At last Devout Hale appeared in the door. He wore a dressing gown and cap, and though the poor light did much to blunt the effect of his scrofula, the cruelty of being awakened at this hour was plainly visible.
“By Jesus, Weaver, what can possibly bring you here at this hour? If you don’t have the king himself in tow, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Not a king,” I said, “but a king’s ransom. Sit down and I will tell you as little as you need to know to understand.”
He sat across from me, hunched over, apparently having some difficulty breathing. Nevertheless, he was soon enough wide awake and listening to my tale as I informed him of things I had previously held secret. I told him how Pepper had been far cleverer than any of them had suspected and invented a cotton weaving engine that would have rendered the East India Company’s trade routes worthless, and how French, British, and even Indian agents had been doing all in their power to recover it-each to protect the interests of his own nation.
“I have been told,” I explained, “that I must return these plans to the British Crown, for it is in this country’s best interest that the East India Company remain strong. I believe myself to be a patriot, Hale, but the heart of what I love in this kingdom is found in its people, its constitution, its liberties and opportunities, not in its companies. I take great pleasure in having helped to thwart the schemes of the French, but that does not mean I cannot see with my own eyes the dangers in handing the reins to the kingdom over to men who value nothing but money and profit.”
“Then what shall you do with the plans?” Hale asked.
“I will give them to the men and women who serve this kingdom not with their schemes but with their labor.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out Pepper’s octavo, and handed it to Hale. “I give it to the silk weavers.”
Hale said nothing. He pulled the oil lamp closer and began to examine the pages in the book. “You know I can’t read.”
“You will have to depend on those who can, and I suspect it will take some time to understand the contents. Yet you and your men will puzzle it out, and when you do, you will be in a position to dictate terms to those you wish. I ask only that you share the wealth with your fellow workers and not become the thing you despise. That book contains the promise of great riches to be endured over generations, and I hope you will give me your word that you will administer its possibilities with generosity rather than greed.”
He nodded. “Aye,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Aye, that can be done, Weaver. It may not yield wealth at all in my lifetime, but I shall manage it as best I can. But tell me, don’t you want any of that wealth for your own keeping?”
I laughed. “Should you become rich and wish to make me a gift, we can discuss it at that time, but no. I shall not form a joint stock company with you. I asked you to do me a favor, you may recall, to help me in an endeavor that, though I despised it, I needed to complete. You did, and you asked me for something in return, something I have been unable to grant. I give you this in lieu of what I could not deliver, and I hope you will consider my debt to you paid.”
“I accept it on those terms,” he said, “and God bless you.”
I WOULD NOT HAVE many hours to sleep before my next appointment, but I was determined to take what I could. I sent a note to Elias, asking him to come meet me at my rooms at eleven that morning, which should provide us with ample time to arrive at the meeting of the Court of Proprietors at noon. What I would say to Miss Glade when she demanded the book, I did not know. Perhaps I would tell her the truth. I should, even then, have liked more than anything to give her what she desired, to see if in that moment I might find some place in her that was not designing or scheming.
Indeed, she arrived at my rooms at half past ten. I was fortunately awake-after but an hour’s sleep-and dressed, and, though not at my most alert, still able to face whatever she might wish to say to me.
“You broke open the house?” she asked.
I smiled at her. It was my finest approximation of her own smile. “I was able to liberate Mr. Franco, but I could not find the book of plans. Edgar knew nothing, and Hammond took his own life. I searched the rooms, even the house as best as I could, but I could find no sign of it.”
She rose quickly, and her skirts fluttered about like leaves on a windy autumn day.
“You could not find it,” she repeated, not without skepticism.
“I could not.”
She stood and stared at me, hands on her hips. She may have been making an effort to appear angry-she may, for all I know, have been making no effort at all-but she seemed to me so astonishingly beautiful that I felt myself tempted to confess all. I resisted the temptation.
“You,” she pronounced, “are not being honest with me.”
I stood up to meet her eyes. “Madam, I resent you for forcing me to reply with so trite an expression, but in this case I must observe that what is sauce for the goose must be sauce for the gander. You accuse me of concealing the truth from you? On what occasion have you not concealed the truth from me? When have you not told me falsehoods?”
Her expression softened somewhat. “I have endeavored to be honest with you.”
“Are you even a Jewess?” I demanded.
“Of course I am.” She let out a sigh. “Do you believe I would make up such a thing merely to disarm you?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. If you are who you say,” I asked, “why do you speak, when unguarded, with the accent of a Frenchwoman?”
Here her lips curled into a half smile. Perhaps she did not like to be so exposed, but I knew she could not but approve of my skill in having detected her ruse.
“All I told you of my family is true,” she said, “but I never claimed to have told you every detail of my life. As it happens, I spent my first twelve years in Marseilles -a place, I might add, where Jews of my sort were no better loved by Jews of your sort than they are here. In any event, what signifies such a small detail?”
“It might have signified nothing, had you not hidden it from me.”
She shook her head. “I hid it from you,” she said, “because I knew there was French mischief about, and I did not wish you to suspect I might be part of it. Because I could not tell you all, I wished to hide from you that which I believed must give you a false idea.”
“And in the hiding, you merely impressed upon me the need to be suspicious.”
“It is an irony, is it not?”
Through an unspoken mutual understanding, we took our seats.
“And your early history?” I asked. “Your father’s death and debts, and your-protector?”
“Also true. I neglected to mention, however, that this protector was a man of some influence in the ministry and has risen to even greater influence. It was he who recognized my talents and asked me to serve my country.”
“By doing such things as seducing my friends?”
She looked down. “Do you honestly think I would have had to surrender to Mr. Gordon in order to obtain the information I wished? He may be a good friend and a stalwart companion, but he is not well equipped to resist the requests of women. I may have taken advantage of his interest, but my regard for you is such that I would not have created difficulties in the friendship by surrendering myself to him.”
“Which friendship?” I asked. “That with Elias or that with you?”
She grinned quite broadly. “Why, either, of course. And now that we have clarified matters, I hope we can discuss the book you perhaps found after all.”
I felt myself waver, but even if I believed her story, as I was inclined to, it did not mean I wished for the East India Company to have the book. She might believe herself to be in the right, and her sense of politics gave her every reason to wish to obtain Pepper’s plans, but my sense of justice could not deliver it.