The Bloodline Feud (Merchant Princes Omnibus 1) (52 page)

‘Oh,’ she said faintly, and signed in the space provided.
Better not marry anyone, then.
She put the papers back on his desk then cleared her throat. ‘There are some
other matters I will want you to see to,’ she added.

‘And what might those be?’

‘Firstly,’ she held up a finger, ‘there is a house that takes my fancy; it is located at number 46, Bridge Park Lane, and it appears to be empty. Am I right in thinking you can
make inquiries on my behalf about its availability? If it’s open for lease or purchase I’d be extremely interested in acquiring it, and I’ll want to move in as soon as
possible.’

Bates sat up straight and nodded, almost enthusiastically. ‘Of course, of course,’ he said, scribbling in a crabbed hand on a yellow pad. ‘And is there anything else?’ he
asked.

‘Secondly, over the next month I will be wanting to create or purchase a limited liability company. It will need setting up. In addition, I will have a number of applications for patents
that must be processed through the royal patent office – I need to locate and retain a patent agent on behalf of my company.’

‘A company, and a patents agent.’ He raised an eyebrow but kept writing. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Indeed. Thirdly, I have a quantity, held overseas, I should add, of bullion. Can you advise me on the issues surrounding its legal sale here?’

‘Oh, that’s easy.’ He put his pen down. ‘I can’t, because it’s illegal for anyone but the Crown to own bullion.’ He pointed at the signet ring he wore
on his left hand. ‘No rule against jewelry, of course, so long as it weighs less than a pound. But bullion?’ He sniffed. ‘You can perhaps approach the mint about an import
license, and sell it to the Crown yourself – they’ll give you a terrible rate, not worth your while, only ten pounds for an ounce. But that’s the war for you. The mint is
chronically short. If I were you, I’d sell it overseas and repatriate the proceeds as bearer bonds.’

‘Thank you.’ Miriam beamed at him ingratiatingly to cover up the sound of her teeth grinding together.
Ten pounds for an ounce? Erasmus, you and I are going to have strong
words,
she thought.
Scratch finding an alternative, though.
‘How long will this take?’ she asked.

‘To file the papers? I’ll have the boy run over with them right now. Your passport and birth certificate will be ready tomorrow if you send for them from my office. The company
– ’ he rubbed his chin. ‘We would have to pay a parliamentarian to get the act of formation passed as a private member’s bill, and I believe the going rate has been driven
up by the demands of the military upon the legislature in the current session. It would be cheaper to buy an existing company with no debts. I can ask around, but I believe it will be difficult to
find one for less than seventy pounds.’

‘Ouch. There’s no automatic process to go through to set one up?’

‘Sadly, no. Like divorce, every company requires an Act of Parliament. Rubber-stamping them is bread and butter for most MPs, for they can easily charge fifty pounds or more to put forward
an early-day motion for a five-minute bill in the Commons. Every so often someone proposes a registry of companies and a regulator to create them, but the backbenches won’t ever approve that
– it would take a large bite out of their living.’

‘Humph.’ Miriam nodded. ‘All right, we’ll do it your way. The patent agent?’

Bates nodded. ‘Our junior clerk, Hinchliffe, is just the fellow for such a job. He has dealt with patents before, and will doubtless do so again. When will you need him?’

‘Not until I have a company to employ him, a company that I will capitalize by entirely legal means that need not concern you.’ The lawyer nodded again, his eyes twinkling.
‘Then – let’s just say, I have encountered some ingenious innovations overseas that I believe may best be exploited by patenting them, and farming out the rights to the patents to
local factory owners. Do you follow?’

‘Yes, I think I do.’ Bates smiled like a crocodile. ‘I look forward to your future custom, Mrs. Fletcher. It has been a pleasure to do business with such a perceptive member of
the frail sex. Even if I don’t believe a word of it.’

*

Miriam spent the rest of the morning shopping for clothes. It was a disorienting experience. There were no department or chain stores: Each type of garment came from a separate
supplier, and the vast majority needed alterations to fit. Nor was she filled with enthusiasm by what she found. ‘Why are fashion items invariably designed to make people look ugly or feel
uncomfortable?’ she muttered into her microphone, after experiencing a milliner’s and a corsetière’s in rapid succession. ‘I’m going to stick to sports bras and
briefs, even if I have to carry everything across myself,’ she grumbled. Nevertheless, she managed to find a couple of presentable walking suits and an evening gown.

