2
THE DUCHESS OF TENBIGH’S COSTUME BALL was the first great event of the 1879 London season. Everyone was talking about it weeks in advance. Fortunes were spent on fancy dress, and people would go to any length to get an invitation.
Augusta and Joseph Pilaster were not invited. That was hardly surprising: they did not belong in the very highest echelon of London society. But Augusta wanted to go, and she made up her mind she would be there.
As soon as she heard about the ball she mentioned it to Harriet Morte, who responded by looking embarrassed and saying nothing. As a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, Lady Morte had great social power; and on top of that she was a distant cousin of the duchess of Tenbigh. But she did not offer to get Augusta invited.
Augusta checked Lord Morte’s account with Pilasters Bank and found that he had an overdraft of a thousand pounds. The next day he got a note asking him when he hoped to regularize the account.
Augusta called on Lady Morte the same day. She apologized, saying that the note had been an error and the clerk who sent it had been sacked. Then she mentioned the ball again.
Lady Morte’s normally impassive face was momentarily animated by a glare of pure hatred as she understood the bargain that was being offered. Augusta was unmoved. She had no wish to be liked by Lady Morte, she just wanted to use her. And Lady Morte was confronted with a simple choice: exert her influence to get Augusta invited to the ball, or find a thousand pounds to pay off her overdraft. She took the easier option, and the invitation cards arrived the following day.
Augusta was annoyed that Lady Morte had not helped her willingly. It was hurtful that Lady Morte had to be coerced. Feeling spiteful, Augusta made her get Edward an invitation too.
Augusta was going as Queen Elizabeth and Joseph as the earl of Leicester. On the night of the ball they had dinner at home and changed afterwards. When she was dressed Augusta went into Joseph’s room to help him with his costume and talk to him about his nephew Hugh.
She was incensed that Hugh was to be made a partner in the bank at the same time as Edward. Worse still, everyone knew that Edward had been made a partner only because he had married and been given a ￡250,000 investment in the bank, whereas Hugh was being made a partner because he had brought off a spectacularly profitable deal with Madler and Bell of New York. People were already talking of Hugh as a potential Senior Partner. The thought made Augusta grind her teeth.
Their promotion was to take place at the end of April, when the annual partnership agreement was formally renewed. But earlier in the month, to Augusta’s delight, Hugh made the unbelievably foolish mistake of marrying a plump little working-class girl from Camden Town.
The Maisie episode six years ago had shown that he had a weakness for girls from the gutter, but Augusta had never dared to hope that he would marry one. He had done the deed quietly, in Folkestone, with just his mother and sister and the bride’s father in attendance, then he had presented the family with a fait accompli.
As Augusta adjusted Joseph’s Elizabethan ruff she said: “I presume you’ll have to think again about Hugh’s being made a partner, now that he’s married a housemaid.”
“She’s not a housemaid, she’s a corsetière. Or was. Now she’s Mrs. Pilaster.”
“All the same, a partner in Pilasters can hardly have a shopgirl as a wife.”
“I must say I think he can marry whom he likes.”
Augusta had been afraid he would take this line. “You wouldn’t say that if she were ugly, bony and sour,” she said acidly. “It’s only because she’s pretty and flirtatious that you’re so tolerant.”
“I just don’t see the problem.”
“A partner has to meet cabinet ministers, diplomats, leaders of great businesses. She won’t know how to act. She could embarrass him at any moment.”
“She can learn.” Joseph hesitated, then added: “I sometimes think you forget your own background, my dear.”
Augusta drew herself up to her full height. “My father had three shops!” she said vehemently. “How dare you compare me to that little trollop!”
He backed down instantly. “All right, I’m sorry.”
Augusta was outraged. “Furthermore, I never worked in my father’s shops,” she said. “I was brought up to be a lady.”
“I’ve apologized, let’s say no more about it. It’s time to go.”
Augusta clamped her mouth shut but inside she was seething.
Edward and Emily were waiting for them in the hall, dressed as Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Edward was having trouble with his gold braid cross-garters, and he said: “You go on, Mother, and send the carriage back for us.”
But Emily quickly put in: “Oh, no, I want to go now. Fix your garters on the way.”
