David Liss - A Spectacle Of Corruption

“The ministry prepares every day for an imminent uprising. It will do just fine without our information. I’ll not risk my life to tell a government that means to murder me that it must prepare for a crisis that it is already preparing for.”

“You may have a point,” Elias said thoughtfully. “Rabbit it! I wish I could tell my friends this intelligence. I should be quite the fellow in the coffeehouses, knowing this.”

“You’ll have to live without being the coffeehouse fellow, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he said sheepishly. “But what you tell me changes everything, as far as you are concerned. Despite what you were told at Ufford’s house, you must consider yourself to be in terrible, terrible danger. These Jacobites have tolerated you because you’ve been useful to them, but poking around in their studies and discovering secret funding sources for an invasion and clandestine visits of the Pretender to these shores- well, it is the sort of thing that makes them nervous. You’ve got to be careful, or you’ll end up like Yate or the witnesses at your trial.”

“What are you suggesting I do?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, Weaver. You can depend upon none of these people to tell you the truth. If this Irishman Johnson is kind to you, it does not mean he is honest with you.”

“No, but he might well have harmed me and he did not.”

“Only because he thinks you may be of use to him free. He’ll harm you plenty if things begin to appear otherwise.”

“I know that.”

“Then you had better accept that all of this Jacobitical intrigue is, for you, no more than a distraction. You are exerting all your efforts in an attempt to learn the truth behind who killed Yate and why.”

“Should I not be doing that?”

“I suppose you should, yes, but as a means to an end, not an end.”

“The end, I suppose, is politics.”

He smiled. “I see you have learned something after all.”

By the time we reached the Covent Garden piazza, it was already crowded with thousands of electors and observers, many of whom flew the colors of their candidate, and many more who were only there for the diversion. The crowd was packed in tight, cheerful and surly simultaneously, in the way of London mobs. These people delighted in entertainment but always felt an inexplicably sharp resentment that the entertainment was not so entertaining as they would like, that it did not transport them from their poverty or their hunger or the pain in their teeth.

As we arrived, the Tory candidates were entering the plaza, the Whigs having already made their entry. I saw hundreds of banners rise up in the air as Melbury made his way toward the platform, and not a few eggs and pieces of fruit flew as well. During his short speech the Tories seemed to have the advantage, and more than once I saw a Whiggish heckler dragged down into the mob to face I dared not think what torments.

Elias laughed softly at my surprise. “Have you never before observed an election procession?”

“I suppose I have,” I said, “but I always thought of it as some sort of spectacle. Not having the vote myself, I never bothered to consider its political import. Now that I do, this madness seems absurd.”

“Of course it is absurd.”

“Do you not think it wrong that the nation elects its leaders in this fashion? Why, there is more danger here than at Bartholomew Fair or at a Lord Mayor’s show.”

“There’s not much difference, is there, between this and a puppet show, but that here it is people and not puppets that are banged upon the head. But at least here there are thousands who have a say in the election. Would you prefer a town like Bath, where their Parliamentarians are selected by a small group of men who sit with their roast chicken and their port and determine who will keep their bellies the fattest?”

“I don’t know what I prefer.”

“I prefer this,” he told me. “At least there’s a bit of distraction to it.”

And so, with the requisite amount of violence, the election commenced. How odd, I thought, that my hopes should depend upon a man I had once hated without knowing. But it was true enough that it was in my best interests for Griffin Melbury to carry the day. I was therefore not a little gratified when, in a coffeehouse the next morning, I heard the results of the previous day’s tallies: Mr. Melbury, 208 votes; Mr. Hertcomb, 188. The man I despised, running on the platform of a party I mistrusted, had won the first day, and though I should have wished this man nothing but ill, fate had ordained that I must rejoice in his victory.

Not two days later- and two days in which Melbury bested the Whigs in the polls- Matthew Evans received a note that I found utterly delightful. Mr. Hertcomb himself wrote to inform me that I was invited to join a group of friends- including Miss Dogmill- for an evening at the theater the following night. I suspected that Miss Dogmill was not the sort of woman who would be so bold as to initiate a correspondence with a man, although I would have been pleased had she proved herself unfettered by such restrictions. I wrote to Mr. Hertcomb at once, telling him I would join him with all my heart.

The Whig candidate arrived at my rooms wearing a suit of a remarkable shade of blue, lit up with enormous gold buttons. He grinned sheepishly at me, and I invited him in for some wine before we proceeded. If he felt any worry that the first three days of the election had gone Melbury’s way, he did not show it.

“I trust you have no geese about you, sir,” he said impishly, still amused at events now two weeks past.

“None but are at their liberty, I assure you,” I returned. I sensed at once that Hertcomb, who bristled under the harsh yoke of Mr. Dogmill, had taken a particular delight in my defiance of his master. Perhaps he had never before witnessed any man resist him so boldly, and his kindness to me might be all the rebellion he could muster. Or, I thought, he might be some sort of spy in Dogmill’s service. In either case, I knew my business well enough to welcome this man into the bosom of my friendship- and to be careful all the while I did so.

“I do not believe that Mr. Dogmill would be partial to my spending my spare time with a man of Toryish inclinations, sir, but we need not say anything to him.”

“I am not in the habit of informing Mr. Dogmill of my doings,” I said.

“Well, then. It is for the best. In any event, Miss Dogmill seems to enjoy your company, and as I enjoy Miss Dogmill’s company, I see nothing wrong with accommodating her inclinations, if you take my meaning.”

I was not entirely certain I did. It was clear to me that Mr. Hertcomb had a liking for Grace Dogmill and that she had made it clear she had no intention of elevating their relations to a more legal status. Why then did he consent to my accompanying them? I could only imagine that he did not see me as a rival- or he had something else in mind that superseded his amorous inclinations.

“If I may venture to be bold,” I said, “I have observed that, though he is your agent and you work quite closely with him, you are perhaps none too fond of Mr. Dogmill.”

He laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, we have no need to be friends, you know. Our families have long been linked, and as an election agent he does a marvelous good job. I can’t say I would stand a chance in this race without him.

“I am in far beyond my understanding,” he went on, “and Dogmill is quite skillful at managing treacherous waters. Those Tories have a strong presence in Westminster, and if Dogmill is right, there is more at issue here than just a seat in Parliament. If we lose here, the country could find itself overrun with Jacobites.”