The Prime Minister nodded. He looked, Powerscourt thought, strangely unperturbed at the terrible tidings passing across his table. There was worse to come.
‘Tell me, Governor,’ he said, turning to look the tea importer straight in the eye. The fingers continued strumming nervously on the table. ‘Leaving aside the question of the
Jubilee, now almost upon us, what would be the impact of the crash of Harrison’s Bank on the reputation of London as a place of business?’
The Governor’s eyes looked wilder yet. ‘Catastrophe, Prime Minister.’ The Governor said the word catastrophe very slowly, dragging it out so the full horror could sink in.
‘There is no other word. The City’s reputation would be ruined, coming so soon after the near collapse of Barings seven years ago. Business would disappear to the Continent, to New
York. It would be a catastrophe, Prime Minister. Could I just refer back to Barings?’
‘No, you may not at this moment refer to Barings!’ The Prime Minister was very firm. ‘I have my own thoughts on Barings as I was in office myself at the time. Lord Rosebery, as
a former Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister, could you tell us your view on the impact of such a collapse so close to the Jubilee?’
Rosebery looked surprised. The Prime Minister himself had been Foreign Secretary for a far longer period than he had.
‘It would be a very great blow to the prestige of Great Britain,’ Rosebery began. ‘The foreign press, come to report on the glories of the Jubilee, would report instead on the
weakness of what had been one of this nation’s greatest strengths. They would glory in our discomfiture. We would be humiliated abroad. It would be as though some great Roman general were to
be told, on the eve of his triumph through the streets of Rome, that the armies had mutinied and the colonies had raised the standard of revolt. The prestige and authority of the nation overseas,
invisible but invaluable, would be greatly weakened. The Titan would still be a Titan, of course, but it would be a wounded Titan, limping on its passage, with blood dripping on the floor as it
passed by.’
The Prime Minister managed a menacing smile.
‘Thank you, Rosebery. Tell me, Governor, why do you not appeal to the patriotism of your colleagues, swear them to secrecy in your dealings, persuade them to save Harrison’s Bank for
the honour of their country?’
The Governor stopped drumming his fingers on the table. He looked as though he might be about to cry.
‘Prime Minister,’ he said, ‘I have considered that. Of course I have. But I do not believe that such an appeal would work.’
‘Is there no patriotism left then?’ The Prime Minister was almost shouting now, turning the full authority of his office and his personality on the man beside him. ‘Does profit
come before the honour of the country? Does it, Governor?’
The Governor was on the ropes now. Powerscourt didn’t think he would get up again.
‘I don’t think the people in the City would put it like that, Prime Minister. But if it came to a choice between preserving their own houses and their own balance sheets, and some
misty notion of the honour of the country abroad, I have no doubt how they would react. They would choose to keep what they had, rather than throw it away. Please may I return to Barings, Prime
Minister? On that occasion it was the Government itself that led the rescue. Surely it is up to the Government to do so again.’
The Prime Minister banged a very large fist on the table. The pictures shivered on the walls. ‘Do not speak to me of Barings in that false fashion. The Government did give certain
guarantees, but only when we were sure they would not be needed. Your predecessor had his rescue mission already in place when we gave our undertakings. They merely underwrote the confidence that
the rescue would succeed. You do not have any rescue mission in place. You sound, forgive me for saying so, incapable of putting any rescue mission in place. Not a canoe, not a paddle boat, do I
see about to set off from the quays of Threadneedle Street. You in the City are incapable of rescuing this wretched firm. It is politically impossible for the Government to commit itself to such
sums without asking Parliament. Harrison’s must sink, and the reputation of the City and the prestige of the British Empire will sink with it.’
Silence dropped on the room. Powerscourt was thinking, not of the impact of the crash on the City of London, but of Lady Lucy and her tragic family, the Farrells. He remembered Lucy telling him
that the eldest child had also died, that the father was at death’s door. The rooms they lived in were owned by Harrison’s Private Bank. Burke had told him on the way to the meeting
that the flats would have to be sold, whatever remained of the Farrell family thrown on to the cruel streets of London once more. One more widow, three more homeless children. He wondered how many
more families would lose their homes if Harrison’s failed, more statistics to be added to the enormous totals of the capital’s poor.
