The Day of Atonement

  I left Enéas outside the Three Speckled Hens and went in to meet with the Carvers. They were both there, and I was relieved not to be alone with Roberta. It unnerved me how she watched me, searching for signs that my eyes lingered on her. It troubled me not because I disliked it, but because I liked it rather too much. I sat with Rutherford between us, keeping my gaze on the plump man, wondering what she had told him to make certain he always acted as a buffer. Was I too bold in my advances? Was I untrustworthy? Was Rutherford willing to overlook my designs on his wife because he had designs on my money?

  Roberta sat slightly apart from us, placing one hand over the other, and looking off into the distance. Meanwhile, Rutherford and I discussed matters of business for the better part of an hour. His chief area of interest seemed to be how I might secure my connections with Eusebio, though he continually distracted himself with tales of his own conquests among the New Christians. These stories were relevant, he assured me; if I paid attention I might hope to emulate his success. Rutherford appeared to believe, to the depths of his soul, in his own greatness, although he surely also recognized his wife’s contributions.

  After some time, Rutherford saw a pair of Factory men he wished to speak with and excused himself, promising he would return momentarily. It was the first time since the incident in the inn that Roberta and I found ourselves alone together.

  Roberta looked at me, then lowered her face and turned away. When she looked back, she was blushing only a little, and smiling awkwardly. “I thought I was too old—and too married—for this kind of foolishness.”

  “I don’t know that this is the best place to discuss this,” I said quietly.

  “Then where?” Her voice was quiet but harsh. “All those private conversations we have together? Where else can I speak of what I feel when you will not ever be alone with me?”

  “Roberta—” I began, but she raised a hand for me to stop.

  “You need not say it,” she said, flicking her fingers upward in dismissal. “I don’t blame you. I wish I had not made a fool of myself in your rooms. I understand that your interests are too closely bound up with ours for you to feel like you can reject me. You do not have to deceive me to do business with us. I wish only to know the truth. I want—I want to stop wondering. I want to stop lying awake at night, dwelling upon the same absurd things over and over again in an endless circle until I think I should go mad.”

  I admired her frankness—and felt a tug of pity—but it was too late to veer from my chosen course. “I have told you how I feel, and you have no cause to doubt me. Until you are ready to leave your husband, speak not of love. I cannot bear it.”

  “I love Rutherford. He is kind to me, and I do not wish to betray him. Not utterly. But he is not enough. Can you not understand that?”

  “I can,” I said. And I did. I, who had traveled across Europe and embroiled myself in a thousand mad schemes because I despised who I had become, understood this kind of existential dissatisfaction all too well. But what did she truly want from me? Passion? Redemption? She claimed to love me, to want me to bring her something she was missing, but all the while she planned to steal my gold. I could hardly tell her lies from her truths.

  “You will give me nothing?” she asked.

  “I have told you how I feel,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

  “I cannot forgive you.” She brushed some dirt off her glove. “I can forgive you for spurning me, but you should never have kissed me. I cannot forgive you that.”

  It was then that her husband returned. I remained for another quarter hour lest I seem conspicuous. Then I departed, making every effort to look like a man hurrying off, all the while wishing I could steal Roberta’s money so I could stop pretending to be too in love with her to take her to my bed.

  It was time to secure the loan. I wrote at once to Eusebio Nobreza, telling him that I had a business prospect. Eusebio wrote back and invited me to his home two days hence. It was not as soon as I would have liked, but there was no helping it. Furthermore, I told myself, if there had been a polite way to suggest another location, I would have done so. I did not want to go to that house and see Gabriela—and, simultaneously, I wanted to go most desperately.

  I met Eusebio at his home at midday. There was no sign of Gabriela, and I felt many things, but chief among these were relief and despair. Nevertheless, the elder Nobreza was there, and I had come to take genuine pleasure in Luis’s company. He accompanied me and Eusebio into the study, where we drank excellent Madeira and spoke of nothing significant until I forced the issue.

  “Sir,” I said, “I believe I may have found a prospect with a pair of English merchants called Carver.”

  “I know them,” Eusebio said. “They are on firm ground. What do you require?”

  I did not hesitate. “Two thousand, English.”

  Eusebio was silent for a long time. Would it hurry him along to let him know that I needed his money so I could kill the man who wanted to cast him in chains? Somehow, I thought it would not.

  Then Eusebio appeared to end an internal debate. “Send me the details in writing,” he said. “I shall look it over and, based on the reputation of the Carvers and your merits as a person of character, I shall secure your credit should the venture appear well conceived.”

  I smiled. All was in play. Now I wanted only for the Carvers to receive their funds from abroad and place their money in their vault.

  “I am very pleased that we shall do business with this Englishman,” said Luis, raising his goblet. “You are the most curious of men, Senhor Foxx. You are as polished as a courtesan and as blunt as a German. I have told my son that, in my opinion, you are a man whose honor we may depend upon.”

  I rose and bowed to both men. “You flatter me.”

  “I speak the truth,” Luis said with an amiable smile.

  “Do not think Mr. Foxx is not driven by greed, just like all the rest.” Eusebio’s mood appeared to have shifted quite suddenly. He cast me a sour expression. “You Englishmen exploit our wealth, the same as the Inquisition.”

