Habits of the House (33 page)

‘But supposing you have no table, because it has been sold off?’

‘I hardly think it will come to that,’ she replied. ‘Where can Mr Baum be? He is late. Where can Robert be, come to that?’

Like son, like father. Arthur thought for a mad moment that perhaps the Earl was even now in Flora’s arms, and the letter saying she had gone to Redbreast was a lie to put him off the scent? Or perhaps the Earl had taken his own life in despair at his debts and even now his lifeless body was swinging from some tree deep in some forest somewhere? In which case he, Arthur was the new Earl, and could move his mother and Rosina into the Dower House and live in Dilberne Court by himself and somehow get Minnie back and build a racing circuit and pay off all the family debts. The future lay in entertainment. But suicide did not somehow seem in his father’s nature; he was more likely to be trying to restore the family fortune at the races.

‘Where is my father?’ he asked. But his mother declined to reply to that or further questioning, and merely suggested he call upon Minnie as soon as possible.

Rosina the Beautiful

4 p.m. Tuesday, 5th December 1899

Arthur went down the corridor to Rosina’s room and found her feeding Pappagallo, her parrot. His sister was looking uncommonly beautiful, something which it had never occurred to him that she could be. She was dressed rather as Minnie had been on the night of the storm, enchanting in a plain outfit provided by a pub’s landlady because her own clothes were wet. The simplicity of dress suited his sister as it had suited Minnie, and he said as much. Rosina actually blushed and looked pleased. Perhaps one day some rich man would seek his sister’s hand in marriage; and that way he would be let off the hook, and could live life as a bachelor.

Except, Arthur realized, he did not particularly want to be off the hook. The idea of marrying Minnie seemed increasingly attractive. He should by rights be lamenting the loss of Flora, yet he was not. One should keep company only where one liked and admired, and he had never really liked Flora and and he no longer admired Redbreast. Minnie, however, he liked, respected and admired. But it was too late. How could he face her now, make it up? Soon he was to be a convicted criminal. Billy O’Brien would hardly come up with the money even if his daughter forgave and forgot.

Arthur told Rosina the family’s financial plight seemed to have risen once more to danger level, and she shrugged and
said that was hardly news. More interesting surely was the whereabouts of their father. According to Lily, her new little maid, his Lordship had left home, gone away for good, driven into another’s arms by her Ladyship’s refusal to let his Lordship into her bed. All men were like that, according to Lily. They couldn’t help themselves. Would Arthur say that was true?

Arthur, enraged, told Rosina she was a fool to believe servants’ gossip, he had his own problems, and gave an account of the morning’s police raid. Rosina’s only reaction was to say, ‘Well, they took their time. I told them ages ago.’

He had surmised it, but could hardly believe it. She was his sister. He asked her why on earth she had done it – and found his voice was coming out quavery, as it had when he was her little brother and trying not to cry at her unkindness, because his mother said boys didn’t cry, especially if they were a Peer of the Realm. Indignation took over the from self-pity. His voice steadied, deepened. Did Rosina really hate him so much, he demanded? What was her grievance? That he had gone to Eton and she not? That she was three years older than he, yet he inherited everything? Because he was to be a Dilberne and she would stay a mere Hedleigh? These were things that had never been aired between them. It was time they were.

‘Good heavens,’ she said. ‘Nothing like that!’ She had done it for the greater good, and for his sake, she said, to save him from the threat of Minnie despoiling the Hedleigh name. Imagine having Tessa to family dinner, and heaven forfend, Billy O’Brien, meat baron and gangster. And the law was the law anyway and he had broken it. ‘And we must be able to universalize our actions, as Mr Mills said, and if all men married for money where would it end?’

‘With a lot of rich men,’ he said. Rosina was standing straight for once and topped him by two inches. He felt sorry
for her, as well as angry. It was not her fault that she had grown so tall, and with every extra inch the more wronged and miserable.

Because of what she had done, he told her, his life was ruined. Minnie could hardly put up with a convicted pimp, nor did he expect her to, and she would go back to the States, and the Hedleighs be disgraced by a bankruptcy. And it wasn’t just about the money. He loved Minnie. He did not want to live without her. Even as Arthur said it he knew it was true.

