A Conspiracy of Paper (38 page)

“I thought you wished to dance with me so we might have a gay time. Do you plan to spoil that by playing the father with me?”

“I would never choose to spoil a gay time,” I said, nearly colliding with a plump lady of Arabia, “but is it not my responsibility as a man and a kinsman to look after your well-being?”

“My being has never been more well,” she assured me. “It is a rare thing I am allowed to put to use the dancing skills. And what could be more delightful than the variety of the masquerade?”

I pressed onward, knowing I should spoil this dance by doing so. “Do you not risk your honor, as well as your family’s, by coming here without my uncle’s knowledge, consorting with men he knows not who?”

Miriam’s jaw tightened. She had wished to make banter, to play the free woman unconcerned with what the world thinks, and I was determined to shatter this illusion. I had angered her, but I truly feared for her reputation. From what Elias told me of this Deloney rascal she consorted with, I could not even be certain that her honor remained unbesieged. I suspected that Deloney was somewhere at the ball, and I heartily wished that he should confront me for dancing with his partner. In this way I should show Miriam that a man such as myself should protect her with honor, and the pretty talk of a spark was but a bubble.

At last she spoke. “Would you lecture me on disobedience? You left your family, almost forever, when you were younger than I. You believed yourself capable of choosing your own way in the world. You would deny me that same choice?”

I found her so perplexing it was all I could do to continue the dance. “You are being absurd. You are a lady, and cannot assume that the avenues open to a man are open to you. A man may do many things, take many risks, that a lady must never even consider. It is monstrous strange that you should even think of taking the same liberties I did.”

“So because more liberties are denied me, I should presume to take for myself even fewer?” Miriam pushed away, breaking from the dance floor in the midst of the minuet. Her anger sparked the interest of the crowd, and as I rushed after her, I did all I could to obscure our exit from the gathering. Ignoring the knot of tension that twisted in my stomach, I caught up to her as she hurried along, her Roman goddess robes rustling as she went, and led her through a maze of men identically dressed in black dominos. We emerged close to one of the large punch bowls, and by that point some other reveler had certainly behaved either badly or comically enough to create a new diversion, freeing us from the ignominy of public spectacle.

“Miriam,” I began, uncertain what to say after that. Her eyes, behind her mask, looked away, but I pressed onward. “Miriam, surely you understand that I am only concerned for your safety.”

Her eyes softened as she began to relent. “I understand your motivations entirely, but I do not think that you understand mine. Do you not know what a masquerade ball means to a woman? I can be bold and forward and coquettish, or masculine and learned in my ideas—and no one knows who I am. My reputation will not suffer. Where else could I go to indulge these freedoms and hope to escape with my name unblemished?”

I could not but see the reason of her argument, but I had no wish to admit as much. Fortunately my response was cut short by the arrival of a gentleman dressed in a Venetian-style costume, featuring a birdlike mask with an elongated beak, and a suit of varicolored robes. “Miriam?” he asked in the masquerade squeak.

Miriam remained motionless, uncertain how to respond. So I spoke for her. “The lady is occupied at present,” I told this man in a clipped tone. Neither the mask nor the squeak concealed him from me. I recognized him as Deloney, though he surely did not recognize me.

“I say!” he exclaimed in his natural voice. “You are a rude enough fellow behind that mask, but I’ll wager that if I could see your face you would not be so free with your insults.”

I took a step forward and leaned toward him, clutching the beak of his mask in my hand. “Why, you know me, Deloney,” I whispered. “My name is Benjamin Weaver, and I am available to answer your commands at any time. I trust you will repay my loan before you call me to a duel. One would not want to fight with a debt of honor upon his conscience.”

He staggered backward, as though my challenge had been an actual violence upon him. I could hardly feel comforted by Miriam’s having this weakling for an escort. “Come,” I said to her. “I shall put you in a hackney and send you home.”

She cast a glance at this fellow, whose bird mask now hung in shame, but they exchanged no words. We exited the Haymarket, and I directed a footman to procure for us a hackney, and while he did so we stood in silence until the coach rode up and the footman we had sent jumped off.

Miriam walked toward the door, and then turned to me. “I had come hoping to feel emboldened, but I only feel shamed.”