Emily had big blue eyes and the pretty face of a little girl, and she was very fetching in the embroidered twelfth-century gown and cloak, with a long wimple on her head. However, Augusta had discovered that she was not as timid as she looked. During the preparations for the wedding it had become clear that Emily had a will of her own. She had been happy to let Augusta take over the wedding breakfast, but she had insisted, rather stubbornly, on having her own way about her wedding dress and her bridesmaids.
As they got into their carriage and drove off, Augusta recalled vaguely that the marriage of Henry II and Eleanor had been stormy. She hoped Emily would not give Edward too much trouble. Since the wedding Edward had been bad-tempered, and Augusta suspected there was something wrong. She had tried to find out by questioning Edward delicately, but he would not say a word.
However, the important thing was that he was married and a partner in the bank. He was settled. Everything else could be worked out.
The ball began at half-past ten and the Pilasters arrived on time. Lights blazed from every window of Tenbigh House. There was already a crowd of onlookers outside, and in Park Lane a line of carriages waited to enter the courtyard. The crowd applauded each costume as the guests descended from their vehicles and mounted the steps to the door. Looking ahead as she waited, Augusta saw Anthony and Cleopatra, several Roundheads and Cavaliers, two Greek goddesses and three Napoleons enter the house.
At last her carriage reached the door and they got out. Once inside the house there was another queue, from the hall up the curving staircase to the landing where the duke and duchess of Tenbigh, dressed as Solomon and Sheba, were greeting their guests. The hall was a mass of flowers and a band played to entertain them while they waited.
The Pilasters were followed in by Micky Miranda—invited because of his diplomatic status—and his new wife Rachel. Micky looked more dashing than ever in the red silk of a Cardinal Wolsey outfit, and for a moment the sight of him made Augusta’s heart flutter. She looked critically at his wife, who had chosen to come as a slave girl, rather surprisingly. Augusta had encouraged Micky to marry but she could not suppress a stab of resentment toward the plain girl who had won his hand. Rachel returned Augusta’s stare coolly, and took Micky’s arm possessively after he kissed Augusta’s hand.
As they slowly mounted the stairs Micky said to Rachel: “The Spanish envoy is here—be sure to be nice to him.”
“You be nice to him,” Rachel said crisply. “I think he’s a slug.”
Micky frowned but said no more. With her extreme views and forceful manner, Rachel would have made a good wife for a campaigning journalist or a Radical member of Parliament. Micky deserved someone less eccentric and more beautiful, Augusta felt.
Up ahead of them Augusta spotted another pair of newlyweds, Hugh and Nora. Hugh was a member of the Marlborough Set, because of his friendship with the Greenbournes, and to Augusta’s chagrin he was invited to everything. He was dressed as an Indian rajah and Nora seemed to have come as a snake charmer, in a sequined gown cut away to reveal harem trousers. Artificial snakes were wound around her arms and legs, and one lay its papier-maché head on her ample bosom. Augusta shuddered. “Hugh’s wife really is impossibly vulgar,” she murmured to Joseph.
He was inclined to be lenient. “It is a costume ball, after all.”
“Not one of the other women here has been so tasteless as to show her legs.”
“I don’t see any difference between loose trousers and a dress.”
He was probably enjoying the sight of Nora’s legs, Augusta thought with distaste. It was so easy for such a woman to befuddle men’s judgment. “I just don’t think she’s fit to be the wife of a partner in Pilasters Bank.”
“Nora won’t have to make any financial decisions.”
Augusta could have screamed with frustration. Evidently it was not enough that Nora was a working-class girl. She would have to do something unforgivable before Joseph and his partners would turn against Hugh.
Now there was a thought.
Augusta’s anger died down as quickly as it had flared. Perhaps, she thought, there was a way she could get Nora into trouble. She looked up the stairs again and studied her prey.
Nora and Hugh were talking to the Hungarian attaché, Count de Tokoly, a man of doubtful morals who was appropriately dressed as Henry VIII. Nora was just the kind of girl the count would be charmed by, Augusta thought biliously. Respectable ladies would cross the room to avoid speaking to him, but all the same he had to be invited everywhere because he was a senior diplomat. There was no sign of disapproval on Hugh’s face as he watched his wife bat her eyelashes at the old roué. Indeed Hugh’s expression showed nothing but adoration. He was still too much in love to find fault. That would not last. “Nora is talking to de Tokoly,” Augusta murmured to Joseph. “She had better take care of her reputation.”
