Chapter 10: Time marches on #2 July 1829 – September .1831.

July 1829. London.
To celebrate our five years of marriage I decided to buy Mimi a pendant with a heart shaped locket, inscribed with a suitable text demonstrating my undying love for her.
She accompanied me to Mordecai Rothstein’s jewellery shop in Hatton Gardens; although not a goldsmith Mordecai would know the most skilled of that trade. After introducing Mimi to Mordecai, I asked him to recommend a goldsmith to supply me with a locket and pendant. Before he could reply Mimi, who was gazing at the jewels on display, gave a gasp of delight.

“Jacques, instead of a locket could I have that beautiful sapphire on a gold chain?”
Mordecai removed the jewel from the display case.

“You have a fine eye and excellent taste, My Lady. This is one of the finest sapphires I have ever seen.” He put a loupe to his eye. “Shadrack of Naples obtained this gem from Ceylon, the home of the most sought after sapphires. He believes only a master gemstone cutter, which without any false modesty I admit to being, can do full justice to the jewel. It requires minimal, but faultless and exacting, cutting to make it practically glow in the dark. I would be honoured to cut the stone, and then have Rundell and Bridge, who employ the best goldsmiths in London, mount it in a filigree of gold, attached to a golden chain.”
Mordecai turned to me. “I will give you a discount on the price of the sapphire but Rundell will charge you the full rate for the mount and chain.” He gave a disdainful sniff. “Unfortunately he is not Jewish.”

While he and I were agreeing on a price the door behind the counter opened, and Miriam Rothstein entered the room carrying a child in her arms and another clutching her skirt...

“Mordecai I have...” She stopped, wide eyed. “I did not know you were here Elijah.” She turned to Mordecai. “Why did you not call me when Elijah arrived?”
Miriam then became aware of Mimi, who was glaring at her with some heat – not surprisingly when an unknown woman addresses her husband by his given name.
Mordecai made the introductions.

“Miriam, this is Lady Greenaway, Sir Elijah’s wife.”
Mimi blushed, she was unaccustomed to being addressed by her quite legitimate title
. “Please, call me Mimi. You must be a close friend if you know my husband as Elijah.” There was a hint of asperity in the delivery of the last phrase.
The child clutching at Miriam’s skirt, a boy about four years old, looked up at Mimi.

“Hello Mimi. My name is Rueben, and I have a brother named Elijah.”
Mimi’s face was a picture. Astonishment and amusement battled it out, and the latter won. Her laugh was liquid pleasure.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Reuben. You bear a fine name, as does your brother.” She looked at Miriam, this time with a pleasant expression on her face. “What is the name of the child in your arms, Missus Rothstein?”

“Her name is Rachel, and please call me Miriam.”

“Have you any more children, Miriam?”
Miriam nodded and smiled broadly. “We have been blessed with five children. Elijah is eight, Mordecai seven, and Naomi six. They are presently with my father-in-law, the Rabbi, learning Hebrew. Reuben, four, and Rachel, two, are at home with me.” She patted her stomach. “And we are expecting another blessing early next year. How many children have you, Mimi?”

“We have twin daughters.” Mimi’s answer was spoken in a flat and toneless voice, indicating she would not be pleased to answer any more questions regarding children. Miriam sensed her distress, and discontinued the discussion.

Later that evening, as Mimi and I prepared for bed at Monmouth House, she broached the subject that I knew had been tumbling around in her mind all day.
“Why did the Rothsteins name their first son for you? Are you the father?”

“No, of course not. Why should you think such a thing?”

“Miriam looks at you as if you were a God, and even Mordecai seems in awe of you.”

“Mordecai and his father were amazed I sold them the Star of David diamond to them for six hundred pounds when I could have received treble the amount.”

“And Miriam? Was she so pleased the diamond was returned to the Jews she named her son for you?”
“I instructed her how to persuade Mordecai to impregnate her.” I then had to explain how Mordecai’s strict interpretation of Jewish law resulted in Miriam’s frustration, and no impregnation. I did not mention that I had nearly impregnated her myself, up against a wall in a dingy alleyway. I then related the agricultural allegory I had Miriam tell Mordecai to get him aroused.
I was so proficient in remembering exactly what I told Miriam that before I had finished the tale Mimi had ripped off my nightgown. She then mounted me, and used me with a ferocity completely out of character for her.
Later that night, before exhaustion claimed me, Mimi said, in her most honeyed tone of voice.
“If I conceive after what we have experienced, I shall call our first son Elijah.” I felt her tears falling on my bared, and bitten, chest. “But I fear that will never happen.” Her tears stopped. She raised herself on an elbow and gazed down at me. “Nevertheless, from time to time we will use the agricultural allegory tale to arouse our passions.”

Mimi rarely needed her passion stoked as she was always a fiery wench between the sheets. I think her more voracious and inventive, and certainly louder in her appreciation of my skills as a cocksman, when we made the Beast with Two Backs in England than when at Blanchards. The room we had in Monmouth House was separated from the other bedrooms by a long corridor, and so long as the bedroom windows were closed no one, other than a keen eared owl, would hear our shouts, shrieks, groans, moans, and shrill screams of pleasure. Opened windows, on the other hand, would have alerted the Night Watch.

