EPILOGUE
1892
FROM The Times:
DEATHS
On the 30th May, at his residence in Antibes, France, after a long illness, the EARL OF WHITEHAVEN, formerly Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank.
“Edward’s dead,” Hugh said, looking up from the newspaper.
Maisie sat beside him in the railway carriage, wearing a summer dress in deep yellow with red spots and a little hat with yellow taffeta ribbons. They were on their way to Windfield School for Speech Day.
“He was a rotten swine, but his mother will miss him,” she said.
Augusta and Edward had been living together in the south of France for the past eighteen months. Despite what they had done, the syndicate paid them the same allowance as all the other Pilasters. They were both invalids: Edward had terminal syphilis and Augusta had suffered a slipped disc and spent most of her time in a wheelchair. Hugh had heard that despite her illness she had become the uncrowned queen of the English community in that part of the world: matchmaker, arbitrator of disputes, organizer of social events and promulgator of social rules.
“He loved his mother,” Hugh said.
She looked curiously at him. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s the only good thing I can think of to say about him.”
She smiled fondly and kissed his nose.
The train chugged into Windfield Station and they got out. It was the end of Toby’s first year and Bertie’s last year at the school. The day was warm and the sun was bright. Maisie opened her parasol—it was made of the same spotted silk as her dress—and they walked to the school.
It had changed a lot in the twenty-six years since Hugh had left. His old headmaster, Dr. Poleson, was long dead, and there was a statue of him in the quadrangle. The new head wielded the notorious cane they had always called the Striper, but he used it less frequently. The fourth-form dormitory was still in the old dairy by the stone chapel, but there was a new building with a school hall that could seat all the boys. The education was better, too: Toby and Bertie learned mathematics and geography as well as Latin and Greek.
They met Bertie outside the hall. He had been taller than Hugh for a year or two now. He was a solemn boy, hardworking and well behaved: he did not get into trouble at school the way Hugh had. He had a lot of Rabinowicz ancestry, and he reminded Hugh of Maisie’s brother Dan.
He kissed his mother and shook Hugh’s hand. “There’s a bit of a ruckus,” he said. “We haven’t enough copies of the school song and the lower fourth are writing it out like billy-o. I must go and whip them faster. I’ll meet you after the speeches.” He hurried off. Hugh watched him fondly, thinking nostalgically how important school seemed until you left.
They met Toby next. The small boys no longer had to wear top hats and frock coats: Toby was dressed in a straw boater and a short jacket. “Bertie says I can have tea with you in his study after speeches, if you don’t mind. Is it all right?”
“Of course.” Hugh laughed.
“Thanks, Father!” Toby ran off again.
In the school hall they were surprised to meet Ben Greenbourne, looking older and rather frail. Maisie, blunt as ever, said: “Hello, what are you doing here?”
“My grandson is head boy,” he replied gruffly. “I’ve come to hear his speech.”
Hugh was startled. Bertie was not Greenbourne’s grandson, and the old man knew it. Was he softening in his old age?
“Sit down by me,” Greenbourne commanded. Hugh looked at Maisie. She shrugged and sat down, and Hugh followed suit.
“I hear you two are married,” Greenbourne said.
“Last month,” Hugh said. “My first wife didn’t contest the divorce.” Nora was living with a whisky salesman and it had taken Hugh’s hired detective less than a week to get proof of adultery.
“I don’t approve of divorce,” Greenbourne said crisply. Then he sighed. “But I’m too old to tell people what to do. The century is almost over. The future belongs to you. I wish you the best.”
Hugh took Maisie’s hand and squeezed it.
Greenbourne addressed Maisie. “Will you send the boy to university?”
“I can’t afford it,” Maisie said. “It’s been hard paying the school fees.”
“I’d be glad to pay,” Greenbourne said.
Maisie was surprised. “It’s kind of you,” she said.
“I should have been kinder years ago,” he replied. “I always put you down as a fortune-hunter. It was one of my mistakes. If you were only after money you wouldn’t have married young Pilaster here. I was wrong about you.”
