Even though Lord James Moncrieff had not expected to be asked to remain behind after the meeting, he knew the Grand Master would inquire regarding Christopher Templeton.
The meeting itself had been a fruitful one, the agenda full and wide-ranging, and the Fellowship thrived. There were representatives in the large dining room of the grand house in Piccadilly from every branch of commerce, from the British East India Company, the South Sea Company, the Hudson’s Bay Company, bankers, financiers, landowners, merchants specialising in tobacco, sugar, furs, slaves, miners who dug tin and lead from the earth. Every man in that room benefitted from the work of the Fellowship, which was what it was designed to do, and every man knew exactly what kind of power the organisation wielded across the world with both government and church.
The men had shared a meal, the talk constantly of profit and power, the twin desires of any commercial enterprise, for what use was the latter if you had not the means to wield it? And the former was only a figure in a ledger unless it was put to use for the furthering of commerce. They were aided in this by the rapacity of the king’s ministers, advisers and those who enjoyed his patronage, most of them from his homeland of Hanover, to which he had returned that summer, his son finally being appointed Guardian of the Realm rather than Regent, for the king had little affection for him. Moncrieff, the Grand Master and the council of the Fellowship recognised that the greed of men and women was most conducive to the furthering of their aims, and this flight of hungry Hanoverians, as someone had remarked to him, who had fallen with keen eyes and bended talons on the fruitful soil of England, were ripe for manipulation.
Moncrieff’s eyes strayed to the full-length portrait staring down from the far wall of the dining room, that of the Knight Templar known only as Jerusalem Mordicant. He was a shadowy figure, to be sure, much like the brotherhood he created, and his true name was unknown, although it was known that he was born in Scotland and had made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land where he had joined the order. When the French king ordered the Templars be purged in 1307, Mordant had the foresight to escape, taking with him a considerable portion of gold and other riches. He had decamped to the land of his birth, where he set up his own order, calling it merely the Fellowship, and gave himself a title borrowed from the Templars, the Grand Master. But this fellowship was not formed to protect pilgrims to Palestine, nor to defend Christianity against those who would threaten it. Mordicant had been a Templar, but he’d had little interest in spirituality. His passion was for profit – and the power it brought – and the men of the day he gathered around him were of like mind. The men who had attended the dinner were their descendants, perhaps not by blood but certainly in spirit.
In the portrait, the knight was bareheaded, his black hair long and loose, his beard perhaps a little too clipped. He had an armoured helmet under one arm and in the other held a broadsword. His robes were white with a black Templar cross on breast and shoulder, a hint of chain mail hanging towards ankle and on his arms. They had no idea what Mordicant’s features had been in reality, so it was rather fanciful. It was a commanding work but Moncrieff was not overly fond of it. It was too flamboyant for his tastes, something in which he found agreement with the Grand Master. They both preferred matters relating to the Fellowship to be sub rosa as much as possible, for if they were to continue to prosper then there must be little attention drawn to them. They were the men behind the men who wielded power. They were the shadows that moved in chambers where decisions were made, a whisper in the ear, a gentle nudge in whatever direction was required. That had been Mordicant’s wish, for he recognised that the Templar order’s mistake was not simply that it had grown too powerful but that it had become too obvious. Philip of France had owed them too much money and had regarded their treasures with avaricious eyes. In order to avoid paying them back, and in a bid to enrich himself, he had ordered them to be arrested and slaughtered. The Pope had also become jealous of the power and influence they wielded and so dissolved the order a few years later. The Fellowship influenced great men but it did so from a distance. They financed governments but through intermediaries. They profited from contracts and wars and civil improvements but at many times removed. And in doing all this they manipulated the world to suit their own pockets. That was the way of it and the way it always would be.
Which brought his attention back to the older man sitting opposite him, the present Grand Master, a man he had known all his life. He too was Scottish, for it was a principal rule that whoever sat at the head of the Fellowship table must have his roots in the country. On the face of it he was the epitome of what the Fellowship should be, no flamboyance, no ostentation. Moncrieff knew such things were anathema to the Grand Master’s tastes, for he followed the strict Calvinist dictum of the Scottish kirk. He dressed plainly, outwardly lived simply, even frugally, though in private he did enjoy the finer things in life, for the meal that evening had been exquisite, the port wine they each now sipped was superb, but he had studied well Mordicant’s maxim of modesty and restraint. Never boast of your accomplishments, never reveal your hand, never let anyone know how you do business. Moncrieff’s father had not been invited to join the ranks of the Fellowship, because the Grand Master thought him too mercurial. Moncrieff the younger was material far more suited to the Fellowship’s work. He understood the need for discretion, for subterfuge, for sometimes acting in shadow so as not to attract undue attention, for in sleight-of-hand transactions were often found the greatest rewards. He had also burrowed into the confidence of government, as adviser to Sir Robert Walpole, the First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer. Access to such an ear was personally rewarding but would also benefit the Fellowship as a whole.
