A Dangerous Fortune (56 page)

Dinner was worse. Augusta would have to suffer her guests telling her how sweet Lady Whitehaven was to defer to her mother-in-law by letting her sit at the head of the table.

Augusta had been outmaneuvered, a new experience for her. Normally she held over people’s heads the ultimate deterrent of expulsion from the circle of her favor.
But expulsion was what Emily wanted, and that made her impossible to frighten.

Augusta became all the more determined never to give in.

People began to invite Edward and Emily to social functions. Emily would go, whether Edward accompanied her or not. People began to notice. When Emily had hidden herself away in Leicestershire, her estrangement from her husband could be overlooked; but with both of them living in town it became embarrassing.

Once upon a time Augusta had been indifferent to the opinion of high society. It was a tradition among commercial people to regard the aristocracy as frivolous if not degenerate, and to ignore their opinions, or at least to pretend to. But Augusta had long ago left behind that simple middle-class pride. She was the dowager countess of Whitehaven and she craved the approval of London’s elite. She could not allow her son churlishly to decline invitations from the very best people. So she forced him to go.

Tonight was a case in point. The marquis of Hocastle was in London for a debate in the House of Lords, and the marchioness was giving a dinner party for such few of her friends as were not in the country hunting and shooting. Edward and Emily were going, and so was Augusta.

But when Augusta came downstairs in her black silk gown she found Micky Miranda in evening dress drinking whisky in the drawing room. Her heart leaped at the sight of him, so dashing in his white waistcoat and high collar. He stood up and kissed her hand. She was glad she had chosen this gown, which had a low bodice that showed off her bosom.

Edward had dropped Micky after finding out the truth about Peter Middleton, but it had only lasted a few days, and they were now closer friends than ever before. Augusta was glad. She could not be angry with Micky. She had always known he was dangerous: it made him
even more desirable. She sometimes felt frightened of him, knowing he had killed three people, but her fear was exciting. He was the most immoral person she had ever met, and she wished he would throw her to the floor and ravish her.

Micky was still married. He could probably divorce Rachel if he wanted to—there were persistent rumors about her and Maisie Robinson’s brother Dan, the Radical member of Parliament—but it could not be done while he was the minister.

Augusta sat on the Egyptian sofa, intending that he should sit beside her, but to her disappointment he sat opposite. Feeling spurned, she said: “What are you here for?”

“Edward and I are going to a prizefight.”

“No, you’re not. He’s dining with the marquis of Hocastle.”

“Ah.” Micky hesitated. “I wonder if I made a mistake … or he did.”

Augusta was quite sure Edward was responsible and she doubted whether it was a mistake. He loved to watch prizefighting and he was probably intending to slide out of the dinner engagement. She would soon put a stop to that. “You’d better go on your own,” she said to Micky.

A rebellious look came into his eye, and for a moment she thought he was going to defy her. Was she losing her power over this young man, she wondered? But he stood up, albeit slowly, and said: “I’ll slope off, then, if you’ll explain to Edward.”

“Of course.”

But it was too late. Before Micky reached the door Edward came in.

Augusta noticed that his skin rash was inflamed tonight. It covered his throat and the back of his neck and reached up to one ear. It troubled her, but he said the doctor insisted it was nothing to worry about.

Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he said: “I’m looking forward to this.”

Augusta said in her most authoritative voice: “Edward, you cannot go the prizefight.”

He looked like a child who has been told that Christmas is canceled. “Why not?” he said plaintively.

For a moment Augusta felt sorry for him and almost backed down. Then she hardened her heart and said: “You know perfectly well that we are engaged to dine with the marquis of Hocastle.”

“That’s not tonight, is it?”

“You know it is.”

“I shan’t go.”

“You must!”

“But I dined out with Emily last night!”

“Then tonight will make two civilized dinners in a row.”

“Why the deuce are we invited anyway?”

“Don’t swear in front of your mother! We’re invited because they are friends of Emily’s.”

“Emily can go to the—” He caught Augusta’s look and stopped short. “Tell them I’ve been taken ill,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think I should be able to go where I like, Mother.”