  “We do not seek to exploit you,” I said. “We work with you, sir. Is it not the English who aid New Christians in secreting wealth out of the country? Were it not for us, nothing of what you earn could be safe.”

  “In the main, that is true,” Eusebio said, though the look upon his face suggested the admission was distasteful. “Forgive my dark mood, Mr. Foxx. This system is not of your devising. I know that. But I am trapped within it, waiting only for the hammer to fall and for everything I have, everyone I care about, to be taken from me.”

  “I cannot claim to understand what it is to live as you do,” I said. “But know this: if I can serve you in any way, you need but ask.”

  Eusebio nodded. “You are kind to say it. Many Englishmen have sweet words, but few will put themselves at risk for one of my kind.”

  “Let us pray, sir, that you never have cause to put my words to the test.”

  I followed one of the servants to the door, but when I turned to leave, I realized Luis was behind me. “Forgive my son, Mr. Foxx. He is very bitter sometimes, and who can blame him? But I am glad the two of you have come to an understanding.”

  “The younger Senhor Nobreza honors me with his confidence,” I said.

  “He would be a fool if he didn’t. You will join us for dinner tonight to celebrate?”

  “I do not wish to impose upon your son or make work for his wife,” I answered, perhaps too hastily. I could not sit down to a civil meal with Gabriela and pretend she was nothing to me. I had done it once, but I thought to do so again would break me.

  “Then have dinner with me now. We shall go to a taberna together. You do business with the son, but does that mean you cannot be friends with the father?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  “Then you shall eat and drink upon my bill.”

  I followed the older man to the street and a nearby taberna, where we took a quiet table by the fire.
Luis ordered a plate of roast pork. I called for chicken.

  I winked at the older man. “Come, sir. You may be candid with me. Is the pork for show?”

  “I cannot be candid with anyone, for anyone could be an agent of the Inquisition, even you, sir. My son or his wife could be in their service and I would not know. But I shall tell you truthfully, for there is no secret in it. We are not Jews. We have not been Jews for generations. There would be no New Christians if we were permitted to marry Old Christians. My parents and grandparents made a point of showing they were not Jews by eating pork, but for me and my children it is but one of the foods we eat, one we ate when we were children and which, perhaps, reminds us of better days. It is ironic, do you not think, that pork should be the meat most likely to produce nostalgia in one of my kind?”

  “So you do think of yourself as a distinct people.”

  “We must do so. The laws of this nation keep us a people apart.”

  “And if you were to escape Lisbon with your wealth and live wherever you chose—how would you live then?”

  “It is something I do not dare to dream of, and so I do not think on it.”

  “Has no one ever escaped?”

  “Once we were permitted to move to the colonies, but no longer. As for other means of leaving the country, they are difficult. You mentioned Englishmen who take risks to help my kind. Do you know the merchant Charles Settwell?”

  “I have met him,” I said, measuring his response. “I know he is not well thought of by the Factory men.”

  “I should say nothing,” Luis told me, “but I will tell you this much. He was a great merchant at one time, and he did not shy away from helping his New Christian friends.”

  “That is very admirable. But why should a man hesitate to do what is right? The Inquisition takes those whom it pleases. Evidence is but trumpery, after all.”

  “I suppose the trick is to keep them from wanting you. My son exports nearly all his money because the less he has here in Lisbon, the less attractive he is to the Inquisition.”

  “But why earn it if you send it away?” I asked. “Can it be retrieved?”

  Luis shrugged.

  “So there is a way,” I said.

  “Reimporting money is risky, but not so risky as leaving it here. You can ask Mr. Settwell about that.” Luis examined his cup of wine, as though curious at its strange ability to loosen his lips.

  “Has Mr. Settwell done such a thing?”

  “No, not himself. But he saw its consequences on others.”

  I understood we were now talking about my father. “Tell me.”

  Luis shook his head. “Some things are better not spoken of by a New Christian.”

  Was this what had happened to my father? Had he brought money back into the country? Had some enemy discovered what he had done and betrayed him?

  “Let us talk of other things, then. I do not wish to ask you to wade through the thicket of the forbidden.” I finished my cup of wine and poured another for both myself and Luis. I then called for a second bottle. I had not been drunk since arriving in Lisbon, but I now began to feel the wine coursing through me. It would be good to drink too much. I was in no danger tonight, and surely if anyone deserved a little taste of oblivion, it was me. I also thought it would be good for Luis to drink too much—far too much, for then he would require assistance in getting home. The thought of seeing Gabriela was too alluring to deny. It would be enough to catch a glimpse of her. Just to look at her face and, perhaps, have her smile at me for showing a kindness to her husband’s father.

  I raised my cup to Luis. “To new friends.”

  We were well into our third bottle when I began to direct the conversation back toward subjects of particular interest to me. I spoke of my potential business opportunities with the Carvers and how certain the investment appeared. I gossiped briefly about Roberta’s reputation, because doing so would amuse and disarm, and then I returned to the vexing problem of credit. “I am glad we are moving forward with our partnership,” I said. “I only wish he had proved amenable even sooner.”

