“Well, it’s the very thing, isn’t it? If you can demonstrate that there is a highly placed Jacobite among the Whigs, you will have exactly what you need. You need only wait to see how the election ends. The Tories will do anything to keep the information quiet, for they will look like traitors. You know how excitable the public is; they’ll blame the Tories for what the Jacobites have done. And the Whigs will do anything to keep the information quiet, for they will look like rubes. All you need do is identify the man, and you will be well on your way to freedom.”

“All I need do is identify him? I imagine this man’s name is a closely guarded secret.”

“I imagine as much too, but if someone like Yate could uncover it, it will be a mere fribble for a man of your talents. By the way, have you heard the result of today’s polling?”

I told him that I had not.

“For Hertcomb, one hundred eighty-eight. For Melbury, one hundred ninety-seven. His lead increases each day.”

“That is bad news for Hertcomb.”

“I am afraid it is bad news for Melbury as well. Dennis Dogmill will not let go of Hertcomb’s seat easily.”

“Which means what?”

“Unless I miss my guess,” he said, as he took a bite of boiled turnip, “it means election violence. And a great deal of it.”

Elias’s pronouncement proved to be disturbingly prescient. The next day a group of four or five dozen men descended upon the hustings, declaring there could be no liberty without Hertcomb. Several of their number were posted just outside the polling booth, and when a man who had voted Tory emerged, the ruffians would taunt and jeer and even strike the fellow. Each man who stood up for Melbury merited an increasingly severe response, until anyone who dared cast his vote the wrong way was beaten mercilessly.

Melbury, along with every Tory of note in the city, cried out that the army must be called in to disband the rioters, but it was a sad truth that the mayor and the aldermen and a vast majority of the magistrates in the city made a habit of breaking bread with Dennis Dogmill and Albert Hertcomb, so they pronounced that a bit of election-season violence was inevitable and that it was better not to react too strongly lest the tempers of the troublemakers be even further inflamed.

I made a point of visiting the hustings myself that I might see to what extent this violence manifested itself. I saw it was cruel and certain, and that it surely cost Melbury his votes. That day ended with one hundred seventy votes for Mr. Hertcomb but only thirty-one for his opponent. Only a few such days of unrest could undo Melbury’s lead, and if Melbury did not win, my chances of clearing my name diminished to near nothing.

It was for that reason, and some others, that I observed something else with great interest. I saw that, unless my eyes deceived me, the men who rioted against Melbury were Greenbill Billy’s porters.

CHAPTER 22

I DID NOT LIKE that my fate should be bound as closely as it was to a man like John Littleton, but I saw no way to avoid calling upon his services once more. I wrote him and asked that he meet me in a tavern on Broad Street in Wapping. I went undisguised, for Littleton knew nothing of my Matthew Evans persona and I thought it safer that way. He had thus far proved himself willing to aid me after his own fashion, but I could never know when I might have asked too much or provided too great a temptation.

As it happened, Littleton was eager to meet with me. The entry of his rivals into the political fray seemed to have utterly disordered him. His men knew not how to respond, but many believed that if Greenbill’s boys were rioting, surely there was profit to be had in riot and Littleton ought to be able to secure their share of the spoils.

“It’s all in chaos,” he said to me, swallowing down his beer as though he had been deprived of drink all day. There was a bruise on his face, just under his left ear, and I wondered if he had been brawling- with his men, perhaps?

“What do you know of it? What does it mean?”

“What does it mean?” he repeated. “What do you think it means? Dogmill’s got them paid off to riot against Melbury. What could be more plain?”

“But why would Greenbill accept Dogmill’s money for such a thing? Does he not wish to see Hertcomb out of office and Dogmill taken down a notch?”

“You’re thinking like a politician. That’s your problem. You ought to be thinking like a porter. They’ve been offered money, which is enough, but they’ve been offered money to make mischief, which is even more. As to matters of right and wrong, they hardly signify, but that’s all took care of just the same. Greenbill went out there and told his men that if Melbury gets elected it will ruin Dogmill, and if Dogmill is ruined, they can forget any work this spring. It’s as simple as that. They must wish well to their master, for the only thing worse than being under his boot is to have no master at all.”

“Can Greenbill believe this? Can he believe that if Dogmill no longer brings in tobacco, no one will bring in tobacco?”

“I only know he believes in the silver that Dogmill surely gave him to tell this tale. And, when you think about it, it is but one more talk. It is like unloading a ship- work for which Dogmill pays Greenbill and Greenbill pays his boys. Nothing’s changed but that there’s a little more winter work.”

“How long will they riot?”

“I think only a few more days. Hertcomb and Dogmill can’t hold off the soldiers much more than that. In the meantime, I have contacted Mr. Melbury and let him know that he don’t have to take this lying down.”

“You would send your boys out to fight Greenbill’s?”

“It’s been a long time coming this way. I don’t see no harm in letting it play out as it might.”

I was in beyond my capacity. I knew it to be so. Did I wish for more rioting or less rioting? Did I wish to see Melbury, a man I once despised as a rival, triumphant? Surely he would put things right. Surely I could count on him to restore my name if he was elected. But there was a twinge of pleasure in seeing his electors cower in their homes, afraid to step up to the polls. He had been too ambitious. He had taken on what did not belong to him, and now he would know the taste of failure.

My vengeful thoughts were shattered, however, by the arrival of my landlady, Mrs. Sears, who informed me in a most disapproving tone that a young lady wished to call upon me. I could not have been more delighted to see Miss Dogmill walk into my chambers.

I rose in greeting. “As ever, I am delighted to see you, Miss Dogmill.”

She closed the door behind her, nearly upon Mrs. Sears’s face. “I believe myself worthy of this enthusiasm, for you have no better friend, sir.” She sat without waiting for my invitation- an act that, when performed by me, seems invariably hostile and defiant but only made this lady appear breezy and at ease. “I’ve brought you something you may wish to see.” She then set a series of letters down upon the table.

I picked up one and examined it. It was unsealed and addressed to a gentleman in York. “What is this to me?”

“These are letters, Mr. Weaver, four letters that my brother has sent to gentlemen of whom he is aware- though he knows none of them personally- who have lived for some years in Jamaica. He has written to all of them to inquire if they are familiar with Matthew Evans, grower of tobacco and charmer of sisters.”

“And you have rescued them for me,” I said.

“I thought they would be better off in your hands.”

“I think you are right, but when they go unanswered, will not your brother grow frustrated and try again?”

“I suppose that depends upon how long they go unanswered. Surely you have no intention of remaining Matthew Evans forever.”