A Dangerous Fortune (30 page)

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!”

3

KINGSBRIDGE MANOR
was one of the largest houses in England. Maisie had stayed there three or four times and she still had not seen half of it. The house had twenty principal bedrooms, not counting the rooms of the fifty or so servants. It was heated by coal fires and lit by candles, and it had only one bathroom, but what it lacked in modern conveniences it made up for in old-fashioned luxury: four-poster beds curtained with heavy silk, delicious old wines from the vast underground cellars, horses and guns and books and games without end.

The young duke of Kingsbridge had once owned a hundred thousand acres of best Wiltshire farmland, but
on Solly’s advice he had sold half of it and bought a big chunk of South Kensington with the proceeds. Consequently the agricultural depression that had impoverished many great families had left “Kingo” untouched, and he was still able to entertain his friends in the grand style.

The Prince of Wales had been with them for the first week. Solly and Kingo and the prince shared a taste for boisterous fun, and Maisie had helped to provide it. She had substituted soapsuds for whipped cream on Kingo’s dessert; she had unbuttoned Solly’s braces while he dozed in the library, so that his trousers fell down when he stood up; and she had glued together the pages of
The Times
so that it could not be opened. By hazard the prince himself had been the first to pick up the newspaper, and as he fumbled with the pages there had been a moment of suspense when everyone wondered how he would take it—for though the heir to the throne loved practical jokes, he was never the victim—but then he began to chuckle as he realized what had happened, and the others all laughed uproariously, from relief as much as amusement.

The prince had left, and Hugh Pilaster had arrived; and then the trouble had started.

It was Solly’s idea to get Hugh invited here. Solly liked Hugh. Maisie could not think of a plausible reason to object. It had been Solly who asked Hugh to dinner in London, too.

He had recovered his composure quickly enough, that evening, and had proved himself a perfectly eligible dinner guest. Perhaps his manners were not quite as refined as they might have been if he had spent the last six years in London drawing rooms instead of Boston warehouses, but his natural charm made up for any shortcomings. In the two days he had been at Kingsbridge he had entertained them all with tales of life in America, a place none of them had visited.

It was ironic that she should find Hugh’s manners a little rough. Six years ago it had been the other way around. But she was a quick learner. She had acquired the accent of the upper classes with no trouble. The grammar had taken her a little longer. Hardest of all had been the little subtleties of behavior, the grace notes of social superiority: the way they walked through a door, spoke to a pet dog, changed the subject of a conversation, ignored a drunk. But she had studied hard, and now it all came naturally to her.

Hugh had recovered from the shock of their meeting, but Maisie had not. She would never forget his expression when he first saw her. She had been prepared, but for Hugh it had been a complete surprise. Because of his surprise he had shown his feelings quite nakedly, and Maisie had been dismayed to see the hurt in his eyes. She had wounded him deeply, six years ago, and he had not got over it.

The look on his face had haunted her ever since. She had been upset when she learned he was coming here. She did not want to see him. She did not want the past brought back. She was married to Solly, who was a good husband, and she could not bear the thought of hurting him. And there was Bertie, her reason for living.

Their child was named Hubert, but they called him Bertie, which was also the name of the Prince of Wales. Bertie Greenbourne would be five years old on May 1st, but that was a secret: his birthday was celebrated in September, to hide the fact that he had been born only six months after the wedding. Solly’s family knew the truth, but no one else did: Bertie had been born in Switzerland, during the world tour that had been their honeymoon. Since then Maisie had been happy.

Solly’s parents had not welcomed Maisie. They were stiff-necked snobbish German Jews who had been living in England for generations, and they looked down on Yiddish-speaking Russian Jews just off the boat. The fact
that she was carrying another man’s child confirmed their prejudice and gave them an excuse for rejecting her. However, Solly’s sister Kate, who was about Maisie’s age and had a seven-year-old daughter, was nice to Maisie when her parents were not around.

Solly loved her, and he loved Bertie too, although he did not know whose child he was; and that was enough for Maisie—until Hugh came back.

She got up early, as always, and went along to the nursery wing of the great house. Bertie was having breakfast in the nursery dining room with Kingo’s children Anne and Alfred, supervised by three nursery maids. She kissed his sticky face and said: “What are you having?”

“Porridge with honey.” He spoke with the drawling accent of the upper classes, the accent Maisie had been at pains to learn, and from which she still occasionally slipped.

