A Dangerous Fortune (14 page)

Their carriage slowed almost to a halt. There was a knot of horses and vehicles up ahead. Augusta said irritably: “What’s the cause of this?”

“It must be the Lioness,” Clementine said excitedly.

Hugh scanned the crowd eagerly but could not see what was causing the holdup. There were several carriages of different kinds, nine or ten horses and some pedestrians.

Augusta said: “What’s this about a lioness?”

“Oh, Mother, she’s notorious!”

As Augusta’s carriage drew nearer, a smart little victoria emerged from the ruck, pulled by a pair of high-stepping ponies and driven by a woman.

“It
is
the Lioness!” Clementine squealed.

Hugh looked at the woman driving the victoria and was astonished to recognize her.

It was Maisie Robinson.

She cracked a whip and the ponies picked up speed. She was wearing a brown merino costume with flounces of silk, and a mushroom-colored tie with a bow at her throat. On her head was a perky little top hat with a curly brim.

Hugh felt angry with her all over again for what she had said about his father. She knew nothing about finance and she had no right to accuse people of dishonesty in that casual way. But all the same he could not help thinking that she looked absolutely ravishing. There was something irresistibly charming about the set of that small, neat body in the driving seat, the tilt of the hat, even the way she held the whip and shook the reins.

So the Lioness was Maisie Robinson! But how come
she suddenly had horses and carriages? Had she come into money? What was she up to?

While Hugh was still marveling, there was an accident.

A nervous thoroughbred trotted past Augusta’s carriage and was startled by a small, noisy terrier. It reared up and the rider fell off into the road—right in front of Maisie’s victoria.

Quickly she changed direction, showing impressive control of her vehicle, and pulled across the road. Her evasive action took her right in front of Augusta’s horses, causing the coachman to haul on his reins and let out an oath.

She brought her carriage to an abrupt stop alongside. Everyone looked at the thrown rider. He appeared unhurt. He got to his feet unaided, dusted himself down, and walked off, cursing, to catch his horse.

Maisie recognized Hugh. “Hugh Pilaster, I do declare!” she cried.

Hugh blushed. “Good morning,” he said, and had no idea what to do next.

He had made a serious error of etiquette. He ought not to have acknowledged Maisie while he was with his aunts, for he could not possibly introduce such a person to them. He should have snubbed her.

However, Maisie made no attempt to address the ladies. “How do you like these ponies?” she said. She seemed to have forgotten their quarrel.

Hugh was completely thrown by this beautiful, surprising woman, her skillful driving and her careless manners. “They’re very fine,” he said without looking at them.

“They’re for sale.”

Aunt Augusta said icily: “Hugh, kindly tell this
person
to let us pass!”

Maisie looked at Augusta for the first time. “Shut your gob, you old bitch,” she said casually.

Clementine gasped and Aunt Madeleine gave a small scream of horror. Hugh’s mouth dropped open. Maisie’s gorgeous clothes and expensive equipage had made it easy to forget that she was an urchin from the slums. Her words were so splendidly vulgar that for a moment Augusta was too stunned to reply. Nobody ever dared to speak to her this way.

Maisie did not give her time to recover. Turning back to Hugh, she said: “Tell your cousin Edward he should buy my ponies!” Then she cracked her whip and drove away.

Augusta erupted. “How dare you expose me to such a person!” She boiled. “How dare you take off your hat to her!”

Hugh was staring after Maisie, watching her neat back and jaunty hat recede along the drive.

Aunt Madeleine joined in. “How can you possibly know her, Hugh?” she said. “No well-bred young man would be acquainted with that type! And it seems you have even introduced her to Edward!”

It was Edward who had introduced Maisie to Hugh, but Hugh was not going to try to put the blame on Edward. They would not have believed him anyway. “I don’t actually know her very well,” he said.

Clementine was intrigued. “Where on earth did you meet her?”

“A place called the Argyll Rooms.”

Augusta frowned at Clementine and said: “I don’t wish to know such things. Hugh, tell Baxter to drive home.”

Hugh said: “I’m going to walk for a while.” He opened the door of the carriage.

“You’re going after that woman!” Augusta said. “I forbid it!”

