.s.s of pale red wine. As he turned to hand it to me, he seemed, for the first time, to notice my livery. ”Service becomes you,” he said.

”It has proved, thus far, an adequate costume.”

”Where did you get it?”

”From Piers Rowley's footman.”

His eyes widened. ”Weaver, you didn't go there, did you?”

I shrugged. ”It seemed like the best course at the time.”

He put a hand to his face, as though I had ruined some great plan of his. He then stood up straight and breathed in deeply. ”I trust you engaged in no foolish actions.”

”Of course not,” I said. ”I did, however, cut off one of the judge's ears and take four hundred of his pounds.”

Somehow, the extremity of this revelation calmed him. He cleared a pair of wine-stained breeches from a chair and sat. ”You'll have to get out of the country as quickly as possible, of course. Perhaps the United Provinces. You have a brother there, do you not? Or you could go to France.”

”I'm not leaving the country,” I said, as I lifted what appeared to be a lady's stays from the chair nearest to me. ”I'll not run away and let the world believe me a murderer.” I tossed the article of clothing on top of the breeches and took my seat.

”What do you care what the world believes? Even if you could prove you did not kill this Yate fellow, you will still be hanged for cutting the ear off a judge of the King's Bench and then taking four hundred pounds. The law frowns upon that sort of thing.”

”It frowns upon judicial corruption too. I am certain that once the world is made to understand that, in his corruption of his office, Rowley left me no choice, any charges against me will be dropped.”

”You've gone mad,” he said. ”Of course the charges won't be dropped. You can't trample upon the law, no matter how just your motivation or logical your reasoning. There's no fair play to be had. This is the government.”

”We shall see what I can do and what I can't,” I said, with a confidence I did not possess.