David Liss - The Devil's Company

“There’s nothing to manage,” I said. “If I cannot find the plans for Pepper’s engine, there is nothing to be done. I should very much like to find them prior to the meeting of the Court of Proprietors, since allowing Ellershaw to triumph can only rankle Cobb. But before that we’re going to have to rescue Franco.”

“And how do we do that?”

“I have some ideas, but first we must speak with Celia Glade.”

I saw him turn pale and then redden. “Are you certain that’s a sound idea? After all, Mr. Baghat might well have been warning us to stay away from her.”

“He might have been, but he might have been advising us to seek her out. I should hate to fail to do that which he struggled to tell us with his dying words.”

“And what if he meant those dying words as a warning? Should you not also hate to deliver us into danger?”

“I would indeed hate that. However, facing danger is preferable to doing nothing. If she is the enemy, we shall have an opportunity to confront her.”

“I advise against it until we know more.”

“I presumed you would,” I told him, “as your conduct with her must make you wish to avoid her, and the more so in my presence. Thus I took the liberty of sending her a note this morning, asking her to call upon me if she had anything of moment to say.”

Elias, who clearly had nothing of moment to say, turned away.

We spent the next several hours in conversation about how we might retrieve Mr. Franco from Cobb’s clutches, and I believed we had struck upon some very good ideas. It was nearly noon when my landlady knocked upon my door to tell me that a lady was outside in a carriage and she would very much like me to attend her.

Elias and I exchanged looks, but we wasted little time before heading out to the street and approaching a handsome silver and black equipage. Looking out the window was the most marvelously dressed lady, a rare beauty in her silk finery, and no doubt a very wealthy and distinguished figure in the beau monde. At least that was my first thought. My second thought was that this creature was Celia Glade.

“Ah, gentlemen, I’m so glad you could attend. I see I’m not the only one who found little reason to return to Craven House just now. If you two would be so kind as to join me in my equipage, we may drive about the town and speak in private. I’m sure we have much to say to one another.”

Elias shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but I saw him clearly enough. I also understood him. It seemed to me that his fear of Celia Glade could not be based on Aadil’s warning alone. No, I thought it far more likely that he now confused fear with guilt and that he wished to avoid her because her presence reminded him of his rather unamiable behavior toward me. This struck me as a poor basis for dictating strategy.

“Why should we trust a double-dealer like yourself?” I asked, more to please Elias than because I believed she would have an illuminating answer.

“I have every reason to believe,” she answered, “that when you enter my equipage you will know why.” She looked to me directly, meeting my eyes. “You may not wish to trust me, sir, but you do nevertheless, so let us not waste time upon foolishness.”

I stepped forward and opened the door. Inside, Miss Glade sat in the most gorgeous gown of verdant silk, trimmed with ivory lace. She wore delicate calfskin gloves upon her hands, and a very handsome bonnet sat upon her head. But as wondrous as her clothes might have been, what made her glow was the impish smile she wore upon her face, the look of delighted triumph. And I could not blame her for her feelings, for she had clearly triumphed quite nicely.

Sitting next to her, with his hands bound before him, his legs bound at the ankles-both with thick rope nearly the ivory of Miss Glade’s lace-was none other than Mr. Jerome Cobb himself.

She laughed as though we shared a joke. “Now do you wish to hear more?”

“You have my full attention,” I said. We took our seats, and the footman closed the door behind us.

THE EQUIPAGE BEGAN to bump along. Miss Glade sat with her hands prettily in her lap and wore upon her face the most devilishly seductive smile. Elias hardly knew where to look, but I looked at Cobb. He sat with his head and shoulders bent forward, looking more like a prisoner of war than-well, I hardly knew what he was.

Astonishingly, it was he who broke the silence. “Weaver,” he said. “You must help me. Talk to this madwoman and vouch for me. She has threatened torture and imprisonment and hanging. I cannot endure it. I understand you may take issue with my actions, but I have been kind, have I not?”

I would not give him the satisfaction he desired. He had been more polite to me than had his nephew-that much was certain-but he had been my taskmaster. Instead, I asked, “How is it that this woman was able to make you her prisoner?”

“Let us not concern ourselves with the particulars,” Miss Glade said. “For now I should hope you’d be happy that I brought you the villain who has so plagued you.”

“And do I not get to learn who you are?” I asked.

She smiled again, and may I be damned if my heart did not melt. “You may know what you wish, but I should prefer not to speak before Mr. Cobb. For now, you may ask him what you like, and later we’ll speak privately.”

I turned to Cobb. “What Miss Glade says sounds reasonable. Tell me now who you are and what you want. I wish to know why you have done as you have to me. And I want to know where Mr. Franco is.”

“Gad, Weaver, can you not see the woman is a monster?”

“I am not yet certain if she be angel or devil, but there is no doubt in my mind about you, sir. Now speak, or I’ll give you incentive to do so.”

“What, you would put me to the torture, after all I’ve done for you?”

“I should gladly put you to the torture, and more so because of these claims you make. What have you done for me that I should be so glad of your assistance? You have used me, sir, made me into your puppet and plaything, and you have kept me in the dark all the while. You have abused my friends, and because of your schemes three men lie dead: Mr. Carmichael; Mr. Aadil Baghat, the Mogul’s man; and one of Pepper’s former associates, called Teaser.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath. It was Miss Glade, who now had one delicate glove to her mouth. “Baghat is dead?” Her voice was soft and small. “I had not heard it.”

I almost thought to say that it was a relief to me that she did not know everything, but I could see the news was hard for her and I refrained from caustic comments. “It was last night,” I told her. “At a tavern in Southwark. We were attempting to rescue this Teaser, though that is not his real name. He was-”

“I know who he was,” Miss Glade said. “He was Pepper’s lover. One of them.”

“Yes. We were attempting to learn what we could from him, and we were attacked. Mr. Baghat died trying to save Teaser’s life. He had always pretended to me to be a brute and a monster, but in a very short time I learned his true nature.” I turned to Cobb. “I despise you for your bringing about the death of such a man. I care not whether you fired the pistol, ordered it done, or if this was a mere consequence of your other mischief. I shall hold you accountable.”

“His country has lost a great servant,” Miss Glade said, without trace of irony or falseness. “And so, for that matter, has this one. He was a friend to the Crown.”

I looked at her. Could she mean what she said? I had long believed her to be an enemy to the Crown. Could I have been so mistaken?

“Who are you, Cobb?” I asked. “Who are you that you have wrought all this death, and for what purpose?”