In November 1829, I received my annual ‘birthday present’ from Eloise de La Zouche that was the most threatening oneto date. I determined then to call in on John Stafford at MI6 the next time I was in London and try to ascertain her whereabouts, although I had no plans of what to do if she was located.

January 1830 London
Mimi and Amy were out shopping, Claudette had remained at Blanchard as her grandmother was ill, and the twins were accompanying Princess Alexandrina and Baroness Lehzen visiting the recently opened zoo in Regents Park. With time on my hands, I walked to Scotland Yard and called into the office of John Stafford. I was surprised to see Sir Boris Crossley sat in the chair behind the desk.

“Has John stepped out for a minute, Boris?” I said, after exchanging handshakes.

“I suppose you could say that, if you think he will not be successful in his role as Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.” Boris could see I had no idea of what he was talking about. “Last year Robert Peel, the Home Secretary, raised a force of constabulary to serve London, and named them The Metropolitan Police Force. John has been appointed their chief.”

“So who is now the... ?” The huge grin on Boris’ face gave me the answer to the yet unfinished question. “You are now in charge of the Municipal Information Bureau, MI6?”

“Yes, I have that honour.” He said, and pointed to the chair opposite him. “Sit down, Sir Elijah, and tell me how I can be of assistance?”

I told him about the yearly birthday presents from Eloise de la Zouche that threatened the lives of my family, and asked him if MI6 could discover her whereabouts.

“Once I know where she is I can plan her death. It is either her, or me and mine,” I said.

“MI6 does not have a mandate to track down people outside of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, although I do have contacts in the Foreign Office who may be able to pin point her location. Do you think your family is in danger?”
“They are not in any immediate danger. Eloise is playing with me as a cat toys with a mouse before killing it. Blanchards is well guarded, but my family could be open to attack in England, as I am sure she has accomplices here from her time with the Organisation.”

“The Organisation is something MI6 can look into, and I will contact Colonel Nettlefold at MI5 to determine if he has any information concerning the de La Zouche woman.”

“What about the records from the Relocation Bureau? There were files of information on any suspected traitors, and some of those probably had dealings with Eloise.” I said.
Boris gave a snort of anger. “They were destroyed. Influential people in politics and banking did not want their peccadillos, and other, darker, deeds, to be on record. When the Box Office was closed down there was a bonfire of the vanities.”
“Is this new London constabulary competent enough to foil plots against the state, or combat rebellion, without those files?” I asked.
“The Metropolitan Police was formed to counter crimes against the person and property rather than crimes against the state. However they will, along with the Yeomanry and Militia, ensure that gatherings of those damned petitioners and members of the Hampden Club are peaceful.”

Then, in a complete change of subject, Boris said. “Why do you think the Relocation Bureau was closed down?”

“Because Peel did not agree with spying on members of the public, and vehemently disagreed with non-judicial executions.” I replied.

“That is the official line, but unofficially it had to do with culpability –’ who knew what when’ – as civil servants know it, and no elected Member of Parliament wishes to be found guilty if, when, one of our ‘relocations’ went awry and it became known that the government employed assassins.”

“But you were an MP when in charge of the Relocation Bureau, Boris.”
“Indeed, and my head would have been the first to roll. However, I was but a minor functionary, and the Opposition would have sought bigger scalps than mine. The paper trail, or more specifically the money trail, would eventually lead to the Treasury, with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Prime Minister deemed culpable, with dire consequences for their futures. The powers-that-be considered the Relocation Bureau too great a risk to their careers, so it was closed.”
I nodded, realising now how fortunate the Bureau had been not to make any mistakes thus far. It could only have been a matter of time before a blunder occurred and Boris’s scenario enacted.

“As all government departments are funded from the Treasury there will never be an office to carry out relocations.” I said, unhappy to think traitors might go undetected and unpunished. I slumped dejectedly in my seat. “So we are now powerless when it comes to searching out and disposing of traitors?”
Boris gazed at me with an enigmatic expression on his face.
“So it would appear, but that might be to our advantage if those who wish to foment trouble in the realm think we do not have the means of catching and punishing them.”
I was confused. “But we do not have the means. How would a restored Relocation Bureau be funded if not via the Treasury?”
His smile was that of a shark. “It would be self-financed,” he said, with an airy wave of his hand. “Simple, but effective. Raise the money in-house, with no link to the Treasury or to any Member of Parliament in charge of a government department. The Relocation Bureau could be reopened and running in a week if my plans are followed.”
He could see I was baffled, and he explained in more detail his self-financing scheme.

“The Treasury is the most important department of government. All and every aspect off governance is funded by money collected by the Revenue and Excise Office, the most important sub department of the Treasury. What I propose is that a unit, let us call it the Reclamation Office, uses all the monetary and income information of members of the public held by the Treasury to hunt down those who have defaulted, avoided or evaded, paying their rightful tax. Once identified these tax dodgers will be given the choice to pay up or end up dead in a ditch. A percentage of the money recovered from these defaulters would be retained by the Reclamation Office to fund a revised Relocation Bureau, a sub unit within the Reclamation Office. The money funding the resurrected Relocation Bureau would not officially exist, and would not show up in any ledger. Nosey Members of Parliament of the Opposition, or indeed of the Governmen, t would be unaware of the existence of a new ‘Box Office’.”