Gibbous House 33

Brown emerged quite rapidly out of the poppy’s spell. There were no cloudy-eyed moments of incomprehension, he became aware immediately that his secret was now known to at least one more and he sighed:

‘How unfortunate!’

‘How so?’ I enquired, and Maccabi gave me a sharp look, but held his tongue.

‘I think you are not such a fellow as I care to have me at a disadvantage, Mr Moffat.’

His rasping voice scraped any respect from the title, leaving ‘mister’ in the company of choicer epithets he might have used, but for the presence of Miss Pardoner. His cherub’s chin then slumped to his chest and he said but one word:

‘What?’

Maccabi started and placed a hand on the Notary’s arm. I lifted a finger toward the Jew and shook my head.

‘Naturally, I would like possession of the papers I was foolish enough to sign. All of them.’

‘Naturally.’ Maccabi echoed.

Brown said nothing, merely nodded and withdrew the disorderly sheaf of papers from the drawer. The opium pipe fell to the floor and its blue and white porcelain bowl shattered into the tiniest shards. I wondered where the opium lamp was, and how he had sequestered this item before the opium took him. My eyes must have looked around the room for it. Brown far from being stuporous seemed very acute indeed; he had noted my glance and said:

‘It is behind the Hogarth. Take a look.’

At first I did not understand. Then I caught sight of the canvas depicting the Moll at her toilet in the bawdy house. Two bent nails held one side of it to the wall, they were loose to the touch. Behind the canvas was a hollowing out of the plaster wall. Behind it was a beautiful example of an opium lamp quite of a piece with a tray of beautifully lacquered wood. It was as exquisite a piece of chinoiserie, as ever I had seen. The beauty of the thing was great as the danger of its purpose. How it had arrived in an obscure notary’s office in Northumbria, I could not begin to hazard. I drew the Hogarthian veil over the secret place once more, securing it with the bent and rusted nails. Brown’s voice grated once more:

‘The girl is still your ward. Do with the papers what you will. Everything is a matter of record at Chancery. You will not avoid that responsibility, try as you might, Mr Moffat.’

‘I do not intend to try anything of the sort.’

I smiled at the three of them in turn, before asking Maccabi:

‘So, your purpose. Why are we here?’

But it was Brown, who answered :

‘Miss Pardoner is here, I assume her effects are not, unless you found cartage on Lindisfarne, which I am inclined to doubt. Jedediah, I will see to it. Get you on your way. Before Shabbat.’

Again, I was put out of countenance by this facile assumption and the impropriety of his relationship with Maccabi, who in truth owed fealty to me, his employer. At least now. Or perhaps they both had assumed I would renege on the contract I had unwittingly signed. They were mistaken in me; there was far more prospect of sport in the keeping of him in my employ.