The Governor was wishing he was back in the peaceful company of his teas and his warehouses. His firm had made a fortune out of Jubilee Tea, a new blend, produced specially for the occasion,
combining the finest flavour of the finest teas in the empire. It would have a bitter taste now. Rosebery was feeling relieved, not for the first time, that he was only a visitor and not the
occupant of Number 10 Downing Street. William Burke wondered if the Prime Minister had deliberately forced the meeting to crisis point, only to pull a rabbit from his hat at the end. Powerscourt
was looking at the portraits of previous Prime Ministers looking down on them from the walls, Melbourne looking avuncular, Pitt looking exhausted, Liverpool impassive.
‘Powerscourt!’ The Prime Minister at any rate had not given up yet. ‘It is thanks to your efforts that we know of this terrible plot. We are grateful to you. I know that you
are not a man of finance, but have you any counsel to offer us now at the eleventh hour?’
The Prime Minister thought it would be only polite to hear from Powerscourt before he closed the meeting. He didn’t expect to hear anything of substance. He was already contemplating the
diversion he would have to invent to draw attention away from the problems in the City, the immediate despatch of troops to some remote part of Africa, a revival of the Russian menace on the
frontiers of the Raj perhaps. India would be best, he decided, the threat from the Russian Bear would play well on the patriotic feelings of the Jubilee.
Powerscourt was to tell Lady Lucy afterwards that the Prime Ministers on the wall had come to his rescue. Directly opposite him was Disraeli, dressed in pomp and splendour as Earl of
Beaconsfield in his last days, but still with something of Shylock or Svengali about him, conjuring ancient mysteries from the East to dazzle a mourning Empress.
‘I was wondering about the Suez Canal,’ he began slowly. The plan was still taking shape in his mind.
‘The Suez Canal?’ the Governor said scornfully. His fingers were tapping remorselessly on the table once more. ‘What in God’s name has the Suez Canal got to do with
it?’
The Prime Minister was gathering his papers, his left hand searching automatically for his train ticket to a more peaceful world.
‘I was thinking of the way it was bought actually,’ said Powerscourt, refusing to be put off by the Governor. ‘It had to be done in secret. The Government could not ask for
help from the Bank of England in case word leaked out and the shares went up in price or were bought elsewhere. So they asked one man for a loan. Just one man. Rothschild. It was all done in less
than half an hour, I believe.’
‘Are you suggesting that we ask Rothschild’s again?’ said Burke, anxious to assist his friend.
‘No, I am not,’ said Powerscourt, ‘But it was the principle I was thinking of. In this case the Bank cannot ask for help from the wealthy houses in the City, either because it
would not be forthcoming, or because approaches to a variety of houses could not be kept secret. The Government cannot employ the taxpayers’ money on such a scale at this notice because the
House of Commons would not stand for it. But if the Government were to borrow the money from just one individual, then those difficulties might be overcome. I have only just thought of this scheme,
gentlemen, forgive me if it is not properly formed.’
The Prime Minister looked hard at Powerscourt. Maybe he wouldn’t have to organize a trumped-up row with the Russian Ambassador after all.
‘Do you have anybody in mind, Powerscourt?’ he said.
‘I am not sure about specific individuals, Prime Minister,’ Powerscourt replied, ‘but I have a very clear idea of the type of individual who might be prepared to give
assistance. Mr Burke was talking earlier about outsiders who want to be insiders, somebody who wants to be embraced into the bosom of the English upper classes. My candidate would not be a peer,
but he would be eternally grateful for a peerage.’
‘Bloody expensive for a peerage, five million pounds, even these days,’ said the Prime Minister, laughing for the first time that evening.
‘No doubt there are other inducements that could be offered,’ Powerscourt went on. ‘Some of our more fashionable clubs are very desirable for the simple reason that they are so
hard to get into. I was thinking of the MCC or the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes for example. Some of the Pall Mall establishments may have been too quick in the past with their blackballs. That
could, no doubt, be corrected. The Garter might be out of reach, Prime Minister, but surely the Chairmanship of a Royal Commission on some subject of little importance would not be. Invitations to
spend the weekend with the Prince and Princess of Wales at Sandringham perhaps? Dinner with the Queen Empress herself at Windsor?’
Now it was Rosebery’s turn to laugh. The tension was ebbing from the room.
