A Dangerous Fortune (22 page)

Could she to make Joseph change his mind back again?

She had to try. “Perhaps we’re being harsh,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at this sudden display of mercy.

Augusta went on: “Well, you keep saying that he has a great deal of potential as a banker. Perhaps it’s unwise to throw that away.”

Joseph became annoyed. “Augusta, do make up your mind what you want!”

She sat down on a low chair near his desk. She let her nightdress ride up and stretched out her legs. She still
had good legs. He looked at them and his expression softened.

While he was distracted she racked her brains. Suddenly she was inspired. “Send him abroad,” she said.

“Eh?”

The more she thought of the idea, the better she liked it. He would be out of reach of David Middleton, but still within her sphere of influence. “The Far East, or South America,” she went on, warming to her theme. “Someplace where his bad behavior will not reflect directly on my house.”

Joseph forgot his irritation with her. “It’s not a bad idea,” he said reflectively. “There’s an opening in the United States. The old boy who runs our Boston office needs an assistant.”

America would be perfect, Augusta thought. She was pleased with her own brilliance.

But at the moment Joseph was only toying with the idea. She wanted him to commit himself to it. “Let Hugh go as soon as possible,” she said. “I don’t want him in the house another day.”

“He can book his passage in the morning,” Joseph said. “After that there is no reason for him to stay in London. He can go down to Folkestone to say good-bye to his mother, and stay there until his ship sails.”

And he won’t see David Middleton for years, Augusta thought with satisfaction. “Splendid. It’s settled, then.” Were there any other snags? She remembered Maisie. Did Hugh care for her? It seemed unlikely, but anything was possible. He might refuse to be parted from her. It was a loose end, and it worried Augusta. Hugh could not possibly take a trollop to Boston with him, but on the other hand he might refuse to leave London without her. Augusta wondered if she could nip the romance in the bud, just as a precaution.

She stood up and moved to the door that communicated
with her bedroom. Joseph looked disappointed. “I must get rid of that girl,” she said.

“Anything I can do?”

The question surprised her. It was not liked him to make generalized offers of help. He wanted another look at the whore, she thought sourly. She shook her head. “I’ll come back. Get into bed.”

“Very well,” he said reluctantly.

She went into her own room and closed the door firmly behind her.

Maisie was clothed again and pinning her hat to her hair. Mrs. Merton was folding up a rather flashy blue-green gown and cramming it into a cheap bag. “I’ve loaned her a dress of mine, as hers is soaked, mum,” said the housekeeper.

That answered a little question that had been nagging Augusta. She had thought it was unlike Hugh to do something as blatantly stupid as to bring home a whore. Now she saw how it had come about. They had been caught in the sudden storm, and Hugh had brought the woman inside to get dry, then one thing had led to another.

“What is your name?” she said to the girl.

“Maisie Robinson. I know yours.”

Augusta found that she loathed Maisie Robinson. She was not sure why: the girl was hardly worthy of such strong feelings. It had something to do with the way she had looked when naked: so proud, so voluptuous, so independent. “I suppose you want money,” Augusta said disdainfully.

“You hypocritical cow,” Maisie said. “You didn’t marry that rich, ugly husband of yours for love.”

It was the truth, and the words took Augusta’s breath away. She had underestimated this young woman. She had made a bad beginning, and now she had to dig herself out of the hole. From now on she must handle
Maisie carefully. This was a providential opportunity, and she must not waste it.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to sound neutral. “Will you sit down for a moment?” She indicated a chair.

Maisie looked surprised, but after a moment’s hesitation she took a seat.

Augusta sat opposite her.

The girl had to be made to give Hugh up. She had been scornful when Augusta had hinted at a bribe, and Augusta was reluctant to repeat the offer: she sensed that money would not work with this girl. But she was clearly not the type to be bullied either.

Augusta would have to make her believe that separation would be the best thing for both Maisie and Hugh. It would work best if Maisie thought that giving Hugh up was her own idea. And that might be best achieved by Augusta arguing the opposite. Now, there was a good notion….

