“Of course I do, I saw the coins at the notary. A few crowns will take us to Coimbra and pay for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but…”
“Sophy—I really do like that name, you know—you must have a little faith.” He had tossed his cane on the bed when they entered, along with his satchel, and he now got up and retrieved it. He sat back in the chair and began—unscrewing the head of the cane.
“Oh—oh,a secret compartment? Why did we not think of that?”
“I think someone did,” he said, “for the head was loose after Wentworth and Sir Mark—er, Mr. Knapp—searched my room. Everyone knows about compartments in canes. There are snuffcanes, you know, where the knob unscrews and allows an easy pinch. And you’ve probably heard of sword-sticks, although they’re illegal in London. There are even liquor canes which can hold a dram of brandy. True! My friend Traversham had one.”
Sophia watched as he unscrewed the cane and showed her the snuff inside.
“I keep that there to allay suspicion, which it seems to have done. But there’s a little twist lock—” he moved his hands dexterously—“and the snuff cylinder pops out to reveal—this deeper hole. A gadget cane, that’s what they call these.”
“What’s in it?”
He slapped the cane in his palm several times until the edge of a tightly rolled tube of paper became visible, thinner than her smallest finger. He gingerly plucked it out with his thumb and forefinger. The papers, of which there were several, were half-size sheets, like bank notes. He put them in her lap, and she smoothed them out.
“Theodore! This is atwenty-poundnote. And this one. Why—a hundred and twenty pounds. There is enough here for a year—more if we are careful.”
“Exactly, my love. Now, exchanging such large notes may be asmallproblem, but I am sure we can overcome it. I propose we only exchange one at a time and save the rest for later. Do you concur?”
“Oh, of course.” Sophia allowed the notes to roll back up in her lap. “But are these—forged? I’m not angry but do please tell me.”
“Never fear! They’re right as rain, I promise. Good, solid notes backed by the Bank of England.” He tapped the cane on his hand again, for there seemed to be more papers lodged further down the hollow core. Finally another tight roll came into sight, and he plucked it out. These pages he did not hand to her butunrolled meditatively in his lap. They were not banknotes, but something larger. “These, I am forced to say,areforged.”
Sophia leaned forward and he handed the top page to her. A looping ink border decorated the left and right, and in the center there was a form which seemed to have been pre-written, with blanks left for the particulars.
No. 127, One Hundred Twenty-Seven
Exchange for 300£ Sterling or Madras Rupees.
To the Honorable the COURT of DIRECTORS for the Affairs of the United COMPANY of MERCHANTS of England trading to the East Indies by Order of the Honorable the Governor in Council.
A decisive signature followed in a different ink, and another, in a spidery hand. The bottom of the document was graced by a fancy stamp in blue ink and an exchange rate which read:Eight hundred and seventy-five Madras Rupees for £100 Sterling, for which credit shall be given…
“The East India Company? Was ittrueall along? Youwerethe man in the notice?”
“I was. Are you very angry? I suppose one could say we signed the civil contract under false pretenses. I knew what you had done, but you did not know about me.”
“I knew you were up tosomethingnefarious, but I really thought we’d missed the boat with that EIC. It could have been anyone. But—but itistrue?”
“Yes, it is. My letters of recommendation were badly done. I could kick myself for that, but the thing was, you see, that I had very little time. My flight from England was—precipitate, as you can imagine. I can do a much better job when I have time.”
Sophia eyed the Bill of Exchange. “Yes, I see that.”
He grimaced. “Some of my best work! I already exchanged a few of these, hence the funds. However, I had deuced bad luck with the numbering. It seems a clerk in Bombay mistook his book and skipped ahead. To my humiliation and discomfiture—there are no Bills of Exchange between a hundred and twenty, and a hundred and thirty-five.” He shook his head sadly.
“Everyone kept saying how you would be hanged for this. I’m not angry, but Iamfrightened.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” He rose and stretched his long arms, loosening his cravat a trifle. “What do you say to a fire? It is a little warm, but we must make the best of it.”
“Would you really burn them?”
“Certainly. This is the end of that chapter, and the start of a new one.”
The fireplace was cold, but there were several fresh logs and tinder, plus three curls of paper for lighting. He fetched the candle the housemaid lit for them and used one of the screws of paper to start the fire. After a few minutes they had a nice little blaze. He took the first Bill of Exchange and held the corner to the flames. At first the edge only browned and smoked, but then it began to curl. An orange flame licked up the paper. Theodore held it until the flames were nearly at his fingers, then dropped it on top of the log. “I’m not regretting this, mind you, but it is rather like burning art.”
He took the next and burned it likewise.
“Is this all there is?” Sophia said. “Only these two left?”