At six that evening, she walked through the gathering gloom to Burgeson’s shop and slipped inside. The shop was open, but empty. She spent a good minute tapping her toes and whistling
tunelessly before Erasmus emerged from the back.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said distractedly. ‘Here.’ He held out an envelope.

Miriam took it and opened it – then stopped whistling. ‘What brought this on?’ she asked, holding it tightly.

His cheek twitched. ‘I got a better price for the gold than I could be sure of,’ he said. ‘It seemed best to cut you in on the profits, in the hope of a prosperous future
trade.’

‘I see.’ Miriam slid the envelope into a jacket pocket carefully. The five ten-pound notes in it were more than she’d hoped to browbeat out of him. ‘Is your dealer able
to take larger quantities of bullion?’ she asked, abruptly updating her plans.

‘I believe so.’ His face was drawn and tired. ‘I’ve had some thinking to do.’

‘I can see that,’ she said quietly. Fifty pounds here was equivalent to something between three and seven thousand dollars, back home. Gold was
expensive
, a sign of demand,
and what did that tell her? Nothing good. ‘What’s the situation? Do you trust Bates?’

‘About as far as I can throw him,’ Erasmus admitted. ‘He isn’t a fellow traveler.’

‘Fellow traveler.’ She nodded to herself. ‘You’re a Marxist?’

‘He was the greatest exponent of my faith, yes.’ He said it quietly and fervently. ‘I believe in natural rights, to which all men and women are born equal; in democracy; and in
freedom. Freedom of action, freedom of commerce, freedom of faith, just like old Karl. For which they hanged him.’

‘He came to somewhat different conclusions where I come from,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘although his starting conditions were dissimilar. Are you going to shut up shop and tell
me what’s troubling you?’

‘Yes.’ He strode over and turned the sign in the door, then shot the bolt. ‘In the back, if you please.’

‘After you.’ Miriam followed him down a narrow corridor walled with pigeon holes. Parcels wrapped in brown paper gathered dust in them, each one sprouting a plaintive ticket against
the date of its redemption – graveyard markers in the catacombs of usury. She kept her hand in her right pocket, tightening her grip on the small pistol, heart pounding halfway out of her
chest with tension.

‘You can’t be a police provocateur,’ he commented over his shoulder. ‘For one thing, you didn’t bargain hard enough over the bullion. For another, you slipped up in
too many ways, all of them wrong. But I wasn’t sure you weren’t simply a madwoman until you showed me that intricate engine and left the book. He stepped sideways into a niche with a
flight of wooden steps in it, leading down. ‘It’s far too incredible a story to be a flight-of-the mind concoction, and far too . . .
expensive
. Even the publisher’s
notes! The quality of the paper. And the typeface.’ He stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared up at her owlishly, one hand clutching at a load-bearing beam for support. ‘And the
pocket kinetograph. I think either you’re real or I’m going mad,’ he said, his voice hollow.

‘You’re not mad.’ Miriam took the steep flight of steps carefully. ‘So?’

‘So it behooves me to study this fascinating world you come from, and ask how it came to pass.’ Erasmus was moving again. The cellar was walled from floor to ceiling in boxes and
packing cases. ‘It’s fascinating. The principles of enlightenment that your republic was founded on – you realize they were smothered in the cradle, in the history I know of? Yes,
the Parliamentary Settlement and the exile were great innovations for their time – but the idea of a
republic!
Separation of Church and State, a bill of rights, a universal
franchise! After the second Leveler revolt, demands for such rights became something of a dead issue here, emphasis on the
dead
if you follow me . . . hmm.’ He stopped in a cleared
space between three walls of crates, a paraffin lamp dangling from a beam overhead.

‘This is a rather big shop,’ Miriam commented.

‘So it should be.’ He glanced at her, saw the hand in her pocket. ‘Are you going to shoot me?’

‘Why should I?’ She tensed.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘You’ve obviously got some scheme in mind, one that means someone no good, whatever else you’re doing here. And I might know too
much.’

Miriam came to a decision and took her hand out of her pocket – empty.

