To the Manor Born

by Peter Rimmer

  “He knows them all in London, my darling girl. You won’t like C E Porter but he’ll take you where you ought to go. If he tries any tricks, slap his face or whatever you young girls do to unwanted advances these days. Use him. He uses me for information that I rather think he sells to his aristocratic clientele. When I know an American company is going to announce a big rise in dividend, I tell C E Porter over the transatlantic telephone. We both make money, my darling girl. The buying orders come to Wall Street from London. My friends never suspect I divulge their secrets. A man in control of the union gets told these things. Everyone knows only insiders make money on the stock market. Better than betting on a ringer at the racetrack. Not what you know but who you know. Old as the hills but still as true as the day that little saying was born. Didn’t I tell you people are wicked?”

  They had gone to a supper club called Clara’s after the old woman who ran the place. C E Porter had said that to be seen at Clara’s was to arrive in London society. To get a table without Clara’s permission was apparently impossible.

  There were ten to dinner that night after the show, her first night out in London that had started her meteoric rise in the invitations flooding into her hotel. It was lovely. The scandals just poured out of their mouths, the cattiness to Stella’s taste. From the moment C E Porter picked up what he misguidedly thought was his prize at the Dorchester Hotel, Stella was never bored. There were three taxis full of well-dressed young people outside the entrance to the hotel. The taxis took the party on to the Aldwych Theatre. After the show, a light, pleasant musical that asked no one to think, they had gone to the supper club where they stayed half the night. It seemed most of the party had seen Happy Times at least once before.

  Now, with the invitation in her hand that had been handed to her with the others at reception, she went up to her room where she telephoned the Honourable Barnaby St Clair and asked him to escort her to the May Ball at Nuneham House.

  “How do you know I don’t have my own invitation?”

  “Because if you had, you would have let me know.”

  “I like you Miss Stella Fitzgerald from America. I have a brother who has gone there. Sailed on the RMS Olympic from Southampton dock to New York. Manhattan. Must be months ago. Maybe I should go to America.”

  “What are you talking about Mr St Clair?”

  “I’d love to go to Oxford. With you. Especially with you.”

  “I said escort.”

  “We’ll see, my most beautiful lady from Boston. Did C E Porter give you my number…? Yes, I thought he did. Your father is one of his valued customers. I do business with Porter. It now makes sense. We will have to stay in Oxford for the night or somewhere. Does Lady Harcourt know you are inviting me…? Good. Don’t tell her. Her late husband was an acquaintance of Harry Brigandshaw’s. Now that would be a giggle.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When you’ve been in London ten years you will understand.”

  “I’ll book my own hotel in Oxford.”

  “Won’t you tell me which one?”

  “Of course not. What’s your brother doing in America?”

  “Book tour. He writes books.”

  “Not Robert St Clair? Goodness me, there’s more in the family than an old title you might one day inherit if the old bachelors don’t find wives.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You did, Barnaby. The first time we met. In Clara’s… I loved Keeper of the Legend… How old is he?”

  “Forty.”

  “That is old… Do you know, I rather think we understand each other? How is Tina?”

  “Don’t be catty. I did not tell you that.”

  “Everyone else did. Why doesn’t Brigandshaw take a gun and shoot you?”

  “He was once my brother-in-law.”

  “Oh, that really is the devil being wicked.”

  “Maybe not a hotel. I have a friend with a large house a little further down the river. We were in the army together in Palestine during the war. Just hope he has forgotten my little indiscretion. Probably. Everything comes into a better perspective when you get older. He’s in import and export. Made a fortune since the war. Has to be dodgy.”

  “Were you dodgy, Barnaby?”

  “In retrospect, not at all. Very minor. Borrowed fifty quid from the mess funds. Was going to give it back for goodness’ sake. What does a gentleman do when he can’t pay his mess bill at the end of the month! The war was almost over. Then they wanted everything to add up right. Sort of balance the mess books. Got me out of the army without having to wait too long when the war was over the following week.”

  “What did they do to you?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I was an officer and a gentleman.”

