He usually left her at the corner of her street but tonight, because of the fog, he walked her to the door. He wanted to kiss her again there, but he was afraid her father might open the door and see them. However, Nora surprised him by saying: “Would you like to come in?”
He had never been inside her house. “What will your papa think?” he said.
“He’s gone to Huddersfield,” she said, and she opened the door.
Hugh’s heart beat faster as he stepped inside. He did not know what was going to happen next but it was sure to be exciting. He helped Nora out of her cloak, and his eyes rested longingly on the curves beneath her sky-blue gown.
The house was tiny, smaller even than his mother’s house in Folkestone. The staircase took up most of the narrow hall. There were two doors off the hall, leading presumably to a front parlor and a back kitchen. Upstairs there must be two bedrooms. There would be a tin bath in the kitchen and a privy in the backyard.
Hugh hung his hat and coat on a stand. A dog was barking in the kitchen, and Nora opened the door to release a small black Scottish terrier with a blue ribbon around its neck. It greeted her enthusiastically then circled Hugh warily. “Blackie protects me when Pa’s away,” Nora said, and Hugh registered the double meaning.
He followed Nora into the parlor. The furniture was old and worn, but Nora had brightened the room with things they had bought together: gay cushions, a colorful rug and a painting of Balmoral Castle. She lit a candle and drew the curtains.
Hugh stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with himself, until she put him out of his misery by saying: “See if you can get the fire going.” There were a few embers in the hearth, and Hugh put on kindling and blew the fire back to life with a small bellows.
When he was done he turned around to see her sitting on the sofa with her hat off and her hair let down. She patted the cushion beside her and he sat down obediently. Blackie glared jealously at him, and he wondered how soon he could get the dog out of the room.
They held hands and looked into the fire. Hugh felt at peace. He could not imagine wanting to do anything else for the rest of his life. After a while he kissed her again. Tentatively he touched her breast. It was firm, and filled his hand. He squeezed it gently, and she sighed heavily. Hugh had not felt this good for years, but he wanted more. He kissed her harder, still touching her breasts.
By degrees she leaned back until Hugh was half lying on her. They both began to breathe hard. He was sure she must be able to feel his prick pressing against her plump thigh. In the back of his mind the voice of conscience told him he was taking advantage of a young girl in her father’s absence, but it was a faint voice and could not prevail against the desire that welled up inside him like a volcano.
He longed to touch her most intimate places. He put his hand between her legs. She stiffened immediately, and the dog barked, sensing the tension. Hugh pulled away a little and said: “Let’s put the dog outside.”
Nora looked troubled. “Perhaps we should stop.”
Hugh could not bear the thought of stopping. However, the word “perhaps” encouraged him. “I can’t stop now,” he said. “Put the dog out.”
“But … we’re not even engaged, or anything.”
“We could get engaged,” he said without thinking. She went slightly pale. “Do you mean it?”
He asked himself the same question. From the start he had thought of this as a dalliance, not a serious courtship; yet only a few moments ago he had been thinking how much he would like to spend the rest of his life holding hands with Nora in front of a fire. Did he really want to marry her? He realized that he did, in fact there was nothing he would like better. There would be trouble, of course. The family would say he was marrying beneath him. They could go to the devil. He was twenty-six years old, he earned a thousand pounds a year, and he was about to be made a partner in one of the most prestigious banks in the world: he could marry who the hell he liked. His mother would be troubled but supportive: she would worry, but she would be glad to see her son happy. And the rest of them could say what they pleased. They had never done anything for him.
He looked at Nora, pink and pretty and lovable, lying back on the old sofa with her hair around her bare shoulders. He wanted her badly, now, quickly. He had been alone too long. Maisie was thoroughly settled with Solly: she would never be his. It was time he had someone warm and soft to share his bed and his life. Why not Nora?
He snapped his fingers at the dog. “Come here, Blackie.” It approached him warily. He stroked its head then grabbed the ribbon around its neck. “Come and guard the hall,” he said, and he put the dog outside and closed the door. It barked twice and subsided into silence.
He sat beside Nora and took her hand. She looked wary. He said: “Nora, will you marry me?”
She flushed red. “Yes, I will.”
He kissed her. She opened her mouth and kissed him back passionately. He touched her knee. She took his hand and guided it beneath the skirts of her dress, up between her legs to the fork of her thighs. Through the flannelette of her underwear he could feel the rough hair and soft flesh of her mound. Her lips tracked across his cheek to his ear, and she whispered: “Hugh, darling, make me yours, tonight, now.”
