2
AUGUSTA SAT AT HER DRESSING TABLE and put on the single row of pearls that she always wore at dinner parties. It was her most expensive piece of jewelry. Methodists did not believe in costly ornament, and her parsimonious husband Joseph used that as an excuse not to buy her jewelry. He would have liked to stop her redecorating the house so often, but she did it without asking him: if he had his way they might live no better than his clerks. He accepted the redecoration grumpily, insisting only that she leave his bedroom alone.
She took from her open jewelry box the ring Strang had given her thirty years ago. It was in the form of a gold serpent with a diamond head and ruby eyes. She put it on her finger and, as she had done a thousand times before, brushed the raised head against her lips, remembering.
Her mother had said: “Send back his ring, and try to forget him.”
The seventeen-year-old Augusta had said: “I have sent it back already, and I will forget him,” but it was a lie. She kept the ring concealed in the spine of her Bible, and she had never forgotten Strang. If she could not have his love, she vowed, all the other things he could have given her would be hers somehow, one day.
She would never be the countess of Strang, she had accepted that years ago. But she was determined to have a title. And since Joseph did not have one she would have to get him one.
She had brooded over the problem for years, studying the mechanisms by which men gained titles, and many sleepless nights of planning and longing had gone into her strategy. Now she was ready and the time was right.
She would begin her campaign tonight, over dinner. Among her guests were three people who would play a crucial part in having Joseph made an earl.
He might take the title earl of Whitehaven, she thought. Whitehaven was the port where the Pilaster family had begun in business, four generations ago. Joseph’s great-grandfather Amos Pilaster had made his fortune with a legendary gamble, putting all his money in a slave ship. But then he had gone into a less chancy business, buying serge cloth and printed calico from Lancashire textile mills and shipping it to the Americas. Their London home was already called Whitehaven House in acknowledgment of the birthplace of the business. Augusta would be countess of Whitehaven if her plans worked out.
She imagined herself and Joseph entering a grand drawing room as a butler announced: “The earl and countess of Whitehaven,” and the thought made her smile. She saw Joseph making his maiden speech in the House of Lords, on a topic connected with high finance, and the other peers listening with respectful attention. Shopkeepers would call her “Lady Whitehaven” in loud tones and people would look around to see who it was.
However, she wanted this for Edward as much as anything else, she told herself. One day he would inherit his father’s title, and meanwhile he would be able to put “The Hon. Edward Pilaster” on his visiting card.
She knew exactly what she had to do, but all the same she felt uneasy. Getting a peerage was not like buying a carpet—you could not go to the supplier and say: “I want that one, how much is it?” Everything had to be done with hints. She would need to be very surefooted tonight. If she made a wrong move, her careful plans could go wrong very quickly. If she had misjudged her people she was doomed.
A parlormaid knocked and said: “Mr. Hobbes has arrived, madam.”
She’ll have to call me “my lady” soon, Augusta thought.
She put Strang’s ring away, got up from her dressing table, and went through the communicating door into Joseph’s room. He was dressed for dinner, sitting at the cabinet where he kept his collection of jeweled snuffboxes, looking at one of them in the gaslight. Augusta wondered whether to mention Hugh to him now.
Hugh continued to be a nuisance. Six years ago she thought she had dealt with him once and for all, but he was once again threatening to overshadow Edward. There was talk of his becoming a partner: Augusta could not tolerate that. She was determined that Edward would be Senior Partner one day, and she could not let Hugh get ahead.
Was she right to worry so much? Perhaps it would be as well to let Hugh run the business. Edward could do something else, go into politics perhaps. But the bank was the heart of this family. People who left, like Hugh’s father Tobias, always came to nothing in the end. The bank was where the money was made and the power exercised. Pilasters could bring down a monarch by refusing him a loan: few politicians had that ability. It was dreadful to think of Hugh’s being Senior Partner, entertaining ambassadors, drinking coffee with the chancellor of the Exchequer, and taking first place at family gatherings, lording it over Augusta and her side of the family.
