such pleasures, and she trapped my gaze within her own. In an instant I braced myself, for London ladies know of only two responses to a gaze such as mine, and I knew not if I would receive the hard scowl of chastisement, or the equally disappointing lascivious smirk. I cannot adequately describe my confused pleasure when Miriam declined to pursue either of these courses, and only offered me a smile of knowing amusement, as though the joy I took in her nearness was a secret we both shared.
After the meal, in the best English fashion, we four gentlemen retired to a private chamber with a bottle of wine. Adelman, on several occasions, attempted to discuss affairs of business with my uncle, who made it clear that he would not talk of these things on the Sabbath. Sarmento again turned the conversation to the rumors of another Jacobite uprising here in England. The topic of the followers of the deposed King was of interest to my uncle, and he had much to say. I listened intently, but I blush to own I did not follow politics very closely, and many points were lost upon me.
Adelman, whose interests were so clearly tied to the success of the current dynasty, dismissed the Jacobites as a mindless rabble, and condemned the Pretender as a Popish tyrant. My uncle nodded in mute agreement, for Adelman had merely encapsulated Whiggish sentiment. But Sarmento hung on Adelman’s every word, praising his ideas as those of a philosopher and his words as those of a poet.
“And what of you, sir?” Sarmento turned to me. “Have you no thoughts on these Jacobites?”
“I concern myself so little with matters of politics,” I said, meeting his gaze. I believed his question was not about my political views, but how I should respond to his boldness.
“Surely you are not a detractor of the King?” Sarmento pushed on.
I could not guess his game, but in this era in which rebellion always threatened the Crown, this was more than mere idle chatter. A public accusation of Jacobitical sympathies could ruin a man’s reputation—perhaps even result in an arrest by the King’s Messengers. “Must one who is not an active supporter be a detractor?” I inquired carefully.
“I am sure,” my uncle volunteered hurriedly, “that my nephew has raised a bumper many times to the King.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “though I confess that when I drink to the King’s health it is more often for the sake of the drinking than the King.”
My uncle and Adelman both laughed politely, and I thought my quip should tire Sarmento. I was mistaken. He merely took a new topic. “Tell me, sir,” he began when the laughter died down. “Who do you like—the Bank or the Company?”
The question confused me, and I suspected it had been meant to. The matter of this financial rivalry was of some interest to me, for I knew Old Balfour to have made investments based upon his notions of this competition, but I so little understood the terms of these companies’ antagonisms that I could hardly think of how to answer. Any pretense on my part that I understood the topic should only expose me as a fool, so I spoke plainly. “Who do I like for what?”
“Do you believe the Treasury is best served by the Bank of England or the South Sea Company?” He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if giving commands to a half-witted servant.
I offered him my most polite smile. “I was not aware that a man should find himself required to takes sides.”
“Oh, not everyone, I suppose. Only men of means and business must.”
“Must they?” my uncle inquired. “Cannot a man of business simply observe the rivalry without taking sides?”
“But you take sides, do you not, sir?” His question, as a clerk addressing his employer, struck me as impertinent, but if my uncle took offense he showed no sign of it. He merely listened to Sarmento palaver on. “Has not your family always believed that the Bank of England should maintain its monopoly on funding government loans? Have I not heard you argue that the South Sea Company should not be permitted to compete with the Bank for this business?”
“You know, Mr. Sarmento, that I do not wish to discuss such issues on the Sabbath.”
He bowed slightly. “You are quite right, sir.” He turned to me again. “You, sir, feel no such restriction, I suppose. And as all men of business and means must have an opinion, may I assume that you have one that you are only hesitant to share?”
“Tell me who you like, sir, and perhaps I shall have a model that I might emulate.”
Sarmento smiled, but not at me. He turned to Mr. Adelman. “Why, I like the South Sea Company, sir. Particularly when it is in such capable hands.”
Adelman bowed slightly. “You know full well that we Jews may not invest in the Companies. Your assertions, while flattering, may perhaps do my reputation some harm.”
“I only repeat what is spoken of in every coffeehouse. And no one thinks less of you for your interest in these matters. You are a patriot, sir, of the highest order,” Sarmento continued in his dull voice, which poorly matched the passion of his words. “For while the nation’s finances are protected by men such as the South Sea directors, we need little fear uprisings and riots.”
Adelman appeared unable to think of a response, and merely bowed again, so my uncle stepped in, no doubt hoping to move our conversation away from matters of business, and he announced that for the second time in almost as many years the churchwardens of the parish had elected him to the office of Overseer of the Poor. This revelation produced a hearty laugh from Adelman and Sarmento that I did not understand.
“Why should they elect you to this office, Uncle? Does it not involve attending church services each Sunday?”
All three men laughed, but only Sarmento laughed with hearty pleasure at my ignorance. “Aye,” my uncle agreed. “It means attending the Church on the Christian Sabbath, and it means swearing a Christian oath upon a Christian Bible. They do not appoint me because they wish me to perform the duties of the office. They elect me because they know I shall refuse to do so.”
“I confess I do not understand.”
“It is but a way to generate revenue,” Adelman explained. “Your uncle, he cannot perform the duties they have honored him with, so he must pay a fine of five pounds for refusing. It is common for the churchwardens to appoint many Jews in the course of a year—even poor Jews. They know that others will find the money to pay the fine. In this way they raise much money.”
“Can you not complain?”
“We pay many taxes,” my uncle explained. “You were born here, so you are free of the alien taxes, but Mr. Adelman and I are not. And though we have both received denizenship of Parliament, our taxes are still much higher than those of freeborn Britons. This appointment is but another tax, and I pay it quietly. I save my complaints for issues of importance.”
We conversed for another hour on a variety of topics until Adelman stood abruptly and announced that he must return home; I used his departure as the excuse for my own. Prior to my leaving, however, my uncle took me aside. “You are angry.” His eyes glowed with a strange warmth, as though he had forgotten the anger he had felt toward me at my father’s funeral, as though there had been no rift between me and my family.
“You broke your promise,” I said.
“I have only delayed it. I said I would talk to you after dinner. I did not say how long after. Come to the synagogue for prayers tomorrow morning. Spend the rest of the Sabbath with your family. When the sun goes down, I shall tell you what you want to know.”
I hardly knew how to respond or even how his offer affected me. “Uncle Miguel, time is not a luxury I possess. I cannot simply spend my day praying and making idle chatter.”
He shrugged. “That’s my price, Benjamin. But”—he smiled—“it is a one-time cost. I shall make no further demands on you, even if you need information weeks from now, or months.”
I knew I could not persuade him; he would let his own brother’s murderer run free rather than back down once he’d made up his mind. And I must say I liked the idea of spending the afternoon with Miriam, so I agreed to meet him the next morning.
Adelman and I stepped out the door together, and I was struck by the opulence of his gilt carriage, which was parked outside my uncle’s home. Upon seeing his master, a boy of perhaps fourteen years and a brownish complexion—East Indian, I guessed—dressed in a gaudy red-and-gold livery, opened the door and stood like a statue.
