The Devil's Company (22 page)

The older gentleman appeared at least partially gratified. “Mr. Forester’s mistake is an understandable one, for the cloth is very like an Indian one.”

“That cotton is crude enough to rub the crust off a chimney sweep,” Ellershaw called out. “Forester is an ignorant pup, I say. He knows nothing of textiles, just business. No harm meant, Forester. I have the greatest respect, and so on and so forth, but even the most remarkable intellect may be a dunce when it comes to textiles.”

Forester had by now turned bright red with mortification, but he said nothing.

“As Mr. Forester has observed,” Thurmond said, “American cotton can be spun with increasing skill to resemble Indian imports. This example may not deceive an aficionado such as yourself, but it may well fool the average lady in search of a gown. Even if it should not, new inventions are made all the time, and soon enough it will be impossible to tell the Indian from the American. Our native linens are being made with lighter threads, more like Indian fabrics, and wool and linen can be combined with great skill. Mr. Forester’s mistake is an easy one to understand. The days of Indian imports are near over anyhow.”

“I defy your argument. Mr. Forester may not be able to tell American cotton from his own shite, but there’s not a lady of fashion or a clothes-loving beau on the island that would have been so fooled.”

“As I say, perhaps not yet but soon.”

“And what is to motivate these inventions?” Ellershaw demanded. “If people cannot have their India cloth, then the textile workers have no reason to improve their goods, for they own the market. It is the competition, you know, that will drive them.”

“But they can’t compete with these Indian workers, men and women who live as slaves, earning pennies per day at most. Even if we could produce textiles here in every way indistinguishable from the Indian, they would cost far more because we must pay our laborers more.”

“The laborers must learn to do with less,” Forester suggested.

“Fie, Mr. Forester, fie. Men must eat and sleep and dress themselves. We cannot ask them to make do with less because the Moguls of the Indies can demand that of their people. It is for that reason that we need the legislation. Is it not the government’s role to step in and solve such problems?”

“It ought not to be,” Ellershaw said. “I have spent my life in the trade, and if there is anything I have learned it is that government is not the solution to our problems. Rather, sir, government
is
the problem. A freely trading society in which the man of business is not taxed or burdened or hindered is the only truly free society imaginable.”

“What freedom is this?” Thurmond demanded. “Sir, I know of your freedoms. I know that the East India Company controls more than one workhouse, and you conspire to have silk weavers arrested and put to work there, spinning without wages. And you, through your influence, have encouraged the growth of silk laborer colonies outside the metropolis, where wages are lower.”

“What of it?” Ellershaw demanded.

“Do you think the world blind to your schemes? Why, I have even heard that there are agents of the Company among the silk workers. The men poor laborers often trust to look out for their advantage look out instead for the advantage of their oppressors. You contrive to lower the wages of silk workers so that silk working is no longer viable. You plan for the future, I see, to make silk so hard to come by at home that people will clamor once more for Indian imports.”

I thought of Devout Hale’s man, taken by the constable and thrown in the workhouse. Now it appeared he had been caught in a trap set by the East India Company with the goal of crushing the competition. And what chance did Hale and his men have? They were but people who had to live and eat and support their families. The Company had stood for a hundred years and would surely be standing a hundred years hence. It seemed to me that mortals did battle with gods.

Thurmond—who had, perhaps, made too free with his wine-continued to berate Ellershaw. “You do what you like, you harm whom you like, and yet you call yourselves the Honorable Company? Better to call yourselves the Devil’s Company, if you are to put a true face on it. You imprison and break spirits and seek to contain all trade for yourself, and yet you speak of freedom. What freedom is this?”

“The only freedom imaginable, sir. A republic of commerce that spans the globe, in which we may buy and sell without regard to tariffs or duties. That is the natural evolution of things, and I shall fight to bring it about.”

Thurmond gurgled doubtfully into his goblet. “A world controlled by those who care only for acquisition and profit must be a world of terrors indeed. Companies concern themselves only with how much money they can make. Governments at least look after the well-being of all—the poor, the unfortunate, and even the laborers, whose work must be cultivated, not exploited.”

“You are a mighty fine man to speak of the laborers,” Forester chimed in. “You own, sir, a vast estate in which the raising of sheep is your principal source of revenue. Is it not for your own benefit, your own investment in the wool trade, rather than the good of the laborers, that you seek to curtail the business of importation?”

“It is true that I earn my income from wool, but I do not see why I should be condemned for doing so. My lands bring in wealth, yes, but they also bring employment and substance to those who live on my lands, those who work the wool we produce, those who sell the products. There is a great chain of benefit that rises from natively produced goods. Imports, while they may benefit the few and indulge the tastes of the fashionable, do not contribute to the greater good.”

“The wealth of the nation is the greater good, sir, the only greater good. And when the merchants and industrious men of the nation are wealthy, then those blessings will disseminate to all who live in the land. That is but truth, sir, and a simple one at that.”

“I fear we will go round and round for an age and yet never convince our friend. Far better we understand that he has his position as we have ours,” Forester proposed, “and we must live with one another accordingly.”

“Yes, yes, very diplomatic, Mr. Forester, but diplomacy will get us nowhere, and it is, in my opinion, a sign of weakness. Still, I know your efforts are well intended. Spirit of friendship and all that.”

“Indeed, and now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I am afraid I must depart rather early tonight.” Forester rose from his chair.

