“What brings you to New York?” asked Duer. Pearson was, to his core, a Philadelphia man, and I, certainly, had not known him to travel to other cities. More to the point, I believed Duer considered me, when we were in New York, his exclusively. He did not like to share me, and he would have resented doing so with someone so beneath him as Pearson-a man ruined in everything but his understanding of his ruin.
The men returned to their seats, and Pearson brushed at his breeches. It seemed to be a nervous compulsion rather than a response to any dirt from the streets. “I am having difficulties in Philadelphia.”
I spoke to take charge of the conversation for him, to make him believe I was attempting to mind his interests. “What has happened, sir? Is something wrong?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” he snapped, though not at me. He was looking directly at Duer. “I have sold off nearly everything I own. I have done everything you asked me to do, and I am nearly a hundred thousand dollars in debt. All I have to my name are these blasted four percent securities, and they lose value every day. I would have suspected something ill on your part long ago had there not been others buying them up, but this might have been only some other fools following your lead. They are worthless. I might as well use them to kindle my fires, for all they are worth. And the men I speak to-they say they will never again rise in value-that they long ago reached an unrealistic peak.”
Duer smiled. “Jack, we’ve talked about this. The four percents are nothing. You must regard them as nothing. Your debt is nothing. It shall be paid back.”
“It must be paid back now, Duer. You promised me that if I did as you asked, you would cover my losses. I’ve sold my properties. I’ve borrowed money from the Bank of the United States.”
“And all will be made easy,” said Duer, “but you know we must wait.”
Pearson rose to his feet. “There is no we, Duer. It is I who wait.”
I rose too and put a hand upon Pearson’s wrist. “I know a man such as you, who honors his name in the world of business, must hate to owe what you cannot pay, but you understand that the money is spoken for. Mr. Duer intends to use it to gain control of the Million Bank. Once that bank is launched, he shall take the Bank of the United States. It is hard, but you must be patient.”
He bit his lip like a child and shook his head, but he sat again, allowing me to do the same. “It is not about patience,” he said. “My creditors are after me. I’ve left Philadelphia because Philadelphia is too hot.”
Duer laughed. “That is nothing,” he said. “Send a list of these creditors to my man Whippo. I shall dispatch notes upon the next express explaining that I vouch for you and give my word that you shall make good within the quarter. No one will trouble you.”
It was true enough. A note like that from William Duer was almost specie itself. One more set of debts that would ruin him.
“That answers well enough for the baker and the grocer and the tailor,” said Pearson. “I don’t think it shall satisfy Hamilton.”
“You owe Hamilton money?” Duer asked.
“Not Hamilton the man,” snapped Pearson. “I owe the bank. You urged me to take out a loan, and I don’t even know where that money has gone. Your honey tongue did its magic, and now it is all gone. But Hamilton has sent his spy around on behalf of the bank loan. It seems the bank is restricting credit, calling in loans, and as I never respond to any of the letters, they’ve put a man upon me.”
“That Saunders fellow?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, Hamilton has a new spy, a little Jewish man called Lavien, and he is the very devil. He has the tenacity of a terrier. One day he waited in my parlor for six hours hoping to see me; my servants tell me he was as impassive as an Indian brave. There is something in his eyes. I met him once, and I felt as though I were speaking to a man who had visited Hell itself and spat out its fires with contempt.”
Duer attempted a dismissive smile. “Tell my man Whippo your creditors’ names.”
“And what of Hamilton ’s man?” I asked. I did it on behalf of Pearson, so he would think me his ally, but also because I wished to know. I could not have Hamilton and this new spy of his put a stop to things before the final blow was struck.
“I’m sure it is nothing,” said Duer. “You may ignore it.”
“I think,” I said, “it might be better if you were to limit your time in Philadelphia until the Million Bank launch.”
“I had hoped to go to a gathering at the Bingham house next week.”
“By all means, go,” I said, “but do not linger. Go and stay for a day or two, if you must, but do not remain too long, not until after the launch. Then everything will be made easy.”
Pearson left the room, and I walked Duer to the door, to put him at ease. I saw now how things must be. I could not save Cynthia Pearson entirely. I did not know if I could save her house and the great wealth she had long enjoyed, but I would save her from total destruction.
Once Duer was out the door, I turned to find Pearson in the foyer, his arms stretched behind him while one of the serving girls helped him on with his coat. He dusted it off once it was upon him and turned to me. “I don’t know how you can trust that man. He is the devil.”
“He’s not,” I said softly. “He is brilliant, but perhaps not as effective at explaining himself as he might be.” I could not have told a bigger lie, of course. Duer was a fool, but quite good at getting people to do what he wished. That had ever been his secret. He understood no more about finance than anyone else and less than many.
“You do know I am fond of you, do you not?” I asked him. My tone was sweet but not flirtatious. I hated myself for even the suggestion that I would seek to harm Cynthia in this way, but I could not have Pearson abandon the scheme-not now. If he left, others might follow, and then Duer would fall far too soon. Perhaps Pearson need not ruin himself with the Million Bank launch. I might find a way-Saunders, perhaps-to make certain he did not lose the last of his wealth there. But for now I needed him to remain steadfast.
He seemed stunned by my question. He took a step forward and held my hand. “Why, Mrs. Maycott, of course I do.”
I hated his vile touch. His oversized hands hardly seemed to belong to a human body, and yet I smiled. “I know Duer better than almost anyone, I think. Do you not agree?”
He continued holding my hand, but we had moved from the amorous to the financial, and he perhaps forgot he still touched me. “It does seem that way.”
“He parses out information a little at a time. I shall tell you what he will not. Do not sell your four percents, Mr. Pearson. No matter how low the value falls, no matter how much you lose on them, do not sell them. They will come back. I swear to you, they will come back, and if you will hold on, your patience will be rewarded and you will not only not be the loser for your efforts, you will profit. Duer tells no one this because he does not wish anyone to act upon it, but you have the right to know.”
He enveloped my other hand in his meaty paw. “I know not how to thank you, madam. Not only for the kindness of putting my anxieties to rest, but for showing me I have not been a fool.”
I pulled away, I hope not too abruptly. “It is our secret,” I said. I wished him gone and breathed with relief when he left the house, though the relief was illusory. I had taken a chance. I had risked my position, the wealth of my band of whiskey rebels, and even the scheme itself, for if Duer suspected, even for a moment, that I was anything other than a clever admirer, I should be out, and, once out, I would be powerless. Yet I had no choice. I had reluctantly turned a blind eye while Duer ruined one speculator after another, even when he sent his men out to the street to ruin tailors and fishmongers, but I would not let him ruin a wife and mother who had befriended me. I would not do it, and I could only hope I-and my friends-would not suffer for my loyalty.