  “So do I. I had hoped as much from the beginning, but I do not attempt to alter his mind in matters of business,” Luis said, stroking his long mustaches. “Not because I would not choose to offer assistance but because doing so would be counterproductive. If I told my son to lend, he would withhold, and if I told him to withhold, he would lend. He must do things his own way, and even if his own way is not best, I say nothing. Better he should learn those lessons now than later.”

  “I understand entirely. In truth, I hardly know what I will do if this venture succeeds. Profits come in gold, and while I know there are secrets to converting gold to negotiable notes without the customs agents or the Factory learning of it, I would have no idea where to begin.”

  “The Englishman has not been born who did not wish to conceal his business from the customs agents, but why should you wish to conceal your doings from the Factory?”

  I shrugged. “Let us say that I don’t wish to draw attention to myself too soon. A man can make enemies if he rises too quickly.”

  “Interesting,” Luis said. “Most men are eager to draw as much attention to themselves as they can. But you are right that doing so can be a double-edged sword.”

  “I am as eager as any Englishman to make my name,” I said, finishing the bottle and signaling for a fourth. I used the pause to concoct a plausible story. “I have a sister at home and she is in want of a dowry. I confess one of my hopes in coming here was to earn enough that I might send her the profits. I do not want it said of me, however, that I am weak and womanish because I put my family before trade.”

  “You are a good brother,” Luis said.

  “It is a love match. But the young man she favors is well born, and to inherit land and title. His parents will not consent without a sufficient dowry. He cannot defy them in this matter. I could attempt to smuggle the gold out of the country, but you know well there are risks.”

  Luis smiled as he poured a cup from the new bottle. “You must have this gold before you worry about the risks of possessing it.”

  “You are right in that, senhor. I am building castles in the air.”

  Luis drank and said nothing. I let the silence linger. Silence was often better than words.

  Luis said, “We have methods.” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Methods of converting gold to paper. You know we dare not keep our money in the country, and exporting gold is, as you say, dangerous. There are mechanisms for making the exchange. There are bankers and goldsmiths here, a network of them, and they have served our people for many years. These are foreigners and noblemen and criminals. The less you know, the better, and I know little enough myself except how to work the network. I used to deal with their representatives directly. Indeed, when I was a young man, a good portion of my income came from acting as a gold discounter.”

  “Do you still have these contacts?”

  Luis laughed. “None of us go anywhere except the prison or the grave.”

  “Then, if I were to find myself with gold, perhaps more gold than you might expect …” I let my voice trail off.

  “We do not often aid outsiders,” Luis said. “It would be frowned upon, but in this one instance, for the sake of your sister and your loyalty to her, I shall do what I can for you.”

  “It might be a large sum.”

  “The sum does not matter,” Luis said with a dismissive wave. “Gold is gold.”

  I raised my cup. “You are a good man, senhor. I drink to you.”

  Luis saluted me in return.

  “This ability to convert gold to notes,” I said. “Can it be reversed? Can you convert notes to gold?”

  “Why should you wish to do such a thing?”

  “Not I,” I assured him. “That would be of no use to an Englishman. I simply wondered about the story you mentioned before—the man who brought money back into P
ortugal. Surely it came in as paper, but once in the country, the foreign notes would have to be turned back to gold.”

  “That is it exactly,” Luis said, having forgotten his earlier reluctance.

  I was on the cusp of information I desperately desired, but I did not know if I should risk asking for more. I might frighten the older Nobreza. On the other hand, I might never be in a better position to learn the facts.

  Fortunately, Luis required no further pushing. “It was a New Christian trader—one with excellent ties to the Factory. He dreamed of amassing enough wealth to bribe his way out of the country. He wanted to take his wife and his son along with his son’s friend and her father.” He paused as if to elaborate, but shook his head. “Wheels needed greasing, however, and the Factory is ever cautious.”

  The friend and her family. Gabriela. If my father’s scheme had succeeded, we would all have escaped, as I’d known then.

  “What happened to this man?” I asked.

  Luis shook his head. “Too many people learned he had the money, and he was betrayed. One of his enemies turned him in to the Inquisition so he could seize the notes for himself.”

  “Who was it?” I asked. “Do you know?”

  Luis snorted. “An Englishman, of course. Who else would do such a thing? But if you like ironies, I have one for you. This New Christian’s ruin unleashed a wave of destruction. Many others fell, including the man who betrayed him. He was once quite rich, and now he runs a second-rate inn for Englishmen. Indeed, it is the very inn in which you stay.”

  I stared at Luis. “The betrayer was Kingsley Franklin?”

  “It was indeed.”

  Two hours later, I stood on the stoop of Eusebio’s house, pounding upon the door with my left fist while my right arm looped Luis’s torso in an effort to keep my friend standing. He opened his eyes, looked at me, and burst out laughing. Then he closed his eyes again.

  I was a little drunk, but my senses had been sharpened by Luis’s revelation. Franklin had betrayed my father. This news had filled me first with confusion and then with rage. Franklin’s taking money from the Inquisition now meant little. Turning against my father years before—that was unforgivable.