“I cannot tonight,” I whispered back.
She nodded. “Of course. The dinner with Mr. Ellershaw. Two nights from now?”
“Two nights from now,” I assured her.
For a fleeting instant, she took my hand in her own. “Good.”
My heart thudded with buoyant pleasure as I watched her leave the room. I had forgotten, it would seem, that I had not been invited to an assignation. I felt a twinge of surprise that she knew I was to eat with Mr. Ellershaw. I had no idea of what it could mean, nor did I know if meeting Miss Glade at the place of her choosing was a sound idea. At best, I would receive some sort of explanation for her duplicitous nature. At worst, I would enter some manner of trap.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RIOR TO DRESSING FOR MY EVENING OUT, I WALKED FROM MY rooms to my uncle’s house on Broad Court. I had been remiss in my duties as a nephew since my involvement with events at Craven House—partly because I in no way wished to incur the ire of Cobb, and partly because I had been too busy to play the dutiful relative. Those were the reasons I told to myself, but if I am to be honest, I must admit to a further. I avoided my uncle because he seemed to me a living testament to my poor management of affairs. That his health declined could be laid upon no earthly doorstep, but that his finances declined I counted among my failings. To say I felt guilt would be to press the point, for I knew I had done nothing to lead to this end, but I nonetheless understood that I bore the responsibility—if not for his difficulties then at least for their resolution. If I had not yet devised a means of helping my uncle, that in no way diluted my desire to continue the pursuit.
When I arrived, I found that matters were far worse than I might have predicted. In the gloom of evening, a small gang of rough-looking fellows carried from out my uncle’s house a chest of drawers. Parked upon the street was a dray wagon attached to a pair of ragged horses that appeared themselves to be half dead from starvation and abuse. In the dray already were several chairs and a pair of end tables. A crowd had gathered to watch the pathetic procession, and the rough men were being followed by Mr. Franco, who barked at them to be careful and to avoid knocking the doorway in between bouts of cursing or naming the men rascals.
“What is this?” I hurried up the drive and placed a hand on Franco’s shoulder.
He must not have heard me for he spun around violently, and I believe, had the light been any poorer, he should have struck me and only later troubled himself to learn who had received the blow.
However, he did check his arm. Indeed, at the sight of me, his whole body appeared to grow limp. He shook his head and cast his eyes downward. “Creditors, Mr. Weaver. They’ve scented blood. I fear it may not be long before they descend upon your uncle like ravens. And they could not have come at a worse time, for your uncle—well, he does poorly.”
I turned at once to enter the house, paying no mind to a fellow attempting to balance a chair truly too large for a single man. I knocked him quite soundly but took no pleasure in his broad efforts to keep from tumbling.
Inside, the front rooms were well lit, no doubt to aid the creditor’s men. I rushed to the main stairs and up to the second floor, where my uncle kept his room. The door was only slightly opened, so I knocked and heard my aunt Sophia call for me to enter.
My uncle did indeed lie abed, but had this not been his house I should hardly have known him. He appeared to have aged a decade or more since I saw him last. His beard had taken on a new and deeper gray, and the hair on his uncovered head had grown far thinner and more dry. His eyes, open, were deep and reddened and heavily bagged, and I observed that each breath was a struggle for him.
“Have you sent for the physician?” I asked.
My aunt, who sat on the bed holding his hand, nodded. “He has come,” she said, in her heavily accented English.
She said no more, so I knew there was nothing more to say. Perhaps he despaired for my uncle; perhaps he did not know. When she showed no optimism for recovery, I could only presume there was none.
I came to the bed and sat upon the other side. “How fare you, sir?”
My uncle attempted a weak smile. “I do not do well,” he said. A rattling sound emerged from his chest, and his voice was heavy and labored. “However, I have walked this path before and, though dark and circuitous, I have ever found my way back.”
I looked to my aunt, who offered me a half nod, as if to say that he had suffered these attacks previously, but perhaps not so bad as this.
“I am full of remorse that this has happened,” I said, keeping my words vague. I hardly knew if he was aware of the outrage that transpired below.
“As to that,” my uncle managed, “it is of no moment. Minor setbacks. Soon all will be well once more.”
“I know it will,” I told my uncle.
I looked to the door and saw Mr. Franco hovering, as though he had something of urgency to discuss. I excused myself and stepped outside.
“The men are done,” he told me. “They’ve taken several pieces, but I fear that is the least of it. If word spreads, the creditors will show no mercy. Your uncle, sir, will lose his house. He will be forced to sell his importing concern, and in its current diminished state, he must sell it very cheap indeed.”
I felt my face grow hot. “Damn them.”
“I am certain you do what you can,” he said. “Your uncle and aunt know it too.”
“I am meant to attend this cursed dinner tonight, but how can I go with my uncle so unwell?”
“If you must go, then you must,” Franco said. “With whom do you dine?”
“Ellershaw and some other men of the Company. I hardly know any more than that. I must send a note excusing myself. Cobb cannot expect me to be his plaything while my uncle lies so gravely ill.”
“Do not excuse yourself,” Franco said. “If by attending this dinner you bring yourself any closer to your goal, I am certain your uncle would far prefer you do that than spend the evening looking sad by his side. No, you must find the strength to attend to your duties. Your aunt and I will make certain your uncle has all he needs.”
“What did his physician say?”
“Only that he may recover, as he has in the past, or he may decline. This attack, he fears, may be worse than what we have seen before, but he cannot say what that means.”
We whispered together for a few more minutes, while I attempted to inform him of some of what had transpired in recent days at Craven House. I kept the discussion brief, in part because I wanted to return to my uncle, but also because I had not entirely recovered from the revelation that my most private conversations appeared to be available to Cobb. I only said that I had, at Cobb’s request, become employed by the East India Company, where I looked into any of a variety of internal turmoils. But, I said, as Mr. Cobb’s agenda remained opaque, I could hardly say if I grew closer to my end or not.
During this conversation, my aunt emerged from the bedroom with a look of some relief upon her face. “He is better,” she told me.
I entered and saw that, in the space of half an hour, he did appear remarkably changed. Though he still breathed with some difficulty, his face now had more color. He sat up, and his countenance was one of a normal man, not one about to leave this mortal realm.
“I am gladdened to see you so much improved,” I told him.
“As am I to be so,” he answered. “I am told you witnessed the unpleasantness below.”