The Day of Atonement (34 page)

“Bad business. Isn’t that what always happens? He lost the last of his fortune when he brought in a wool shipment two weeks after we had flooded the market. We hadn’t done it out of malice, you must understand—we managed to buy a great deal of surplus, and we delivered what we bought. Had Settwell but asked us to stock our goods in the warehouse for two weeks that he might bring his goods to market at the same time, we would have accommodated him. English merchants do such things for one another. But he did not, and he was forced to sell at a loss. We never set out to compete with him. We simply were better at commerce than he was. That is why he does not forgive us.”

Forgetting myself, I asked, “Is there proof of this?”

“All Factory transactions are recorded,” Roberta answered, looking at me askew. “That is why no one believes him when he speaks ill of us. The Factory has been convinced of his dishonesty. The records show why he was ruined and how little we had to do with it.”

I would have to review the records myself to be truly satisfied, but the story could be true. Assuming it was, then I had ruined an innocent couple, in order to steal money for a man who had lied to me. Had I done wrong? Was the debt I owed Settwell—for my father’s sake as well as my own—so great that it rendered this kind of deception
meaningless? If Settwell had approached me and said that he wished to rob an innocent couple of their hard-earned wealth, would I have done it? Was the debt vast enough that I would have set aside my own objections? Perhaps. But Settwell had not given me the choice. That was a violation of trust and an abuse of the bond that existed between us.

And what of Roberta? This story undid everything I believed about her. If knowing her to be cruel and selfish had been a barrier before, what now? What was this woman sitting before me other than strong, and clever, and utterly betrayed by me?

I had come to Lisbon looking for atonement, and had found only more transgression. No matter what it took, I would fix what I had done. I would make peace with Roberta Carver, and to do so, I would find a way to replace the fortune I had stolen. I would break open the treasury of the Palace of the Inquisition if need be to set this right. “I will help you. I will find you the money you need.”

“It is too late for that,” she said. “You cannot simply hand me fifteen thousand pounds. Our reputation in Lisbon is destroyed, and no amount you might reasonably lend us would have any effect on that.”

I stood up so rapidly that Roberta gasped. My chair nearly toppled. The table rattled. “Go nowhere and do nothing,” I told her. “I will find your money. I will do whatever it takes. I will not let this stand.”

She permitted herself a sad smile. “The way you say it, I can almost believe it is so. I have seen you when you are determined. I know you think nothing can stop you, but I don’t believe even you can save me from this.”

“You must believe it,” I said. This woman had seen me at my worst. She had seen the monster that lived in my heart as I beat the Gypsy almost to death, and it had frightened her, but she had not turned away. Almost everything I had ever said to Roberta Carver was a lie. Even now, I could not tell her who and what I was, and yet in some ways she knew me better than anyone and loved me still.

“You do not know what I am, but I swear I will make things right.”
I could not deceive her about what I had done—not forever. For now, I would begin to earn her forgiveness by recovering the money she had lost.

After Roberta left, I sat alone in the private room for a quarter hour and then walked into the common room, where Franklin was waiting for me. The usual easy grin was gone from his face. His eyebrows were knit together and his mouth set in a tight frown.

“Mr. Foxx, sir. A moment of your time.”

I pushed past him. “I am busy now.”

“You are always busy, and I think I know why, but I cannot be put off any longer. A moment.” He gestured with his head back toward the private room.

The last thing I wanted was a meeting with a man whom I might, perhaps, be killing in just a few days. I had been avoiding Franklin precisely because I did not want to listen to his light banter and foolish jokes. There was no point knowing him better. I wanted to keep him an abstraction, but Franklin was clearly determined to make doing so difficult. I sighed and followed the large man back inside.

“Whatever you have to say, I do not wish to hear it,” I told him. “Particularly not now.”

Franklin closed the door behind him and looked at me. “You don’t wish to hear it. That much is true. But you need to. For some time now, I’ve been taking gold from an Inquisitor named Pedro Azinheiro, who asked that I report on your comings and goings.”

That Franklin would admit this surprised me.

“I suspect you have found out,” Franklin said, “which is why you’ve been so disinclined to speak to me.”

I did not answer. I wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth, that I knew he had betrayed my father, so what else was there to say?

Franklin sighed. “You know how few choices I have. You know better than most. If an Inquisitor asks, you say yes. Someone else will
do it, so it is better to take the gold and stay out of their dungeons. But I want you to know I’ve told him nothing—not about who you are or why you are here. I’ve reported to him about your comings and goings, such as anyone might see, and nothing more than that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “What do you expect from me?”

“I tell you so that you’ll be careful. I expect nothing, except, perhaps, your understanding. I’ve wanted to warn you sooner, but you would not listen. In the meantime, I’ve said nothing about anything you might not wish to speak of—the Englishwoman, the Portuguese tough. But sooner or later, nothing I have to say will matter. If he wants you, he’ll have you.”

I stared at Franklin, his wide eyes and red cheeks. Perhaps he had betrayed my father years before, but now he was trying to find some way to do the right thing. He was trying to make peace with the son of the man he had wronged.

Could I make peace in return? If I had truly come to this city to remake myself, was I not obligated to accept Franklin’s efforts to atone?

It was ultimately a matter for another time. Now I had other and more pressing matters to tend to. “Thank you,” I managed. “I appreciate your candor.”

“It is no more than my duty to the son of a man I admired,” Franklin said. “I have done what I could, and I will do all I can. If I can serve you, Mr. Foxx, you need only ask.”

