A conspiracy of paper: a novel - By David Liss Page 0,187

building, but I could no longer rule out any possibility.

“You must remember,” I began, hoping to offer her comfort, “that it is you who have this company at a disadvantage. They may wish to convince you otherwise, but never forget that they will do anything to obtain your silence.” Indeed, I feared that to be true.

We waited for well over an hour, and with each moment I could see Miriam grow more concerned. She spoke occasionally to suggest that they had certainly forgotten about us or that we might simply leave, but I would not hear of it. “I cannot believe that they could be so rude as to lock us in this room and then ignore us. Perhaps we should not bear this indignity. Let us go at once.”

I shook my head. “It is too late for that. We cannot put things as they were. It is better to have this confrontation now, while the advantage of surprise remains with us.”

My words were poorly chosen, for Miriam began to fidget with nervousness, picking at a loose thread upon the sleeve of her gown until I feared the entire garment should unravel.

At last the door swung open hard, and a fat, ruddy-faced man of late years burst through, waving Miriam’s issue above his head. He wore a dark and thick periwig that set off a grublike complexion. “Who has brought this here?” he demanded. He slammed the door behind him and then slapped the paper down hard upon the table.

Miriam winced as though struck. It was no doubt precisely what this villain intended.

“The issue belongs to this lady,” I said. “And who are you, sir?”

“Who I am is none of your concern, Weaver. What I am concerned with is this brazen attempt to compromise the South Sea Company and the integrity of the nation’s wealth. Did you believe,” he asked, looking directly into Miriam’s eyes, “that you could pass off this rubbish in South Sea House—that we would not know this for a forgery? We know you have more of these, you scurvy slut. Where are they?”

Miriam rose to her feet, and I thought she should slap him—and I cannot quite recollect why I prevented this worthy woman from administering a well-deserved punishment. But interfere I did.

“You rascal,” I exclaimed, abruptly stepping between the two. “How dare you speak to a lady in that manner? Were you more than a bloated pudding I would kick you in your arse right here. You cannot believe that this lady is the author of that forgery. Were your problems no more than a single canny widow, you would be fortunate indeed. I cannot think what you hope to accomplish by insulting a lady, to whom I think you owe far more courtesy, and I know you do not expect me to allow a lady under my protection to endure this treatment.”

“Don’t attempt to deceive me with your street-ruffian’s lies,” the man bellowed, almost directly in my face. “This woman is guilty of a forgery, and it is my intention to prosecute in a court of law.” This was a chilling threat. There could be no doubt that the Company could arrange for a conviction if it desired to see her hang.

Miriam turned to me. She was a strong woman, but I could see this threat had frightened her. Her eyes had grown moist and her fingers tremulous. “You said we were in no danger,” she began.

“Do not concern yourself,” I told her quietly. “He would not dare prosecute you.”

“I see that you are this trollop’s accomplice, Weaver. She had better concern herself, and so had you. Can you believe that a company, so nearly watched by the King, and among whose directors is the Prince of Wales himself, would let itself fall victim to an insult of this magnitude?”

“There is no question that the Company has fallen victim to the insult,” I replied, “regardless of who its patrons are. What is at issue is who has insulted whom. You know very well, sir, that Mrs. Lienzo has nothing to do with the forgery.”

“As for you, Weaver,” he snapped, “I dismiss the idea that you have had anything but the most villainous motives in this crime, and I shall not rest until I see you hanged!”

“I know not your name,” I said in response, “and I know not what title you pretend to, but I know what you are in truth, and it is I who shall see you pay the price for murder.”

“I