“Now, don’t you be rude to him,” Joseph replied brusquely. “We’re hoping to raise two million pounds for his government.”
Augusta did not care a straw for de Tokoly. She continued to brood about Nora. The girl was most vulnerable right now, when everything was unfamiliar and she had not had time to learn upper-class manners. If she could be brought to disgrace herself somehow tonight, preferably in front of the Prince of Wales …
Just as she was thinking about the prince, a great cheer went up outside the house, indicating that the royal party had arrived.
A moment later the prince and Princess Alexandra came in, dressed as King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, followed by their entourage got up as knights in armor and medieval ladies. The band stopped abruptly in the middle of a Strauss waltz and struck up the national anthem. All the guests in the hall bowed and curtsied, and the queue on the staircase dipped like a wave as the royal party came up. The prince was getting fatter every year, Augusta thought as she curtsied to him. She was not sure whether there was any gray in his beard yet, but he was rapidly going bald on top. She always felt sorry for the pretty princess, who had a great deal to put up with from her spendthrift, philandering husband.
At the top of the stairs, the duke and duchess welcomed their royal guests and ushered them into the ballroom. The guests on the staircase surged forward to follow them.
Inside the long ballroom, masses of flowers from the hothouse at the Tenbigh’s country home were banked up all around the walls, and the light from a thousand candles glittered back from the tall mirrors between the windows. The footmen handing round champagne were dressed as Elizabethan courtiers in doublet and hose. The prince and princess were ushered to a dais at the end of the room. It had been arranged that some of the more spectacular costumes should pass in front of the royal party in procession, and as soon as the royals were seated the first group came in from the salon. A crush formed near the dais, and Augusta found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Count de Tokoly.
“What a delightful girl your nephew’s wife is, Mrs. Pilaster,” he said.
Augusta gave him a frosty smile. “How generous you are to say so, Count.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of dissent? No doubt you would have preferred young Hugh to choose a bride from his own class.”
“You know the answer to that without my telling you.”
“But her charm is irresistible.”
“Doubtless.”
“I shall ask her to dance later on. Do you think she will accept?”
Augusta could not resist an acid retort. “I am sure of it. She is not fastidious.” She turned away. No doubt it was too much to hope for that Nora would cause some kind of incident with the count—
She was suddenly inspired.
The count was the critical factor. If she put him together with Nora the combination could be explosive.
Her mind was racing. Tonight was a perfect opportunity. She had to do it now.
Feeling a little breathless with excitement, Augusta looked around, spotted Micky, and went over to him. “There’s something I want you to do for me, now, quickly,” she said.
Micky gave her a knowing look. “Anything,” he murmured.
She ignored the innuendo. “Do you know Count de Tokoly?”
“Indeed. All we diplomats know one another.”
“Tell him that Nora is no better than she ought to be.”
Micky’s mouth curled in a half-smile. “Just that?”
“You may elaborate if you wish.”
“Should I hint that I know this from, let us say, personal experience?”
This conversation was transgressing the boundaries of propriety, but Micky’s idea was a good one and she nodded. “Even better.”
“You know what he will do?” Micky said.
“I trust he will make an indecent suggestion to her.”
“If that’s what you want….”
“Yes.”
Micky nodded. “I am your slave, in this as in all things.”
Augusta waved the compliment aside impatiently: she was too tense to listen to facetious gallantry. She looked for Nora and saw her staring around in wonderment at the lavish decor and the extravagant costumes: the girl had never seen anything like this in her life. She was quite off guard. Without further reflection Augusta made her way through the crowd to Nora’s side.
She spoke into her ear. “A word of advice.”
“Much obliged for it, I’m sure,” Nora said.
Hugh had presumably given Nora a malevolent account of Augusta’s character, but to the girl’s credit she showed no sign of hostility. She appeared not to have made up her mind about Augusta, and was neither warm nor cold to her.
Augusta said: “I noticed you talking to Count de Tokoly.”
“A dirty old man,” Nora said immediately.
Augusta winced at her vulgarity but pressed on. “Be careful of him, if you value your reputation.”
