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.
“How much is it that Mr. Ellershaw pays you?”
“We agreed upon forty pounds a year.”
He nodded. “For a man with your varied mode of income, the regularity of payment must be very pleasant.”
I paused for a moment. Was he toying with me? Did he have some inkling that Mr. Ellershaw paid me only a fraction of what I might hope to earn if I practiced my usual trade? I had to presume not, so I merely assented and left the room.
I SUPPOSE THE DEVIL was in me, for I did not hesitate upon leaving Forester’s office to pay a visit to Mr. Ellershaw. Perhaps I wished to punish the man I believed responsible for Carmichael ’s death, and perhaps I merely wished to stir up the hornet’s nest to see what emerged. No matter, I decided; I had let things stand long enough, and if I were to make progress I would need to make a move, even if it be the wrong one.
I found Ellershaw alone, and he invited me in though he was busy reviewing some lengthy documents and appeared to resent the intrusion. “Yes, yes, what is it?”
I closed his door. “Sir, I have just come from the summons of Mr. Forester.”
He looked up from his document. “Yes?”
“I believe, Mr. Ellershaw, he may mean you more harm than you know.”
I now had his full attention. “Explain yourself.”
“He wished me to confess your schemes and meanings.” I took a deep breath. “He warned me from putting my faith in you and-well, sir, he told me you were mad.”
“The devil take it!” he shouted, and slammed his hand so hard upon his desk that a bowl of tea rattled and spilled. “Damn you, Weaver, have I asked you to play tattler with my fellow members of the Court? What impudence is this? This damn Court of Proprietors meeting is breathing down my neck, I tell you. I am fighting for my very stature, and you bring me this nonsense!”
I confess his rage at me took me by the greatest surprise. For a moment, I felt the full force of his upbraiding. “I believe,” I managed to say, “that you informed me of secret committees plotting against you and the need to discover this prior to the meeting of the Court. Surely Mr. Forester’s efforts to undermine your work and reputation-”
“Quiet!” he shouted. “Enough of your palaver. I shan’t endure such disloyal talk from a mere underling. If I were in India, I should have you thrown to tigers for what you say. Have you no knowledge of what a company is, what it means to be part of a company?”
“I understand you put much stock in the communal baking of bread,” I ventured.
“Go see to your tasks,” he said to me, his voice now more quiet, his temper more restrained, though he still appeared as though he might once more roar with the least provocation. “See to your duties and I shall see to mine, and trouble me no more with your theories of secret committees and plots. If you make trouble for me, Weaver, when there is so much to be lost, you will regret it, I promise you. And replace that damned dead man, I tell you. I shan’t have any positions unfilled because there’s a fool crushed by crates.”
And so I was dismissed, that I might contemplate all the errors I had made during the day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THAT NIGHT I MET WITH MR. BLACKBURN AT THE TAVERN OF HIS choosing. It was a neat place with many candles and lamps, in Shadwell near the timber yard, sufficiently far from Craven House for him to believe he was quite safe from discovery there. Inside, an unremarkable selection of middling men-tradesmen, small merchants, even a bespectacled clergyman-took their quiet drinks and meals. Blackburn and I found seats near the fire, for the warmth and because Blackburn explained that any accidental spills would dry more quickly there. Once we had sat, a handsome girl came over and asked us for our orders.
“Who are you?” Blackburn demanded. “Where is Jenny?”
“Jenny ain’t well, so I’m here for her.”
“That shan’t do,” Blackburn said. “I want Jenny.”
“It must do,” the girl answered, “for Jenny’s got the flux and so shooting blood out her arse she’s not like to live, so you’ll have to make do with me, won’t you, my sweet?”
“I suppose you will have to suffice,” he said, with evident glumness, “but you must let her know I take this most unkindly. Very well, I shall have-damn it, be prepared to listen, I say. I will have a pot of ale, but I must make myself very clear. You are to wash the pot very carefully before I am brought it. Wash it, I say, and dry it with a clean cloth. There must be no dirt upon it, nor any foreign matter in the ale. You are to make very careful inspection before I am brought what I order. Mind me now, girl. If you don’t, you’ll answer to Mr. Derby.”
She turned to me without pausing, as though such odd requests were best dismissed with no comment. “And you, sir?”
“Also a pot,” I said. “But I shan’t complain, if the amount of dirt is not above the usual.”
The girl departed and came back in a few minutes, setting our pots down before us.