AADIL DID NOT SHOW himself that day, and I began to wonder if he would show himself at all. He must have known I had seen him, and now he could no longer pretend to be a disinterested if hostile worker and no more. He had played his hand too openly, and while I had no doubt he would continue to serve Forester, I suspected his days of doing so at Craven House had come to an end.
I planned that night to pursue my final unexplored link to the seemingly charming Pepper—that is to say, his Mr. Teaser, whom his Twickenham wife had set me upon. I no sooner was ready to leave the India yard when Ellershaw, once more, requested me.
In his office, again, was the very efficient Mr. Viner. Efficient, I say, because he had already managed to construct a suit based on the measurements he had taken that morning. He held out to me a neatly folded pile of clothes of light blue cast, as Mr. Ellershaw stood observing in an absurd posture, showing off a suit of exactly the same color.
I understood at once, recalling—and regretting—my own suggestion that this feminine cloth be turned into masculine suits. Ellershaw had taken my notion to heart and chosen to grab the domestic market in the only way possible, should his efforts fail.
“Put it on,” he said, with an eager nod.
I stared at him and I stared at the suit. It is difficult for me to explain just how precisely absurd he looked, and how absurd I was sure to look by his side. These cottons would surely make pretty bonnets, but a suit of robin’s-egg blue for a man—a man who was not the most absurd dandy—could hardly be imagined. And yet, as I stood there, I knew I could not very well say that such a thing was not to my taste. I could hardly turn my nose up at it, however aesthetically practical but socially and morally abhorrent.
“It is very kind of you,” I said, hearing the weakness in my own voice.
“Well, put it on, put it on. Let’s see if Viner is up to his usual good work.”
I looked about the office. “Is there some place for me to change?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re bashful. Come, come. Let’s see that suit on your back.”
And so I stripped to my shirt and stockings and put on over them this monstrous blue suit. And as much as I disliked the thing, I had to be impressed with how well such a hastily constructed thing fit.
Viner circled around me, tugging here and pulling there, and finally turned to Ellershaw with evident satisfaction. “It’s very nice,” he said, as though praising Ellershaw’s work rather than his own.
“Oh, indeed. Very nice indeed, Viner. Your usual fine work.”
“Your servant.” The tailor bowed deeply and left the room, dismissed by some unseen cue.
“Are you prepared to go?” Ellershaw asked me.
“To go, sir?”
“Oh, yes. These suits are not meant for private enjoyment. Hardly does us any good at all, now, does it? We must be seen. We are going out to let London have a look at us in these clothes.”
“I had a rather urgent appointment tonight,” I began. “Perhaps if you had mentioned this earlier, but as things stand now I’m not sure I can order—”
“Whatever appointment you have, you should be delighted to miss.” He said it with such confidence that for an instant even I didn’t doubt it. “Good, then. Let’s be off.”
I nodded and affected an enthusiastic smile, though I felt absolute certain that I resembled a man choking to his death.
IN HIS EQUIPAGE, Ellershaw explained that we were heading for Sadler’s Wells to feast upon food and the gaze of others. He cryptically warned that I must expect there an unpleasant surprise, but when we arrived I could divine nothing unpleasant about the gardens except our own attire and the stares and sniggers we drew. Great fires had been set outside to make dining al fresco possible in the cold, but everyone chose to stay in the main house.
It was still early, but there were a fair number of people already in attendance, enjoying the expensive and not particularly good food served at such vivacious places of entertainment. I must say that our entrance sparked a great deal of notice, but Mr. Ellershaw met each open stare and sneer with a good-natured bow. He led me to a table and then ordered wine and some cheese pastries. A few gentlemen came over to greet him, but Ellershaw made no return of any friendly nature. He merely exchanged platitudes and, without bothering to introduce me, sent them on their way.
“I wonder,” I said, “if this was a terribly good idea.”
“Don’t you worry, my good man,” he said. “All will be well.”
We sat there for an hour or more, listening to a group of musicians whose bare competence strained the imagination. I lost myself in a silent reverie of discomfort until a shadow crossed over me, and when I looked up I was astonished to find none other than Mr. Thurmond before us.
“You both look absurd,” he said.
“Ah, Thurmond.” Ellershaw shifted in his seat, clearly delighted. “Please, join us.”
“I think not,” he said, but he nevertheless pulled out a chair and sat at our table. He reached over and poured a healthy quantity of our wine into his own glass. I must admit I was somewhat impressed by his casual air. “I really can’t think what you hope to accomplish. Do you imagine that the two of you can, single-handedly, create a fashion frenzy? Who among the bon ton would wear such a suit?”
“As to that, I cannot say,” Ellershaw answered. “Perhaps no one, perhaps everyone. But if you and your kind are determined to limit what we can import into this country, I think you will find that I am equally determined to prevent your measures from having any effect. It is a new kind of world trade, Mr. Thurmond, and you can no longer pretend that what happens in London shall have no influence on Bombay—or, perhaps more importantly, the other way around.”
“You are nothing but fools,” Thurmond said. “You think to save yourself with this nonsense? It shall never happen. Even if these liveries of yours were to be popular, blue suits would rule the day for but a season or two. You would have a few good years and then be no better off than you are now. You might have gained some time, but nothing more.”
“In matters of trade, a season or two is an eternity,” Ellershaw said. “I disdain to look farther ahead than that. Indeed, I live from one meeting of the Court of Proprietors to the next, and if the world be damned in six months, I care nothing for it.”
“That position,” he said, “is an absurdity—much like your suits.”
“Think what you like, sir. You may choose to defy the Company if you wish. For all I know, that is the only thing that will continue to get you elected to your seat. But we shall see who survives longer, the East India Company or your desiccated wool. Oh, I daresay. Is that young man coming in not the duke of Norwich’s heir? And, I do believe those cheerful friends he’s with are the very toast of the world of fashion.”
Thurmond turned to look, and his jaw fell open with surprise and even something like horror. Here came Ellershaw’s Holy Trinity, his fashionable cadre—all handsome and self-satisfied young men—with an equal number of young ladies about them. Each one wore a suit made out of blue India cotton. The ladies, too, wore gowns of blue India cotton, so that they moved together in a great azure swirl. The entire assembly hall glanced over to them and then back to us, and I understood at once that though we were regarded as objects of derision when we first entered, we now became objects of envy.
Ellershaw nodded with satisfaction. “Every man in this room is now thinking of how he can best reach his tailor to have one of these suits made up.”
Thurmond pushed himself away from the table. “It is but a temporary victory,” he said.
Ellershaw smiled. “My dear sir, I am a man of business, and I have spent my entire life with the knowledge that there is no other kind.”