yours.”
“Nevertheless,” my uncle continued, “I am in your debt, sir.”
Elias rose to bow.
“Now, I hope you will excuse us but I have a need to speak to my nephew alone.”
“Oh,” Elias said, understanding my uncle’s praise as an awkward transition. He looked somewhat dejectedly at his half-full glass of claret, wondering—I could see from the mournful look in his eye—if to finish it off now in a quick gulp would be an unforgivable rudeness. “Of course.”
“On the way out, tell my man I’m instructing him to present you with a bottle. He’ll know where to find it.”
This pronouncement brought all the joy back to my friend’s countenance. “You are too good, sir.” He bowed once more and took his leave.
When he was gone, we sat together in silence for some minutes. Finally, it was I who spoke. “You must know how sorry I am to have brought this upon you.”
He shook his head. “You’ve done nothing. You are being harmed and have done no harming. I only wish I could offer you some assistance.”
“And what of you? How will you endure these trials?”
He raised to his lips a glass of a steaming wine posset, so thick with honey I could smell its sweetness across the room. “Think nothing of it. This is not the first time in my career that money has been hard to find. It shan’t be the last. A skillful merchant knows how to survive. See that you do the same.”
“And what of Mr. Franco? Have you heard anything from that quarter?”
“No,” my uncle said. “It may well be that he has not yet discovered his embarrassments.”
“Perhaps he need never discover them.”
“No, I don’t think that’s right. He may never learn that his fate is bound up with yours, but if he should be carted off to prison on your account, I think he should have heard something of the matter first.”
My uncle had the right of it, and I could not deny his wisdom. “How well do you know Mr. Franco?”
“Not so well as I would like. He has not lived here long, you know. He is a widower, and he and his lovely daughter removed themselves from Salonica to enjoy the liberties of life in Britain. Now the daughter has gone back. I still don’t understand why you did not pursue her more forcefully,” he added.
“Uncle, she and I would not have been a good match.”
“Come, Benjamin. I know you hold out hope for Miriam—”
“I do not,” I said, with all the force of conviction I could muster, much of it sincere. “Things with her are irrevocably broken.”
“They seem to be broken between the lady and myself, as well. I hear very little
“She has severed ties with me as well.”
He looked at me with some skepticism, for he did not believe it was her conversion and marriage that ended our friendship so permanently. Nor should he have believed it. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done, then.”
“No,” I said. “Now let us return to the subject of Mr. Franco.”
My uncle nodded. “He was a trader in his youth and did moderately well, but he is not a great man by any means. His desires are fairly modest. I understand he has no active life in the markets now and interests himself in reading and enjoying company.”
“And,” I noted with great unhappiness, “if he has collected only enough upon which to retire in relative comfort, a major burden of debt could quite destroy his comfort.”
“Just so.”
“Then I suppose I had better speak to him.”
MR. FRANCO KEPT his handsome and tastefully appointed house on Vine Street, an easy walk from my own residence and my uncle’s. Given the hour, it was possible, perhaps likely, that he should be entertaining or out, but I found the man at home, and eager to receive company. He saw me in his parlor, where he offered me a fine chair and a cup of cleverly mulled wine.
“I’m delighted to see you, sir,” he told me. “After Gabriella’s return to Salonica, I feared there would be no further connection between us. I expect her back soon and am glad of it, for a man should be with his family. It is a great blessing in one’s later years.”
Mr. Franco smiled kindly at me, and I felt hatred toward myself and rage toward Cobb for what it was I must tell him. He was a kind-looking man with a round face that suggested a plumpness of body he did not possess. Like my uncle, he eschewed London fashion and wore a closely cut beard that drew an interlocutor’s attention to his warm, intelligent eyes.
He was, in many ways, an unusual man. Part of the reason my uncle had been so eager for me to pursue the match was that, unlike many respectable Jews of London, Mr. Franco would not have regarded an alliance with a thieftaker as an insult to his family. Indeed, he rather took pleasure that I had achieved some recognition among the Gentiles of the city and regarded my successes as a sign—an overly optimistic one, in my estimate—of a greater tolerance to come.
“I had feared that when there failed to be a connection between my daughter and yourself—no, no, don’t protest. I see you would correct me, but it is not necessary. I know my daughter is charming and beautiful, so I need not hear it from you. I also know that not every charming and beautiful woman can appeal, in a matrimonial way, to every man, or the world would be a strange and awkward place. I take no insult. You will both find fine matches, and I wish it upon you sooner rather than later, for a man should know the blessings of matrimony.”
“You are very kind.” I bowed from my seat.
“I am led to understand that you had some connection to your uncle’s daughter-in-law,” he said probingly. “Perhaps this woman is an obstacle between you and my daughter?”
I sighed, for I felt I could not avoid this troublesome topic. “At one time I did indeed wish most earnestly to marry the lady,” I admitted, “but she sought happiness elsewhere. She is no obstacle to anything in my life.”
“She converted to the Church of England, they say.”
I nodded.
“But it is my understanding that she has since been widowed a second time.”
“You understand correctly,” I informed him.
He laughed softly. “And I perceive that you do not wish me to pursue this topic further.”
“I hope you will feel free to discuss any matter you like with me, Mr. Franco. I cannot take offense when a man of your good nature speaks with a free and open heart.”
“Oh, you may stop being so formal with me. When you and Gabriella failed to pursue a more solemn connection, I feared that we must cease being friends. I do hope that is not the case.”
“I, too, had flattered myself that we might continue our friendship,” I said, “although when you have heard what I have to say, you may find yourself wishing you had never invited me into your home. I am afraid that I must be circumspect and keep more details from you than I would like, but the truth is, sir, that someone means to do you harm as a means of doing me harm.”
He leaned forward, and the creak of his chair startled me. “Do us both harm? What do you mean?”
I explained, as clearly as I could despite my discomfort, that my enemies had selected a few of my nearest contacts whose finances they disrupted. “It appears that because of my frequent visits, they mistook you for a very near connection.”
“But there is nothing wrong with my finances.”
“Have you any debts, Mr. Franco?”
“All men have debts,” he said, his voice now strained.
“Of course. But what these men have almost certainly done is to buy up such debts as they can find. If all of your outstanding debts were to be called in at one time, would you find yourself in great difficulty?”
He said nothing for a few moments, but his face had gone pale around his beard, and his fingers, locked around his cup, also turned toward an ivory color.
“I am very sorry to have visited this upon you,” I offered, wincing at the weakness of it.
He shook his head. “From what you tell me, you have done nothing. These men must be base enough to prey