“You did me no harm,” Maisie said.
“I was too harsh, all the same. I don’t have many regrets, but that’s one of them.”
The schoolboys began to file into the hall, the youngest sitting on the floor at the front and the older boys on chairs.
Maisie said to Greenbourne: “Hugh has adopted Bertie legally now.”
The old man turned his sharp eyes on Hugh. “I suppose you’re the real father,” he said bluntly.
Hugh nodded.
“I should have guessed a long time ago. It doesn’t matter. The boy thinks I’m his grandfather, and that gives me a responsibility.” He coughed in an embarrassed way and changed the subject. “I hear the syndicate is going to pay a dividend.”
“That’s right,” Hugh said. He had finally disposed of all the assets of Pilasters Bank, and the syndicate that had rescued the bank had made a small profit. “All the members will get about five percent on their investment.”
“Well done. I didn’t think you’d manage it.”
“The new government in Cordova did it. They handed over the assets of the Miranda family to the Santamaria Harbor Corporation, and that made the bonds worth something again.”
“What happened to that chap Miranda? He was a bad lot.”
“Micky? His body was found in a steamer trunk washed up on a beach on the Isle of Wight. No one ever found out how it got there or why he was inside it.” Hugh had been concerned in the identification of the body: it had been important to establish that Micky was dead, so that Rachel could marry Dan Robinson at last.
A schoolboy came around handing out inky handwritten copies of the school song to all the parents and relatives.
“And you?” Greenbourne said to Hugh. “What will you do when the syndicate is wound up?”
“I was planning to ask your advice about that,” Hugh said. “I’d like to start a new bank.”
“How?”
“Float the shares on the stock market. Pilasters Limited. What do you think?”
“It’s a bold idea, but then you always were original.” Greenbourne looked thoughtful for a moment. “The funny thing is, the failure of your bank actually enhanced your reputation, in the end, because of the way you handled things. After all, who could be more reliable than a banker who manages to pay all his creditors even after he’s crashed?”
“So … do you think it would work?”
“I’m sure of it. I might even put money into it myself.”
Hugh nodded gratefully. It was important that Greenbourne liked the idea. Everyone in the City sought his opinion, and his approval was worth a lot. Hugh had thought his plan would work, but Greenbourne had put the seal on his confidence.
Everyone stood up as the headmaster came in, followed by the housemasters, the guest speaker—a Liberal member of Parliament—and Bertie, the head boy. They took their seats on the platform, then Bertie came to the lectern and said in a ringing voice: “Let us sing the school song.”
Hugh caught Maisie’s eye and she smiled proudly. The familiar notes of the introduction sounded on the piano, and then they all began to sing.
An hour later Hugh left them having tea in Bertie’s study and slipped out through the squash court into Bishop’s Wood.
It was hot, just like that day twenty-six years ago. The wood seemed the same, still and humid under the shade of the beeches and elms. He remembered the way to the swimming hole and found it without difficulty.
He did not climb down the side of the quarry—he was no longer agile enough. He sat on the rim and threw a stone into the pool. It broke the glassy stillness of the water and sent out ripples in perfect circles.
He was the only one left, except for Albert Cammel out in the Cape Colony. The others were all dead: Peter Middleton killed that day; Tonio shot by Micky two Christmases ago; Micky himself drowned in a steamer trunk; and now Edward, dead of syphilis and buried in a cemetery in France. It was almost as if something evil had come up out of the deep water that day in 1866 and entered their lives, bringing all the dark passions that had blighted their lives, hatred and greed and selfishness and cruelty; fomenting deceit, bankruptcy, disease and murder. But it was over now. The debts were paid. If there had been an evil spirit, it had returned to the bottom of the pond. And Hugh had survived.
He stood up. It was time to return to his family. He walked away, then took a last look back.
The ripples from the stone had disappeared, and the surface of the water was immaculately still once again.