Chapter 160: The Crown’s Jewels (4)
Chapter 160: The Crown’s Jewels (4)
Late December, 1792.
London, 10 Downing Street.
“I am Richard Wellesley, Member of the House of Commons for the Tory Party. I have come to see the Prime Minister.”
Richard Wellesley stepped down from his carriage and said this to the guards blocking his path.
“Yes, sir. Please go ahead.”
The guards had only stopped him for formality’s sake. They had no intention of enforcing the rules strictly. No one wished to provoke a powerful man and become the object of his anger.
After entering the residence, Wellesley handed his coat to an attendant and walked into the reception room where Prime Minister Pitt usually enjoyed tea and refreshments.
As expected, William Pitt was there, working while drinking tea.
“Prime Minister, may I have a moment of your time?”
“Hm? Lord Wellesley.”
William Pitt stood from his seat as Wellesley entered.
“Is something serious? Surely our Tory Party’s ‘old friend,’ the Whig leader Edmund Burke, hasn’t been spouting nonsense again in Westminster?”
“No, it isn’t about Mr. Burke.”
“Then what is it?”
“It isn’t something that can be discussed standing. We should sit.”
At Wellesley’s words, Pitt nodded and gestured toward the chairs.
After both men were seated, Wellesley spoke.
“It concerns the East India Company.”
“…Sigh. What have they done this time?”
Pitt spoke as though he already had a headache.
The East India Company—the source of countless disasters. Thirty thousand dead in the Bengal famine, countless lives lost after the Boston Tea incident.
For Pitt, who had spent more than a decade cleaning up the company’s endless scandals, it felt like raising a mischievous child who constantly caused trouble.
But Wellesley smiled.
“That isn’t it, Prime Minister. We have found an opportunity to put a gag on the East India Company.”
“Is that true?”
Interest flashed in Pitt’s eyes.
Whenever the government attempted to punish the East India Company, a storm followed.
People bribed by the company, shareholders protecting their interests, and even free-trade advocates like Adam Smith flooded the Tory headquarters with furious letters.
Newspapers—tempted by Indian gold—accused the government of oppressing private enterprise. The company itself sued the government for violating property rights.
And the Whig Party never missed such opportunities.
“Pitt, the second Cromwell! Bring down the tyrant! Send Edmund Burke and the Whigs to Downing Street!”
They had attempted to seize the premiership more than once.
“Do you think the Whigs will quietly allow us to gag the East India Company?”
Pitt spoke calmly, though memories of those struggles made him shudder internally.
But Wellesley only smiled again.
“This time they won’t have a choice.”
“Hm. What kind of plan gives you such confidence?”
“Have you heard of something called an ‘affiliate company’?”
From that point on, Wellesley explained the plan for several hours.
And the more Pitt listened, the more intrigued he became.
“So by using this accounting concept of an affiliate company, we could employ an ordinary accounting firm to effectively place a leash on the East India Company. An ingenious idea.”
“They have always insisted their corporate rights must be respected. If another company becomes their affiliate, they cannot simply ignore it.”
Wellesley smiled.
Pitt nodded repeatedly.
The thought of the East India Company being trapped by its own logic was irresistible.
“Haha. I was already considering whether we should pass a new India Act, but this provides a fine opportunity. Did you devise this plan yourself, Mr. Wellesley?”
“No. It was Minister Guillaume de Toulon.”
“…Guillaume de Toulon?”
Pitt stopped smiling and stroked his chin.
He disliked the idea of a foreigner meddling in British affairs.
Wellesley immediately reassured him.
“Prime Minister, there is nothing to worry about. An affiliate company can only review commercial matters. Military information—saltpeter, gunpowder—can never fall into the hands of that Frenchman.”
“I see… If you have reviewed everything, then I trust your judgment.”
Only then did Pitt relax.
After all, it was Pitt himself who had placed Wellesley on the Board of Control because he admired his meticulous work.
‘Yes. Wellesley would not overlook such matters.’
