6
MICKY MIRANDA’S LODGINGS IN CAMBERWELL consisted of two rooms in the house of a widow with a grown son. None of his high-class friends had ever visited him there, not even Edward Pilaster. Micky played the role of a young man-about-town on a very tight budget, and elegant accommodation was one of the things he could manage without.
At nine o’clock each morning the landlady brought coffee and hot rolls for him and Papa. Over breakfast, Micky explained how he had caused Tonio Silva to lose a hundred pounds he did not have. He did not expect his father to sing his praises, but he did hope for a grudging acknowledgment of his ingenuity. However, Papa was not impressed. He blew on his coffee and slurped it noisily. “So, has he gone back to Cordova?”
“Not yet, but he will.”
“You hope. So much trouble, and still you only hope he will go.”
Micky felt wounded. “I’ll seal his fate today,” he protested.
“When I was your age …”
“You would have slit his throat, I know. But this is London, not Santamaria Province, and if I go around cutting people’s throats they’ll hang me.”
“There are times when you have no choice.”
“But there are other times when it’s better to tread softly, Papa. Think of Samuel Pilaster, and his milk-and-water objections to dealing in guns. I got him out of the way without bloodshed, didn’t I?” In fact Augusta had done it, but Micky had not told Papa that.
“I don’t know,” Papa said stubbornly. “When do I get the rifles?”
It was a sore point. Old Seth was still alive, still Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank. It was August. In September the winter snow would start to melt on the mountains of Santamaria. Papa wanted to go home—with his weapons. As soon as Joseph became Senior Partner, Edward would put the deal through and the guns would be shipped. But old Seth clung on with infuriating stubbornness to his post and his life.
“You’ll get them soon, Papa,” said Micky. “Seth can’t last much longer.”
“Good,” said Papa, with the smug expression of one who has won an argument.
Micky buttered a roll. It had always been like this. He could never please his father no matter how he tried.
He turned his mind to the day ahead. Tonio now owed money he could never pay. The next step was to turn a problem into a crisis. He wanted Edward and Tonio to quarrel publicly. If he could arrange that, Tonio’s disgrace would become general knowledge and he would be obliged to resign from his job and go home to Cordova. That would put him comfortably out of the reach of David Middleton.
Micky wanted to do all this without making an enemy of Tonio. For he had another purpose: he wanted Tonio’s job. Tonio could make matters difficult, if he felt so inclined, by maligning Micky to the minister. Micky wanted to persuade him to smooth the path.
The whole situation was complicated by the history of his relationship with Tonio. At school Tonio had hated and feared Micky; more recently Tonio had been admiring of him. Now Micky needed to become Tonio’s best friend—at the same time as he ruined his life.
While Micky was brooding over the tricky day ahead of him, there was a knock at the door to the room and the landlady announced a visitor. A moment later Tonio came in.
Micky had been planning to call on him after breakfast. This would save him the trouble.
“Sit down, have some coffee,” he said cheerfully. “Bad luck last night! Still, winning and losing, that’s what cards are all about.”
Tonio bowed to Papa and sat down. He looked as if he had not slept. “I lost more than I can afford,” he said.
Papa grunted impatiently. He had no patience with people feeling sorry for themselves, and anyway he despised the Silva family as lily-livered city dwellers who lived by patronage and corruption.
Micky pretended sympathy and said solemnly: “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You know what it means. In this country, a man who doesn’t pay his gambling debts isn’t a gentleman. And a man who isn’t a gentleman can’t be a diplomat. I might have to resign and go home.”
Exactly, thought Micky; but he said in a sorrowful voice: “I do see the problem.”
Tonio went on: “You know what fellows are like about these things—if you don’t pay up the next day you’re already under suspicion. But it would take me years to pay back a hundred pounds. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
“I don’t understand,” said Micky, though he understood perfectly.
“Will you give me the money?” Tonio pleaded. “You’re Cordovan, not like these English; you don’t condemn a man for one mistake. And I would pay you back, eventually.”
“If I had the money I’d give it to you,” said Micky. “I wish I were that well off.”
Tonio looked at Papa, who stared at him coldly and said simply: “No.”
Tonio hung his head. “I’m such a fool about gambling,” he said in a hollow voice. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. If I go home in disgrace I won’t be able to face my family.”
Micky said thoughtfully: “Perhaps there is something else I can do to help.”
Tonio brightened. “Oh, please, anything!”
“Edward and I are good friends, as you know. I could speak to him on your behalf, explain the circumstances, and ask him to be lenient—as a personal favor to me.”
“Would you?” Tonio’s face was suffused with hope.
“I’ll ask him to wait for his money, and not to tell anyone. I don’t say he’ll agree to it, mind you. The Pilasters have money by the bucketful but they’re a hard-headed bunch. I’ll try, anyway.”