  “What happened to the fifty quid as you call it?”

  “No idea. Colonel probably paid with his own money. Wasn’t a bad old codger for a chap who had been in the army all his life… We’ll go down on the Friday. Make a weekend out of it.”

  “Won’t your friend mind us using his house as a hotel? Will he have an invitation?”

  “No. Definitely not. Give me your telephone number. I will see what I can do Miss Stella Fitzgerald from Boston.”

  “Is your brother in New York?”

  “No. Denver, Colorado wherever that may be.”

  “Midwest. Good skiing.”

  “You have skiing in America?”

  “Maybe you should go. Do you good.”

  * * *

  With the prize invitation three weeks ahead, Stella changed her schedule. Paris, Rome and Berlin were put off to the middle of summer. She was having too much fun in London. Spring was in the air and Stella Fitzgerald was wondering to herself what it would be like to lose her virginity. Looking at the calendar, the weekend of the May Ball would be just right. She was a good Catholic girl. Using a contraceptive had never entered her mind. Thinking back on her father’s instructions, the last thing she wanted in life just then was a husband telling her what to do.

  She was after all twenty-two, far away from home and curious as to what all the fuss was about.

  * * *

  C E Porter’s expression was one of mild amusement. They were in his office in the City discussing Patrick Fitzgerald.

  C E Porter had grown to like Barnaby St Clair even after Harry Brigandshaw made him give the profit on his sale of Colonial Shipping shares to Barnaby. C E Porter had arranged the earlier public listing of Colonial Shipping on the London Stock Exchange and had tried to allocate himself a large block of shares, at list price through nominees in five separate banks, until Harry found out. The man had morals when it came to making money, which C E Porter felt quite shocking. He had met Barnaby on the SS King Emperor on a trip back from Africa.

  C E Porter had never been a man to hold grudges for very long. Especially when Barnaby kept giving him good information about the market gleaned by Barnaby on his social round from gullible executives working for public listed companies. They now split the proceeds of their dealings from reciprocal insider information in half as much as either of them could tell what the other one had done. C E Porter always knew there were as many games involving cats and mice in the City of London as those involving bulls and bears. What C E had never found out was Barnaby having to give his father the profit from the sale of the Colonial Shipping shares, a way for Harry to give his then father-in-law money without being embarrassing.

  “Her father has pretensions of grandeur… Oh dear, Barnaby. You didn’t tell Stella that if Merlin and Robert stay unmarried, your children will inherit the title?”

  “I rather think I did… She’s invited me to the Harcourt May Ball.”

  “How on earth did an American get an invitation? I’ve been trying to get one of those from Lady Harcourt for years. Just ignores me… Must have been Patrick again the old fox. He wants his daughter to marry a duke and make his daughter a duchess. Came out of the bogs of Ireland.”

  “Have you met
him?”

  “Once. Quite enough. Slit your throat for money while smiling into your eyes. Charming man. We do business together.”

  “Rather gathered that was how Miss Fitzgerald found herself at Clara’s.”

  “You don’t have to like the people who make you rich. Can’t think he’ll like a lowly baron for a son-in-law. He wants his own son to be president of America. Would try himself, except they don’t allow the foreign-born to be head of state over there. Hates the English. Rumour has it he funds the Irish Republican Army along with half the Irish in Boston. They rattled tins in the worst bars in Boston to fight the cause. Don’t blame them really. We were stinkers in the potato famine. Didn’t raise a finger. Richest empire in history did nothing when the Irish were starving just across the Irish Sea. They’ve hated us since the time of Richard the Second. That just put the cherry on top… So she invited you to be her partner at the Nuneham Park Ball of Lady Harcourt.”

  “Escort was her word. You start with a barony and work your way up. She’s very pretty. Do you know how many dukes there are in England other than the royal dukes?”

  “He’ll settle for one of those.”

  “The British would never allow an American to marry into the Royal Family.”

