A Conspiracy of Paper

Rochester’s partner.”

The corners of Wild’s mouth twitched slightly. “Why do you believe that?”

“Because I can think of no other involvement you might have with Sir Owen, and because if Sir Owen had wished to sell and distribute this counterfeit stock, he must have needed your help. After all, anyone who engages in a certain kind of trade must sooner or later do business with Mr. Wild. Is that not true?”

I looked at Mendes, and I took some satisfaction in his very slight nod.

“It is still conjecture,” Wild told me.

“Ah, but it is all so probable. You sent the much-beleaguered Quilt Arnold to watch me when I put my notice in the Daily Advertiser. He told me that he had once been more trusted of you, and that you wished for him to see if he recognized anyone who came to meet with me, and if not, to describe them. Is it not probable, then, as Mr. Arnold had been more trusted of you in the past, that he had been more privy to your dealings with this counterfeit stock? Thus he might recognize a purchaser, and even if he did not, you might from Arnold’s description. None of these details on their own are condemnatory, but combined I believe there is no other way to interpret them.”

Wild nodded. “You are perhaps more impressive than I have given you credit for, Mr. Weaver. And yes, you are quite correct. More than a year ago, Sir Owen approached me because he wished to engage in a scheme to produce false South Sea stock. He had been, in the past, involved with the South Sea’s parent organization, the Sword Blade Company, and as a result he had great insight into their inner workings. But he wished to recruit those who knew their way about the underworld, and he needed connections to make his plan work, and so he wisely approached me. He offered me a percentage I thought generous, and soon we reached an agreement. It was a complex operation, you understand. He wished earnestly that no one should know who he was, because he rightly feared the power of the Company. And so he established the identity of Martin Rochester. With the aid of my men upon the street, and an inside operator at the company itself.”

“Virgil Cowper,” I speculated.

“The same,” Wild acknowledged. “And thus, with all these pieces in place, we had business upon our hands.”

“But you later wished to be out of that business,” I said. “You told Quilt Arnold to keep a watchful eye for South Sea men. You knew enough of their determination to fear them, yes?”

He nodded. “It took some time, but I came to realize the dangers this operation presented to me, for it left me at another man’s mercy, a state I was unused to. When I finally understood what the South Sea Company was, I realized it was a dangerous thing to have such an enemy. When I had first entered into the venture, I presumed the directors to be but a bloated collection of lazy gentlemen, but I soon saw that I should be much better off with the Company caring nothing for me, for if they chose to destroy me I had little confidence that I could equal their power. And so I had to find a way to release myself of the connection.”

“Yet,” I surmised, “Sir Owen knew at this point too much of your operations, and should you turn on him, you need fear his vengeance.”

“Precisely.” Wild fairly glowed with the pleasure of his own cleverness. “I needed to find a way to remove him without his suspecting my involvement. It was about the time that Sir Owen and I went our separate ways that he learned that your father and Mr. Balfour had discovered the truth about the false stocks. As near as I can determine, Mr. Balfour discovered the false stocks in his possession, and he approached your father for assistance. When Sir Owen learned that your father wished to make this information public, he lashed out venomously—far too venomously for my taste, for in my business, sir, discretion is all. I knew him to have organized the murder of your father, Balfour, and the bookseller. I knew also that Sir Owen kept about his person a document written by your father detailing evidence of this forgery. I cannot say why he kept these letters—perhaps he thought they would give him leverage with the Company should he ever need it. At any rate, I directed Kate Cole to steal this document from him, knowing it would be easy, for his taste in whores was legendary. And then I planted some rumors that would make him believe that I might be behind the theft—might be, you understand. I simultaneously planted rumors that I was in no way involved. I could not have him know me to be his enemy. I merely circulated information to make him not quite comfortable trusting me—but not so uncomfortable that he should risk acting against me. Now, Mr. Weaver, should a man have something lost he wished recovered in this city, and he be unable to trust Jonathan Wild to recover it for him, to whom would he turn? It seemed he would have but one choice.”

“Good Lord,” I sputtered, “the letters he had me recover of Kate Cole were my father’s papers?”

“Indeed. He also carried about with him some sentimental letters of his dead wife, but they were far less important to me. Now, with his incriminating document stolen, I forced him into a position where he would need to hire his victim’s son to recover the very proof of the crime. I had no reason to believe he knew that you were Samuel Lienzo’s son, so he could have no cause for alarm there, and I could not but suspect that in order to obtain your goods you would read what you recovered—but that was not to be the case.”

I still did not understand why Wild had made it so difficult for me to learn of Sir Owen’s true identity and his responsibility for my father’s death. “Why did you not have your people unseal the packet?” I asked. “Why did you make the recovery so devilish complicated?”

“It was necessary that they did not know they acted a part in this matter, for I could hardly bring those villains into my confidence. I could never trust my own prigs not to ’peach me out to Sir Owen should they find themselves in a difficult position. Thus you had some problems retrieving the document. The death of Jemmy was an unfortunate detail, but what can one do? In any event, because I had to confront the possibility you would be so damnably scrupled in your service to Sir Owen, I took a second precaution—I asked that fool Balfour, in exchange for a ridiculously large consideration of fifty pounds, to involve you in this matter. You perhaps wondered why he lost all interest in finding his father’s slayer, but it was only because he cared not a fig for his father or his death to begin with. And so, fired by Balfour’s insistence that your father’s death involved some hideous plan, you at last took the bait. I tried to lead you in the right direction, which was hard indeed, but now you see why I was forced to treat you roughly in so public a forum, for I had to make Sir Owen believe that I sought to dissuade you, not encourage you, and I had to indemnify myself against the possibility that you would someday be forced to recount your steps. I knew you could not but have discovered the connection with the South Sea Company, so there was no danger in my mentioning it to you.”

The stratagems that had so long eluded me were now made clear. “It is for the same reason, then,” I speculated, “that Sir Owen conducted his business with me in St. James’s Park—in order to make a public showing of our dealings. He wished for word to reach you that he had formed some kind of agreement with your principal rival—in the hopes, I suppose, of making you see that he was not to be trifled with.”

Wild nodded. “Both Sir Owen and I were compelled to draw you in for more or less the same reasons. Naturally, he made more mistakes than I did, and as you grew too close, he was forced to attempt to remove you from his path.”

“And when you learned from Mr. Mendes that I grew despondent, you sent a false Sarah Decker to put me on Sir Owen’s trail.”

“And how do you know I did such a thing?”

“Who but Jonathan Wild has at the ready a stable of actress whores?”

“Who indeed?” He laughed.

I was silent for some time after this narrative. “It is astonishing,” I said at last. “But you have certainly emerged victorious.”

“Of course,” he added, “there was another possibility, and that was that in your inquiry you would be destroyed by Sir Owen, and while I would not have lost my current enemy, I should have eliminated a future one.”

“I wonder if it was you who had Sir Owen killed,” I said. “Perhaps you set him up to appear the mastermind behind the forgeries and then had him killed so he could not deny it.”

“Surely you have seen too much to believe that I alone could orchestrate that particular villainy. Sir Owen’s death looks to me like the style of these companies, who strike boldly yet secretively. Hardly my way at all. I prefer quietly and secretly.”

“As you have tried to deal with me,” I noted.

“Precisely. You see, Mr. Weaver, to my mind I owe you nothing. And when I said that I believed we could coexist, I was saying that only to lay down your guard. I do not believe we can coexist, and we must come to blows