Tonio clasped Micky’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said fervently. “I’ll never forget this.”
“Don’t raise your hopes too high—”
“I can’t help it. I’ve been in despair, and you’ve given me a reason to go on.” Tonio looked shamefaced and added: “I thought of killing myself this morning. I walked across London Bridge and I was going to throw myself into the river.”
There was a soft grunt from Papa, who clearly thought that would have been the best thing all round.
Micky said hastily: “Thank God you changed your mind. Now, I’d better go along to Pilasters Bank and talk to Edward.”
“When will I see you?”
“Will you be at the club at lunchtime?”
“Of course, if you want me to.”
“Meet me there, then.”
“Right.” Tonio stood up. “I’ll leave you to finish your breakfast. And—”
“Don’t thank me,” Micky said, holding up his hand in a silencing gesture. “It’s unlucky. Wait and hope.”
“Yes. All right.” Tonio bowed again to Papa. “Goodbye, Se?or Miranda.” He went out.
“Stupid boy,” Papa muttered.
“A complete fool,” Micky agreed.
Micky went into the next room and dressed in his morning clothes: a white shirt with a stiff upright collar and starched cuffs, buff-colored trousers, a black satin stock which he took the trouble to tie perfectly, and a black double-breasted frock coat. His shoes gleamed with wax and his hair shone with macassar oil. He always dressed elegantly but conservatively: he would never wear one of the fashionable new turndown collars, or carry a monocle like a dandy. The English were ever ready to believe that a foreigner was a cad, and he took care to give them no excuse.
Leaving Papa to his own devices for the day, he went out and walked across the bridge into the financial district, which was called the City because it covered the square mile of the original Roman city of London. Traffic was at a complete standstill around St. Paul’s Cathedral as carriages, horse buses, brewers’ drays, hansom cabs and costermongers’ barrows competed for space with a huge flock of sheep being driven to Smithfield meat market.
Pilasters Bank was a big new building with a long classical frontage and an imposing entrance flanked by massive fluted pillars. It was a few minutes past noon when Micky went through the double doors into the banking hall. Although Edward rarely got to work before ten, he could generally be persuaded to leave for lunch any time after twelve.
Micky approached one of the “walkers” and said: “Be good enough to tell Mr. Edward Pilaster that Mr. Miranda has called.”
“Very good, sir.”
Here more than anywhere Micky envied the Pilasters. Their wealth and power was proclaimed by every detail: the polished marble floor, the rich paneling, the hushed voices, the scratch of pens in ledgers, and perhaps most of all by the overfed, overdressed messengers. All this space and all these people were basically employed in counting the Pilaster family’s money. No one here raised cattle, mined nitrate or built railroads: the work was done by others far away. The Pilasters just watched the money multiply. To Micky it seemed the best possible way to live now that slavery had been abolished.
There was also something false about the atmosphere here. It was solemn and dignified, like a church, or the court of a president, or a museum. They were moneylenders, but they acted as if charging interest were a noble calling, like the priesthood.
After a few minutes Edward appeared—with a bruised nose and a black eye. Micky raised his eyebrows. “My dear fellow, what happened to you?”
“I had a fight with Hugh.”
“What about?”
“I told him off for bringing a whore into the house and he lost his temper.”
It occurred to Micky that this might have given Augusta the opportunity she had been seeking to get rid of Hugh. “What happened to Hugh?”
“You won’t see him again for a long time. He’s been sent to Boston.”
Well done, Augusta, thought Micky. It would be neat if both Hugh and Tonio could be dealt with on the same day. He said: “You look as if you might benefit from a bottle of champagne and some lunch.”
“Splendid idea.”
They left the bank and headed west. There was no point in getting into a hansom here because the streets were blocked by the sheep and the cabs were all held up in the traffic. They passed the meat market which was the destination of the sheep. The stench from the slaughterhouses was unbearably disgusting. The sheep were thrown from the street through a trapdoor down into the underground abattoir. The fall was sufficient to break their legs, which rendered them motionless until the slaughterer was ready to cut their throats. “It’s enough to put you off mutton for life,” Edward said as they covered their faces with handkerchiefs. Micky thought it would take a lot more than that to put Edward off his lunch.
Once out of the City they hailed a hansom and directed it to Pall Mall. As soon as they were on their way, Micky began his prepared speech. He started by saying: “I hate a chap who spreads reports about another chap’s bad behavior.”
“Yes,” Edward said vaguely.
“But when it affects a chap’s friends, a chap is more or less obliged to say something.”
“Mmm.” Edward clearly had no idea what Micky was talking about.