‘And I’m not an innocent either,’ Erasmus added, gesturing at the crates. ‘I’m glad you decided not to shoot. Niter of glycerol takes very badly to sudden
shocks.’

Miriam paused, trying to get a grip on herself. She felt a sudden stab of apprehension: The stakes in his game were much higher than she’d realized. This was a police state, and Erasmus
wasn’t just a harmless dealer in illegal publications. ‘Listen, I have
no
intention of shooting anyone if I can avoid it. And I don’t care about you being a Leveler
quartermaster with a basement full of explosives – at least, as long as I don’t live next door to you. It’s none of my business, and whatever you think, I didn’t come here
to get involved in
your
politics. Even if it sounds better than, than what’s out there right now. On the other hand, I have my own, uh, political problems.’

Erasmus raised an eyebrow. ‘So who are your enemies?’

Miriam bit her lip.
Can I trust him this far?
She couldn’t see any choices at this point but, even so, taking him into her confidence was a big step. ‘I don’t
know,’ she said reluctantly. ‘They’re probably well-off. Like me, they can travel between worlds – not to the one in the book I gave you, which is my own, but to a much
poorer, medieval one. One in which Christianity never got established as the religion in Rome, the dark ages lasted longer. In that world the Norse migration reached and settled this coast, as far
inland as the Appalachians, and the Chinese empire holds the west. These people will be involved in trading, from here to there – I’m not sure what, but I believe ownership of gold is
something to investigate. They’ll probably be a large and prosperous family, possibly ennobled in the past century or two, and they’ll be rich and conservative. Not exactly fellow
travelers.’

‘And what is your problem with them?’

‘They keep trying to kill me.’ Now she’d said it, confiding in him felt easier. ‘They come from over here. This is their power base, Erasmus. I believe they consider me a
threat to them. I want to find them before they find me, and order things in a more satisfactory manner.’

‘I think I see.’ He made a steeple of his fingers. ‘Do you want them to die?’

‘Not necessarily. But I want to know who they are, and where they came here from, and to stop their agents trying to kill me. I’ve got a couple of suspicions about who they are that
I need to confirm. If I’m correct I might be able to stop the killing.’

‘I suggest you tell me your story then,’ said Erasmus. ‘And we’ll see if there’s anything we can do about it.’ He raised his voice, causing her to start.
‘Aubrey! You can cease your lurking. If you’d be so good as to fetch the open bottle of port and three glasses, you may count yourself in for a tall tale.’ He smiled humorlessly.
‘You’ve got our undivided attention, ma’am. I suggest you use it wisely . . .’

*

Back at the hotel a couple of hours later, Miriam changed into her evening dress and went downstairs, unaccompanied, for a late buffet supper. The waiter was unaccountably short
with her, but found her a solitary small table in a dark corner of the dining room. The soup was passable, albeit slightly cool, and a cold roast with vegetables filled the empty corners of her
stomach. She watched the well-dressed men and few women in the hotel from her isolated vantage point, and felt abruptly lonely.
Is it just ordinary homesickness
, she wondered,
or
culture shock?
One or two hooded glances came her way, but she avoided eye contact and in any event nobody attempted to engage her in conversation.
It’s as if I’m
invisible,
she thought.

She didn’t stay for dessert. Instead she retreated to her room and sought solace with a long bath and an early night.

The next morning she warned the concierge that she would be away for a few days and would not need her room, but would like her luggage stored. Then she took a cab to the lawyer’s office.
‘Your papers are here, ma’am,’ said Bates’s secretary.

‘Is Mr. Bates free?’ she asked. ‘Just a minute of his time.’

‘I’ll just check.’ A minute of finger twiddling passed. ‘Yes, come in, please.’

‘Ah, Mr. Bates?’ She smiled. ‘Have you made progress with your inquiries?’

He nodded. ‘I am hoping to hear about the house tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Its occupant, a Mr. Soames, apparently passed away three months ago and it is lying vacant as part of his
estate. As his son lives in El Dorado, I suspect an offer for it may be received with gratitude. As to the company – ’ He shrugged. ‘What business shall I put on it?’

Miriam thought for a moment. ‘Call it a design bureau,’ she said. ‘Or an engineering company.’

‘That will be fine.’ Bates nodded. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘I’m going to be away for a week or so,’ she said. ‘Shall I leave a deposit behind for the house?’