  “Probably not. She’ll be very rich when he dies. He’s old. Married late. Waited to get rich and then married a rich man’s daughter. Another Irishman. There are far more Irish over there than in Ireland. You should use your charm on Stella. You look rich enough Barnaby even if you do owe the bank a fortune.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “I know everything. You’ll be staying with Hayter down the river, I presume? Poor old Hayter. Had his legs blown off. The war was less kind to some of us. At least he made himself rich sitting in a wheelchair. Poor chap won’t be going to the May Ball even if it is just upriver. Hates looking at other people having a good time. Do you know what he does Barnaby? When he sees a world shortage of a commodity looming, he buys as much as he can lay his hands on, waits for the price to go up and sells. Doesn’t even have a warehouse. Good contacts around the world. They feed him information round the clock. Clever chap, Hayter. Mind you he does have a lot of time on his hands sitting in that wheelchair all day long looking down the slope at the river. Riverglade will be beautiful in the spring. All those trees on one side of the house and all the daffodil-lawns down to the river on the other side. Lucky chap. Doesn’t have to stare at the walls of a flat like me when I meditate… Doesn’t he know you nicked fifty quid from the mess fund in Palestine? Surprised if he’ll let you stay.”

  “He’s not as straight as he seems. Has the habit of creating rumours in the commodity market just before he sells. Creates his own shortages.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Does Hayter know you have proof?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “Then enjoy your weekend with Stella Fitzgerald at Riverglade. Maybe I’ll come down for the weekend. Hayter’s a first-class friend of mine. How’s Tina Brigandshaw?”

  “Fine, thank you, C E.”

  “Never did manage to get her into my bed.”

  “If you even try, C E, I’ll kill you.”

  “Poor old Harry.”

  “She was mine long before she even met Harry. All our lives. She’s mine.”

  C E Porter was about to say, ‘so was Frank’, and then thought better, swallowing the words just before they were spoken. The look from the piercing blue eyes in the tanned face first scorched in the Arabian Desert, he rather thought was no idle threat. C E Porter shivered as if someone had walked over his grave.

  “But please come to Riverglade. Bring one of your girls. You have enough of them now you are so rich.”

  “I’ve always been rich, Barnaby. Which is more than you are. One of these days you may wish to swap me your Tina for getting you out of a mess.”

  This time Barnaby felt the cold shivers.

  “She doesn’t belong to me to swap,” he said in the moment of brief panic as he looked into the abyss.

  “Oh yes, she does… Now, what information do you have for me that can make us money? I’ll have to say, I don’t like the feel of the markets. Everyone is too complacent. There’s going to be a crash. A real crash, Barnaby, that’ll put half the world as we know it out of work.”

  “What would you buy instead of shares?”

  “Farmland. Not only in England. In Africa. Far away from the crash. Food is food whatever monetary price we give it and everyone has to eat or they die. Farmland. A nice large piece to live on, while the rest of the world picks up the pieces. You then buy the right shares cheap with the cash you left in the bank.”

  “You talk as if it is going to happen.”

  “So is another war with Germany. That chap Hitler is dangerous. He has the Germans listening to him. The rich, what’s left of them, and the poor. After the markets crash right down to the bottom, buy shares in companies that make guns. Or tanks. Or aircraft. That’s how your brother Merlin made himself rich. He bought Vickers-Armstrong shares just before the last war.”

  “He lost out on the stock market boom. Kept all his money in government bonds.”

  “Maybe. If the stocks end up worthless he won’t have lost out on anything despite how much they might be worth now. Remember that when you dream about your bank overdraft backed by your signature and those entire worthless share certificates in the bank safe.”

  “I’m listening, C E.”

  “So you should be. We are friends, aren’t we…? Do you know Felicity James? I’ll bring her to Riverglade. You never know I may just be able to wangle a late invitation to my first ball at Nuneham Park. They have fairy lights in the trees right down to the banks of the river so I am told. Beautiful if it doesn’t rain. I’ll have to use Cuddles Morton-Sayner of course. Felicity will like the May Ball. Do her standing in society a lot of good, I should think.”

  “Whereabouts in Africa?”

