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He grinned, and I gave him a chuckle in response.
The man was Mr. Jennings, a longtime acquaintance of our family and an important force within the East India Company. He was a Cambridge man, just like myself.
“I’ll take care of the Lord, Newton. Go and do something useful, will you?”
The young clerk scurried off, his face full of shameful anger.
It was then that Mr. Jennings noticed Amelia, standing behind me. He looked quickly from her to me, and then back again, his eyebrows raising slightly.
He knew my reputation… and my father’s before me. He likely assumed Amelia was my mistress. I knew he would honor our privacy… at least to our faces.
“This way, my Lord.” He said finally, leading us out of a back entrance and towards the Company’s exclusive docks.
As we walked by ships and rough and tumble sailors, I watched Amelia’s face. She stared at her surroundings with great interest.
“Are you fascinated?”
I finally asked, desperate to know what she thought.
“It’s interesting.”
“Not quite Almacks.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Tragic, I was hoping for a polite dance with a sailor.”
I snickered.
Mr. Jennings turned, leading us to a secluded loading area.
“Lord Marsden, your shipment is here.” He said, his eyes flickering to a small building to our right.
The door was locked, and he began to fish a key out of his breech pocket.
“Will the lady be joining you…?”
Before Amelia could say something impertinent, I answered.
“No. Please chaperone her as I… ensure the shipment is correct.”
Amelia could come on this excursion with me, sure. But she couldnotknow the real reason I was here.
That, I was afraid, was a step too far.
Mr. Jennings swung the door of the storage room open, letting light flood the room. I stepped inside, leaving both of them behind me. Inside the room, the air was cooler and heavier, and still from the lack of breeze. The sounds of the sailors on the dock outside were muted, as if they were occurring miles away, not yards.
I strode down the familiar aisles. I had been here countless times over the past few years. Ever since my father had died, I had inherited the responsibility. I had loathed my father when he’d been alive… now in death, I loathed him all the more for leaving me with the most miserable of tasks.
But there was no way around it. All I could do was do it, and then begone… and try to forget. I opened the first wooden crate carefully, prying the top off with a metal hammer.
Inside, layers of thick opium paste were wrapped carefully in red wrappers. The inside of the box was stamped with the insignia of the East India Company. Such opium was usually imported into China and constituted the majority of the Company’s profits. Many men had been made rich off of the intoxicating seeds of poppy.
But this opium was meant for somewhere far less exotic.
Just a taste of it would send a man into a drug-fueled ecstasy; addiction was nearly unavoidable. Over time, it destroyed the brain… rendering its longtime users effectively ghosts, still breathing, yet not alive.
I had seen it before, and it hit all too close to home.
I opened the rest of the crates, ensuring that the drug was untampered with. Once I was sufficiently pleased, I took my leave of the place. As I strode out the door, emerging to see Amelia and Mr. Jennings waiting patiently in the summer light, I let out a deep breath.