“Somewhere more important to be, sir?” Ellershaw demanded, his voice not as unkind as his words. Still, there was no mistaking that he spoke with all the malice of a crouching predator.

“No, no, nothing of the kind. My wife mentioned to me that she was feeling unwell earlier, and I perceived she wished to depart early.”

“Feeling unwell? Are you speaking against the food I’ve served?”

“Not at all. We have been delighted by your hospitality, but she has suffered from a bit of a chest cold of late, and I believe it may be returning.”

“Hardly surprising, woman of her age. Marry younger, not older. That would have been my advice to you, Forester; had you asked, it could have done you some good. Yes, yes, I know your father made you marry that crone for her money, but you might have made a greater impression upon him had you refused to listen to his foul advice.”

Seeing that Forester was too stunned to speak, Thurmond volunteered himself to throw some water on the fire of Ellershaw’s discourse. “I see not what difference age makes to that happy estate, so long as it is a compatible match.”

Forester said nothing, but the expression on his face evidenced that the match was by no means compatible.

Ellershaw chose to ignore this intervention. “Sit, Forester. There is still much to discuss.”

“I should prefer not to,” he said.

“And I tell you to sit.” He turned to Thurmond. “The boy thinks to take my place at Craven House, you know. He must learn when it becomes a man to stay and when it becomes him to leave.”

Thurmond could not much like the growing thickness of the air. He rose himself. “I believe I shall take leave as well.”

“What is this, a mutiny? All hands on deck!” his host cried.

“It is late, and I am an old man,” Thurmond said. “We shall leave you to your quiet.”

“I require no quiet. Both of you sit that I may further entertain you.”

“You are too kind. Nevertheless,” Thurmond answered with a forced smile, most certainly having enjoyed more than his fill of Ellershaw’s company, “I have had a long day, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps I have been unclear,” Ellershaw said. “I must insist you not leave. We have not yet concluded our business.”

Thurmond, who now stood by his chair, turned to study his host. “I beg your pardon?”

“You may not leave. Do you think I invite a pugilist Jew to dine with us because of his charming conversation and great learning? Don’t be a blockhead. Weaver, be so good as to see that Mr. Thurmond returns to his chair.”

“I must protest, Mr. Ellershaw,” Forester said, “but I cannot think this is right.”

Ellershaw slammed his hand upon the table. “No one,” he roared, “asked what you think!” And then, as though a candle had been snuffed, his rage was gone; he went on with much gentleness. “There is much for you to learn, and I would fain teach it to you. Thurmond, I promise you, goes nowhere, and I think you should sit.”

Forester obeyed.

Ellershaw turned to me. “Weaver, see that Mr. Thurmond puts his arse in his chair.”

I saw that once again Mr. Ellershaw expected me to be his ruffian, and once again I wished no part of it. Nevertheless, I also understood that this was not like the incident in the warehouse. Refusing to follow his commands would not be met with a nod and a wink. No, this time I would have to buy time and see just how far this brute intended to push matters. Certainly, I told myself, he must understand that a man unwilling to beat a warehouse guardian will not be pushed to strike an elderly Parliamentarian. That was my hope.

Unable to find a better course, I rose to my feet and stood between Mr. Thurmond and the door. I folded my arms and attempted to look stoically strong.

“What is this, sir?” Thurmond demanded with a stammer. “You cannot keep me against my will.”

“I’m afraid I can, sir. What might you do to stop me?”

“I can go to the magistrate, and you may be assured that I will do so if you do not let me depart this instant.”

“The magistrate.” Ellershaw let out a laugh. “Forester, he speaks of magistrates. That is a good joke. Indeed, you must first be permitted to leave for you to speak to the magistrate. But presuming I were to let you leave—say you were to make it out of my house without suffering from an apoplexy or fatal seizure, which no one would question in a man of your years—who would believe such a preposterous tale? And to whom do you think the magistrate owes greater fealty, sir? The East India Company, which rewards magistrates for sending silk weavers to workhouses, or you? Magistrate indeed.”

Ellershaw rose to his feet and approached his guest, who had grown pale and trembling. His eyes darted back and forth and his lips moved as though mumbling a prayer, though I did not think he actually formed any words.

“I’ve asked you to sit,” Ellershaw said, and he gave the old man a mighty push in his chest.

“Sir!” Forester barked.

Thurmond fell backward into his chair, knocking his head against the wooden back. I changed my position to get a better look at his face, and I observed that his eyes had gone red and moist and his lips continued to tremble. Then, mastering his emotions, he turned to Forester. “Do not trouble yourself. We shall be done with this indignity soon enough.”

Ellershaw returned to his seat and met Thurmond’s eye. “Let me speak plainly to you. This session of Parliament will see a repeal of the 1721 legislation. You will support the repeal. If you speak in favor of rescinding the act, if you become a spokesman for the freedom of trade, we will carry the day.”

“And if I choose otherwise?” Thurmond managed.

“There is a man in your county, sir, a Mr. Nathan Tanner. Perhaps you know his name. I am assured he will win the election if something should happen to you, sir, and I can promise you that he will, despite all appearances, take the Company’s side in things. We would much rather have you speak for us, I won’t deny it, but we will take Tanner if we must.”

“But I cannot,” he said, spittle flying from his mouth as he blurted out the words. “I have built my life, my career, on protecting the wool interest. I shall be ruined, made a mockery.”

“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.”