  “Rhodesia of course. Some of the best farmland in the world. Ask your old brother-in-law. No. Maybe not. He wants to take Tina and his children back to Africa as far away from you as possible… Or so people say. The ones I know. The ones I talk to. They don’t like you, Barnaby. A man’s wife is sacred ground whatever you did in the past. She married Harry, not you. You can’t have your cake and eat it even if you think you can… Why didn’t you marry her?”

  “Her father’s a railway porter for goodness’ sake. What would people have thought?”

  “They don’t think anything less of Harry. His mother’s family are just as old as yours. His grandfather’s baronetcy goes back to William the Conqueror.”

  “He can’t inherit.”

  “Neither can you if either of your brothers marry and have male children. The days of being a snob are over, did you know? Right down there underneath all your shit, you love the girl. I saw it in your eyes just then when you were threatening to kill me.”

  “I know,” said Barnaby very softly.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing C E. Nothing… Did anyone ever tell you, you know too much for your own good?”

  “Every woman I declined to marry.”

  “Why didn’t you marry?”

  “Never met the right one. You have to know a girl all your life to be sure. They put on façades. Until you marry them and only then show you what they really are and turn into exact replicas of their mothers. Can you think of any of the mothers you would want to live with? Most men marry perfect strangers when you think about it. Meet a girl one year and marry her the next. Chap I know who was going back to Sarawak after home leave from the Colonial Service met a girl one Friday and married her the next. Has a Chinese girl and a family in Singapore but that doesn’t count I suppose?”

  “How did it go?”

  “Don’t know. They are in Kuching.”

  They both began to laugh, the tension drained out of their conversation.

 
; “We’d better have a bite of lunch together,” said C E Porter.

  “That would be nice.”

  “We’ll go to the Cavalry Club. They let me in again after I apologised to the club secretary for talking shop. We English do have some strange rules.”

  “How nice of them. It’s next to the Royal Air Force club where Harry’s a member.”

  “You just can’t leave it alone… It’s a nice day. Take your brolly and your bowler and we’ll walk to the tube station. Be one of the plebs. From Piccadilly Circus, we’ll walk up Piccadilly to the club. Take a taxi back, of course. All the trees are in leaf in Green Park. Every man should take a walk every now and again… I don’t like having to use the services of Cuddles but there isn’t any other way. Can’t have you going to the May Ball with Stella Fitzgerald all on your own. Her father told me to keep an eye on the gal he calls his darling girl in that delightful Irish accent. I do like an Irish accent. That’s one thing.”

  * * *

  “Oh, darling, I’m up to my eyeballs. Anyway, there are no more invitations for the May Ball at Nuneham Park. Like gold, C E. Like gold.”

  “How much gold, Cuddles…? Do you want cash or tips on the market?”

  “Cash, C E. Definitely cash. When the ball is over the price of the shares won’t matter to you.”

  “How much cash, Cuddles?”

  “Fifty pounds.”

  “That’s extortion.”

  “Would you like to ask Lady Harcourt yourself? She considers you anything but a gentleman.”

  “The Honourable Barnaby St Clair is going.”

  “How on earth did he manage that?”

  “An American lady with a rich father and influence asked him to be her escort.”

  “Does she know about St Clair…? That may be an idea. I’ll ask around. That is if any respectable gal would want you as an escort, C E.”

  “I want to take Felicity James.”

  “Poor Felicity. Could there be a nice side to you C E? Give me twenty-four hours. You are rich. That much is on your side. And charming when you wish to be… Do you remember all those years ago before the war? When my father was rich and the Empire ruled the world? When all the colours in England were so bright? Boating on the Thames. The Derby at Epsom… Then the war and father. My poor mother. I do, do my best. Rather like pushing out the barrow so to speak if you see what I mean, C E. I just sell social favours instead of apples and pears to make a living. Maybe if I had had more than a tutor and a home education I might have done better. Even then, a woman doesn’t stand a chance. Certainly not a poor woman past her prime who has to make her own living and support mother. Maybe everything will change when all women over twenty-one get the vote.”