“Drive on, Baxter,” said Hugh as he stepped down. The coachman shook the reins, the wheels turned, and
Hugh politely doffed his hat as his angry aunts were driven away.

He had not heard the last of this. There would be more trouble later. Uncle Joseph would be told, and soon all the partners would know that Hugh consorted with low women.

But it was a holiday, the sun was shining, and the park was full of people enjoying themselves, and Hugh could not get worried about his aunt’s rage today.

He felt lighthearted as he strode along the path. He headed in the direction opposite to that Maisie had taken. People drove around in circles, so he might run into her again.

He was keen to talk to her more. He wanted to set her straight about his father. Oddly enough he no longer felt angry with her about what she had said. She was simply mistaken, he thought, and she would understand if it was explained to her. Anyway, just talking to her was exciting.

He reached Hyde Park Corner and turned north along Park Lane. He doffed his hat to numerous relations and acquaintances: Young William and Beatrice in a brougham, Uncle Samuel on a chestnut mare, Mr. Mulberry with his wife and children. Maisie might have stopped on the far side, or she might have left by now. He began to feel that he would not see her again.

But he did.

She was just leaving, crossing Park Lane. It was undoubtedly her, with that mushroom-colored silk tie at her throat. She did not see him.

On impulse he followed her across the road, into Mayfair, and down a mews, running to keep up with her. She pulled the victoria up to a stable and jumped down. A groom came out and began to help her with the horses.

Hugh came up beside her, breathing hard. He wondered why he had done this. “Hello, Miss Robinson,” he said.

“Hello again!”

“I followed you,” he said superfluously.

She gave him a frank look. “Why?”

Without thinking he blurted out: “I was wondering if you would go out with me one night.”

She put her head to one side and frowned slightly, considering his proposal. Her expression was friendly, as if she liked the idea, and he thought she would accept. But it seemed some practical consideration was at war with her inclinations. She looked away from him, and a little frown appeared on her brow; then she appeared to make up her mind. “You can’t afford me,” she said decisively; and she turned her back on him and walked into the stable.

4

Cammel Farm
Cape Colony
South Africa
14th July 1873

Dear Hugh
,

Jolly nice to hear from you! One is rather isolated out here, and you can’t imagine the pleasure we get out of a long, newsy letter from home. Mrs. Cammel, who used to be the Hon. Amelia Clapham until she married me, was especially amused by your account of the Lioness
….

It’s a bit late to say this, I know, but I was dreadfully shocked by the death of your father. Schoolboys don’t write condolence notes. And your own tragedy was somewhat eclipsed by the drowning of Peter Middleton on the very same day. But believe me, many of us thought of you and talked about you after you were so abruptly taken away from school
….

I’m glad you asked me about Peter. I have felt guilty ever since that day. I didn’t actually see the poor chap die, but I saw enough to guess the rest
.

Your cousin Edward was, as you so colourfully put it, more rotten than a dead cat. You managed to get most of your clothes out of the water and scarper, but Peter and Tonio weren’t so quick
.

I was over the other side, and I don’t think Edward and Micky even noticed me. Or perhaps they didn’t recognise me. At any rate they never spoke to me about the incident

Anyway, after you had gone Edward proceeded to torment Peter even more, pushing his head under the water and splashing his face while the poor boy struggled to retrieve his clothes
.

I could see it was getting out of hand but I was a complete coward, I’m afraid. I should have gone to Peter’s aid but I was not much bigger myself certainly no match for Edward and Micky Miranda, and I didn’t want my clothes soaked as well. Do you remember the punishment for breaking bounds? It was twelve strokes of the Striper, and I don’t mind admitting I was more frightened of that than anything else. Anyway, I grabbed my clothes and sneaked away without attracting any attention
.

I looked back once, from the lip of the quarry. I don’t know what had happened in the meantime, but Tonio was scrambling up the side, naked and clutching a bundle of wet clothes, and Edward was swimming across the pool after him, leaving Peter gasping and spluttering in the middle
.

I thought Peter would be all right, but obviously I was wrong. He must have been at the end of his tether. While Edward was chasing Tonio, and Micky was watching, Peter drowned without anyone’s noticing
.