But it would be difficult to get rid of Hugh this time. He was older and wiser and he had an established position at the bank. The wretched boy had worked hard and patiently for six years to rehabilitate his reputation. Could she undo all that?
However, this was not the moment to confront Joseph about Hugh. She wanted him in a good mood for the dinner party. “Stay up here a few more minutes, if you like,” she said to him. “Only Arnold Hobbes has arrived.”
“Very well, if you don’t mind,” he said.
It would suit her to have Hobbes alone for a while.
Hobbes was the editor of a political journal called The Forum. It generally sided with the Conservatives, who stood for the aristocracy and the established church, and against the Liberals, the party of businessmen and Methodists. The Pilasters were both businessmen and Methodists, but the Conservatives were in power.
She had met Hobbes only once or twice before, and she guessed he might have been surprised to receive her invitation. However, she had been confident he would accept. He would not get many invitations to homes as wealthy as Augusta’s.
Hobbes was in a curious position. He was powerful, because his journal was widely read and respected; yet he was poor, for he did not make much money out of it. The combination was awkward for him—and perfectly suited to Augusta’s purpose. He had the power to help her and he might be bought.
There was just one possible snag. She hoped he did not have high principles: that would destroy his usefulness. But if she had judged him aright he was corruptible.
She felt nervous and jittery. She stood outside the drawing room door for a moment, saying to herself Relax, Mrs. Pilaster, you’re good at this. After a moment she felt calmer, and she went in.
He stood up eagerly to greet her. He was a nervous, quick-witted man, birdlike in his movements. His dress suit was at least ten years old, Augusta thought. She led him to the window seat, to give their conversation a feeling of intimacy even though they were not old friends. “Tell me what mischief you have been at today,” she said playfully. “Trouncing Mr. Gladstone? Undermining our India policy? Persecuting Catholics?”
He peered at her through smeared spectacles. “I’ve been writing about the City of Glasgow Bank,” he said.
Augusta frowned. “This is the bank that failed a little while ago.”
“Exactly. Many of the Scottish trade unions have been ruined, you know.”
“I seem to remember hearing talk of it,” she said. “My husband said the City of Glasgow had been known for years to be unsound.”
“I don’t understand this,” he said excitedly. “People know a bank is no good, yet it is allowed to continue in business until it crashes, and thousands of people lose their life savings!”
Augusta did not understand it either. She knew next to nothing about business. But she now saw a chance to lead the conversation in the direction she wanted. “Perhaps the worlds of commerce and government are too widely separated,” she said.
“It must be so. Better communication between businessmen and statesmen might prevent such catastrophes.”
“I wonder….” Augusta hesitated as if considering an idea that had just struck her. “I wonder whether someone such as yourself would consider becoming a director of one or two companies.”
He was surprised. “Indeed, I might.”
“You see … some firsthand experience of participating in the direction of a business enterprise might help you when you comment, in your journal, on the world of commerce.”
“I’ve no doubt it would.”
“The rewards are not great—a hundred or two a year, at best.” She saw his eyes light up: that was a lot of money to him. “But the obligations are small.”
“A most interesting thought,” he said. He was working hard to conceal his excitement, she could tell.
“My husband could arrange it, if you were interested. He has constantly to recommend directors for the boards of enterprises in which he has some interest. Do think it over and tell me if you would like me to mention it.”
“Very well, I shall.”
So far, so good, Augusta thought. But showing him the bait was the easy part. Now she had to get him on the hook. She said thoughtfully: “And the world of commerce should reciprocate, of course. More businessmen should serve their country in the House of Lords, I feel.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and she guessed that his quick mind was beginning to understand the bargain he was being offered. “No doubt,” he said noncommittally.
Augusta developed her theme. “Both Houses of Parliament would benefit from the knowledge and wisdom of senior businessmen, especially when debating the nation’s finances. Yet there is a curious prejudice against a businessman’s being elevated to the peerage.”
“There is, and it is quite irrational,” Hobbes admitted. “Our merchants, manufacturers and bankers are responsible for the nation’s prosperity, much more so than landowners and clergymen; yet it is the latter who are ennobled for their services to the nation, while the men who really make and do things are overlooked.”