Augusta said: “If you want to marry him, I can’t stop you.” The girl looked surprised, and Augusta congratulated herself on having caught her off guard.

“What makes you think I want to marry him?” Maisie said.

Augusta almost laughed. She wanted to say
The fact that you’re a scheming little gold digger
, but instead she said: “What girl wouldn’t want to marry him? He’s personable and good-looking and he comes from a great family. He has no money, but his prospects are excellent.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes and said: “It almost sounds as if you want me to marry him.”

Augusta intended to give exactly that impression, but she had to tread delicately. Maisie was suspicious and seemed too bright to be easily hoodwinked. “Let’s not be fanciful, Maisie,” she said. “Forgive me for saying so, but
no woman of my class would wish a man of her family to marry quite so far below him.”

Maisie showed no resentment. “She might if she hated him enough.”

Feeling encouraged, Augusta continued to lead her on. “But I don’t hate Hugh,” she said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“He did. He told me you treat him as a poor relation and make sure everyone else does the same.”

“How ungrateful people can be. But why would I wish to ruin his career?”

“Because he shows up that ass of a son of yours, Edward.”

A wave of anger engulfed Augusta. Once again Maisie had come uncomfortably close to the truth. It was true that Edward lacked Hugh’s low cunning, but Edward was a fine, sweet young man and Hugh was ill-bred. “I think you had better not mention the name of my son,” Augusta said in a low voice.

Maisie grinned. “I seem to have touched a sore place.” She immediately became grave again. “So that’s your game. Well, I won’t play it.”

“What do you mean?” said Augusta.

Suddenly there were tears in Maisie’s eyes. “I like Hugh too much to ruin him.”

Augusta was surprised and pleased by the strength of Maisie’s passion. This was working out perfectly, despite the bad beginning. “What are you going to do?” Augusta asked.

Maisie struggled not to cry. “I shan’t see him anymore. You may yet destroy him, but you won’t have my help.”

“He might come after you.”

“I shall disappear. He doesn’t know where I live. I’ll stay away from the places where he might look for me.”

A good plan, Augusta thought; you’ll only need to keep it up for a short while, then he will go abroad and
be away for years, perhaps forever. But she said nothing. She had led Maisie to the obvious conclusion and now the girl needed no further help.

Maisie wiped her face on her sleeve. “I’d better go now, before he comes back with the doctor.” She stood up. “Thank you for lending me your dress, Mrs. Merton.”

The housekeeper opened the door for her. “I’ll show you out.”

“We’ll take the back stairs this time, please,” Maisie said. “I don’t want—” She stopped, swallowed hard, and said in a near-whisper: “I don’t want to see Hugh again.”

Then she went out.

Mrs. Merton followed and closed the door.

Augusta let out a long breath. She had done it. She had stunted Hugh’s career, neutralized Maisie Robinson, and averted the danger from David Middleton, all in one night. Maisie had been a formidable opponent, but in the end she had proved too emotional.

Augusta savored her triumph for a few moments then went to Edward’s room.

He was sitting up in bed, sipping brandy from a goblet. His nose was bruised and there was dried blood around it, and he looked somewhat sorry for himself. “My poor boy,” Augusta said. She went to his nightstand and damped a corner of a towel, then sat on the edge of the bed and wiped the blood from his upper lip. He winced. “Sorry!” she said.

He gave her a smile. “That’s all right, Mother,” he said. “Do carry on. It’s very soothing.”

While she was washing him Dr. Humbold came in, closely followed by Hugh. “Have you been fighting, young man?” the doctor said cheerily.

Augusta took exception to that suggestion. “He certainly has not,” she said crossly. “He has been attacked.”

Humbold was crushed. “Quite so, quite so,” he muttered.

Hugh said: “Where’s Maisie?”

Augusta did not want to talk about Maisie in front of the doctor. She stood up and took Hugh outside. “She left.”

“Did you send her away?” he demanded.

Augusta was inclined to tell him not to speak to her in that tone of voice, but she decided there was nothing to be gained by angering him: her victory over him was already total, though he did not know it. She said in a conciliatory tone: “If I had thrown her out, do you not think she would have been waiting in the street to tell you so? No, she left of her own accord, and she said she would write to you tomorrow.”