I didn’t know that until later, of course. I got back to school and slipped into my dorm. When the masters started asking questions, I swore I had been there all afternoon. As the ghastly story began to emerge I never had the guts to admit that I had seen what happened
.

Not a tale to be proud of Hugh. But telling the truth at last has made me feel a bit better, at any rate
….

Hugh put down Albert Cammel’s letter and stared out of his bedroom window. The letter explained both more and less than Cammel imagined.

It explained how Micky Miranda had insinuated himself into the Pilaster family to such an extent that he spent every vacation with Edward and had all his expenses paid by Edward’s parents. No doubt Micky had told Augusta that Edward had virtually killed Peter. But in court Micky said Edward had tried to rescue the drowning boy. And in telling that lie Micky had saved the Pilasters from public disgrace. Augusta would have been powerfully grateful—and perhaps, also, fearful that Micky might one day turn against them and reveal the truth. It gave Hugh a cold, rather scared feeling in the pit of his stomach. Albert Cammel, all unknowing, had revealed that Augusta’s relationship with Micky was deep, dark and corrupt.

But another puzzle remained. For Hugh knew something about Peter Middleton that almost no one else was aware of. Peter had been something of a weakling, and all the boys treated him as a weed. Embarrassed about his weakness, he had embarked on a training program—and his main exercise was swimming. He stroked across that pool hour after hour, trying to build his physique. It
had not worked: a thirteen-year-old boy could not become broad-shouldered and deep-chested except by growing into a man, and that was a process that could not be hurried.

The only effect of all his efforts was to make him like a fish in the water. He could dive to the bottom, hold his breath for several minutes, float on his back, and keep his eyes open underwater. It would have taken more than Edward Pilaster to drown him.

So why had he died?

Albert Cammel had told the truth, as far as he knew it, Hugh was sure. But there had to be more. Something else had happened on that hot afternoon in Bishop’s Wood. A poor swimmer might have been killed accidentally, drowned because Edward’s roughhousing was too much for him to take. But casual horseplay could not have killed Peter. And if his death was not accidental, it was deliberate.

And that was murder.

Hugh shuddered.

There had been only three people there: Edward, Micky and Peter. Peter must have been murdered by Edward or Micky.

Or both.

5

AUGUSTA WAS ALREADY DISSATISFIED
with her Japanese decor. The drawing room was full of oriental screens, angular furniture on spindly legs, and Japanese fans and vases in black lacquered cabinets. It was all very expensive, but cheap copies were already appearing in the Oxford Street stores, and the look was no longer exclusive to the very best houses. Unfortunately, Joseph would not permit re-decoration so soon, and Augusta would have to live with increasingly common furniture for several years.

The drawing room was where Augusta held court at teatime every weekday. The women usually came first: her sisters-in-law Madeleine and Beatrice, and her daughter Clementine. The partners would arrive from the bank at about five: Joseph, old Seth, Madeleine’s husband George Hartshorn, and occasionally Samuel. If business was quiet the boys would come too: Edward, Hugh and Young William. The only nonmember of the family who was a regular teatime guest was Micky Miranda, but occasionally there would be a visiting Methodist clergyman, perhaps a missionary seeking funds to convert the heathens in the South Seas, Malaya, or the newly opened-up Japan.

Augusta worked hard to keep people coming. All the Pilasters liked sweet things, and she provided delicious buns and cakes as well as the very best tea from Assam and Ceylon. Big events such as family holidays and weddings would be planned during these sessions, so anyone who stopped coming would soon lose touch with what was going on.

Despite all that, every now and again one of them would go through a phase of wanting to be independent. The most recent example had been Young William’s wife Beatrice, a year or so before, after Augusta had been rather insistent about a dress fabric Beatrice had chosen that did not suit her. When this happened Augusta would leave them for a while, then win them back with some extravagantly generous gesture. In Beatrice’s case Augusta had thrown an expensive birthday party for Beatrice’s old mother, who was virtually senile and only barely presentable in public. Beatrice had been so grateful that she had forgotten all about the dress fabric—just as Augusta had intended.