I shook my head. “The next time you wish for an adventure, I hope you will come speak to me. We shall arrange something that you will find delightful but will involve no unnecessary intrigues.”

I thought for a moment that I had won her over—that she understood and respected my concern—but when she looked up, I saw none of these things. Only anger.

“You misunderstand my shame. I would have liked to have trusted you,” she said. “I would have liked to believe you cared something of my safety and my reputation.”

I shook my head. I could not understand her, and I could not even understand my confusion. I thought hard on what I had said, what I had done. I had given her reasons to think me bold and overbearing, but not untrustworthy. “What do you say?”

“I know what you are about,” she said, just above a whisper. Through her mask I saw voluptuous tears welling in her eyes. “I know why you are in Mr. Lienzo’s house, and I know the nature of your inquiry. Is he so jealous of the insurance money from Aaron’s lost ship—money he has refused to give me, though it is in truth, if not in law, mine? Ruin me if you wish, and collect your little reward for doing it. I cannot pretend any longer to find you anything but a villain.” With that she rushed into her coach and ordered the driver to ride.

I did not even think to chase after her. I stood still in a kind of foolish stupor, wondering what I had said and done, wondering what her words could mean.

I could indulge in this wonderment only a short while, for I had left Elias, dressed as he was in his Jew costume, awaiting someone who believed he was me. I pushed Miriam from my thoughts and rushed back in.

Elias had not been molested in my absence. I found him tolerably well, if a bit overly jolly, taking refreshment at the punch bowl.

“Ah, there you are,” he chirped. “I don’t think I was aware of what a truly terrible dancer you are, but I believe I like your cousin. She’s a girl of some spirit.”

“That is the trouble,” I muttered and separated from him again, hoping that whoever had invited me to the ball would make himself known soon. I had grown weary of costumes and dances.

Elias ventured into a crowd of nymphs, but I was careful never to let my friend out of my sight. While I found myself disgusted with the gawking and laughing of the other masqueraders as they pointed to his costume with delight, I could not but be grateful the disguise was as conspicuous as it was, for it was never long out of my view. Elias very much enjoyed the notoriety the Jewish peddler costume afforded him, and danced companionably with an assortment of Chloes, Phyllises, Phoebes, and Dorindas. For my part I kept my distance, concerned only to watch Elias and those in his vicinity. Aiming to keep myself unoccupied, I was astonished to discover how many ladies approached me with an inquisitive squeak, asking if they knew me. And while I have certainly been guilty of vanity in my days, it was hard to take pride of one’s appearance when dressed in a formless black robe and a mask that covered all of one’s face. Nevertheless, these masked ladies were aggressive, and I found that responding to the “Do I know you?” introduction with “I do not believe so, madam,” only produced further unwelcome conversation. I soon discovered that “Certainly not!” did my business admirably, and I was free to watch Elias’s feet, as well as his hands, roam nimbly about the dance floor.

The night wore on, and the hall began to thin out, and I soon wondered if our enemies had somehow detected our ruse, or if our allies had been too frightened to make the connection they had thought to make. Then, as I watched Elias bow a farewell to a striking sultana, I saw four domino-clad men approach him and, after a moment of discussion, beckon him to join them. I must say that while Elias was somewhat unsuited in constitution for combat between men of grit, he knew to keep his head about him, and he demonstrated an implicit trust in my vigilance. Without straining his neck to see if I observed what transpired, Elias nodded to the men and followed along.

I was dismayed to see that they escorted him with two behind and two before, for it would make it hard for me to get to Elias should the confrontation turn vicious. Nevertheless, as inconspicuously as I could, I followed along. They led him out of the ballroom and into a hallway. Hanging back, I turned the corner to see that they were already gone, but I surmised that they had taken a staircase, which I then quietly, though with stealth, ascended. Within a moment I was not far behind these men as they spiraled upward in silence. I, too, had to be entirely silent, for if they but looked down they would see me in pursuit.

At what I believed to be the uppermost floor they removed themselves down a dark hallway. A few candles flickered, producing a confusing maze of darkness and shadow. I struggled to proceed quietly while keeping up with the rapidly advancing men ahead of me, all but invisible in the poorly lit halls. But if the dominos were indistinguishable from the shadows, Elias’s red beard glowed dimly in the candlelight.