Pitt extended his hand.
“You have done excellent work.”
“It is nothing compared to the responsibilities you carry, Prime Minister.”
They shook hands.
Even after Wellesley departed, Pitt remained in the reception room thinking.
‘Perhaps those who have handled money truly think differently.’
Guillaume de Toulon…
Pitt had invited him to Britain out of curiosity.
Now that curiosity was only growing stronger.
After a moment, Pitt took out a sheet of paper and began writing.
“Is anyone there?”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
“Send this letter to Guillaume de Toulon at the Ears of the Nation.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
The attendant carefully took the letter and left.
Guillaume de Toulon… If I’ve allowed you this much freedom in Britain, the least you can do is show your face once.
Alone in the residence, Pitt slowly raised his teacup while watching sleet fall outside—so typical of gloomy London.
London, No. 7 Riverside Street.
Price Accounting Firm.
That morning, I sorted the papers delivered to me into two piles.
The first pile:
[East India Company Share Certificate — Issued 1783]
The second pile…
Honestly, I didn’t understand why this had been sent to me.
[To His Excellency Guillaume de Toulon, Acting Controller-General of the Treasury of the French Revolutionary Kingdom. If possible, I would like to meet with you soon.]
That part was fine.
Since arriving in Britain, the number of letters addressed to me had increased dramatically.
But the sender’s address was another matter entirely.
[- 10 Downing Street, London -]
The Prime Minister’s residence.
I had no idea why William Pitt wanted to meet me.
But the more businessmen became entangled with politicians, the deeper they sank into endless trouble.
Whether this letter was a love letter or a warning telling me to stop causing trouble, meeting the Prime Minister would change everything.
If it was the former, I would inevitably be dragged into some complicated political matter.
If it was the latter, I would have to keep my head down and quietly leave Britain.
Right now was the perfect situation.
If pressed, I could simply claim I was too busy.
I folded the letter carefully and placed it deep in my desk drawer.
Surely storing a letter wouldn’t bring bad luck.
Yes.
That was trash. Just trash.
“So how much have we gathered so far?”
Closing the drawer, I walked to the safe where share certificates sent by Amschel Rothschild from Portsmouth and Nathan Rothschild from Manchester were piled high.
“About nine percent of the shares.”
“Nine percent!”
I couldn’t help laughing.
Not out of displeasure—but admiration.
Even with support from myself and the British Treasury, acquiring this many shares and bonds secretly in just two months was remarkable.
The Rothschild family’s reputation clearly came from skill, not luck.
But as a human being, my greed kept growing.
We had been collecting shares for about two months now.
Soon the three months’ worth of leather I had reluctantly purchased from the East India Company would run out.
Even now the profit margin was thin.
When that happened, who knew what absurd terms they might impose next?
Perhaps twenty times the price.
After all, these were the same people who had caused a war because no one wanted to buy their tea.
“Sigh… if only it were faster.”
“Sir, I understand your impatience, but avoiding detection by East India Company spies is even more important.”
I could only nod.
The Baring family, the largest shareholders controlling the company’s board, would immediately notice if someone bought a large number of shares at once.
Baring Bank, functioning as the Royal Bank, would certainly trace the source of the funds.
If they discovered our scheme, Wellesley’s political career would end, and I would be expelled from Britain before recovering even my investment.
Therefore everything had to be done through multiple layers of proxy accounts.
“Britain’s markets are too orderly. That makes this difficult.”
“Indeed. If the market were a little more chaotic, things would move faster.”
Mayer nodded.
I stared at him for a moment.
“If the market becomes chaotic, things move faster?”
“Exactly. Every transaction must be recorded by hand. From the perspective of someone controlling the flow of funds, that can cause considerable confusion.”
“Ah… handwritten records. Of course.”
There were no modern computers in the eighteenth century.
Stockbrokers wrote down every transaction by hand and changed prices using wooden boards marked with numbers.
If one exploited that inconvenience…
Perhaps the flow of money itself could be shaken.