Moncrieff, the point of his cane on the floor, his right hand resting on its silver wolf’s head, his left idly playing with the stem of his glass as it rested on the table between them, waited for the older man to speak. He had been about to leave when he was informed the Grand Master wished a moment alone for private conversation. Some of the older members shot inquiring and even envious glances towards him as he was led back to the dining room. In the Grand Master’s public life he had to show subservience, but in the rooms of this great house, and others, he could remove that mask, for here he was the superior figure. Moncrieff felt irritation grow at the lengthening silence, recognising it as mere power play.
Finally, the man laid his glass down. ‘The lawyer remains at large.’
Moncrieff cleared his throat a little before he spoke. ‘He does, but I will continue to make inquiry.’
‘I have tasked men to find him.’
Moncrieff masked his perturbation. ‘Who would they be, Grand Master?’
‘The Trask brothers.’
Moncrieff knew the siblings to be effective in their own crude way, so was forced to consider how likely they were to interfere with his own arrangements.
The Grand Master let out a sigh that was almost mournful. ‘As you are aware, I never met Mr Templeton, but I knew of his work and I held high hopes for him. That work on our behalf was exemplary.’
‘He was perhaps granted an excess of trust.’
As the man’s heavy-lidded eyes rested upon him, Moncrieff realised he had allowed a trace of criticism to lace his words. The fact was, he did believe that too much stock had been set on Templeton’s skills and loyalty, even though his betrayal dovetailed his own plans.
The Grand Master’s voice was heavy. ‘And we are certain Templeton meant to breach that excess of trust?’
‘As certain as we can be. The fact that he vanished as soon as he learned we wished to speak with him suggests it.’ Moncrieff hesitated slightly before his next words, unsure if he should venture them. ‘He may have fled the city.’
‘It is possible.’
It is more than possible, Moncrieff thought.
‘I will see that word is sent out to our friends elsewhere for a watch to be kept for him,’ the Grand Master said.
The Fellowship had only a few members who knew the extent of their influence, but they had friends across the country who profited from their endeavours. Nobles, merchants, judges, politicians, even clergymen and criminals, formed an intricate intelligence network that could be tapped into whenever necessary. The Grand Master was unaware of it, but Moncrieff had done so recently, for his own reasons.
‘And what of the wench?’
‘She, too, continues to be elusive,’ Moncrieff replied. ‘She is either with Templeton, or he has her hid away somewhere.’
‘The Trasks will find her.’
Moncrieff felt irritation but he kept it concealed. Setting these outsiders on the hunt was a complication he should have envisaged. His mind ticked over, looking for ways that it could hamper his own plans.
‘Women,’ the Grand Master sighed. ‘They understand that we men are often ruled by what lies between our legs. It is a basic weakness in the male sex, and they use that warm place between their own legs against us. Mr Templeton was a loyal servant to our endeavour until he was entranced by yon strumpet and he found himself a conscience.’ He studied Moncrieff for a moment. ‘Do you have a conscience, my lord?’
‘Not one that troubles me, I can assure you.’
‘I am gratified to hear that. Having a conscience in business is rather like having two pricks. You can satisfy one but only by ignoring the other. And women, are they a weakness of yours?’
Moncrieff took a moment to answer. ‘I am married, Grand Master, as you know well.’
‘I do, but I ask if you have other amorous interests? Do you whore? Do have a lady in high keeping?’
‘You ask me these questions, but you already know the answer.’
The Grand Master laughed. ‘Aye, you’re right. You remain faithful to your wife, and that is most laudable.’
‘She is a fine woman.’
‘She is. And for that reason I do see greatness in you, for if a man cannot be true to the woman he has not only bedded but wedded, then it shows a propensity to disloyalty. And this brotherhood of ours cannot have disloyalty, hence the task in which you and your seekers are engaged at this moment. And you seem to have it well in hand. I commend you.’
Moncrieff inclined his head slightly, wondering at the man’s hypocrisy, for he had a mistress in Edinburgh. ‘I thank you, Grand Master.’
He rose but the conversation was not over. ‘There’s another matter.’
Moncrieff remained on his feet and waited.
‘Jonas Flynt,’ the Grand Master said, and Moncrieff’s muscles stiffened involuntarily. ‘You still harbour ill feeling against this man?’
‘That is a private matter, Grand Master.’
‘Not when it impinges on the work of this brotherhood.’
‘It does not.’
‘That’s my judgement to make.’ The Grand Master’s voice remained cool but the gaze he now directed across the room warned there could be heat to come.
Moncrieff decided to ignore the warning. ‘It is a personal affair and has nothing to do with our enterprise.’
