Chapter 25 #2
One thing Wickham had noted was that there were not many staff and servants in the house, and several of them were deaf.
He thought he may have recognised a new manservant who he had seen in the last day or two as the deaf one who worked for his traitorous wife, but he had never paid attention to the man so he would not be able to be sure it was him.
So far, the man had not shown any signs of recognising him.
Wickham was enjoying a cigar and a glass of excellent cognac when the butler told him the master wanted to see him in his study. Wickham stubbed out the cigar and threw the remaining liquor down his throat before following the butler to St Claire.
“Come in, Wickham, come in,” St Claire welcomed jovially.
“Take a seat. I wanted to give you time to recover from the forced slavery you had to endure. Very barbaric of our country to allow that. Do you know that since the revolution the emperor reaffirmed that France no longer has those inhuman prisons?” St Claire knew it was a lie, but he was sure that the man before him would have no way of knowing that.
“I always believed the French are more enlightened than the English,” Wickham spat out.
“Indeed. You know, I came to this country during the revolution, and it has been good to me, but in many ways, I think it has lost its way,” St Claire revealed. “To lock good men up like animals just because they are temporarily unable to pay a debt is not the way of a civilised nation.”
What his host was saying aligned very closely with Wickham’s thoughts on the subject. “I could not agree more,” he said.
“Have you thought about how you will earn money now that you are free?” St Claire asked. As hoped for, the man shook his head. “I have something with which you could assist me.”
“Is this something I must do because you hold my vowels?” Wickham wondered.
“No, Mr Wickham, it is not that. It would be rather hypocritical of me to tell you how much I abhor the way a man’s debts are used against him and then turn around and do the same to you.
You wound me to think I am a hypocrite, Sir.
You are free to go whenever you chuse, and these,” St Claire lifted a pile of debt markers and consigned them to the fire burning in the grate, “are no more. No man can ever use them to hurt you again.”
“Please forgive me,” Wickham begged. There was no missing the disappointed tone of Mr St Claire’s voice. “Please, call me Wickham, and tell me what I may do to help you.”
“It will benefit you as much as me because if you are able to assist me, at the end of it, I will pay you fifteen thousand pounds. Enough to leave this island and start anew in another country, is that not so, Wickham?” St Claire sat back and allowed his words to sink in.
He had not missed the way the man’s eyes had got big when he had mentioned the ultimate reward.
The information that he was avaricious had been very useful.
“I am willing to help you for assisting me, but the incentive of the reward is certainly something very attractive. What is it?”
“I work for a secret department in the government, and we suspect that some militia regiments are not following orders as they should and sometimes, even worse than that. What I need you to do is join one and report back anything of significance to me. I will compare what you report to what I know the real orders to be. There are times when militia Colonels contact regiments of the regular army, which they are not supposed to do. That especially is important to notify me about, and send me the details, so I may have the wrongdoers dealt with properly.” St Claire paused and allowed his words to sink in.
“Is this something you think you are able to do?”
“Yes, that should be a task I can accomplish with ease.” Wickham had a thought. “How much does the militia pay, and I assume I would be an officer?”
“Yes, you will be an officer. In fact, a Lieutenant so you do not stand out to the Colonel too much.” Asking about money was so predictable but St Claire schooled his features.
“The pay is negligible because most officers are second sons supported by their families. However, I will give you fifty pounds for now, and you will receive twenty pounds per month from me while you are in the militia. If you chuse to gamble, do not incur debts of honour or debts with the merchants. Also, no meddling with young maidens. If you do this for me, you cannot do anything to bring unwanted attention to yourself. Now, is this something you will commit to doing?”
He would be flush, and Wickham knew he could manage to refrain from his preferred activities for the time he was working for Mr St Claire. “I am your man,” he averred.
‘Yes, you are, in more ways than you know,’ St Claire thought. He extended his hand. “Call me St Claire. Welcome to serving your king, Wickham.”
St Claire thought he had slipped by mentioning the king and not the new regent, but thankfully Wickham’s thinking about all the money he would have did not allow him to think of that fact.
“I just realised something,” Wickham said just before he opened the door. “You employ deaf servants because of the sensitive nature of your work.”
“You are correct,” St Claire confirmed. As soon as Wickham left the study, St Claire relaxed.
He had thought for a moment that Wickham had realised his error with the king and regent.
His hand had been on the pistol in the one drawer, but thankfully he had not needed to use it…
yet. The man he reported to would not have been pleased had they lost Wickham before he could be of use.
Wickham was beyond pleased. Like a cat, he had well and truly landed on his feet and his debt markers had been destroyed. Even better, he would come into much blunt, and the militia remained in England so he would not see a battlefield.