Finally they stopped in a room at the end of the hallway. Thinking themselves alone, they did not bother to close the door, and I remained unobserved just outside.

The men in dominos circled around Elias. “We’ve a message for you,” one of them said, in a familiar-sounding country accent.

“From whom?” Elias asked. I smiled at his mangled imitation of my voice.

The one who had spoken before took a step closer to Elias. “From them what wants yer to mind yer own business,” he said. And with a fluid motion he picked up a thick, rounded stick that leaned against the wall and pushed the blunt end hard into Elias’s stomach.

My good friend collapsed like a cut sail, but his helplessness deterred the villains not at all. Soon they had sticks in their hands, and before I could reach Elias they had begun to beat mercilessly about his back and sides. I suppose they believed him to be Benjamin Weaver and felt they must incapacitate the experienced pugilist before he could respond. I cared not a fig, however, and only saw that my friend whose safety I had jeopardized was suffering prodigiously.

I threw off my mask, for the time to forsake disguise was upon me. Before my presence was even detected I had grabbed one of the larger scoundrels by the back of his neck and shoved him face-first into the exposed brick of the wall. This blow took care of him effectively, but now the three remaining men realized their error and hesitantly faced me with their sticks at the ready.

“Who sent you?” I demanded.

“Those you’ve made angry,” one of them said. Perhaps seeing me prepared for combat, with their companion insensible and bleeding upon the floor, they were hesitant to take me on. And I knew this hesitation gave me as much of an advantage as I could expect of three armed men. I was, as always, armed myself. I had no hangar about me, for a sword would have been difficult to carry under the costume, but I had my pistol by my side. Yet, with one shot, and three adversaries, I thought it foolish to brandish the firearm, and I always believed that the pistol was the weapon of last resort. I also had no desire to kill anyone if I could avoid doing so. With the case against Kate Cole to be tried in a matter of weeks, I wished more than anything to remain out of the public eye.

I crouched down quickly and grabbed the stick belonging to the man I had felled, keeping my eyes on my assailants at all times. This movement dissolved the surprise of my manifestation and, in an effort to take back the advantage, one of the men took his stick and hit the groaning Elias hard about the knee. I fear I was as predictable as he had hoped, and stepped in to stop further beating. With my stick raised in my left hand, I threw a hard punch with my right to the man’s head, and it connected most satisfyingly, but I soon felt the harsh blows of heavy wood about my back. These blows preyed upon a weakness caused by Jonathan Wild’s men, and I went black for a moment. In my confusion, I lost my stick, but recovered my senses before I hit the ground. Holding out a hand to the wall to steady myself, I saw that the man I had hit sat on the floor, rubbing his skull, and that he had let go of his weapon.

With an abrupt jerk, I grabbed his stick and swung it wildly at the two remaining rascals. I succeeded in scattering them away from Elias, but I soon realized my mistake; before, they had been close together, and I might have struck one quickly and then evened the odds. Instead they now had the advantage, for one could hit me from behind while the other took me on directly.

I shifted my position, hoping to place myself in a corner, for while it would give me no chance to exit, it would limit my enemies’ paths of approach. This I did, and saw that I faced more danger than I had realized, for the man I had struck was now on his feet, and in the light of the moon from the window behind him, I saw that he held a pistol aimed toward me.

“Drop the cudgel, Jew,” he spat, “or you’re pig meat for sure.”

This man clearly misunderstood me if he thought this tack would prove persuasive. With the stick still in my left hand, I reached into my costume for my own pistol, which I pulled out in a fluid motion. In the dark of the room I could see the villain’s firearm flash, and, acting upon pure animal instinct, I fired my own. It was not an irrational action, but I saw immediately that it had been unnecessary, for his pistol had misfired and burst into flame in his hand. He let out a scream, as much of anger as of pain, and dropped the gun just as the ball from mine struck him slightly below the shoulder, forcing him backward, as though he had been tackled. The weight of the blow pressed him hard against the window, and he penetrated the fragile and, I suspect, already cracked glass. I could not see what happened, but as I turned to face my other enemies I heard him shriek with terror as he slid down the roof and dropped to the ground no small distance below.