by Ken Follett
"I thought you would like to be the first to see this," he said, and he handed her a journal.
It was the new number of The Forum, still smelling of the printing press. She opened it to the title page and read the headline over the leading article:
CAN A JEW BE A LORD?
Her spirits lifted. Tonight's fiasco was only one defeat, she reminded herself. There were other battles to be fought.
She read the first few lines:
We trust there is no truth in the rumours, currently circulating at Westminster and in the London clubs, that the Prime Minister is contemplating the grant of a peerage to a prominent banker of the Jewish race and faith.
We have never favoured persecution of heathen religions. However, tolerance can go too far. To give the highest accolade to one who openly rejects Christian salvation would be perilously close to blasphemy.
Of course, the Prime Minister himself is a Jew by race. But he has been converted, and took his oath of allegiance to Her Majesty on the Christian Bible. No constitutional question was therefore raised by his ennoblement. But we have to ask whether the unbaptised banker of whom rumour speaks would be prepared so far to compromise his faith as to swear on the combined Old and New Testaments. If he were to insist on the Old Testament alone, how could the bishops in the House of Lords stand by without protest?
We have no doubt that the man himself is a loyal citizen and an honest man of business....
There was much more of the same. Augusta was pleased. She looked up from the page. "Well done," she said. "That should cause a stir."
"I hope so." With a quick, birdlike gesture, Hobbes reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I have taken the liberty of contracting to buy the printing press I mentioned to you. The bill of sale--"
"Go to the bank in the morning," Augusta snapped, ignoring the proffered paper. Somehow she could never bring herself to be civil to Hobbes for long, even when he had served her well. Something about his manner irritated her. She made an effort to be more pleasant. In a softer voice she said: "My husband will give you a cheque."
Hobbes bowed. "In that case I will take my leave." He went out.
Augusta breathed a sigh of satisfaction. This would show them all. Maisie Greenbourne thought she was the leader of London society. Well, she could dance with the Prince of Wales all night long, but she couldn't fight the power of the press. It would take the Greenbournes a long time to recover from this onslaught. And meanwhile Joseph would have his peerage.
Feeling better, she sat down to read the article again.
Section 3
ON THE MORNING AFTER THE BALL Hugh woke up feeling jubilant. His wife had been accepted into high society and he was going to be made a partner in Pilasters Bank. The partnership gave him the chance to make not just thousands of pounds but, over the years, hundreds of thousands. One day he would be rich.
Solly would be disappointed that Hugh would not be working for him after all. But Solly was nothing if not easygoing: he would understand.
He put on his robe. From his bedside drawer he took a gift-wrapped jeweler's box and slipped it into his pocket. Then he went into his wife's bedroom.
Nora's room was large but it always felt cramped. The windows, the mirrors and the bed were all draped with patterned silk; the floor was covered with rugs two and three deep; the chairs were piled with embroidered cushions; and every shelf and tabletop was crowded with framed pictures, china dolls, miniature porcelain boxes and other knickknacks. The predominant colors were her favorite pink and blue, but just about every other color was represented somewhere, in the wallpapers, bedclothes, curtains or upholstery.
Nora was sitting up in bed, surrounded by lace pillows, sipping tea. Hugh perched on the edge of the bed and said: "You were wonderful last night."
"I showed them all," she said, looking pleased with herself. "I danced with the Prince of Wales."
"He couldn't stop looking at your bosom," Hugh said. He reached over and caressed her breasts through the silk of her high-buttoned nightdress.
She pushed his hand aside irritably. "Hugh! Not now."
He felt hurt. "Why not now?"
"It's the second time this week."
"When we were first married we used to do it constantly."
"Exactly--when we were first married. A girl doesn't expect to have to do it every day forever."
Hugh frowned. He would have been perfectly happy to do it every day forever--wasn't that what marriage was all about? But he did not know what was normal. Perhaps he was overactive. "How often do you think we should do it, then?" he said uncertainly.
