“Perhaps so,” Forester conceded. “It may well be that this is nothing more than a matter of Ellershaw’s wisdom. I do have one difficulty with that theory, however, based on other actions, other inclinations, the man has adopted.”
“And what is that?”
“I believe Ellershaw has grown quite mad. His mind is disordered with an amorous disease. I’m sure you have heard it. Everyone knows it to be true.”
“Sometimes,” I said, with deliberate caginess, “those things everyone knows to be true are the most false things of all.”
“Play not such games with me. You’ve witnessed his behavior for yourself, I’ve no doubt. And even if you choose to ignore the signs of madness engendered by the French pox, you’ve seen that he is a slave to the betel nut, a most disgusting habit he learned from savages in India.”
“Those brown things he eats?” I asked. I chose to let down my guard, for I truly had no idea of this food.
“Yes. I am told they are most addicting, and half of India is in the thrall of this poison. It affects the body, it is said, like coffee—only more strongly; once tasted, it holds its victim in its grip forever. And it produces another side effect.”
“Madness?” I guessed.
“Precisely.”
It took a moment for me to think how I should respond to these accusations. “You appear rather determined to believe that Mr. Ellershaw is mad, and you are most desirous that I believe it too. I wish to please all members of the Court of Committees, but in this I am afraid I cannot help you. You say my benefactor is mad, but I hardly know him well enough to ascertain such a thing, for I have only known him as he is now.”
“Were you to come across a stranger howling at a flock of sheep, Mr. Weaver, you would not need to learn his life’s story nor interview his friends to know the behavior was strange, only if it was unusual for this particular man. Similarly, you should have no difficulty in evaluation by observation, by placing it in context.”
“I must restate my position that I think your observation flawed.”
“Gad, sir, did you not hear him threaten to impale an old man with a burning poker? Is that not madness?”
“He would say it was naught but strategy, and I am new enough to Craven House to know nothing different. I have seen nothing to bring me to such a conclusion. I do know that such charges can be regarded with suspicion when the man making the accusations has much to gain from the ruin of the accused.”
He leaned forward now, adopting an almost avuncular pose. “You have me at a disadvantage, to be certain, but I am not ashamed of what has transpired between me and that lady. You must not think that my accusations stem from my actions. Indeed, it is precisely the opposite. I first met that lady when I grew concerned about her husband’s behavior.”
“Again, I must tell you I have seen no just reason for these accusations.”
“Hmm. And would you tell me if you did? Pray, don’t answer. It is an unfair question, and Mr. Ellershaw is your patron. I know you to be a man of honor, sir, who does not like to betray a man who has helped you. But I beg you to recollect that your true business is to help the Company, not a single man within it. If you should see anything that would indicate that Mr. Ellershaw is not acting within the Company’s interest, or perhaps is not capable of so acting, I hope you will come to me. That is the nature of a company, after all.”
“I believed the nature of a company was making money regardless of the consequences.”
“Nonsense. The word derives from the Latin, com panis, signifying the act of baking bread together. That is what we do. We are not individual men seeking our own fortune; rather we are a collective, baking our bread in union.”
“I am delighted to learn that we engage in such useful and brotherly activities.”
“Now that you have learned, I must beg you not to encourage him with any further nonsense. Blue cloth suits, indeed. Do you believe you shall further your cause here by making him the object of public humiliation?”
“I only made a suggestion. I hardly think it of such great import.”
“Then you do not understand how impressionable his mind has become. Or perhaps you do not wish to. Mr. Ellershaw pays you, so you, I suspect, will feel an impulse to inform him of this conversation. I beg you not to do so. It is important you understand that I am not his enemy but the Company’s friend, and if he were to believe I conspired against him, the Company would suffer in the ensuing confusion. And you must know I don’t conspire against him, I merely work for the good of the Company. Someone must rise to his stature once he is gone.”
“And that would be you, I suppose. An interesting thing to say, as he has made no suggestion that he wishes to be gone. Yet you claim to act only out of concern for the Company’s interest.” I chose to nock my arrow and let it fly. “In whose interest is your congress with his wife?”
To his credit, he did not look away. “Matters of the heart cannot always be controlled by will alone. You are a man, Weaver, and must know that.”
I could not but think of Miss Glade, and for a moment I felt a true sympathy for Forester. I soon recollected myself, however, when I considered the death of Carmichael. Whatever sadness of the heart he might feel did not excuse his monstrous schemes. “I have already told you I should not like to be the one to make such a revelation to Mr. Ellershaw. And as to this conversation, I would hate to be the cause of discord within these walls, particularly while I inhabit them myself.”
He smiled at me. “You show great wisdom.”
“It is not wisdom, merely prudence. I hardly wish to involve myself in matters outside the purview of our bread-baking, despite what Mrs. Ellershaw believes. That lady accused me of involving myself in an inquiry about which I know nothing. What precisely does she think to be Mr. Ellershaw’s interest in her daughter?”
He smiled. “You are sly, sir. You tell me you have no interest in the matter, and yet you attempt to trick me into revealing information of the most delicate nature.”
“If you do not wish to speak of it, that is of no concern. I may choose to ask Mr. Ellershaw after all.”
He half rose. “You must not. I believe Mrs. Ellershaw is wrong, and her husband does not pursue her daughter, but if you speak of this, it may well awaken the sleeping beast of curiosity.”
“Then perhaps you should tell me.”
He sighed. “I will tell you only this. The girl, Bridget Alton, was Mrs. Ellershaw’s daughter by a previous marriage. Truly a striking girl, if I may be permitted to so observe. Very much like her mother—tall, with the whitest skin I have ever observed, and hair so blond as to be nearly white, yet her eyes are of the most remarkably dark brown. It made her most arresting, and we could take her nowhere without men stopping to stare. That she was attached to a family of some importance and possessed a significant settlement only increased her luster. Yet, despite these advantages, she chose to wed without her family’s permission. It was one of those sordid clandestine marriages; you know the sort. Mr. Ellershaw, though he would hardly exchange two words with her at table, flew into a rage. He promised to track the girl down and punish her, so Mrs. Ellershaw has made every effort to conceal the girl from her husband’s attentions.”
“It is a private family matter, then,” I proposed. “Nothing to do with the baking of bread.”
“Precisely.”
I thought it most expedient to act as though I believed him and thus rose and offered him an immediate bow. As I reached for the door, he called me once more.