Malcolm puts his knife and fork down and, with a contented sigh, settles back into his chair. Jo and Ruth wait expectantly.
‘I think with George Eliot we need to go back to the start. She was from a comfortable, but by no means wealthy background. Her childhood, I think, was a sad one.’ He nods slowly, ‘She was sent away to boarding school at five. Her mother was a distant woman and died young. I believe George Eliot then fixated on her father and strived, in her mind, to make him the good and loving parent she so dearly needed.’ Malcolm pauses. ‘But he was sadly wanting. And I do not believe the rest of her family were much better.’
‘In what way?’ Jo asks, pushing her empty plate away and reaching for her wine glass.
‘Well, certainly in their reaction to her choices.’
‘Living with a married man,’ Jo remembers.
‘Yes, and her questioning of God,’ Malcolm says, half smiling and raising his glass in ironic salute to the Reverend Ruth. ‘Also, her refusal to come back to the family home when her father died, and live out her life like a good spinster should – nursing the family and being an unpaid housekeeper.’
‘So neither a dogsbody or a godsbody,’ Ruth comments wryly, her eyes gleaming. She is sitting with her chin in her hand, one elbow on the table, her face flushed.
‘Precisely,’ Malcolm says, appreciatively.
‘As a young woman, George Eliot had the worst possible taste in men. She had a series of undignified, misguided crushes on mainly older men, often married. I suppose she was searching for a figure to replace her mother, her father … oh, when I think of that poor child sent away at five.’ Malcolm shakes his head. (Jo notices Ruth’s eyes are following Malcolm’s cravat.) ‘No wonder she felt in want of a protector, a mentor and, above all, unconditional love.’
‘And did she find it?’ Jo asks, wistfully.
‘She most certainly did – a bit later on in life, it is true, but she and George Lewes were very happy together. There was no doubt it was a meeting of the hearts as well as the minds. And George protected her, giving her the mental space and confidence to write. She was always a brave woman, but I believe he made her braver, enabling her to fulfil her potential.’
Malcolm concludes, ‘So, yes, George Eliot: a damaged woman, a tricky character, a woman of astounding talent and, oh my goodness, what a courageous woman, battling her demons and her society to live her life the way she wanted.’
‘A woman who would inspirebravery in others,’ Ruth suggests, giving Malcolm a long look.
‘Hmm,’ he replies, returning the look. ‘Iwillget there, Reverend Ruth,’ he says, ‘but first Issachar.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Ruth responds, sitting up a bit straighter, ‘Abraham Lincoln’s chiropodist. I want to hear all about him.’
Malcolm smiles slowly. ‘Oh, not just a chiropodist, Reverend Ruth, but also a spy.’
‘What!’ Ruth cries.
‘Now you have to tell us,’ Jo insists.
Malcolm pours them all another glass of wine and begins, ‘Issachar started his days in Kent. He would have been six years younger than George Eliot.’
Jo and Ruth settle back to listen.
‘His father, who was a Polish Jew, ran a store near the docks, but the family emigrated to America when Issachar was seven. By the time Issachar was sixteen, he had taken out an advert describing himself as a “Chiropodist”. I can’t imagine he had much training, but this didn’t deter him. Chiropody was looked down on by doctors, yet Issachar could see its potential. People were on their feet all day, often in ill-fitting boots—’
‘Ah, they needed John Lobb,’ Jo throws in.
‘Indeed they did,’ Malcolm agrees. ‘In those days, poor footwear often made people’s lives a misery. Two months after setting up as a chiropodist, Issachar started calling himself “Doctor”.’
‘I expect he’ll soon be asking Bertie for a Royal Warrant,’ Ruth jokes.
‘Reverend Ruth, you are not far off the mark. Indeed, Issachar put a testimonial up in his“surgery” from Queen Victoria’s personal physician, saying what a grand chap Dr Issachar was. All false, of course. Anyway, that was how his life went. He moved from city to city; each time he moved, his testimonials got better and better. He also published a book about chiropody, which he blatantly copied from another practitioner.’
‘Did no one catch him out?’ Jo asks.
‘Well, no. As it happened, Issachar really was a good chiropodist. So some of his testimonials were true. And, rather like John Lobb, he was never afraid to ask for them. He was a man with the gift of the gab. A flamboyant man who could carry it off.’
‘How did he meet Lincoln?’ Ruth asks.
‘Oh, through some politicians who had given him references. I believe he just turned up. Now Abraham Lincoln had large feet, size fourteen, and he suffered awfully from corns – and I think it is safe to say that Issachar did make a difference. Lincoln found he enjoyed talking to his chiropodist, and so a friendship of sorts sprang up. I would rather like to have seen them together: Lincoln a rangy six foot four; Issachar a cherubic five foot seven. Oh, yes, indeed.’ Malcolm puts the wine glass he has been holding down, untasted. He continues with enthusiasm. ‘And Issachar was no fool; he included Lincoln’s wife in his expansive charm. Some referred to Lincoln’s wife as “Her Satanic Majesty”—’
‘Presumably not to her face,’ Ruth suggests.