Before I acted, it was important that I confirm Roberta’s story. I owed that much, and more, to Settwell. But there was nothing to be gained from asking permission to review the Factory records. I was not a member and, as a new merchant, it would be assumed I was looking to gain some kind of advantage over the established men in the city. Therefore, rather than request something that would be denied, I
took the initiative to find out the facts on my own, in the most logical and expedient fashion. That is to say, I broke into the consul’s house.

Men not actively on guard against deception have little defense against it, but even so, obtaining the information I desired proved easier than I would have expected. The mansion in the upper reaches of the Bario Alto was the consul’s private residence, but also a semipublic building and the center of activity for the Factory. Meetings among merchants and with Portuguese officials were held there, and Anglican Sunday church services were conducted in the spacious ballroom. So I entered the building through the back, walking through the kitchens with the scowl of a busy man who resented the lesser beings around him. None of these would dare to question a prosperous-looking Englishman. I climbed the massive stairway, and, under the scrutiny of portraits of past consuls and Factory men, barked orders at a succession of servants until I found the room that held the records. It was a large, sunlit space full of overwrought furnishings and overstuffed bookshelves. The room was empty but for a pair of clerks. I stabbed a finger at one and told him what I wished to look at. He never thought to question the order, and I was soon sitting before a thick folio of handwritten accounts.

There, in the ledgers, was precisely the transaction Roberta Carver had described. I could find no evidence of anything like what Settwell had told me. Settwell had lost his money through impetuous mismanagement. I had, without doubt, been deceived.

I departed the house back through the kitchens. I did not wish to see anyone who might recognize me.

What would I do? What
could
I do? I could not pauperize the man once more. Even if I wished to, Mariana remained in danger, and I could not endure that the child’s future be sacrificed because of the foolishness of the father. I did consider all obligation to Settwell to be discharged, however. Indeed, Settwell was now in my debt.

I would demand ten thousand pounds’ worth of the notes. Five thousand pounds was fortune enough, and considering how ill-gotten
it was, Settwell could not complain. I would insist upon—indeed, oversee—Settwell’s return to England, where he would live very comfortably upon his stolen money, if not quite so comfortably as he had hoped.

I would then return the ten thousand pounds to Roberta. She would initially refuse them, of course, but I would make certain she took them all the same. The money had been stolen, and their names had been tainted, but the notes would enable the Carvers to discharge their debts and return to England in good standing. Their dreams of mercantile conquest would be, at least temporarily, at an end, but they would be independent and have a sizable fortune. As for the five thousand pounds I would still owe them, I had some ideas about how I might make that up, and perhaps a surplus as well, though I could not guarantee I would survive the effort.

Once back in England, assuming I yet lived, I would confess everything to Roberta. Perhaps she would forgive me. Perhaps she would not. Perhaps it did not matter. She was another man’s wife, after all, and while I had thought we had been deceiving each other, I now understood that I, alone, had been deceiving her. She would, in all likelihood, spurn me. Why should she do anything else when she had no notion of who I truly was? Still I would do what I could to make amends.

There was nothing to do now but see Settwell and reveal to him how things would proceed. He would not like it. Based on his behavior this morning, he would behave badly. I very much hoped things would not end violently.

Whatever I intended to say to Settwell, I forgot it the moment I approached the house. Neighbors gathered outside, whispering to one another. The old mulatto woman was weeping and pulling at her hair, and an elderly priest stood arguing with Settwell. I had no idea what any of it meant, but I knew it would be a terrible idea to investigate while the priest was still there. I remained in the shadows, watching and silent, for the better part of an hour until the priest left, the neighbors retreated, and Settwell and the wailing mulatto returned to the house.

I waited another half hour and then approached the door. Trying the handle, I found it open and entered without being announced. Settwell stood in the parlor, drinking wine. His face was a mask of grief.

“The worst has happened,” he said without looking up. “The Inquisition has taken Mariana.”

I stood motionless. “Tell me what happened.”

“An Inquisitor arrived here,” Settwell said, “with an
army of priests and nuns. They said that I had proved myself an unfit guardian for my daughter, who had expressed a wish to be raised in a proper Catholic home. Mariana, of course, denied it, but the priests merely said that children were reluctant to admit such things in front of their parents.”

“Where will they take her?” I asked.

“Eventually, she shall go to a family that will raise her. For now, I think she is at a nunnery, though they would not tell me which one.”

I considered my options.

Then Settwell said, “They know about you.”

I felt everything inside me grow tight and coiled. “What do you mean?”

Though I had asked, I already knew what he meant. I was exposed. The Inquisition knew I was an escaped New Christian. They knew I had deceived them from the moment of my arrival in Lisbon. All of my disguises were done. I felt my body course with a curious admixture of panic and joy. The most dangerous men in the city would come for me now, but my fetters were broken. I could meet them without pretense.

Settwell sighed. “One of the reasons the priest said they could not leave her with me was because I consort with unrepentant Jews. They spoke the name Raposa. They know about you, and they mean to capture you.”

“You must speak to the consul. He will help you,” I suggested. There were things to do; that was all. There had been things to do before, and there were different things to do now. Only the details had changed.

“I can expect no help from the Factory!” Settwell shouted. He stomped upon the floor and raised his balled fist at me. “The consul can do nothing in these cases. I’m not the first Englishman whose child has been lost this way. Once the Inquisition takes them, they are gone. They are gone forever, and you know it. Indeed you told me as much earlier.”