“Is it nice?”

“The honey’s nice.”

“I think I’ll have some,” said Maisie, sitting down. It would be more digestible than the kippers and deviled kidneys the adults had for breakfast.

Bertie did not take after Hugh. As a baby he had resembled Solly, for all babies looked like Solly; and now he was like Maisie’s father, with dark hair and brown eyes. Maisie could see something of Hugh in him now and again, especially when he gave a mischievous grin; but there was no obvious resemblance, fortunately.

A nursery maid brought Maisie a dish of porridge with honey and she tasted it.

“Do you like it, Mama?” said Bertie.

Anne said: “Don’t speak with your mouth full, Bertie.” Anne Kingsbridge was a superior seven-year-old and she lorded it over Bertie and her five-year-old brother Freddy.

“It’s delicious,” said Maisie.

Another maid said: “Would you like some buttered toast, children?” and they all said yes in a chorus.

Maisie had at first felt it was unnatural for a child to grow up surrounded by servants, and she feared that Bertie would be overprotected; but she had learned that rich children played in the dirt and climbed walls and got into fights just as much as the poor, and the main difference was that the people who cleaned up after them got paid.

She would have liked to have more children—Solly’s children—but something had gone wrong inside her when Bertie was born and the Swiss doctors had said she would not conceive again. They had been proved right, for she had been sleeping with Solly for five years without once missing the monthly curse. Bertie was the only child she would ever have. She was bitterly sorry for Solly, who would never have children of his own; although he said he already had more happiness than any man deserved.

Kingo’s wife the duchess, known to her friends as Liz, joined the nursery breakfast party soon after Maisie. As they were washing their children’s hands and faces, Liz said: “You know, my mother would never have done this. She only saw us when we were scrubbed clean and dressed up. So unnatural.” Maisie smiled. Liz thought herself very down-to-earth because she washed her own children’s faces.

They stayed in the nursery until ten o’clock, when the governess arrived and set the children to work drawing and painting. Maisie and Liz returned to their rooms. Today was a quiet day, with no hunting. Some of the men were going fishing and others would stroll in the woods with a dog or two, shooting rabbits. The ladies, and the men who liked ladies better than dogs, would walk around the park before lunch.

Solly had eaten breakfast and was getting ready to go out. He was dressed in a brown tweed lounge suit with a short jacket. Maisie kissed him and helped him put on his ankle boots: if she had not been there he would have
called his valet, for he could not bend down far enough to tie the laces himself. She put on a fur coat and hat and Solly donned a heavy plaid Inverness coat with a cape and matching bowler hat, then they went down to the hall to meet the others.

It was a bright, frosty morning, delightful if you had a fur coat, torture if you lived in a drafty slum and had to walk barefoot. Maisie liked to remember the privations of her childhood: it intensified the pleasure she took in being married to one of the richest men in the world.

She walked with Kingo on one side of her and Solly on the other. Hugh was behind with Liz. Although Maisie could not see him she could feel his presence, hear him chatting with Liz and making her giggle, and imagine the twinkle in his blue eyes. After about half a mile they came to the main gate. As they were turning to stroll through the orchard Maisie saw a familiar tall, black-bearded figure approaching from the village. For a moment she imagined it was her papa; then she recognized her brother Danny.

Danny had returned to their hometown six years ago to find that their parents no longer lived in the old house, and had left no other address. Disappointed, he traveled further north, to Glasgow, and founded the Working Men’s Welfare Association, which not only insured workingmen against unemployment but also campaigned for safety rules in factories, the right to join trade unions, and financial regulation of corporations. His name started appearing in the newspapers—Dan Robinson, not Danny, for he was too formidable to be a Danny now. Papa read about him and came to his office, and there was a joyful reunion.

It turned out that Papa and Mama had at last met other Jews soon after Maisie and Danny ran away. They borrowed the money to move to Manchester, where Papa found another job, and they never sank so low again. Mama survived her illness and was now quite healthy.

Maisie was married to Solly by the time the family was reunited. Solly would cheerfully have given Papa a house and an income for life, but Papa did not want to retire, and instead asked Solly to lend him the money to open a shop. Now Mama and Papa sold caviar and other delicacies to the wealthy citizens of Manchester. When Maisie went to visit she took off her diamonds, put on a pinafore and served behind the counter, confident that none of the Marlborough Set were likely to go to Manchester and if they did they would not do their own shopping.