“You cannot offend high-ranking people!”

“I want to see the fights!”

“You may not go!”

At that moment Emily came in. She could not help but notice the charged atmosphere in the room, and she said immediately: “What’s wrong?”

Edward said: “Go and fetch me that blasted bit of paper you’re always asking me to sign!”

“What are you talking about?” Augusta said. “What bit of paper?”

“My agreement to the annulment,” he said.

Augusta was horrified—and she realized with sudden rage that none of this was accidental. Emily had planned it exactly this way. Her aim had been to irritate Edward so much that he would sign anything just to be rid of her. Augusta had even helped her, inadvertently, by insisting that Edward fulfill his social obligations. She felt a fool: she had allowed herself to be manipulated. And now Emily’s plan was on the brink of succeeding.

Augusta said: “Emily! Stay here!”

Emily smiled sweetly and went out.

Augusta turned on Edward. “You are not to consent to an annulment!”

Edward said: “I’m forty years old, Mother. I’m head of the family business and this is my own house. You ought not to tell me what to do.”

He had a sulky, stubborn look on his face, and the dreadful thought occurred to Augusta that he might actually defy her for the first time in his life.

She began to feel scared.

“Come and sit here, Teddy,” she said in a softer voice.

Reluctantly he sat beside her.

She reached out to stroke his cheek, but he flinched away.

“You can’t take care of yourself,” she said. “You’ve never been able to. That’s why Micky and I have always looked after you, ever since you were at school.”

He looked even more obstinate. “Perhaps it’s time you stopped.”

A feeling of panic began to creep over Augusta. It was almost as if she was losing her grip.

Before she could say any more, Emily came back with a legal-looking document. She put it on the Moorish writing table, where pens and ink were already laid out.

Augusta looked at her son’s face. Could it be that he was more afraid of his wife than of his mother? Augusta thought wildly about snatching the document away,
throwing the pens on the fire and spilling the ink. She got a grip on herself. Better perhaps to give in and pretend it was of no great consequence. But the pretense would be useless: she had made a stand and forbidden this annulment, and everyone would know she had been defeated.

She said to Edward: “You’ll have to resign from the bank if you sign that document.”

“I don’t see why,” he replied. “It’s not like a divorce.”

Emily said: “The church has no objection to an annulment if the grounds are genuine.” It sounded like a quotation: she had obviously checked.

Edward sat at the table, selected a quill, and dipped its point into a silver inkwell.

Augusta fired her last shot. “Edward!” she said in a voice quivering with rage. “If you sign that I will never speak to you again!”

He hesitated, then put the pen to paper. Everyone was silent. His hand moved, and the scratch of the quill on the paper sounded like thunder.

Edward put down the pen.

“How could you treat your mother this way?” Augusta said, and the sob in her voice was genuine.

Emily sanded the signature and picked up the document.

Augusta moved between Emily and the door.

Both Edward and Micky looked on, bemused and motionless, as the two women faced each other.

Augusta said: “Give me that paper.”

Emily stepped closer, hesitated in front of Augusta, and then, astonishingly, she slapped Augusta’s face.

The blow stung. Augusta cried out with surprise and pain and staggered back.

Emily stepped past her quickly, opened the door, and left the room, still clutching the document.

Augusta sat down heavily in the nearest chair and began to cry.

She heard Edward and Micky leave the room.

She felt old, defeated and alone.

3

THE ISSUE OF TWO MILLION POUNDS’ WORTH
of Santamaria harbor bonds was a flop, much worse than Hugh had feared. By the deadline date Pilasters Bank had sold only four hundred thousand pounds’ worth, and on the following day the price immediately fell. Hugh was deeply glad he had forced Edward to sell the bonds on commission rather than underwriting them.

On the following Monday morning Jonas Mulberry brought in the summary of the previous week’s business that was handed to all the partners. Before the man had left the room Hugh noticed a discrepancy. “Just a minute, Mulberry,” he said. “This can’t be right.” There was a huge fall in cash on deposit, well over a million pounds. “There hasn’t been a big withdrawal, has there?”