Rosina just said he shouldn’t worry; she didn’t think Vine Street had taken her seriously. They had just thought she was loopy. He said in that case then they were right, and left the room.

Mr Baum Makes His Move

6 p.m. Tuesday, 5th December 1899

Evening had fallen by the time Eric Baum came up the steps of No. 17. He was made no more welcome than he had been at the end of October. The servants kept him waiting at the door, forgot to take his coat, and in general behaved as if he should by rights have gone round to the servant’s entrance. Well, they would learn. He could, and might well, one day quite soon, buy the lot of them three times over.

Her Ladyship, when he was finally shown in to her presence, made no bones about her requirements. She wanted to borrow money, but when he asked what security she had to offer she looked vague, and offended, and said her good name, of course. Given time, she would of course pay him back – there was land, property; he surely knew their circumstances well enough – plus the disgraceful rate of interest he no doubt required.

Eric said he would prefer to discuss matters such as this with her husband the Earl, but she said the bills were a matter of urgency and he said bills always were, in his experience. Her husband, alas, it seemed, had not been quite frank with him and his colleague Mr Courtney about the scale of the sums his Lordship owed, but now they had been brought to his attention by her Ladyship, a new and unfortunate light was shone upon existing arrangements. He feared several ongoing projects could be put in jeopardy.

‘In other words,’ she said, ‘you’re thinking of calling in our existing debt?’

‘I have thought about it,’ he said, then adding ‘there are, however, some other considerations – an invitation for my wife, perhaps, to the dinner at which the Prince of Wales will be present.’

He could hardly be more direct. She raised her perfect eyebrows in amused and somehow insolent surprise.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No. That is out of the question. In my world invitations are offered, not demanded.’

It occurred to Eric that if he demanded that her Ladyship spent the night with him, she might object to that less than she would a coerced invitation to her dinner table. Any normal woman, he thought, in the kind of dire circumstances in which Lady Isobel now found herself, with a feckless husband, a wasted inheritance, faced by shame, social disgrace and actual bankruptcy, and wholly in his power, would be hopelessly distraught, quite likely throwing herself upon him, even offering him favours in return for his protection. It had happened to him before, but, thank God, he had resisted the immoral temptation. He played his next card.

He said, ‘I have been asked by the police at Vine Street for details of the property rented by the Viscount in Mayfair. I have fended them off so far. But it could become quite awkward for the boy. The last thing we want is a scandal, and your son convicted for keeping a bawdyhouse.’

That got a response. Her nostrils quivered and dilated, and her fingers tightened slightly on the desk. She was a very handsome woman. Supposing he asked? Supposing she said yes?

‘Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr Baum? I suspect you have a very persistent little wife tucked away there somewhere on the hills of North London. The answer is still no.’

He could scarcely believe it. It was mad but it was magnificent. She would pull the whole temple down upon herself, her husband, her children, like a female Samson, rather than change her mind. Did that make him Delilah? The thought was amusing, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

‘Believe me, it is not personal,’ she said kindly. ‘It is simply a matter of principle. Good day, Mr Baum. Please don’t let me detain you.’ She went back to her papers and Mr Baum had no option but to leave.

The Return of His Lordship

6.30 p.m. Tuesday, 5th December 1899

Dismissed, he was already through the front door, held open grudgingly for him by Mr Neville, only to meet his Lordship loping towards him up the wide steps. He was carrying a leather suitcase. The Earl was exuberant, his face exuded delight. Mr Neville took the suitcase. The Earl seized Eric’s hand and pumped it vigorously up and down. It was out of character. What was the matter with the man?

‘Oh… Baum,’ his Lordship cried. ‘Have you been visiting my wife?’

‘We talked of business in your absence, my Lord,’ said Mr Baum. He felt the need to explain himself in case his Lordship could read his thoughts. What, Eric Baum from Golders Green in bed with Lady Isobel, Countess of Dilberne, she of the perfect eyebrows? How could he even have dreamt of it?

‘Excellent, excellent,’ said his Lordship. ‘Come back in, won’t you old chap, and we’ll share a toddy.’

