David Liss - A Spectacle Of Corruption

“Oh, Mr. Evans,” she called out to me, in the unflattering accent with which her nation is afflicted, “I see you are a lover of words, as I am. Allow me to walk you through my little library.”

“I would not so impose on your time,” I assured her.

“It is no imposition,” she said, and had the audacity to take me by the arm and lead me forward. “You must tell me first, though, about life on Jamaica. I hear it is a very strange place. I have a cousin who lives in Martinique, and she tells me it is very hot. Is Jamaica hot? I think it must be.”

“Quite hot,” I assured her, calling upon the memory of what I had read and heard of those lands. “The air there is most unwholesome.”

“I have known it. I have.” Though we now stood before her bookcases, she still did not let go of me. If anything, she dug in even deeper with her thick fingers. “It is no place for a handsome man to live. It is much better here. My husband, you know, was an Englishman just like you, but now he is dead. He is dead some ten years.”

I thought to propose that they must have been his most satisfying ten years since he was born, but I held my tongue.

“And they say you are a bachelor, yes? I have heard you are worth a thousand a year.”

Where had she heard I was worth so absurdly large an amount? Still, the rumor could do me no harm, and I saw no reason to deny it. “Madam, I do not discuss such matters.”

She now released my arm and instead took my hand. “Oh, you need not be shy with me, Mr. Evans. I will not think the less of you for your fortune. No, I won’t. I know a girl or two, very agreeable girls, I might add, and with no small fortunes of their own, who might make you a very pretty adornment. And what if they are my cousins? What if they are?”

I hardly knew how to answer this question, but I thought that if I was to be entrenched in intercourse with this lady, I might as well put her to some use.

“What,” I asked her, “do you know of this Weaver fellow, who appears to have created such a stir?”

“Oh, he is a very bad man,” she said. “A very bad man. A Jew, so it is no surprise he is full of murder and rage. I have a picture of him here,” she said, and quickly retrieved from the next room a broadside that depicted my prison escape. I had not seen this one before, but its likeness was no better than the ones I had examined. She would no more recognize me from that image than she would from her own reflection.

“From what I have read,” I ventured, “opinions of his goodness or badness seem to be marked along political lines.”

“I care nothing for politics,” she said. “I understand nothing of these English parties. These names- Whigs and Tories- make my head spin. I only know I wish he would be catched soon, or he might attack again. And not just men, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes. He is very cruel to the ladies. I do not feel safe walking the streets with him out there. He might very well grab me and throw me down.”

I looked her up and down. “He very well might,” I ventured, which effectively put an end to our conversation.

As planned, I met Elias at the next tavern on our list. He was there when I arrived, and perhaps he was merely flattering me, but he appeared not to notice me when I walked through the door and approached him. Only as I grew very close did his gaze pause on me for a moment, and his eyes narrowed before he offered me an enormous grin.

“Matthew Evans,” he said, with no little joy. “It is good to see you.” He looked me up and down, as though I were an expensive strumpet, and grinned so broadly he verged on metamorphosing into a grotesque. “I must say, you’ve fine taste in clothing.”

“You are kind to say so.”

“Really, we must take a moment to celebrate my cleverness. Your appearance could not be more perfect. I am quite convinced that I am the greatest thinker of our time.”

“To know you is to feel the same,” I assured him.

“You mock me, but I must inform you that I have this very day shown the first portion of my manuscript, ‘The Lively Adventures of Alexander Claren, Surgeon,’ to a very notable bookseller in Grub Street, and he thinks it may answer quite nicely. He sees no reason that it should not be every bit as popular as the tales of Robinson Crusoe or Moll Flanders. ”

“I wish you luck of it,” I said, “but you will forgive me if your literary adventures are not foremost on my mind.”

“Of course, of course. You are ever preoccupied with yourself, I know. If you wish to talk about your interests instead of mine- all this running from the law and such- I will certainly understand.”

We called for drink and food, and after a few minutes Elias ceased his simpering over my appearance. “Well,” he said, “if we are to talk about you, let us do so. It is time we began the business.”

“And how do we do this?”

“There are a number of things that I’ve been pondering. First of all, I imagine you have seen the political news.”

“I have. I wanted your opinion on that.”

“Nothing but what might have been anticipated. Your escape has become celebrated, and now each side wishes to use it for its own ends. You must let it ride its course and see what happens. In the meantime, I believe Matthew Evans must make his appearance in society.”

“To what end?” I asked.

Elias looked most dismayed. “I thought we had reached some agreement on this matter,” he said. “Is that not why we went to the trouble of having your clothes made?”

“It is, but as I have contemplated this plan, I confess I have come to understand less and less of it. I am to be Matthew Evans so that I may act unmolested.”

“Precisely.”

“But what acts am I to perform? I can hardly inquire into my own affairs when I pretend to be another man. What will Matthew Evans do with himself?”

“I thought you understood that. You will get close to Dennis Dogmill and learn enough about him to threaten him. And then you will act.”

“Is that not rather naÏve? Do you think, if I can convince him to invite me to his parlor for a glass of claret, I shall be in a position to learn his secrets?”

“Of course not. You’ll do the sorts of thing you usually do- speak to his servants, sneak a look at his papers, all that sort of inquiring business. And in the meantime, as your true self you will be able to search the quays for answers there.”

Elias’s plan had seemed enticing when he had first suggested it, but now it struck me as less than useless, and no matter how he endorsed it I could not believe it would meet with success. “What about Griffin Melbury?” I said at last.

Elias raised an eyebrow. “What of him?”

“Should I not also get to know him better?”

“Surely you recognize that you are being absurd. If you are disguising yourself as a Whiggish West Indian, why should you seek out Griffin Melbury? And even more to the point, what would you gain by doing so? It is clear that Dogmill is your enemy, not Melbury.”

“Rowley tried to point me toward Melbury. Perhaps Melbury would be able to help me if he thought we sought the same thing- the undoing of Dogmill.”

“I understand you too well,Weaver. All you want is a way to get close to Mrs. Melbury. Don’t think I can’t see it.”

“You’re mistaken. I would prefer that this matter involve no one connected with her, but I have not set out the terms of this conflict and I must use them as best I can. If I can resolve my troubles without setting eyes on her, I should be the happier for it.” Did I believe my own words? Even now, I cannot say.

“Very well, I’ll indulge you for the moment. I beg you continue.”