‘I know of the personal nature. Your father’s dalliance with Flynt’s mother was ill-judged to say the least.’
‘There was no such dalliance!’ Moncrieff’s voice rose as the irritation caused earlier boiled over and his fingers tightened on the wolf’s head. ‘The suggestion that one such as Flynt carries my blood in his veins is an abomination to me.’
The Grand Master seemed unperturbed by the anger directed at him. ‘You know I kent your father well, James, and he often allowed his lusts to get the better of him. God knows how many such bastards breathe today because he could not keep his manhood in his breeches. That was one of the reasons he was never invited to join our brotherhood. I saw something more in you, lad, but this hatred of Flynt must not be allowed to continue. It’s bad for business.’
‘He killed my father.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘It cannot go unpunished.’
‘You have already tried and failed. And the means you employed lacked in nuance. Hiring common street thugs to attack him? Dear God, James, has your time with us taught you nothing? Subtlety is everything, man.’
A muscle in Moncrieff’s jaw tightened. ‘It was clumsy, I admit, and I regret it, but I cannot allow this man to live, you must understand that. If he spreads these lies about my father…’
‘He shows no indication that he wishes to acknowledge his relationship to your family.’
Moncrieff could not control his anger. ‘There is no damned relationship!’
The Grand Master sat very still, his gaze down the table towards Moncrieff even. When he spoke again, his voice was low but the steely tone was clear. ‘Have a care before you raise your voice to me again, your lordship.’
Moncrieff realised this time he had crossed a line he was not yet ready to cross. ‘I apologise, Grand Master, but my passions rise when this falsehood is even suggested.’
The apology was accepted with an incline of the head, but the stoney look remained. ‘I would consider the possibility that it is not a falsehood, and that Flynt may well be your half-brother.’
Moncrieff felt colour rise again but he kept his voice low. ‘With respect, sir, he is the son of a damned tavern keeper and a penny whore!’
The Grand Master’s tone saddened. ‘I kent Jenny Flynt, and she was no whore. That was your father’s version. The truth is he took his pleasure against her will. That he fathered a child in that single coupling speaks well for his virility, if not his morals.’
Moncrieff’s anger broke again. ‘That is a damned lie!’
The Grand Master glared at him. ‘I shall not tell you again, sir. Curb that temper when you address me or I will have it curbed.’
Moncrieff’s rage dissipated as swiftly as it rose. The man opposite appeared ineffectual and even flustered when he wished to, but it was all an act. The reality was that with a single word he was capable of destroying everything towards which Moncrieff had worked. Was working. The time would come for a confrontation but not yet, and not over Jonas Flynt. That situation would be resolved first.
The Grand Master maintained a stern expression for a moment, then allowed it to relax. ‘However, I admit that Mr Flynt does pose something of a threat to our brotherhood. I once toyed with the notion of inviting him to join…’ He held up a hand when Moncrieff began to object, ‘…but I see no use for him in our ranks. He’s nothing but a rogue, a thief and a killer, and we have many similar individuals on whom we can call for such dirty work. We know he’s part of the Company of Rogues and though it’s of little threat to us at present, this affair regarding Templeton and his contact with Colonel Charters does make me wonder if some kind of pre-emptive action is necessary. That the good colonel seems aware of our existence was evident in his conversation with you earlier this year.’
‘I believe it was but a shot in the dark.’
‘Perhaps so, but I am aware that secrecy is a rock and time the waters that erodes it. Murmurs can be carried upon the current. That Charters knows or suspects something is clear and Flynt is the strongest weapon in his arsenal. I believe it’s time for that weapon to be spiked.’
He rose from the table and moved leisurely to where the bottle of port sat on a side table. He poured himself another glass, stared at the portrait of their founder for a moment as he sipped at the wine, then slowly turned back.
‘So, my lord, what I am saying is that if you wish to remove Flynt from the equation then do so. But if it is to be done, then do it in such a way that it cannot be traced back to you and, by extension, us.’
Understanding dawned that he was being granted the Fellowship’s blessing to move against Flynt. And with that realisation came suspicion. Was there something moving under the surface of the current of which the Grand Master had spoken?
‘But, for God’s sake, man, remember – subtlety and nuance,’ the Grand Master added. ‘Remain at arm’s length, further if you can. Use intermediaries, keep your distance. Use professionals, not the dregs of the street. Flynt may be a rogue but he is no ordinary rogue. He is a most capable individual. Respect that and act accordingly.’
‘As you say, Grand Master.’
It took every ounce of strength to keep a thin smile from his face as he affected a shallow, but still servile, bow. It flew in the face of his true feelings towards this man to whom he was forced to defer but it was better they remained hidden, until the time was right.
As for Flynt, the matter was already in train.