“You should write an article about the question. It is the kind of cause for which your journal has campaigned in the past—the modernization of our ancient institutions.” She gave him her warmest smile. Her cards were on the table now. He could hardly fail to see that this campaign was the price he had to pay for the company directorships she was offering. Would he stiffen, look offended, and beg to differ? Would he walk out in a huff? Would he smile and turn her down gracefully? If he did any of those things she would have to start all over again with someone else.
There was a long pause, then he said: “Perhaps you’re right.”
Augusta relaxed.
“Perhaps we should take this up,” he went on. “Closer links between commerce and government.”
“Peerages for businessmen,” Augusta said.
“And company directorships for journalists,” he added.
Augusta sensed that they had gone as far as they could in the direction of frankness, and it was time to pull back. If it were admitted that she was bribing him he might be humiliated and refuse. She was well satisfied with what she had achieved, and she was about to change the subject when more guests arrived and she was saved the trouble.
The rest of the party arrived in a bunch, and Joseph appeared at the same time. A few moments later Hastead came in and said: “Dinner is served, sir,” and Augusta longed to hear him say my lord instead of sir.
They walked from the drawing room through the hall to the dining room. The rather short procession bothered Augusta. In aristocratic houses there was often a long and very elegant walk to the dining room, and it was a high point of the dinner-party ritual. The Pilasters traditionally scorned to copy upper-class manners, but Augusta felt differently. To her this house seemed irredeemably suburban. But she had failed to persuade Joseph to move.
Tonight she had arranged for Edward to walk in to dinner with Emily Maple, a shy, pretty girl of nineteen who was with her father, a Methodist minister, and her mother. They were plainly overwhelmed by the house and the company, and hardly fitted in, but Augusta was getting desperate in her search for a suitable bride for Edward. The boy was now twenty-nine years old and he had never shown a spark of interest in any eligible girl, to his mother’s frustration. He could hardly fail to find Emily attractive: she had big blue eyes and a sweet smile. The parents would be thrilled by such a match. As for the girl, she would have to do as she was told. But Edward might need to be pushed. The trouble was, he saw no reason to marry. He enjoyed his life with his male friends, going to his club and so on, and settling down to married life had little appeal. For a while she had blithely assumed this was just a normal phase in a young man’s life, but it had gone on too long, and lately she had begun to worry whether he would ever come out of it. She would have to put pressure on him.
On her left at the table Augusta placed Michael Fortescue, a personable young man with political aspirations. He was said to be close to the prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli, who had been ennobled and was now Lord Beaconsfield. Fortescue was the second of the three people Augusta needed to help her get Joseph a peerage. He was not as clever as Hobbes but he was more sophisticated and self-assured. Augusta had been able to overawe Hobbes, but she would have to seduce Fortescue.
Deacon Maple said grace and Hastead poured wine. Neither Joseph nor Augusta would drink wine, but they offered it to their guests. As the consommé was served Augusta smiled warmly at Fortescue and said in a low, intimate voice: “When are we going to see you in Parliament?”
“I wish I knew,” he said.
“Everyone speaks of you as a brilliant young man, as you must know.”
He was pleased but embarrassed by her flattery. “I’m not sure I do know.”
“And you’re so good-looking, too—that never hurts.”
He looked rather startled. He had not expected her to flirt—but he was not averse to it.
“You shouldn’t wait for a general election,” she went on. “Why don’t you stand in a by-election? It should be easy enough to arrange—people say you have the ear of the prime minister.”
“You’re very kind—but by-elections are expensive, Mrs. Pilaster.”
It was the response she had been hoping for, but she did not let him know that. “Are they?” she said.
“And I am not a wealthy man.”
“I didn’t know that,” she lied. “You should find a sponsor, then.”
“A banker, perhaps?” he said in a tone that was half playful, half wistful.
“It’s not impossible. Mr. Pilaster is keen to take a more active part in the government of the nation.” He would be, if a peerage were offered. “And he doesn’t see why commercial men should feel obliged to be Liberals. Between you and me, he often finds himself more in agreement with the younger Conservatives.”
