A Dangerous Fortune (1994)

by Ken Follett

  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 entree 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."

  Section 3

  THE NEWS OF HUGH'S FALL spread around the City in hours. By the following afternoon, people who had clamored to see him with money-making schemes for railways, steel mills, shipyards and suburban housing were canceling their appointments. In the bank, clerks who had venerated him now regarded him as just another manager. He found he could go into a coffeehouse in the streets around the Bank of England without immediately attracting a cluster of people eager to know his views on the Grand Trunk Railroad, the price of Louisiana bonds and the American national debt.

  Within the Partners' Room there was a row. Uncle Samuel had been indignant when Joseph announced that Hugh could not be made a partner. However, Young William had sided with his brother Joseph, and Major Hartshorn did the same, so Samuel was outvoted.

  It was Jonas Mulberry, the bald, lugubrious Principal Clerk, who told Hugh what had happened between the partners. "I must say I regret the decision, Mr. Hugh," he said with evident sincerity. "When you worked under me as a youngster you never tried to blame your mistakes on me--unlike certain other family members I have dealt with in the past."

  "I wouldn't have dared, Mr. Mulberry," said Hugh with a smile.

  Nora cried for a week. Hugh refused to blame her for what had happened. No one had forced him to marry her: he had to take responsibility for his own decisions. If his family had any decency they would stand by him in such a crisis, but he had never been able to count on them for that kind of support.

  When Nora got over her upset she became rather unsympathetic, revealing a hard-hearted side that surprised Hugh. She could not understand the significance of the partnership to him. He realized, with a sense of disappointment, that she was not very good at imagining other people's feelings. He thought it must be because she had grown up poor and motherless, and had been forced to put her own interests first all her life. Although he was a little shaken by her attitude, he forgot about it every night when they climbed into the big soft bed together in their nightwear and made love.

  Hugh's resentment grew inside him like an ulcer, but he now had a wife, a big new house and six servants to support, so he had to stay on at the bank. He had been given his own room, on the floor above the Partners' Room, and he put a big map of North America on the wall. Every Monday morning he wrote a summary of the previous week's North American business and cabled it to Sidney Madler in New York. On the second Monday after the duchess of Tenbigh's ball, in the telegraph office on the ground floor, he met a stranger, a dark-haired man of about twenty-one. Hugh smiled and said: "Hullo, who are you?"

  "Simon Oliver," the man said in an accent that sounded vaguely Spanish.

  "You must be new here," Hugh said, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Hugh Pilaster."

  "How do you do," Oliver said. He seemed rather sulky.

  "I work on North American loans," Hugh sa
id. "What about you?"

  "I'm clerk to Mr. Edwatd."

  Hugh made a connection. "Are you from South America?"

  "Yes, Cordova."

  That made sense. As Edward's specialty was South America in general and Cordova in particular, it could be useful to have a native of that country to work with him, especially as Edward did not speak Spanish. "I was at school with the Cordovan Minister, Micky Miranda," Hugh said. "You must know him."

  "He is my cousin."

  "Ah." There was no family resemblance, but Oliver was immaculately groomed, his well-tailored clothes pressed and brushed, his hair oiled and combed, his shoes shiny: no doubt he modeled himself on his successful older cousin. "Well, I hope you enjoy working with us."

  "Thank you."

  Hugh was thoughtful as he returned to his own office on the next floor up. Edward needed all the help he could get, but Hugh was a little bothered at having a cousin of Micky's in such a potentially influential position at the bank.

  His unease was vindicated a few days later.

  Once again it was Jonas Mulberry who told him what was going on in the Partners' Room. Mulberry came into Hugh's room with a schedule of payments the bank had to make in London on behalf of the U.S. government, but his real reason was to talk. His spaniel face was longer than ever as he said: "I don't like it, Mr. Hugh. South American bonds have never been good."

  "We're not launching a South American bond, are we?"

  Mulberry nodded. "Mr. Edward proposed it and the partners have agreed."

  "What's it for?"

  "A new railroad from the capital city, Palma, to Santamaria Province."

  "Where the provincial governor is Papa Miranda...."

  "The father of Mr. Edward's friend Senor Miranda."

  "And the uncle of Edward's clerk Simon Oliver."

  Mulberry shook his head disapprovingly. "I was a clerk here when the Venezuelan government defaulted on its bonds fifteen years ago. My father, God rest his soul, could remember the Argentine default of 1828. And look at Mexican bonds--they pay dividends now and again. Whoever heard of bonds that paid out now and again?"