Mr Baum, mesmerized, followed him meekly. How did you deflate so much confidence? But he would. He would have a word with Sir Ernest and it would be done. The bankruptcy courts loomed for the Earl. It had all gone too far. Dilberne might go to law later as he found others benefitting from the one simple, great idea he had handed over to Baum and Courtney for a plethora of unromantic metal ore mines across
Southern Africa, making secure the rare ones that glittered. But the Earl would have the devil of a job proving it.

‘Where have you been?’ her Ladyship asked crossly when Robert bounced into the room followed by Mr Neville with the suitcase, and a hesitant Mr Baum behind. She was like any wife, half-anxious, half-annoyed, thought Mr Baum, just as Mrs Baum would be when her husband finally got home safe, but late, after some minor misbehaviour. She added ‘my dearest’ as if to soften the question. His Lordship pecked her on her cheek in what seemed to add up to an apology on his part and forgiveness on hers.

‘Big day at Newbury. Steeplechase. Didn’t tell you I was going? Sorry about that. Spoke to Agripin’s trainer; the beast had bone, he reckoned, they were bringing him on as a jumper. Didn’t have much of a chance, he said, only four weeks in training but you never knew. But I knew, in my water. That was the St Anthony’s Cup, the last race. I had my Yankee, didn’t I? Started with two hundred quid and ended up with this lot. Most exciting day of my life. Open it up, Mr Neville.’

Mr Neville found a side table and opened the suitcase in front of Isobel to disclose pile upon pile of large crisp white banknotes. Ten, twenty thousand? More? Mr Neville, eyes slightly goggling, bowed and left.

‘I had to go to the bank with the bookie. I cleared the poor man out.’ His Lordship closed the case and pushed it away with a careless foot. Then he turned to Mr Baum.

‘You well, Mr Baum? How’s the wife? Looking forward to the royal dinner?’

He did not wait for an answer and Mr Baum gave none. The more exhilarated his Lordship showed himself to be, the more despondent Mr Baum became. No matter how good his cards were, how well he played them, Mr Baum could see he
would never win. Nobody won on an accumulator like that. So many horses to get in the right order. These people had luck on their side, and against luck there was no defence. Their gold mine could be flooded but everything would turn out all right. The Israelites might be God’s chosen people but God was clearly an Englishman.

‘What’s all this nonsense here?’ the Earl asked, nodding at Lady Isobel’s folders and jotted figures. ‘Why are you worrying your head with all this? I deal with money matters, not you. Your purpose in life is to be beautiful.’

Her Ladyship raised her perfect eyebrows a fraction, smiled sweetly and began to tidy away the documents.

‘Let’s have that whisky, Baum,’ said the Earl, beaming.

‘I have to get back to help Mrs Baum, sir’, said Eric. ‘The children aren’t well.’

‘Sorry to hear that, Baum,’ said his Lordship amiably, but didn’t argue. Her Ladyship for her part simply nodded towards the door for Baum to leave. So she would have nodded at a servant. He marvelled at how, once again, and without saying a word, she made it clear she no longer needed him, and never really had.

‘Only money, Baum, only money,’ said his Lordship to Baum as he left.

Only money!
It had been said to aggravate him and had succeeded. It was too bad. Some people worked hard, tried hard, made money, saved money: others romped through life, and somehow got away with it. Everything came so easily to those who had everything already. He had lost all will to be revenged. Better to just go along with it. The mine would strike a seam of, say, copper: all would profit, no one would lose, but heaven knew what he would tell Naomi.

On the way out he passed the young Viscount, who was
looking remarkably down in the mouth. The lad was right to be worried; he had been playing with fire. Eric had no reason whatsoever to be nice to him, on the contrary; there had been jibes about Shylock, and so forth, and Eric would not forget them, but some sense of a male brotherhood moved him to put the boy out of his misery.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘the police were on to me this morning about your Mayfair place. But you’re in the clear. Only yesterday the Honourable Mr Robin cancelled his cheque towards the rent. No way they can get you now.’

The lad had inherited his father’s good looks and his luck too. There was no justice. Why people bothered looking for it in this life he could not imagine.