“I do. I will be less inclined to presumption should you provide me with facts.”

“Maybe you should provide me with facts about your own doings.”

I laughed. “We shall never achieve any goal at all if we play this game forever. Now, you invited me here; you must have given the matter some thought.”

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “You are right, of course. There is no advantage in dancing about, and if neither of us dares to speak, nothing will get resolved. In truth, ’tis my greatest wish that we might find ourselves on unopposing sides.”

“And why is that?” I inquired.

Her true smile emerged once more. “You must not ask a lady such questions,” she said. “But I believe you know the answer.”

Indeed, I hoped I did. And yet I could not allow myself to trust this woman. Yes, she had charm and beauty and good humor, a combination I could scarce resist, and in her all of these wondrous properties combined such that appeared nearly magical to me. Everything I had seen of her told me she had raised the art of dissimulation to new heights, so I must presume that any display of affection for me must be as false as one of her costumes.

“Sir,” she said, “I must ask you a single question. Are you interested, in your business at Craven House, in harming or aiding the Company?”

“Neither,” I said, without a moment’s hesitation. I had not anticipated this particular question, but I saw there could only be one safe answer. A neutral position is more easily swayed. “I am indifferent to the fate of the Company and shall not allow its well-being, in one way or the other, to direct my actions.”

The answer appeared to satisfy her. “I am pleased to hear it, for it means we shall have no cause to be at odds. Now, as to my business. Are you aware, sir, that unlike the other trading companies, the East India lacks a monopoly on its domain? Any company at all can trade with the East Indies if it has the capital and the means.”

I laughed. “Yes, I have heard that. It seems to be a topic of perpetual interest at Craven House.”

“As well it should be. The East India Company must always be on guard against those who would take what it believes to be its wealth. Consequently, it often takes actions to defeat potential competitors. But sometimes it does more than that. Sometimes it engages in unfair practices, outright thievery, in order to destroy some small venture that wants no more than a thimbleful of the great wealth of the East.”

“And you represent such a venture?”

“I do,” she said. “I am in the service of a trading gentleman whose ideas and contacts were stolen by East India agents. I am at Craven House to find evidence of this wrongdoing and to correct the injustice. Like you, I seek neither to harm nor help the Company, merely to see a wrong righted.”

“I doubt the men of the Company would see things as you do, but that is no matter to me. The fate of the Company does not concern me, and if your patron has been wronged as you say, I certainly applaud your efforts.”

“Thank you, sir. Now, perhaps you could tell me something of your affairs.”

“Of course.” I had given this a great deal of thought once Miss Glade had proposed our assignation, and I constructed a fiction I believed would serve my purposes admirably. “I am in the employ of a gentleman of more merit than means. He is, in truth, the natural son of Mr. Ellershaw. That worthy sired him some twenty years ago, but offered neither his child nor the boy’s neglected mother the assistance that such ill-born children depend upon. Indeed, he turned away the just mother’s calls for help most cruelly. I am there at his request, to help uncover some evidence of his patrimony so he may pursue a case against an unfeeling parent.”

“I believe I have read of this incident,” Miss Glade said.

“Indeed?” My face could not have hid my surprise.

“Yes. It was in one of those charming novels by Miss Eliza Haywood.”

I let out a nervous laugh. A man at the next table looked over to see if I was choking to my death. “You are very witty, madam, but you know those novelists pride themselves on writing stories true to life. It therefore cannot surprise when a story from life in some way resembles the thing meant to resemble it.”

“You are perhaps more clever than convincing.” She spread wide her hands, not without a dose of good humor.

“But,” I added, “if we are to be suspicious, let me inquire something of you. How does a young lady learn the considerable skills at disguise you possess? You are able not only to choose excellent costumes but also to alter the nature of your voice, even your bearing.”

“Yes.” She looked down. “I have not told you all, Mr. Weaver, but as we are in one another’s confidence, and as I believe you mean me no harm, I shall endeavor to be more honest with you. My father, sir, was a tradesman of the Hebrew nation who-”

“You are a Jewess?” It took all of my will to prevent myself from shouting. It came out as a growling whisper.

Her eyes widened with amusement. “Does that so astonish you?”

“Yes,” I answered bluntly.

“Of course. Our women must stay at home and prepare meals and light candles and sacrifice their lives to making certain that fathers and brothers and husbands and sons are well tended. Only British women should be permitted to roam the streets.”

“I meant no such thing.”

“Are you certain?”

Indeed, I was not, so I avoided answering the question. “We are not so populous upon this island that I should expect a charming stranger, such as yourself, to be among our number.”

“And yet,” she said, “here I am. Allow me, please, to continue with my story.”

“Of course.”

“As I said, my father was a tradesman-skilled in the art of stoneworking-who left the city of Vilnius when he was a young man and went out in search of a more prosperous life. Such men often find themselves in this kingdom, for it is surely the most agreeable place in Europe for Jews to live. It was here he met my mother, also an immigrant, who had been born into poverty in a place called Kazimierz.”

“You are a Tudesco?” I said.

“So your kind chooses we should be called,” she said, not without bitterness. “You do not love us.”

“I can assure you, I am without prejudice.”

“And how many of my species of Hebrew do you count among your friends?”

I found this line of questioning most unpleasant, so I suggested she continue with her tale.

“Owing in part to the bigotry of the English race, and in part to the bigotry of your own people, he found it excessively difficult to ply his trade here, but after many years of effort, he managed to earn a comfortable living. Sadly, when I was of only seventeen years, he died in an accident involving his labors. I am told that such accidents among men who work with stone are all too common. My mother had no means to support us, and we had no remaining relatives in the country. We thus came to depend upon the charity of the synagogue, but that institution, unlike your own, is so poor it could little afford to buy us bread or keep a roof over our heads. This shame was far too much for my mother, who had never been of a strong constitution, and she followed my father to the grave within six months. In my grief, I found myself alone in the world.”

“I am very sorry to hear of your troubles.”

“You cannot know my misery. Everything I knew had gone, and I had nothing to which to aspire but penury and illness. In such a state, however, I chose to narrowly examine my father’s records and discovered that a man of some prominence yet owed him three pounds, so I traveled across the metropolis, making the journey on foot and enduring all manner of abuse you can imagine. I ventured out and suffered so, all in search of this debt, knowing the foolishness of the venture, for I had long since come to understand that such men will never pay when they can avoid doing so. I fully anticipated a rude refusal, but I met with something else entire. Despite the rags upon my back and disheveled appearance, the gentleman saw me himself and delivered silver into my hand at once with the most profound apologies and concern for my sorrows. Indeed, he paid double what he owed me out of consideration for my suffering. And he offered me more, Mr. Weaver. He suggested I might continue to associate with him in the form of his companion.”