“Be careful?” Nora said. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“Be polite, of course—but whatever happens, don’t let him take any liberties. The least encouragement is enough for him and if he is not set straight immediately he can be very embarrassing.”
Nora nodded understanding. “Don’t worry, I know how to deal with his type.”
Hugh was standing nearby talking to the duke of Kingsbridge. Now he noticed Augusta, looked suspicious, and came to his wife’s side. However, Augusta had already said all she needed to say, and she turned away to watch the procession. She had done her work: the seeds were planted. Now she had to wait anxiously and hope for the best.
Passing in front of the prince were some of the Marlborough Set, including the duke and duchess of Kingsbridge and Solly and Maisie Greenbourne. They were dressed as eastern potentates, shahs and pashas and sultanas, and instead of bowing and curtsying they knelt and salaamed, which drew a laugh from the portly prince and a round of applause from the crowd. Augusta loathed Maisie Greenbourne, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was rapidly turning over possibilities. There were a hundred ways her plot could go wrong: de Tokoly could be captivated by a different pretty face, Nora might deal with him graciously, Hugh might stay too close for de Tokoly to do anything offensive. But with a little luck the drama she had plotted would be played out—and then there would be ructions.
The procession was coming to an end when, to Augusta’s dismay, she saw the face of David Middleton pushing through the crowd toward her.
She had last seen him six years ago, when he had questioned her about his brother Peter’s death at Windfield School, and she had told him that the two witnesses, Hugh Pilaster and Antonio Silva, had gone abroad. But now Hugh was back and here was Middleton. How had a mere lawyer got invited to such a grand occasion? She recalled vaguely that he was a distant relation of the duke of Tenbigh. She could hardly have foreseen this. It was a potential disaster. I can’t think of everything! she said to herself frenziedly.
To her horror Middleton walked straight up to Hugh.
Augusta edged closer through the crush. She heard Middleton say: “Hello, Pilaster, I heard you were back in England. Do you remember me? I’m Peter Middleton’s brother.”
Augusta turned her back so that he would not notice her and strained to hear over the hum of conversation around her.
“I do remember—you were at the inquest,” Hugh said. “Allow me to present my wife.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Pilaster,” Middleton said perfunctorily, and returned his attention to Hugh. “I was never happy with that inquest, you know.”
Augusta went cold. Middleton had to be obsessed to bluntly bring up such an inappropriate subject in the middle of a costume ball. This was insupportable. Would poor Teddy never be free of that old suspicion?
She could not hear Hugh’s reply but his tone was guardedly neutral.
Middleton’s voice was louder and she picked up what he said next. “You must know that the whole school disbelieved Edward’s story about trying to rescue my brother from drowning.”
Augusta was taut with fear of what Hugh might say, but he continued to be circumspect, and said something about its having taken place a long time ago.
Suddenly Micky was at Augusta’s side. His face was a mask of relaxed urbanity but she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders. “Is that the Middleton fellow?” he murmured in her ear.
She nodded.
“I thought I recognized him.”
“Hush, listen,” she said.
Middleton had become slightly aggressive. “I think you know the truth about what happened,” he said in a challenging voice.
“Do you, indeed?” Hugh grew audible as his tone became less friendly.
“Forgive me for being so blunt, Pilaster. He was my brother. For years I’ve wondered what happened. Don’t you think I’ve a right to know?”
There was a pause. Augusta knew that such an appeal to the rights and wrongs of the case was just the kind of thing to move the sanctimonious Hugh. She wanted to intervene, to shut them up or change the subject or break up the group, but that would be tantamount to a confession that she had something to hide; so she stood helpless and terrified, rooted to the spot, straining her ears to hear over the murmur of the crowd.
At last Hugh replied. “I didn’t see Peter die, Middleton. I can’t tell you what happened. I don’t know for certain, and it would be wrong to speculate.”
“You have your suspicions, then? You can guess how it happened?”
“There’s no room for guesswork in a case such as this. It would be irresponsible. You want the truth, you say. I’m all for that. If I knew the truth I’d consider myself duty-bound to tell it. But I don’t.”
“I think you’re protecting your cousin.”
Hugh was offended. “Damn it, Middleton, that’s too strong. You’re entitled to be upset, but don’t cast doubt on my honesty.”
