Adelman’s face lost its redness and now matched the color of his wig. “I assure you, sir, I never duel. It is a barbaric practice, and one practiced only by equals. You should be ashamed to have even suggested such a thing.”
“Dueling is dangerous,” I agreed. “But insulting a man to his face, Mr. Adelman, is also a dangerous practice. I tell you, I grow tired of your attempts to dissuade me from my course. I shall not be dissuaded. I shall not be bought out. This inquiry will cease, sir, when it reaches its conclusion, and not a moment sooner. If I have to expose the South Sea Company, the Bank of England, or anyone else who has had a hand in these deaths, I shall not hesitate to do so.”
I stood up and glared down at this great man, who, perhaps for the first time in many years, knew not how to respond. “If you wish to discuss this matter further, you know where you may find me, and I am always ready to receive your commands.”
I turned and departed, full of self-satisfaction; I felt—for the first time since I had begun this search for the truth behind my father’s death—that I might possess some small measure of strength.
I LOOKED FORWARD TO returning to my lodgings, for I had found my encounter with Adelman to be surprisingly tiring. My hopes of removing my boots and taking a drink were dashed, however, when I noticed my landlady waiting to greet me at the front door. The look on her face told me I would not be resting soon. I saw that she was anxious and tired, but had I been less tired myself I would surely have seen the signifiers of fear in her sunken eyes and pale complexion.
“There are some men to see you in the parlor, Mr. Weaver,” she told me in a shaky voice.
“Some men,” I muttered. “Pray, not some Christian gentlemen, Mrs. Garrison? Shall I assume that the Hindoo Rajah and his entourage have stopped by to honor me with a visit?”
She pressed her hands together in a gesture of supplication. “They are in the parlor.”
Much raced through my mind in the few seconds it took to storm into the room. Had the constable come to arrest me for the murder of Jemmy? As I walked through the door I saw five men, dressed reasonably well, but their malicious eyes gave the lie to the cuts of their clothing and the niceness of their wigs. Three of them sat on the sofa, their legs spread out in an air of comfortable disrespect. Two stood behind the sofa, one of them toying recklessly with Mrs. Garrison’s China vase. The other man fingered a bulge in his coat pocket that I knew could only be a pistol.
They were not the constable’s men.
“Ah,” the man with the vase said. He placed it down hard, perhaps hoping to see a crack wind its way up from the base. “At last the great Mr. Weaver shows himself. You’ve kept us here all day, you have. That’s something of an incivility, don’cha think, me spark?”
Mrs. Garrison had not followed me in, but she remained in the hall that she might listen to what transpired.
I could not imagine who they might be, but their presence intrigued me. I understood that I might be in grave danger, but I also believed that I was very close to learning much about the deaths into which I inquired.
“If you have business,” I said sternly, “speak it. Otherwise you can get out.”
“Listen to ’im,” one of the men on the sofa said. “ ’E thinks ’e can tell us what to do.”
“Mr. Weaver,” the leader said, “we’ve come to take you for a visit. Our employer has invited you to come see him. And to make sure you don’t get lost along the way, he’s asked us to bring you over ourselves.”
“And who is your employer?”
“You’ll find out in due course,” the leader said. “You just cooperate, and you won’t get hurt. We’ve got enough men here, and pistols too, to keep a man like yourself from giving us any trouble.”
Behind me Mrs. Garrison let out a shriek. I turned to her quickly. “Do not be alarmed,” I said. “Have these men done you any harm?”
She shook her head.
“Then they shan’t.” I turned to the leader. “Let us go.” Alone, perhaps, I might have attempted to extricate myself from the situation more forcefully, but I could not risk the safety of Mrs. Garrison. She was an unpleasant woman to be sure, but I knew my duty too well to engage in an altercation that might bring her harm.
“ ’E’s quite the gallant,” one of them noted as they ushered me out in front of Mrs. Garrison’s house. Seeing a coach waiting, I walked toward it at a brisk pace, anxious to have the adventure ended. A small crowd had gathered to watch this odd procession, and I thought to myself that at least while others looked on I should have little to fear. But even as this thought passed through my mind, I felt from behind me a sudden sharp blow to the back of my skull. The pain consumed my every sensation. I have taken no small number of blows to my head in my time in the ring, but it is one thing to feel a man’s fist against your face, quite another to be struck from behind with a solid object. The pain was, in a disorienting way, quite literally unbelievable—blunt and stabbing, hot and cold all at once. I thought to myself,
Without taking time to consider, I reached to grab the spot that hurt so implausibly. I should have known better than to render myself vulnerable, for another of the men took advantage of the opening and struck me hard in the stomach. My chest constricted as I struggled for air. As I doubled over, I felt another blow, this one in the small of my back, which knocked me to the ground.
I thought that if only I could catch my breath I might rise up and pummel these men, but I was no sooner upon the ground than I was struck again in the face and side, and before I could resist I felt my arms pulled behind me and bound with a cord. Just before a cloth was slipped over my head, I looked up and saw the faces in the crowd that watched me beaten before my own lodgings. Not one of them stepped forward to help, and I found myself attempting to commit each face to memory that I might return and beat everyone who had watched my misfortune with such cowardly indifference. I heard someone say that he would go for the constable, but that I knew would do me little service.
Abruptly I was pulled to my feet and pushed against the side of the coach; what felt like a dozen hands were upon me, roughly searching for weapons. My pistol, my hangar, and my knives were removed, and I was shoved into the carriage, where I collapsed into my seat.
I struggled futilely against my bonds, not because I believed I could escape them, but because I could not endure the idea of these men believing me entirely conquered. I soon grew tired of thrashing about like an unhooked trout; there was little good I might accomplish, and I had no desire to bring more beatings upon myself. Thus biding my time, attempting to persuade myself into feeling no agony, I felt the wheels begin to roll, and I vowed that I would have vengeance for this anger and humiliation before the sun set that night.
TWENTY-TWO
I SAT SILENT and brooding, taut with anger and pain, as the chaise rode on for I know not how long. My abductors spoke not a word, and in the silence and darkness I contemplated who might have orchestrated this attack. I could not but suspect the South Sea Company, but would the architects of a villainous conspiracy that had secretly taken the lives of two men be so sloppy as to attempt a violent abduction before a crowd of onlookers? But if it was not the South Sea, then who would wish to abuse me so, and for what purpose?
At last we stopped, and I was led out to walk a short distance. I heard a door open and felt a pair of hands pushing me into a building. Within a few seconds the hood upon my head was removed, and I could see I had entered a gaudily decorated house. The walls were adorned with classical-inspired imagery that suggested less the virtues of Plutarch than the excesses of the
The men about me held themselves like children whose sure punishment only awaited the return of a parent. They watched me warily, though my arms were still firmly bound behind me.
I was brought to a drawing room and instructed to sit. The men withdrew somewhat, but did not leave. Next I felt a person approach from behind and cut loose the cord that tied my hands. At once I almost jumped up, but I decided to survey the scene quietly before taking any action. The room bore furnishings of the Eastern vogue, with Chinese-style vases and Oriental decorations upon the wall hangings. A painting, offset with a thick frame of gold, depicted a coronation scene among the Turks. I tried to take in as much as I could, not knowing what could be important, for I knew that the man who had summoned me was to be my enemy for some time to come. Presuming he let me live.
The man who had freed my arms turned to face me, and I saw that it was the Great Man himself who
