I turned to Cobb. “What Miss Glade says sounds reasonable. Tell me now who you are and what you want. I wish to know why you have done as you have to me. And I want to know where Mr. Franco is.”
“Gad, Weaver, can you not see the woman is a monster?”
“I am not yet certain if she be angel or devil, but there is no doubt in my mind about you, sir. Now speak, or I’ll give you incentive to do so.”
“What, you would put me to the torture, after all I’ve done for you?”
“I should gladly put you to the torture, and more so because of these claims you make. What have you done for me that I should be so glad of your assistance? You have used me, sir, made me into your puppet and plaything, and you have kept me in the dark all the while. You have abused my friends, and because of your schemes three men lie dead: Mr. Carmichael; Mr. Aadil Baghat, the Mogul’s man; and one of Pepper’s former associates, called Teaser.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath. It was Miss Glade, who now had one delicate glove to her mouth. “Baghat is dead?” Her voice was soft and small. “I had not heard it.”
I almost thought to say that it was a relief to me that she did not know everything, but I could see the news was hard for her and I refrained from caustic comments. “It was last night,” I told her. “At a tavern in Southwark. We were attempting to rescue this Teaser, though that is not his real name. He was—”
“I know who he was,” Miss Glade said. “He was Pepper’s lover. One of them.”
“Yes. We were attempting to learn what we could from him, and we were attacked. Mr. Baghat died trying to save Teaser’s life. He had always pretended to me to be a brute and a monster, but in a very short time I learned his true nature.” I turned to Cobb. “I despise you for your bringing about the death of such a man. I care not whether you fired the pistol, ordered it done, or if this was a mere consequence of your other mischief. I shall hold you accountable.”
“His country has lost a great servant,” Miss Glade said, without trace of irony or falseness. “And so, for that matter, has this one. He was a friend to the Crown.”
I looked at her. Could she mean what she said? I had long believed her to be an enemy to the Crown. Could I have been so mistaken?
“Who are you, Cobb?” I asked. “Who are you that you have wrought all this death, and for what purpose?”
“I am only a servant,” he said, “with little more power in all this than you. I have been manipulated just as you have been. Oh, have mercy on me, sir, I never meant to harm anyone.”
“Who are you?” I demanded once more.
Elias spoke. “Oh, enough.” It was the first time he’d spoken since we entered the carriage. “Who is he, Celia?”
I observed his informal use of her name but worked hard to keep my face from registering the disappointment.
“He is an agent of the French Crown,” she said. “He’s a spy, working against King George and the East India Company.”
“A French spy?” Elias blurted. “But that’s what we thought
Something like amusement flashed across her face. “I shall very much like to know how you reached that conclusion, but that is for later, and Cobb is for now. Go on, tell them,” she said to him. “And tell them anything else they wish to know.”
“It is only partially true, Mr. Weaver. I do work for the French, though it is not out of any loyalty to them. You see, they bought me in much the way we did you. Through my debts. Only in my case, it was not my family that was threatened, but my own person, and while I have little doubt you would have regarded such dangers to yourself with contempt, I have never been the man you are.”
“Perhaps,” Elias suggested, “because he chooses to flatter you, you will refrain from breaking his fingers.”
“He would be wise not to depend upon it,” I said. “Tell me why the French Crown would wish to employ me against Ellershaw.”
“I don’t know,” Cobb told me. “They do not inform me of their reasons, just their desires.”
“It’s rather obvious, I think,” Elias said. “You recall my mentioning that the French are starting to develop their own designs upon the East Indies. To no small degree, our East India Company is viewed as an adjunct to the British Crown, for its wealth increases the wealth of the kingdom, and it is involved in a sort of mercantile conquest. Anything the French can do to harm the East India Company harms the wealth of the British nation.”
“Just so,” Miss Glade agreed. “And though I doubt our friend here has Mr. Gordon’s keen mind, I suspect he knows at least that much. Which suggests that he is not being forthcoming, and that perhaps this finger-breaking you discussed might not be out of order. I have promised to deliver this wretch, but I have made no promises as to his condition.”
“Deliver him to whom?” I asked.
“Why, the Tower, of course. He is to be a prisoner of the kingdom.”
“Not before he releases Franco from his minions,” I said.
“I assure you,” Cobb stammered, “he is in no danger. It is not in my power to release him, but you need not fear that any harm will come to him.”
“Not in your power?” I asked. “Is he not being held in your house?”
“He is there, yes, but Mr. Hammond has him.”
“Your nephew?”
“He is not truly my nephew,” Cobb said.
And, at last, I understood. “And neither is he your subordinate either. Mr. Hammond is a high-ranking French agent, one who has worked his way into the highest levels of the British customs, and you are but his plaything. You present yourself as being the man who gives the orders only because it provides a further level of protection for Hammond, is that not so?”
Cobb said nothing, and his silence confirmed my suspicions.
“Does Mr. Cobb have another name, one he uses among the French?” I asked.
Miss Glade nodded. “He is called by them Pierre Simon.”
It was as I suspected, and it cleared up one remaining question. “So,” I said to Cobb, “you sought not only to serve your masters but yourself? You and Hammond and Edgar, using your French noms de guerre, purchased insurance policies upon my life. Clearly you intended, once you were done with me, to kill me and to profit from doing so.”
“It was but business,” Cobb said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
“What shall become of Mr. Franco once Hammond learns that Cobb has been arrested?” Elias asked.
“He won’t learn,” Miss Glade told us. “We discovered Cobb about to leave the country, sailing for Calais on what appears to be official business for his masters. He shan’t be missed for a week or more. Hammond has no idea what’s happened to his toadeater.”
The equipage then came to a stop. I looked out the window and observed we were hard by the Tower. In a moment a quartet of dour-faced soldiers appeared.
“One moment,” Miss Glade said to them. And to me, “Have you further questions for Mr. Cobb? I suspect he shan’t be made available again.”
“How do I get Mr. Franco out of Hammond’s home?”
“You can’t,” he said. “And I would not try if I were you. Leave it alone, Weaver. You are dealing with men who are far more powerful than you can imagine, and Mr. Franco shan’t be harmed if you just leave it alone.”
“What does Hammond want with him? Does he hope to keep me in line by holding my friend in his clutches?”
“Hammond only discusses his plans with me when he cannot avoid doing so. If you must have answers, I fear you will have to pose those questions to him directly.”
“I assure you,” I said, “I shall do just that.”
“SO,” I BEGAN, “WHO ARE YOU?”
We rode now in her equipage, one fewer with Cobb having been led to his doom at the Tower, safely in the hands of soldiers. Surely there would be pain and torture ahead for him, but Miss Glade showed no sign of distress.