“Well, somebody’s lying,” Middleton said rudely, and with that he went away.
Augusta breathed again. Relief made her weak at the knees and she surreptitiously leaned on Micky for support. Hugh’s precious principles had worked in her favor. He suspected that Edward had contributed to the death of Peter, but because it was only a suspicion he would not say it. And now Middleton had put Hugh’s back up. It was the mark of a gentleman never to tell a lie, and for young men such as Hugh the suggestion that they might not be speaking the truth was a serious insult. Middleton and Hugh were not likely to talk further.
The crisis had blown up suddenly, like a summer storm, scaring her badly; but it had vanished just as fast, leaving her feeling battered but safe.
The procession ended. The band struck up a quadrille. The prince led the duchess onto the floor, and the duke took the princess, to make the first foursome. Other groups rapidly followed suit. The dancing was rather sedate, probably because so many people were wearing heavy costumes and cumbersome headdresses.
Augusta said to Micky: “Perhaps Mr. Middleton is no longer a danger to us.”
“Not if Hugh continues to keep his mouth shut.”
“And so long as your friend Silva stays in Cordova.”
“His family has less and less influence as the years go by. I don’t expect to see him in Europe again.”
“Good.” Augusta’s mind reverted to her plot. “Did you speak to de Tokoly?”
“I did.”
“Good.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
She gave him a reproving look.
“How foolish of me,” he said. “You always know what you’re doing.”
The second dance was a waltz, and Micky asked her for the pleasure. When she was a girl the waltz had been considered indecent, because the partners were so close together, the man’s arm going all the way around the woman’s waist in an embrace. But nowadays even royalty waltzed.
As soon as Micky took her in his arms she felt changed. It was like being seventeen again, and dancing with Strang. When Strang danced he was thinking about his partner, not his feet, and Micky had the same talent. He made Augusta feel young and beautiful and carefree. She was aware of the smoothness of his hands, the masculine smell of tobacco and macassar oil, and the heat of his body as it pressed against hers. She felt a pang of envy toward Rachel, who shared his bed. Momentarily she recalled the scene in old Seth’s bedroom six years ago, but it seemed unreal, like a dream she had once had, and she could never quite believe it had actually happened.
Some women in her position would have had a clandestine love affair, but although Augusta sometimes daydreamed of secret meetings with Micky, in reality she could not face the skulking in back streets, the hole-in-corner meetings, the furtive embraces, the evasions and excuses. And besides, such affairs were often found out. She was more likely to leave Joseph and run away with Micky. He might be willing. At any rate she could make him willing if she put her mind to it. But whenever she toyed with that dream she thought of all the things she would have to give up: her three houses, her carriage, her dress allowance, her social position, the entreé to balls such as this. Strang could have given her all that, but Micky could offer only his seductive self, and it was not enough.
“Look over there,” Micky said.
She followed the direction of his nod and saw Nora dancing with Count de Tokoly. She tensed. “Let’s get closer to them,” she said.
It was not easy, for the royal group was in that corner, and everyone was trying to be near them; but Micky skillfully steered her through the crush until they were close.
The waltz ground on, endlessly repeating the same banal tune. So far Nora and the count looked like any other dancing couple. He made occasional remarks in a low voice; she nodded and smiled. Perhaps he was holding her a little too closely, but not enough to cause remark. As the orchestra played on, Augusta wondered whether she had misjudged her two victims. The worry made her tense and she danced badly.
The waltz began to wind up to its climax. Augusta continued to watch Nora and the count. Suddenly there was a change. Nora’s face took on a look of frozen consternation: the count must have said something she did not like. Augusta’s hopes rose. But whatever he had said clearly was not sufficiently offensive for Nora to make a scene, and they danced on.
Augusta was ready to give up hope, and the waltz was in its last few bars, when the explosion came.
Augusta was the only person to see how it started. The count put his lips close to Nora’s ear and spoke. She colored up, then stopped dancing abruptly and pushed him away; but nobody except Augusta noticed this because the dance was just ending. However, the count pushed his luck and spoke again, his face creasing with a characteristic lascivious grin. At that second the music stopped, and in the momentary silence that followed, Nora slapped him.
