The Devil's Company

“Do not excuse yourself,” Franco said. “If by attending this di

“What did his physician say?”

“Only that he may recover, as he has in the past, or he may decline. This attack, he fears, may be worse than what we have seen before, but he ca

We whispered together for a few more minutes, while I attempted to inform him of some of what had transpired in recent days at Craven House. I kept the discussion brief, in part because I wanted to return to my uncle, but also because I had not entirely recovered from the revelation that my most private conversations appeared to be available to Cobb. I only said that I had, at Cobb’s request, become employed by the East India Company, where I looked into any of a variety of internal turmoils. But, I said, as Mr. Cobb’s agenda remained opaque, I could hardly say if I grew closer to my end or not.

During this conversation, my aunt emerged from the bedroom with a look of some relief upon her face. “He is better,” she told me.

I entered and saw that, in the space of half an hour, he did appear remarkably changed. Though he still breathed with some difficulty, his face now had more color. He sat up, and his countenance was one of a normal man, not one about to leave this mortal realm.

“I am gladdened to see you so much improved,” I told him.

“As am I to be so,” he answered. “I am told you witnessed the unpleasantness below.”

“Yes,” I said. “Uncle, I ca

“You must for all the world make him believe you do, but you must never cease looking for advantage.”

“I fear what happened today is but the begi

“Can we afford to let him turn you into his puppet?” he asked.

“Both of us,” my aunt said. “Both of us want you to fight him.”

“But so that he suspects nothing,” my uncle added.

I nodded. Heartened by his spirit, I told him I would do no less, and so I was determined, but I could not help but wonder how we would feel when my uncle was turned to a destitute man, homeless, broken, and without health. He was no fool and knew what bargain he made. I, however, was not certain I could endure it.

I SPENT WHAT TIME I could with my family, but at last I made to excuse myself, to return to my rooms, and change for the evening. Once I looked presentable, I hired a chair to take me across town and arrived with a satisfying promptness.

I could pretend to no surprise that Mr. Ellershaw’s house on New North Street, not far from the Conduit Fields, was a fine one-a director of the East India Company ought to have a fine house, after all-but I could not recall that I had ever been invited in the capacity of a guest to a finer, and I admit I felt an unexpected apprehension. I had no Indian calicoes to wear, so I put on my finest suit of black and gold silk, woven, I could not but reflect, in the cramped garrets of Spitalfields or the dark hall of a workhouse. And though I knew I wore upon my back the labor of the cheated and the oppressed, I could not but reflect that I cut a fine figure in these fine clothes. We are all of us Adam’s children, the saying goes, but silk makes the difference.

A polite if somewhat grave servant met me at the door and guided me inside and to a receiving room, where I was met shortly by Mr. Ellershaw, resplendent in his full-bottom wig and dressed in the height of imported finery. His waistcoat had quite obviously, even to my ignorant eyes, been woven in India, and was magnificent in its red and blue and black floral designs of indescribable intricacy.

“Ah, this is a very important evening, Mr. Weaver. Of the utmost importance, you know. Mr. Samuel Thurmond is here tonight, a Member of Parliament for Cotswold. He has been one of the great champions of the wool interest, and it is our role to convince him to back our proposal in the House.”

“The repealing of the 1721 legislation?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

“And how shall we do that?”

“You need not worry on that score for the moment. You need only follow my lead, and all shall be well. Now, as you are the last guest to arrive, you must follow me to the sitting room. I trust you will do nothing to embarrass me before my guests?”

“I will attempt to acquit myself to your liking,” I assured him.

“Ah, good. Good.”

Mr. Ellershaw led me through a maze of closely wrought corridors and into an expansive parlor where a number of guests were sitting upon sofas and chairs, sipping at glasses of wine. The only person in the room I knew was Mr. Forester, who did remarkably well at paying me no mind.

I was quickly introduced to Mrs. Ellershaw, a beautiful woman at least twenty years younger than her husband, though no doubt at least in her middle thirties. “This is my new man, Weaver,” Ellershaw said. “He’s a Hebrew, you know.”

Mrs. Ellershaw had hair so pale it was nearly white, her skin was the color of porcelain, and her pale gray eyes were remarkably bright and lively. She took my hand and curtsied and told me she was delighted to meet me, but I could see that she was not. It took no great interpretive skills to see she was displeased by my presence.

Ellershaw appeared to have no recollection of having introduced me to Forester, and Forester showed no sign that he had previously met me. He too introduced his wife, but if Mr. Ellershaw held a wi

I was then introduced to Mr. Thurmond and his good lady. The Member of Parliament himself was far older than Ellershaw, perhaps even a septuagenarian, and his movements were frail and uneasy. He walked heavily on his cane and shook slightly when he took my hand, but he appeared in no way lacking in his capacities. He made easy and intelligent conversation, and of all the men in the room it was he to whom I took the greatest liking. His wife, a handsome older woman dressed entirely in woolens, smiled kindly but said little.

Because the British di

I shan’t bombard my reader with the tedium of the di

“You may eat freely,” Ellershaw told me loudly, after he had helped himself to i