“And I’d hate you to think I kept quiet about it just because he was a countryman of mine.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Edward said: “I’m not quite sure I follow you.”
“I’m talking about Tonio Silva.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose he can’t afford to pay what he owes me.”
“Utter nonsense. I know his family. They’re almost as rich as yours.” Micky was not afraid to tell this outrageous lie: people in London had no idea how wealthy South American families might be.
Edward was surprised. “Good Lord. I thought the opposite.”
“Not at all. He can afford it easily. That makes it worse.”
“What? Makes what worse?”
Micky gave a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid he has no intention of paying you. And he’s been going around boasting about it, saying you aren’t man enough to make him pay.”
Edward reddened. “Has he, by the devil! Not man enough! We’ll see about that.”
“I warned him not to underestimate you. I told him I was afraid you might not stand to be made a fool of. But he chose to ignore my advice.”
“The scoundrel. Well, if he won’t listen to wise counsel he may have to find out the truth the hard way.”
“It’s a shame,” said Micky.
Edward fumed in silence.
Micky fretted impatiently while the hansom crawled along the Strand. Tonio should be at the club by now. Edward was in just the right mood to quarrel. Everything was working out.
At last the cab pulled up outside the club. Micky waited while Edward paid the driver. They went inside. In the cloakroom, in a knot of people hanging up their hats, they met Tonio.
Micky tensed. He had put everything in place: now he could only cross his fingers and hope that the drama he had envisioned would play itself out as planned.
Tonio caught Edward’s eye, looked awkward, and said: “By Jove … Good morning, you two.”
Micky looked at Edward. His face turned pink and his eyes bulged, and he said: “See here, Silva.”
Tonio stared at him fearfully. “What is it, Pilaster?”
Edward said loudly: “About that hundred pounds.”
The room went suddenly quiet. Several people looked around and two men on their way out stopped in the doorway and turned to see. It was bad behavior to talk about money, and a gentleman would do so only in extreme circumstances. Everyone knew that Edward Pilaster had more money than he knew what to do with, so it was obvious he had some other motive for publicly mentioning Tonio’s debt. Bystanders sensed a scandal.
Tonio went white. “Yes?”
Edward said brutally: “You can let me have it today, if it would suit your convenience.”
A challenge had been issued. Plenty of people knew the debt was real, so there was no point in arguing about it. As a gentleman, Tonio had only one option. He had to say By all means. If it’s important, you shall have your money right away. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll write you a cheque—or shall we step around the corner to my bank? If he did not do that, everyone would know he could not pay, and he would be ostracized.
Micky watched with horrid fascination. At first a look of panic came over Tonio’s face, and for a moment Micky wondered whether he would do something crazy. Then fear gave way to anger, and he opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead he spread his hands in a pleading gesture; but he quickly abandoned that, too. Finally his face crumpled like the face of a child about to cry. At that point he turned and ran. The two men in the doorway dodged out of his way, and he dashed through the lobby and out into the street without his hat.
Micky was elated: it had all gone perfectly.
The men in the cloakroom all coughed and fidgeted to disguise their embarrassment. An older member muttered: “That was a bit hard, Pilaster.”
Micky said quickly: “He deserved it.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” said the older man.
Edward said: “I need a drink.”
Micky said: “Order a brandy for me, would you? I’d better go after Silva and make sure he doesn’t throw himself under the wheels of a horse bus.” He dashed out.
This was the most subtle part of his plan: he now had to convince the man he had ruined that he was his best friend.
Tonio was hurrying along in the direction of St. James’s, not looking where he was going, bumping into people. Micky ran and caught up with him. “I say, Silva, I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said.
Tonio stopped. There were tears on his cheeks. “I’m finished,” he said. “It’s all over.”
“Pilaster turned me down flat,” Micky said. “I did my best….”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I failed.”
“But you tried. I wish there was something I could do to show my appreciation.”
Micky hesitated, thinking: Do I dare to ask him for his job, right now? He decided to be bold. “As a matter of fact there is—but we should talk about it another time.”
“No, tell me now.”
“I’d feel bad. Let’s leave it until another day.”
“I don’t know how many more days I’ll be here. What is it?”
“Well …” Micky feigned embarrassment. “I suppose the Cordovan Minister will eventually be looking for someone to replace you.”
“He’ll need someone right away.” Comprehension showed on Tonio’s tear-stained face. “Of course—you should have the job! You’d be perfect!”
“If you could put in a word….”
“I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell him what a help you’ve been, and how you tried to get me out of the mess I got myself into. I’m sure he’ll want to appoint you.”
“I wish I weren’t benefiting from your troubles,” Micky said. “I feel I’m behaving like a rat.”
“Not at all.” Tonio took Micky’s hand in both of his. “You’re a true friend.”