“I will,” he said hoarsely. “I will.”
THE DUCHESS OF TENBIGH’S COSTUME BALL was the first great event of the 1879 London season. Everyone was talking about it weeks in advance. Fortunes were spent on fancy dress, and people would go to any length to get an invitation.
Augusta and Joseph Pilaster were not invited. That was hardly surprising: they did not belong in the very highest echelon of London society. But Augusta wanted to go, and she made up her mind she would be there.
As soon as she heard about the ball she mentioned it to Harriet Morte, who responded by looking embarrassed and saying nothing. As a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, Lady Morte had great social power; and on top of that she was a distant cousin of the duchess of Tenbigh. But she did not offer to get Augusta invited.
Augusta checked Lord Morte’s account with Pilasters Bank and found that he had an overdraft of a thousand pounds. The next day he got a note asking him when he hoped to regularize the account.
Augusta called on Lady Morte the same day. She apologized, saying that the note had been an error and the clerk who sent it had been sacked. Then she mentioned the ball again.
Lady Morte’s normally impassive face was momentarily animated by a glare of pure hatred as she understood the bargain that was being offered. Augusta was unmoved. She had no wish to be liked by Lady Morte, she just wanted to use her. And Lady Morte was confronted with a simple choice: exert her influence to get Augusta invited to the ball, or find a thousand pounds to pay off her overdraft. She took the easier option, and the invitation cards arrived the following day.
Augusta was annoyed that Lady Morte had not helped her willingly. It was hurtful that Lady Morte had to be coerced. Feeling spiteful, Augusta made her get Edward an invitation too.
Augusta was going as Queen Elizabeth and Joseph as the earl of Leicester. On the night of the ball they had dinner at home and changed afterwards. When she was dressed Augusta went into Joseph’s room to help him with his costume and talk to him about his nephew Hugh.
She was incensed that Hugh was to be made a partner in the bank at the same time as Edward. Worse still, everyone knew that Edward had been made a partner only because he had married and been given a £250,000 investment in the bank, whereas Hugh was being made a partner because he had brought off a spectacularly profitable deal with Madler and Bell of New York. People were already talking of Hugh as a potential Senior Partner. The thought made Augusta grind her teeth.
Their promotion was to take place at the end of April, when the annual partnership agreement was formally renewed. But earlier in the month, to Augusta’s delight, Hugh made the unbelievably foolish mistake of marrying a plump little working-class girl from Camden Town.
The Maisie episode six years ago had shown that he had a weakness for girls from the gutter, but Augusta had never dared to hope that he would marry one. He had done the deed quietly, in Folkestone, with just his mother and sister and the bride’s father in attendance, then he had presented the family with a fait accompli.
As Augusta adjusted Joseph’s Elizabethan ruff she said: “I presume you’ll have to think again about Hugh’s being made a partner, now that he’s married a housemaid.”
“She’s not a housemaid, she’s a corsetière. Or was. Now she’s Mrs. Pilaster.”
“All the same, a partner in Pilasters can hardly have a shopgirl as a wife.”
“I must say I think he can marry whom he likes.”
Augusta had been afraid he would take this line. “You wouldn’t say that if she were ugly, bony and sour,” she said acidly. “It’s only because she’s pretty and flirtatious that you’re so tolerant.”
“I just don’t see the problem.”
“A partner has to meet cabinet ministers, diplomats, leaders of great businesses. She won’t know how to act. She could embarrass him at any moment.”
“She can learn.” Joseph hesitated, then added: “I sometimes think you forget your own background, my dear.”
Augusta drew herself up to her full height. “My father had three shops!” she said vehemently. “How dare you compare me to that little trollop!”
He backed down instantly. “All right, I’m sorry.”
Augusta was outraged. “Furthermore, I never worked in my father’s shops,” she said. “I was brought up to be a lady.”
“I’ve apologized, let’s say no more about it. It’s time to go.”
Augusta clamped her mouth shut but inside she was seething.
Edward and Emily were waiting for them in the hall, dressed as Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Edward was having trouble with his gold braid cross-garters, and he said: “You go on, Mother, and send the carriage back for us.”
But Emily quickly put in: “Oh, no, I want to go now. Fix your garters on the way.”