“Because until you began your inquiry, no one believed they were murders. As long as the public is content, I am content. But I assure you, Weaver, that having stirred up public sentiment about these deaths, if you now fail to resolve the matter, it is bad for both of us.”
“What rot!” I could not help but laugh, though the motion hurt both my ribs and my head.
Wild laughed with me. “You will have to accept it. My motives are my own. I wish you to succeed, but if you do not wish to succeed, you may ignore my advice and my assistance. There is no better-informed man in the city, and I may have knowledge that could aid you. Feel free to ask me anything, sir. Anything at all.”
I considered this offer. “Where can I find Bertie Fenn, the man who ran down my father?”
Wild held out his hands to signify his helplessness. “I do not know where you can find him, but I have heard that he works for a man named Martin Rochester, who is something of a criminal mind in his own right. Not a man to trifle with, from what I hear.”
“I have heard this name of Rochester for some time. It seems the entire world knows of him, but no one knows him. It is indeed enigmatic.”
“Yes, you are on an enigmatic course, are you not?”
“Then if you wish to aid me, you can clear up some of the enigmas rather than add to them. Tell me everything you know about Rochester—his business, where he lives, whom else he employs.”
Wild only shrugged. “Alas, Rochester is a very secretive man. I know not where he works nor whom he employs—other than Fenn, that is. I am simply a thief-taker, sir, and cannot begin to fathom the world of stock- jobbers such as Rochester. These stock-jobbers are the very devil. They turn everything upside down. There is no sorting out of one’s business around them.”
I sighed. These endless railleries against stock-jobbers frustrated me—not because I wished to defend them, not because these condemnations insulted my father’s memory, but because these words were upon every man’s lips and proved worse than empty and useless.
“You do not really have any information for me then? For a man who knows of everything, you share remarkably little.” I started to rise, and even this slight motion caused Mendes to shift the weight upon his feet.
Wild held up a staying hand, I could not say at which of us. “Perhaps I do not have precisely the information you desire. Yet I hear things, and I should like to share with you some of the things I have heard.”
I made no effort to disguise my skepticism. “By all means.” I settled back into my chair.
“It is my understanding that Rochester arranged for the death of your father as well as Michael Balfour. I do not know why, but I do know that he employed Bertie Fenn. Further, sir, it is my understanding that Mr. Rochester has some connection with the South Sea Company. I believe you will have to look to the Company to find the truth behind these murders.”
“How is it,” I asked, “that so many men point me in the direction of the South Sea Company but can then tell me no more?”
Wild looked at me with something like surprise. “I cannot speak for other men.”
“What is your affiliation with Perceval Bloathwait?” I demanded.
“Bloathwait?” I had either genuinely surprised him or he was a superb actor. “The Bank of England director? What dealings should I have with him?”
“That is precisely what I wish to determine.”
“None. I suspect I never shall, unless he should find his pocket picked one day or the other.”
“Then tell me how you know these things about the Company,” I said.
“Men are undone in whispers, you know. A prig tells me a piece, a whore tells me another piece. I put all these pieces together. Sometimes I can ask no more than I am told.”
I thought hard on what else I might ask. I could not begin to guess at Wild’s motives, but if he wished to aid me, for the nonce I would take his information. “What do you know of a man named Noah Sarmento?” I asked. Wild might deny dealings with Bloathwait, but if my uncle’s clerk was a villain of some description, then Wild might know of him.
His face was a blank. “I cannot say I know of him.”
“Very well. You had your men beat me and drag me here in order to give me your friendly encouragement. Do I understand that correctly, Mr. Wild?”
“Really, Weaver, I have apologized about that. I have told you all I know of Rochester and the South Sea involvement. You must do some of this work yourself.”
“Then I shall get to it.” I began to rise. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wild,” I said sourly, as I attempted to steady myself. I did not wish to give Wild the satisfaction of seeing me in any way incapacitated. “I cannot say how much faith I can place in your promise, but I can assure you that this meeting has been illuminating for me.”
“I am delighted to hear that. You know, Mr. Weaver, my offer still stands—if you wish to find employment with me, there is always room for a man of your stripe.”
“Your offer is as tempting to me today as the day you first made it, sir.”
“Ah, then. One more thing I wish to bring up. It’s about this Kate Cole matter. I could not but detect some squeamishness on your part when I mentioned her hanging day. I suppose you are one of those unfortunates crippled with sentiment—such a nasty condition. It occurs to me that if the idea of her hanging distresses you, I might choose to spare her the rope.”
“And in exchange?” I asked.
“In exchange,” he said, “you will owe me a favor. One of my choice, that I may call upon when I choose.”
I believed that he could arrange to spare her life. A man like Wild would have precisely the influence to abort the trial, just as he would have the power to see her hang should he choose to do so. Yet I wondered what price he would extract for clearing my conscience. What would it mean to be in Wild’s debt—to have no say in how that debt might be paid? I thought about this offer in terms of probability, in terms of risk and reward, in terms of Wild’s efforts to speculate on lives as though he jobbed people themselves upon some felonious exchange. In the end, and it is a decision I have come to regret in many ways, I placed my fear of Wild’s power over my concern for Kate’s life. I said nothing and watched the images of a hanged Kate play themselves out before my mind’s eye and told myself that, should Kate’s life end in this way, I could endure the guilt.
I chose not to honor Wild with a response to his offer, so he continued speaking. “Very well, then. Shall I have Mr. Mendes return you to your lodgings?”
I glanced at my old acquaintance, who had hardly moved since his arrival in the room. “Yes,” I said, making sure to betray nothing of my feelings. “I think I’d like that.”
· · ·
MENDES AND I SAT in the coach in silence for a few moments. Finally he turned to me. “You will understand if I do not return your arms until we reach your home.”
“If I wished to harm you, Mr. Mendes, I would not require weaponry. Tell me,” I said, changing my tone dramatically, “do you enjoy working for Wild, being treated like his mameluke?”
Mendes laughed. “My employment with Mr. Wild has served me well.”
I thought on this for a moment, attempting to concentrate, though the jarring movements of the hackney aggravated my too-recent wounds. “Come now, Mendes. Let us be honest with each other. It may well be that Wild is an easy master, but he is a master all the same. No matter the trust he may put in you, you must remain for him always a Hebrew, and nothing more.”
“I hardly know what you mean,” Mendes said. “For Wild, any man is but the sum of what he does. I am no different. While I serve him well, he treats me well.”
“We, however, are of the same neighborhood,” I continued. “I ask you now to think of that commonality and tell me the truth of these matters.”
“The truth?” Mendes stared.
“Yes. I know you and I have never been great friends, but we have a common bond. You continue to associate yourself with the Jews of Dukes Place—more than I do. You attend services at the synagogue, and I admire your desire to maintain a connection with our people. Can you not look at that commonality and find it within you to be honest with me?”
“Perhaps it is you who should be honest with me, sir. What is it that motivates you?”
“Me? Why, I wish to find the man who killed my father. No difficult motivation, that.”