Her confidential tone encouraged him to be frank—as she intended—and now he said directly: “In what way would Mr. Pilaster like to serve the nation—other than by sponsoring a by-election candidate?”
This was a challenge. Should she answer his question, or continue to be indirect? Augusta decided to match his frankness, “Perhaps in the House of Lords. Do you think it is possible?” She was enjoying this—and so was he.
“Possible? Certainly. Whether it is likely, is another question. Shall I inquire?”
This was more straightforward than Augusta had anticipated. “Could you do so discreetly?”
He hesitated. “I believe I could.”
“It would be most kind,” she said with satisfaction. She had turned him into a co-conspirator,
“I shall let you know what I find out.”
“And if a suitable by-election should be called …”
“You’re very good.”
She touched his arm. He was a very attractive young man, she thought. She enjoyed plotting with him. “I believe we understand one another perfectly,” she murmured. She noticed that he had unusually big hands. She held his arm a moment longer, looking into his eyes; then she turned away.
She was feeling good. She had dealt with two of the three key people and she had not yet slipped. Throughout the next course she talked to Lord Morte, who was sitting on her right. With him she made polite, pointless conversation: it was his wife she wanted to influence and for that she had to wait until after dinner.
The men stayed in the dining room to smoke and Augusta took the ladies upstairs to her bedroom. There she got Lady Morte alone for a few minutes. Fifteen years older than Augusta, Harriet Morte was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria. She had iron-gray hair and a superior manner. Like Arnold Hobbes and Michael Fortescue, she had influence; and Augusta hoped that, like them, she would be corruptible. Hobbes and Fortescue were vulnerable because they were poor. Lord and Lady Morte were not so much poor as improvident: they had plenty of money, but they spent more than they had. Lady Morte’s gowns were splendid and her jewelry was magnificent, and Lord Morte believed, against the evidence of forty years, that he had a good eye for a racehorse.
Augusta was more nervous about Lady Morte than she had been about the men. Women were more difficult. They would not take anything at face value and they knew when they were being manipulated. Thirty years as a courtier would have refined Lady Morte’s sensibility to the point where nothing could slip by her.
Augusta began by saying: “Mr. Pilaster and I are such admirers of the dear queen.”
Lady Morte nodded, as if to say Of course. However, there was no of course about it: Queen Victoria was disliked by much of the nation for being withdrawn, staid, remote and inflexible.
Augusta went on: “If there were ever anything we could do to help you with your noble duties, we would be thrilled.”
“How very kind.” Lady Morte looked a little puzzled. She hesitated, then decided to ask. “But what could you possibly do?”
“What do bankers do? They lend.” Augusta lowered her voice. “Court life must be cripplingly expensive, I imagine.”
Lady Morte stiffened. There was a taboo on talking about money in her class and Augusta was breaking it flagrantly.
But Augusta plowed on. “If you were to open an account with Pilasters, there would never be any problems in that area….”
Lady Morte was offended, but on the other hand she was being offered the remarkable privilege of unlimited credit at one of the largest banks in the world. Her instincts told her to snub Augusta, but greed held her back: Augusta could read the conflict in her face.
Augusta did not give her time to think about it. “Please forgive my being so frightfully candid,” she went on. “It comes only from a wish to be of service.” Lady Morte would not believe that, but she would assume Augusta simply wanted to curry favor with royalty. She would not look for a more specific motive, and Augusta would give her no more clues tonight.
Lady Morte hesitated a moment longer, then said: “You’re very kind.”
Mrs. Maple, the mother of Emily, returned from the bathroom, and Lady Morte took her turn. She went out with an expression of mild embarrassment frozen to her face. Augusta knew that she and Lord Morte would agree, in the carriage going home, that commercial people were impossibly vulgar and ill-mannered; but one day soon he would lose a thousand guineas on a horse, and on the same day her dressmaker would demand payment of a six-month-old bill for three hundred pounds, and the two of them would remember Augusta’s offer, and they would decide that vulgar commercial people did after all have their uses.