“Not that I know of, Mr. Hugh,” said Mulberry.

Hugh looked around the room. All the partners were there except Edward, who had not yet arrived. “Does anyone recall a big withdrawal last week?”

Nobody did.

Hugh stood up. “Let’s check,” he said to Mulberry.

They went up the stairs to the senior clerks’ room. The item they were looking for was too big to have been a cash withdrawal. It had to be an interbank transaction. Hugh recalled from his days as a clerk that there was a journal of such transactions updated daily. He sat at a table and said to Mulberry: “Find me the interbank book, please.”

Mulberry pulled a big ledger from a shelf and set it in front of him. Another clerk piped up: “Is there anything I can do to assist, Mr. Hugh? I keep that ledger.”
He had a worried look and Hugh realized he was afraid he might have made an error.

Hugh said: “You’re Clemmow, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What big withdrawals were there last week—a million pounds or more?”

“Only one,” the clerk said immediately. “The Santamaria Harbor Company withdrew one million, eight hundred thousand—the amount of the bond issue, less commission.”

Hugh shot to his feet. “But they didn’t have that much—they only raised four hundred thousand!”

Clemmow turned pale. “The issue was two million pounds’ of bonds—”

“But it wasn’t underwritten, it was a commission sale!”

“I checked their balance—it was a million eight.”

“Damnation!” Hugh shouted. All the clerks in the room stared at him. “Show me the ledger!”

Another clerk on the other side of the room pulled down a huge book, brought it over to Hugh and opened it at a page marked: “Santamaria Harbor Board.”

There were only three entries: a credit of two million pounds, a debit of two hundred thousand pounds commission to the bank, and a transfer to another bank of the balance.

Hugh was livid. The money was gone. If it had simply been credited to the account in error, the mistake could have been rectified easily. But the money had been withdrawn from the bank the next day. That suggested a carefully planned fraud. “By God, someone is going to jail for this,” he said wrathfully. “Who wrote these entries?”

“I did, sir,” said the clerk who had brought him the book. He was shaking with fear.

“On what instructions?”

“The usual paperwork. It was all in order.”

“Where did it come from?”

“From Mr. Oliver.”

Simon Oliver was a Cordovan and the cousin of Micky Miranda. Hugh instantly suspected he was behind the fraud.

Hugh did not want to continue this inquiry in front of twenty clerks. He was already regretting that he had let them all know about the problem. But when he started he had not known he was going to uncover a massive embezzlement.

Oliver was Edward’s clerk, and worked on the partners’ floor alongside Mulberry. “Find Mr. Oliver right away and bring him to the Partners’ Room,” Hugh said to Mulberry. He would continue the investigation there, with the other partners.

“Right away, Mr. Hugh,” said Mulberry. “All of you get back to your work, now,” he said to the rest of them. They returned to their desks and picked up their pens, but before Hugh was out of the room a buzz of excited conversation broke out.

Hugh returned to the Partners’ Room. “There’s been a major fraud,” he said grimly. “The Santamaria Harbor Company has been paid the full amount of the bond issue even though we only sold four hundred thousand.”

They were all horrified. “How the devil did it happen?” said William.

“The amount was credited to their account and then immediately transferred to another bank.”

“Who’s responsible?”

“I think it was done by Simon Oliver, Edward’s clerk. I’ve sent for him, but my guess is the swine is already on a ship headed for Cordova.”

Sir Harry said: “Can we get the money back?”

“I don’t know. They may have moved it out of the country by now.”

“They can’t build a harbor with stolen money!”

“Perhaps they don’t want to build a harbor. The whole thing could have been a damned swindle.”

“Good God.”

Mulberry came in—and, to Hugh’s surprise, he was accompanied by Simon Oliver. That suggested that Oliver had not stolen the money. He had a thick contract in his hand. He looked scared: no doubt Hugh’s remark about someone going to jail had been repeated to him.

Without preamble Oliver said: “The Santamaria issue was underwritten—the contract says so.” He held the document out to Hugh with a trembling hand.

Hugh said: “The partners agreed that these bonds were to be sold on a commission basis.”