She looked pleased to have been asked, as if she had been waiting for an opportunity to clear this up. "Not more than once a week," she said firmly.
"Really?" His feeling of exultation went away and he suddenly felt very cast down. A week seemed an awfully long time. He stroked her thigh through the sheets. "Perhaps a little more than that."
"No!" she said, moving her leg.
Hugh was upset. Once upon a time she had seemed enthusiastic about lovemaking. It had been something they enjoyed together. How had it become a chore she performed for his benefit? Had she never really liked it, but just pretended? There was something dreadfully depressing about that idea.
He no longer felt like giving her his gift, but he had bought it and he did not want to take it back to the shop. "Well, anyway, I got you this, to commemorate your triumph at Maisie Greenbourne's ball," he said rather dolefully, and he gave her the box.
Her manner changed instantly. "Oh, Hugh, you know how I love presents!" she said. She tore off the ribbon and opened the box. It contained a pendant in the shape of a spray of flowers, made of rubies and sapphires on gold stems. The pendant hung from a fine gold chain. "It's beautiful," she said.
"Put it on, then."
She put it over her head.
The pendant did not show to best advantage against the front of her nightdress. "It will look better with a low-cut evening gown," Hugh said.
Nora gave him a coquettish look and began to unbutton her nightdress. Hugh watched hungrily as she exposed more and more of her chest. The pendant hung in the swelling of her cleavage like a drop of rain on a rosebud. She smiled at Hugh and carried on undoing buttons, then she pulled the nightdress open, showing him her bare breasts. "Do you want to kiss them?" she said.
Now he did not know what to think. Was she toying with him or did she want to make love? He leaned over and kissed her breasts with the jewelry nestling between them. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently.
"Come to bed," she said.
"I thought you said--"
"Well ... a girl has to show she's grateful, doesn't she?" She drew back the covers.
Hugh felt sick. It was the jewelry that had changed her mind. All the same he could not resist the invitation. He shrugged out of his dressing gown, hating himself for being so weak, and climbed in beside her.
When he came, he felt like crying.
With his morning mail there was a letter from Tonio Silva.
Tonio had vanished shortly after Hugh met him in the coffeehouse. No article had appeared in The Times. Hugh had looked rather foolish, having made such a fuss about the danger to the bank. Edward had taken every opportunity to remind the partners of Hugh's false alarm. However, the incident had been eclipsed by the drama of Hugh's threatened move to Greenbournes.
Hugh had written to the Hotel Russe but got no reply. He had been worried about his friend, but there was no more he could do.
He opened the letter anxiously. It came from a hospital, asking Hugh to visit. The letter finished: "Whatever you do, tell no one where I am."
What had happened? Tonio had been in perfect health two months ago. And why was he in a public hospital? Hugh was dismayed. Only the poor went to hospitals, which were grim, unsanitary places: anyone who could afford it had doctors and nurses come to the house, even for operations.
Mystified and
concerned, Hugh went straight to the hospital. He found Tonio in a dark, bare ward of thirty close-packed beds. His ginger hair had been shaved and his face and head were scarred. "Dear God!" Hugh said. "Have you been run over?"
"Beaten up," said Tonio.
"What happened?"
"I was attacked in the street outside the Hotel Russe a couple of months ago."
"You were robbed, I suppose."
"Yes."
"You're a mess!"
"It's not quite as bad as it looks. I had a broken finger and a cracked ankle, but otherwise it was only cuts and bruises--although rather a lot of them. However, I'm almost better now."
"You should have contacted me before. We must get you out of here. I'll send my doctor to you, and arrange a nurse--"
"No, thanks, old boy. I appreciate your generosity. But money isn't the only reason I stayed here. It's also safer. Other than you, only one person knows where I am: a trusted colleague who brings me beefsteak pies and brandy and messages from Cordova. I hope you didn't tell anyone you were coming."
"Not even my wife," Hugh said.
"Good."
Tonio's old recklessness seemed to have vanished, Hugh thought; in fact he was going to the other extreme. "But you can't stay in hospital for the rest of your life to hide from street ruffians."