Augusta had cleared the third hurdle. If she had assessed the woman correctly, Lady Morte would be hopelessly in debt to Pilasters Bank within six months. Then she would find out what Augusta wanted from her.
The ladies reconvened in the drawing room on the first floor and took coffee. Lady Morte was still distant, but stopped short of being rude. The men joined them a few minutes later. Joseph took Deacon Maple upstairs to show him his collection of snuffboxes. Augusta was pleased: Joseph only did that when he liked someone. Emily played the piano. Mrs. Maple asked her to sing, but she said she had a cold, and stuck to her refusal with remarkable obstinacy despite her mother’s pleas, making Augusta think anxiously that she might not be as submissive as she looked.
She had done her work for the night: she wanted them all to go home now so that she could run over the evening in her mind and assess how much she had achieved. She did not actually like any of them except for Michael Fortescue. However, she forced herself to be polite and make conversation for another hour. Hobbes was hooked, she thought; Fortescue had made a bargain and would keep it; Lady Morte had been shown the slippery slope that led to perdition and it was only a matter of time before she started down it. Augusta was relieved and satisfied.
When at last they departed, Edward was ready to go to his club, but Augusta stopped him. “Sit down and listen for a moment,” she said. “I want to talk to you and your father.” Joseph, who was heading for bed, sat down again. She addressed him. “When are you going to make Edward a partner in the bank?”
Joseph immediately looked cross. “When he is older.”
“But I hear that Hugh may be made a partner, and he is three years younger than Edward.” Although Augusta had no idea how money was made she always knew what was happening at the bank in terms of the personal advancement or otherwise of family members. Men did not normally talk business in front of ladies, but Augusta got it all out of them at her teatime gatherings.
“Seniority is only one of the ways in which a man may qualify as a partner,” Joseph said irritably. “Another is the ability to bring in business, which Hugh has to a degree I have never seen in so young a man. Other qualifications would be a large capital investment in the bank, high social position, or political influence. I am afraid that as yet Edward has none of these.”
“But he is your son.”
“A bank is a business, not a dinner party!” Joseph said, getting angrier. He hated her to challenge him. “Position is not merely a question of rank or precedence. Ability to make money is the test.”
Augusta suffered a moment of doubt. Ought she to push for Edward’s advancement if he was not really able? But that was nonsense. He was perfectly all right. He might not be able to add up a column of figures as fast as Hugh, but breeding would tell in the end. She said: “Edward could have a large capital investment in the bank, if you so wished. You can settle money on him anytime you please.”
Joseph’s face took on the stubborn look that Augusta knew well, the look he wore when he refused to move house or forbade her to redecorate his bedroom. “Not before the boy marries!” he said, and with that he left the room.
Edward said: “You’ve made him angry.”
“It’s only for your sake, Teddy darling.”
“But you’ve made matters worse!”
“No, I haven’t.” Augusta sighed. “Sometimes your generous outlook prevents you from seeing what is going on. Your papa may believe that he has taken a firm stand, but if you think about what he said you’ll realize that he has promised to settle a large sum on you and make you a partner as soon as you get married.”
“Goodness, I suppose he has,” Edward said in surprise. “I didn’t look at it that way.”
“That’s your trouble, dear. You’re not sly, like Hugh.”
“Hugh was very lucky in America.”
“Of course he was. You would like to get married, wouldn’t you?”
He sat beside her and took her hand. “Why should I, when I have you to take care of me?”
“But who will you have when I’m gone? Did you like that little Emily Maple? I thought she was charming.”
“She told me that hunting is cruel to the fox,” Edward said in a tone of disdain.
“Your father will settle at least a hundred thousand on you—perhaps more, perhaps a quarter of a million.”
Edward was not impressed. “I have everything I want, and I like living with you,” he said.
“And I like having you near me. But I want to see you happily married, with a lovely wife and your own fortune and a partnership at the bank. Say you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll think about it.” He kissed her cheek. “And now I really must go, Mama. I promised to meet some fellows half an hour ago.”
“Go on, then.”
He got up and went to the door. “Good night, Mama.”
“Good night,” she said. “Think about Emily!”