‘Come, Francis, you must have somebody in mind, surely?’ said Rosebery. ‘I am not a financier,’ said Powerscourt, secretly amazed at how quickly the plan had unfolded in
his mind, ‘my only qualification is that when I began the investigations into Harrison’s Bank I read the back copies of the
Economist
and other financial papers for the past
three years. I was thinking of one of those diamond people, not Rhodes of course, but one of the more shadowy ones who must have made more money than he ever did.’
‘Messel!’ Burke broke in. ‘Franz Augustine Messel. He might be our man. Or that other fellow, Sprecker, Hans Joachim Sprecker. They have both made enormous fortunes out of gold
and diamonds in South Africa, Prime Minister. They are both resident in this country. Neither, to the best of my knowledge, has yet been elevated to the peerage.’
‘What do we put on the recommendation, Burke?’ asked the Prime Minister. ‘Even nowadays you have to say something about charitable good works or help for the deserving
poor.’
‘Services to the financial community?’ suggested Powerscourt. ‘That could cover a multitude of sins. Usually does, I believe.’
‘Let us be serious, gentlemen.’ The Prime Minister’s hand had stopped looking for his train ticket. Maybe he would have to remain at his post a little longer yet. ‘Do
either of you financial gentlemen believe this scheme to be possible? Governor?’
The Governor had turned pale. Life with Darjeeling and Earl Grey, Assam and Lapsang Souchong had not prepared him for this.
‘I think it is a most, a most interesting proposal,’ he spluttered. ‘I could not commit the Bank to saying whether it would succeed or not. I’m afraid –’
‘Mr Burke?’ the Prime Minister cut the Governor off brutally.
‘Well, Prime Minister . . .’ Something told Burke that bravery, even recklessness, might be better than prudence and his banker’s caution at this moment. ‘I think it
could well work. It could get us out of all our difficulties. There is only one problem, now I think of it. I spoke a moment ago as if we had two possible candidates. I fear, with the time at our
disposal, we have only one. Sprecker has made huge investments in some Central European railroad. Unlike almost all his contemporaries in the City he goes out in person to check on the progress of
the schemes he has funded. We could not get to him in time.’
‘But Messel?’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Where is he?’
‘I believe he is at his place in Oxfordshire, Prime Minister. They call it the Chiltern Versailles. We could reach him tomorrow morning. We have nothing to lose.’
‘We have nothing to lose,’ said the Prime Minister grimly, ‘but the interest rate. What do you think he would charge for a loan in these circumstances?’
‘I fear we would have to pay over the odds, Prime Minister, however many inducements we were able to throw into the pot.’
‘Never mind.’ The Prime Minister was gathering his papers once again. ‘Bring him here. Bring him here tomorrow. On second thoughts, don’t bring him here. The place is
full of these foreign persons and their reporters at present. Where do you suggest we meet, Mr Burke?’
‘Well,’ said Burke, ‘the Bank of England is out of the question. So is any office in the City. I would offer my house in Chester Square but my wife is having it repainted for
the Jubilee.’ He smiled an apologetic smile. ‘Could I suggest, Prime Minister, that we meet in Lord Powerscourt’s house in Markham Square? Number 25. We could let you know when
Messel is expected to arrive.’
‘Excellent,’ said the Prime Minister. He looked round at his predecessors on the walls, his gaze coming to rest on Disraeli’s wicked eyes. ‘I’m going to take a leaf
out of Disraeli’s book, gentlemen. He sent his private secretary Montagu Corry to handle the negotiations with Rothschild about the Suez Canal. I shall use my equivalent. Schomberg McDonnell
may look like a junior clerk in a solicitor’s office, but he bargains with straying backbenchers and rebellious members of the Cabinet as though he had been born in an Oriental
bazaar.’
‘Does that mean, Prime Minister,’ Powerscourt was taking his duties as host very seriously, ‘that you won’t be coming to the meeting yourself?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Powerscourt!’ The huge frame shook with laughter. ‘McDonnell can talk to the fellow downstairs. Then he reports back to us upstairs. I don’t
care if you have to hide me behind the arras, Powerscourt, I shouldn’t miss it . . .’ He paused suddenly and looked balefully at the Governor of the Bank of England. ‘I
shouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China.’