"The people who attacked me were not just thieves, Pilaster."
Hugh took off his hat and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to ignore the intermittent groaning of the man in the next bed. "Tell me what happened," he said.
"It wasn't a routine theft. My key was taken and the thieves used it to get into my room. Nothing of value was stolen but all the papers pertaining to my article for The Times were taken, including the affidavits signed by the witnesses."
Hugh was horrified. It chilled his heart to think that the immaculately respectable transactions taking place in the hushed halls of Pilasters should have any link with violent crime in the streets and the battered face in front of him. "It almost sounds as if the bank is under suspicion!"
"Not the bank," Tonio said. "Pilasters is a powerful institution, but I don't believe it could organize murders in Cordova."
"Murders?" This was getting worse and worse. "Who has been murdered?"
"All the witnesses whose names and addresses were on the affidavits that were stolen from my hotel room."
"I can hardly believe it."
"I'm lucky to be alive myself. They would have killed me, I think, were it not that murders are investigated more thoroughly here in London than they are back at home, and they were afraid of the fuss."
Hugh was still dazed and disgusted by the revelation that people had been murdered because of a bond issue by Pilasters Bank. "But who is behind all this?"
"Micky Miranda."
Hugh shook his head incredulously. "I'm not fond of Micky, as you know, but I can't believe he would do this."
"The Santamaria railroad is vital to him. It will make his family the second most powerful in the land."
"I realize that, and I don't doubt that Micky would bend a lot of rules to achieve his aims. But he's not a killer."
"Yes, he is," Tonio said.
"Come on."
"I know it for sure. I haven't always acted as if I knew--in fact I've been a damn fool about Miranda. But that's because he has a devilish charm. For a while he made me think he was my friend. The truth is that he's evil through and through and I've known it since school."
"How could you?"
Tonio shifted in the bed. "I know what really happened thirteen years ago, the afternoon Peter Middleton drowned in the swimming hole at Bishop's Wood."
Hugh was electrified. He had been wondering about this for years. Peter Middleton had been a strong swimmer: it was most unlikely that he had died by accident. Hugh had long been convinced that there had been some kind of foul play. Perhaps at last he was going to learn the truth. "Go on, man," he said. "I can't wait to hear this."
Tonio hesitated. "Could you give me a little wine?" he said. There was a bottle of Madeira on the floor beside the bed. Hugh poured some into a glass. While Tonio sipped it, Hugh recalled the heat of that day, the stillness of the air in Bishop's Wood, the scarred rock walls of the swimming hole, and the cold, cold water.
"The coroner was told that Peter was in difficulty in the pool. He was never told that Edward was ducking him repeatedly."
"I knew that much," Hugh interrupted. "I had a letter from Hump Cammel in the Cape Colony. He was watching from the far side of the pool. But he didn't stay to see the end."
"That's right. You escaped and Hump ran away. That left me, Peter, Edward and Micky."
"What happened after I left?" Hugh said impatiently.
"I got out and threw a stone at Edward. It was a lucky shot: it hit him square in the middle of the forehead, and drew blood. It caused him to leave off tormenting Peter and come after me. I scrambled up the side of the quarry, trying to get away from him."
"Edward was never light on his feet, even then," Hugh observed.
"That's right. I got well ahead of him, then halfway up I looked back. Micky was continuing to bully Peter. Peter had swum to the side and was trying to get out of the water, but Micky kept pushing his head under. I only glanced at them for a moment, but I could see very clearly what was going on. Then I continued to climb."
He took another sip of the wine. "When I got to the rim of the quarry I looked back again. Edward was still coming after me but he was a long way behind and I had time to catch my breath." Tonio paused, and an expression of revulsion crossed his scarred face. "By this time Micky was in the water with Peter. What I saw--perfectly clearly, and I can see it in my memory now as if it were yesterday--was Micky holding Peter under the water. Peter was thrashing about, but Micky had Peter's head under his arm and Peter couldn't break the hold. Micky was drowning him. There is absolutely no doubt about it. It was straightforward murder."