The smack sounded throughout the ballroom like a gunshot. It was not a polite ladylike slap, designed for drawing room use, but the kind of blow that would deter a drunken groper in a saloon-bar. The count staggered back—and bumped into the Prince of Wales.
There was a collective gasp from the people around. The prince stumbled and was caught by the duke of Tenbigh. In the horrified silence, Nora’s cockney accent rang out loud and clear: “Don’t you ever come near me again, you filthy old reprobate!”
For another second they formed a still tableau: the outraged woman, the humiliated count and the startled prince. Augusta was possessed by jubilation. It had worked—it had worked better than she could have imagined!
Then Hugh appeared at Nora’s side and took her arm; the count drew himself up to his full height and stalked out; and an anxious group clustered protectively around the prince, hiding him from view. Conversation broke out around the room like a roll of thunder.
Augusta looked triumphantly at Micky.
“Brilliant,” he murmured with real admiration. “You’re brilliant, Augusta.” He squeezed her arm and led her off the dance floor.
Her husband was waiting for her. “That wretched girl!” he expostulated. “To cause a scene like that under the nose of the prince—she’s brought disgrace on the whole family, and doubtless lost us a major contract too!”
It was just the reaction Augusta had hoped for. “Now perhaps you’ll believe that Hugh can’t be made a partner,” she said triumphantly.
Joseph gave her an appraising stare. For one dreadful moment she feared she had overplayed her hand, and he had guessed that she had orchestrated the whole incident. But if the thought crossed his mind he must have dismissed it, for he said: “You’re right, my dear. You’ve been right all along.”
Hugh was steering Nora to the door. “We’re leaving, of course,” he said neutrally as they passed.
“We’ll all have to leave now,” Augusta said. However, she did not want them to go immediately. If no more was said tonight, there was a danger that tomorrow when people cooled off they might say the incident was not as bad as it had seemed. To guard against that, Augusta wanted more of a row now: hot tempers, angry words, accusations that could not easily be forgotten. She put a detaining hand on Nora’s arm. “I tried to warn you about Count de Tokoly,” she said accusingly.
Hugh said: “When such a man insults a lady on the dance floor, there isn’t much she can do other than cause a scene.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Augusta snapped. “Any well-bred young girl would have known exactly what to do. She should have said she felt unwell and sent for her carriage.”
Hugh knew this was true and he did not try to deny it. Once again Augusta worried that everyone might calm down and the incident would fizzle out. But Joseph was still angry, and he said to Hugh: “Heaven knows how much damage you’ve done to the family and the bank tonight.”
Hugh colored. “What precisely do you mean?” he said stiffly.
By challenging Joseph to back up the accusation Hugh was making things worse for himself, Augusta thought with satisfaction. He was too young to know that he should shut up and go home at this point.
Joseph grew more angry. “We’ve certainly lost the Hungarian account, and we’ll never again be invited to a royal event.”
“I know that perfectly well,” Hugh said. “I meant to ask why you said the damage has been done by me.”
“Because you brought into the family a woman who doesn’t know how to behave!”
Better and better, Augusta thought with malicious glee.
Hugh was bright red now but he spoke with controlled fury. “Let me get this straight. A Pilaster wife must be willing to suffer insult and humiliation at dances rather than do anything to jeopardize a business deal, is that your philosophy?”
Joseph was mightily offended. “You insolent young pup,” he raged. “What I’m saying is that by marrying beneath yourself you have disqualified yourself from ever becoming a partner in the bank!”
He said it! Augusta thought jubilantly. He said it!
Hugh was jolted into silence. Unlike Augusta he had not thought ahead, had not worked out the implications of the row. Now the significance of what had happened was sinking in, and she watched his expression change from rage, through anxiety and comprehension, to despair.
She fought to conceal a victorious smile. She had what she wanted: she had won. Later Joseph might regret his pronouncement but it was most unlikely he would withdraw it—he was too proud.
“So that’s it,” Hugh said at last, and he was looking at Augusta rather than Joseph. To her surprise she saw that he was close to tears. “Very well, Augusta. You win. I don’t know how it was done but I’ve no doubt you provoked this incident somehow.” He turned to Joseph. “But you ought to reflect on it, Uncle Joseph. You should think about who genuinely cares about the bank …” He looked again at Augusta and finished: “And who are its real enemies.”