“But she said she would still be here when I got back with the doctor.”

“Then she changed her mind. Have you never known a girl of her age to do that?”

Hugh looked bewildered, but he did not know what to say next.

Augusta added: “No doubt she wished to extricate herself as quickly as possible from the embarrassing position in which you had put her.”

That seemed to make sense to him. “I suppose you made her feel so uncomfortable that she couldn’t bear to remain in the house.”

“That will do,” she said severely. “I don’t wish to hear your opinions. Your uncle Joseph will see you first thing in the morning, before you leave for the bank. Now good night.”

For a moment it seemed as if he would argue. However, there was really nothing for him to say. “Very well,” he muttered at last. He turned into his room.

Augusta went back into Edward’s room. The doctor was closing his bag. “No real damage,” he said. “His nose will feel tender for a few days, and he may have a black eye tomorrow; but he’s young, and he’ll soon heal.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Hastead will see you out.”

“Good night.”

Augusta bent over the bed and kissed Edward. “Good night, dear Teddy. Go to sleep, now.”

“Very well, Mother dear. Good night.”

She had one more task to perform.

She went down the stairs and entered Joseph’s room. She was hoping he would have gone to sleep waiting for her, but he was sitting up in bed, reading the
Pall Mall Gazette
. He put it aside immediately and lifted the covers to let her in.

He embraced her immediately. It was quite light in the room: dawn had broken without her noticing it. She closed her eyes.

He entered her quickly. She put her arms around him and responded to his movements. She thought of herself when she was sixteen, lying on a riverbank in a raspberry-pink dress and a straw hat, being kissed by the young earl of Strang; only in her mind he did not stop at kissing her, but lifted her skirts and made love to her in the hot sunshine, with the river lapping at their feet….

When it was over she lay beside Joseph for a while, reflecting on her victory.

“Extraordinary night,” he murmured sleepily.

“Yes,” she said. “That awful girl.”

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Very striking-looking … arrogant and willful … thinks she’s as good as anyone … lovely figure … just like you at that age.”

Augusta was mortally offended. “Joseph!” she said. “How could you say such an awful thing?”

He made no reply, and she saw that he was asleep.

Enraged, she threw back the covers, got out of bed and stamped out of the room.

She did not go back to sleep that night.

6

MICKY MIRANDA’S LODGINGS IN CAMBERWELL
consisted of two rooms in the house of a widow with a grown son. None of his high-class friends had ever visited him there, not even Edward Pilaster. Micky played the role of a young man-about-town on a very tight budget, and elegant accommodation was one of the things he could manage without.

At nine o’clock each morning the landlady brought coffee and hot rolls for him and Papa. Over breakfast, Micky explained how he had caused Tonio Silva to lose a hundred pounds he did not have. He did not expect his father to sing his praises, but he did hope for a grudging acknowledgment of his ingenuity. However, Papa was not impressed. He blew on his coffee and slurped it noisily. “So, has he gone back to Cordova?”

“Not yet, but he will.”

“You hope. So much trouble, and still you only
hope
he will go.”

Micky felt wounded. “I’ll seal his fate today,” he protested.

“When I was your age …”

“You would have slit his throat, I know. But this is London, not Santamaria Province, and if I go around cutting people’s throats they’ll hang me.”

“There are times when you have no choice.”

“But there are other times when it’s better to tread softly, Papa. Think of Samuel Pilaster, and his milk-and-water objections to dealing in guns. I got him out of the way without bloodshed, didn’t I?” In fact Augusta had done it, but Micky had not told Papa that.

“I don’t know,” Papa said stubbornly. “When do I get the rifles?”

It was a sore point. Old Seth was still alive, still Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank. It was August. In September the winter snow would start to melt on the mountains
of Santamaria. Papa wanted to go home—with his weapons. As soon as Joseph became Senior Partner, Edward would put the deal through and the guns would be shipped. But old Seth clung on with infuriating stubbornness to his post and his life.

“You’ll get them soon, Papa,” said Micky. “Seth can’t last much longer.”