"Dear God," Hugh breathed.
Tonio nodded. "It makes me feel ill to think of it even now. I stared at them for I don't know how long. Edward almost caught me. Peter had stopped thrashing about, and was just struggling feebly, when Edward reached the rim of the quarry and I had to run away."
"So that's how Peter died." Hugh was stunned and horrified.
"Edward followed me through the woods a little way, but he was puffed out and I shook him off. Then I found you."
Hugh remembered the thirteen-year-old Tonio wandering through Bishop's Wood, naked, wet, carrying his clothes and sobbing. The memory brought back the shock and pain he had suffered later that same day, when he learned that his father was dead. "But why did you never tell anyone what you had seen?"
"I was afraid of Micky--afraid he'd do to me what he did to Peter. I'm still afraid of Micky--look at me now! You should be afraid of him too."
"I am, don't worry." Hugh was thoughtful. "You know, I don't believe Edward and his mother know the truth about this."
"What makes you say so?"
"They had no reason to cover up for Micky."
Tonio looked dubious. "Edward might have, out of friendship."
"Perhaps--although I doubt he could have kept the secret more than a day or two. Anyway, Augusta knew that the story they told, about Edward trying to rescue Peter, was a lie."
"How did she know that?"
"My mother told her, and I told my mother. Which means that Augusta was involved in covering up the truth. Now, I can believe that Augusta would tell any amount of lies for the sake of her son--but not for Micky. In those days she didn't even know him."
"So what do you think happened?"
Hugh frowned. "Imagine this. Edward gives up chasing you and goes back to the swimming hole. He finds Micky dragging Peter's body out of the water. As Edward arrives, Micky says: 'You fool, you've killed him!' Remember, Edward hasn't seen Micky holding Peter's head under. Micky pretends that Peter was so exhausted by Edward's ducking that he could swim no longer and he just drowned. 'What
am I going to do?' says Edward. Micky says: 'Don't worry. We'll say it was an accident. In fact, we'll say you jumped in and tried to rescue him.' Micky thereby covers up his own crime and earns the undying gratitude of both Edward and Augusta. Does that make sense?"
Tonio nodded. "By God, I think you're right."
"We must go to the police," Hugh said angrily.
"To what purpose?"
"You're witness to a murder. The fact that it happened thirteen years ago makes no difference. Micky must be brought to book."
"You're forgetting something. Micky has diplomatic immunity."
Hugh had not thought of that. As the Cordovan Minister, Micky could not be put on trial in Britain. "He could still be disgraced and sent home."
Tonio shook his head. "I'm the only witness. Micky and Edward will both tell a different story. And it's well known that Micky's family and mine are sworn enemies back home. If it had happened yesterday we'd have trouble convincing anyone." Tonio paused. "But you might want to tell Edward that he's not a murderer."
"I don't think he'd believe me. He'd suspect me of trying to stir up trouble between him and Micky. There is one person I must tell, though."
"Who?"
"David Middleton."
"Why?"
"I think he's entitled to know how his brother died," Hugh said. "He questioned me about it at the duchess of Tenbigh's ball. He was rather rude, in fact. But I said that if I knew the truth I would be honor-bound to tell him. I'll go and see him today."
"Do you think he'll go to the police?"
"I assume he'll see that it would be pointless, as you and I have realized." Suddenly he felt oppressed by the drab hospital ward and the grim talk of past murder. "I'd better go to work." He stood up. "I'm going to be made a partner in the bank."
"Congratulations! I'm sure you deserve it." Tonio suddenly looked hopeful. "Will you be able to stop the Santamaria railroad?"
Hugh shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tonio. Much as I dislike the project, I can't do anything about it now. Edward has made a deal with Greenbournes Bank to float the bonds jointly. The partners of both banks have approved the issue and contracts are being drawn up. I'm afraid we've lost that battle."