I spat out a bitter laugh. “And if I should fail, good riddance to me. If I should succeed, you imagine I will be in your debt.”

He tilted his head just slightly, a mild gesture of agreement. “You have always shown yourself a reasonable man, Weaver. I have no doubt that a good turn done now might yield some fruit in the future. So I have come to see what I can do for you. Some money, perhaps?”

I scowled in contempt. I would not have Wild offering me money like a generous uncle. “I have no need of your money.”

“It spends quite as well as another man’s, I promise you. But as to your means, your judge-thieving methods seem to work out quite nicely for you. Though I must say that Rowley has always been a pliable fellow. I am sorry to see you’ve driven him into convalescent retirement.”

“I’d always believed him reliable as well. Why should he turn on me as he did?”

“It is an election season,” Wild said complaisantly. “They were dangerous enough when elections were held every three years. Now that they are every seven, the prize is worth a great deal more, and men will go to far greater lengths in support of their party or, I should say, their interests. Rowley only did what was required of him by Dogmill. There is no more to it than that.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

Wild turned to Mendes. “It appears that our friend has been corrupted by his encounters with the South Sea men. Now he believes everything deeper than the appearance. You’ll never clear your name if you look for hidden plots and intrigues. The answer is on the surface, I promise you. It is but Dogmill’s greed.”

“And what can I do about it? Dogmill has power over every judge in Westminster.”

“I hardly know what to say,” Wild said, with a mischievous grin. “What are you doing about it now?” When I said nothing he added, “Other than killing fellows like Groston, I mean.”

I shifted uneasily. “That’s why I wished to see Mendes. I didn’t kill Groston.”

“Never laid a hand upon him, I suppose.”

“I gave him what he deserved, but no more than that. But whoever is behind Groston’s death will surely move against the two witnesses who testified against me at my trial.”

He nodded. “Mendes should be able to track them down without difficulty. Would you like to speak to them when we find them?”

I nodded. “Yes. I won’t have these sods killed just so that my enemies can pin more deaths upon my chest. And there is always the chance they might have information that could be of use.”

“Then we shall find them straightaway,” Wild assured me. We next took a moment to figure a means whereby they could contact me. “Is there any other way we might serve you?” he then asked.

I was now full of regret that I had trusted these men so far as I had, but these were trying times and I would resolve the tangles I made in the future. “No,” I said. “If you do that, it should suffice.”

CHAPTER 16

AS ELIAS had promised, news of Matthew Evans’s alleged arrival appeared in the London Gazette and a few other papers of note, so even while the Whig papers condemned Benjamin Weaver as a murderer and the Tories defended him as a maligned victim, the Tory Tobacco Man was making his glorious debut. While villains murdered men in my name, I remained a fugitive, and it struck me as almost frivolous that I had to see to the obligations of my private masquerade.

Nevertheless, this was the path I had chosen and I had no choice but to proceed. That night I arrived at the Hampstead assembly promptly at ten o’clock. I was a bit early, but I thought it best to be so that I might be noticed.

The room itself was gorgeous, a great domed assembly hall full of sparkling gilt chandeliers, bright red furnishings, tables of food, and a sparkling white-tiled floor. Already the space was filled by enough people that my presence would not prove conspicuous. Near one end, the musicians played adequately and dancers moved gaily across the floor. A crowd gathered around the banquet table, on which raisin cakes and sliced pears, shrimps pickled with prunes, and other dainties had been set out with great care. At a more crowded table, men gathered to collect punch for themselves and their ladies. Over on the far side of the hall was the entrance to the card room, where older women, chaperoning their daughters and wards, retired to amuse themselves while the young frolicked. No such closeting was required for older men, who were there as much as the younger to seek matrimonial companionship or, at the very least, to pretend to be engaged in such a quest.

I had circled the room twice before I heard my name called out- or at least my false name. It was called two or three times before I responded, not yet having grown used to the sound of it, and then I found myself surprised. Who, after all, knew me to call that name? But when I turned I saw none other than Griffin Melbury, who was standing with a small group of people.

“Ah, Mr. Evans,” Melbury said, taking my hand warmly. He continued to radiate the patrician reserve I had detected at our last meeting, but it seemed to me that I had earned his trust with my little ruse. I returned his embrace and forced myself to wear a mask of pleasure.

And forced it was. I felt a clammy revulsion as I touched him. Here was the hand that touched Miriam- touched her as only a husband can. For an instant I thought of crushing his flesh, of pounding upon him, but I knew this urge was both irrational and impolitic. So I maintained my smile instead, though the falseness of it made my flesh feel heavy and doughy.

“I’m glad to see you again, Melbury.”

“I wondered if you might not be here. I know you are new to town, so there are some people I should like you to meet.” He then began a dizzying array of introductions- to priests and old monied men and the sons of earls and dukes. I would have found it a challenge to repeat these names moments after they were given, let alone so many years later. But there were a few of these people whom I found remarkable at once.

First, he pulled me off to one far side and introduced me to a man I had already met. “This,” Melbury told me, “is my great enemy, Mr. Albert Hertcomb.”

I shook Hertcomb’s hand, and he smiled agreeably at me. “Mr. Evans and I have already met. Sir, you must not look so surprised,” he told me. “You must not think Mr. Melbury and I need be uncivil because we compete for the same seat in Parliament. After all, you and I can be friendly with each other, and we are of different parties.”

“I own that party need not rule all things or men, but I confess that I am surprised to see you on such merry terms.”

Melbury laughed. “I rejoice that things are not so grim that I must hate a man simply because he vies for the same prize I do.”

“Faith,” said Hertcomb, “I have never felt animosity toward any man, even if he be what is termed a political enemy. To my mind, an enemy is but a man who is opposed to me, and nothing more.”

“How would another man define the word?” I asked.

“Oh, much more harshly than I do, I am sure. But I don’t care to trouble myself with this word or that. A political man is, after all, not a doctor of rhetoric.”

“But you must make speeches,” I proposed.

“Of course. The speeches are the very thing in the House, but they’re not about words, you know. They’re about the ideas behind the words. That’s what matters.”

“It is good advice,” Melbury said. “I shall be certain to remember it when I assume my seat. Ha-ha.”

Melbury then excused us, and he pulled me with a little too much force to one side. “What a fool,” he whispered to me, as we moved away. “I cannot say that I’ve ever met such a dunderhead above the station of shoeblack. It takes an idiot like that to have Dogmill as a sponsor.”