“No one will believe such a shift in positions,” Forester offered.
Ellershaw ignored the younger man. “You need not worry, Thurmond, about ruin or about what people believe. If you serve the Company, the Company will most assuredly serve you. Should your inclination be to remain in Parliament, we will find a place for you. If you have had a sufficient taste of public service—and, after all your years, certainly no one could find fault in that sentiment—we will find a very lucrative place for you in the Company—perhaps, if your enthusiasm be warm enough, even for your son as well. Yes, young Mr. Thurmond, I am told, is having a rather difficult time finding a place in life. A bit too fond of the bottle, they say. Surely he would like to inherit his father’s sinecure with the East India Company some day. I cannot but think that would put a father’s mind at ease.”
“I cannot believe I am hearing this,” Thurmond said. “I cannot believe that you would stoop to force and threats of violence.”
“I admire your zeal, sir,” Forester tried, “but surely this is too much.”
“Shut your mouth, Forester,” Ellershaw said, “or you shall find yourself in that most uncomfortable chair next. Weaver shall not have a tenth of the disgust for using you as I may ask him to use Thurmond.”
I was grateful that none looked upon me and no answer was asked of me.
“Believe what you wish,” Ellershaw went on. “It is laid out before you, is it not? And you must understand there is a profound moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest. I use force against you now to help to free the British merchant, lest he remain a slave forever to the tyranny of petty regulation.”
“You must be quite mad,” Thurmond managed.
Ellershaw shook his head. “Not mad, I promise you. I have honed my skills under the sun of the Indies, that is all. I learned much from the leaders of the East, and I know that decisive victory is achieved in different ways in different cases. I am not content, sir, to attempt to influence you and then hope for the best. I have made my case. You understand my intent and my willingness to do what is necessary. Now you must begin to work. You surely know that the Company has many ears in Parliament. If I do not hear, and hear soon, that you are beginning to discuss a repeal of the act in a favorable light, you will receive a visit from Mr. Weaver, who shall show none of the restraint he exercises here tonight.”
Thurmond shook his head. “I will not brook such threats.”
“You have no choice.” Ellershaw rose from his chair and walked over to the fire, from which he removed a poker, now glowing red and hot. “Are you familiar with the particulars in which King Edward the Second met his end?”
Thurmond stared and said nothing.
“A burning poker was inserted into his intestines by means of his anus. Of course you know; the world knows. But do you know why it was done thus? The world generally believes it was seen as fitting punishment for his sodomitical inclination, so conceived by the wits of his day, and I do not doubt that his assassins appreciated the irony of so fatal a buggery. But the truth, sir, is that he was killed thus because it left no marks upon his body. If the poker is small enough and carefully inserted, there will be no signs upon the man to indicate how he died. Now, you and I know that the death of a king must be fully inquired into, but the death of a decrepit wretch like yourself—why, who should think twice on the matter?”
Forester now rose. “Sir, I can endure no more of this.”
Ellershaw shrugged. “Leave if you like.”
Forester looked at Thurmond and then at Ellershaw. He made no effort to look upon me. Eyes down, in the perfect manner of a coward, he accepted Ellershaw’s invitation and went out of the room.
Ellershaw returned the poker to the fire and walked back to the table. He poured a glass of wine for Mr. Thurmond and then one for himself. Taking his seat, he raised the glass. “To our new partnership, sir.”
Thurmond did not move.
“Drink the toast,” Ellershaw said. “It would be the prudent thing to do.”
Perhaps it was this gesture of kindness, no matter how grotesque, but something seemed to have shifted. Thurmond reached out for his glass and, refraining from raising it in a toast, he pressed it to his lips and drank greedily.
I must admit I felt some grave disappointment in his cowardice. Yes, he was an old man and scared, but how I wished he had summoned the courage to defy Mr. Ellershaw, to bring the matter to a head. I would refuse to harm the fellow, and perhaps that would have broken the ties between me and this brute.
“Now,” Ellershaw said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “I believe our business is done here. You mentioned something of wanting to depart. You may now do so.”
Recognizing a cue when I heard one, I returned to my seat and, somehow managing to keep my arm steady, drank greedily from my own glass.
Thurmond pushed himself to his feet, and was surprisingly steady. I expected a man of his age, so shocked as he must have been, to tremble prodigiously, but he appeared only mildly confused. He placed a hand upon the doorknob, looked back at Ellershaw, who waved him away with a flick of the wrist, and then he was gone.
I turned to Ellershaw, hoping for—I hardly know what—some sort of shame, I suppose. Instead I received a smile. “That went rather well, I think.”
I said nothing. I attempted to have a look of no particular meaning upon my face.
“You judge my actions, do you, Weaver? A man of action like you? A hero of the pitched battle?”
“I do not know that the threats you have employed are in your own best interests,” I managed.
“Not my best interests?” he answered with a sneer. “You are my club to wield, sir, not my master that I must answer to you. The Court of Proprietors meeting is upon me soon enough, and my enemies will attempt to destroy me. They have something planned. I know they do, and if I don’t affect some change in the nature of things, I shall be quite ruined at Craven House. What is that against the rectum of an old man?”
Here was a question I felt best to consider of a rhetorical nature.
He nodded his head a single time, acknowledging my silence as accord. “Now off with you. I presume you can discover your own way out. And do take the back way, Weaver. I suspect my guests have had quite enough of you for one night.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
T STOOD TO REASON THAT THURMOND REQUIRED A BIT OF TIME TO collect himself before joining his wife, and I imagined he would have wandered off to some dark corner to stop shaking before cheerfully announcing his plans to depart. I, meanwhile, had been instructed to circumvent the parlor and make my way out. But to where?
It occurred to me rather alarmingly that Thurmond might not have been convinced to eschew a magistrate. It was certainly true that a justice would hesitate to pursue charges against a man of Ellershaw’s stature, but it was possible, I thought, he might choose to pursue charges against me. He could, in fact, swear that I had gone rogue and threatened him independently. If I were Thurmond, I would consider such an action, if only as a means to regain my dignity.
It would be prudent, I thought, to follow the man and make certain he went home and not to a magistrate. To that end, I realized I must find my way out and then lurk in the darkness until gaining access to Thurmond’s chaise.
I could only hope that Thurmond required more time for self-collection than I did for navigation, because it soon became apparent that I was lost in Ellershaw’s massive home. Indeed, after several wrong turns through amply lit but deserted hallways, I began to grow anxious that I would miss my chance entirely to trail my prey.