“Is it worth a lot money?”
“It was. But when Hugh goes to work at Greenbournes he’s likely to take most of the business with him.”
“So it really makes very little difference what Mr. Madler thinks.”
“Perhaps not. But I’ll have to tell him something. He’s come all the way from New York just to make a fuss about this.”
“Tell him Hugh has married an impossible wife. He can hardly fail to understand that.”
“Of course.” Joseph stood up. “Goodbye, dear.”
Augusta stood up and kissed her husband on the lips. “Don’t be bullied, Joseph,” she said.
His shoulders straightened and his mouth set in a stubborn line. “I shan’t.”
When he had gone she sat at the table sipping coffee for a while, wondering how serious this threat was. She had tried to bolster Joseph’s resistance but there was a limit to how much she could do. She would have to keep a very close eye on that situation.
She was surprised to hear that Hugh’s departure would cost the bank a lot of money. It had not occurred to her that in promoting Edward and undermining Hugh she was also losing money. For a moment she wondered whether she might be endangering the bank that was the foundation of all her hopes and schemes. But that was ridiculous. Pilasters Bank was hugely wealthy: nothing she could do would threaten it.
While she was finishing her breakfast Hastead sidled in to tell her that Mr. Fortescue had called. She immediately put Sidney Madler out of her mind. This was much more important. Her heart beat faster.
Michael Fortescue was her tame politician. Having won the Deaconridge by-election with financial help from Joseph, he was now a member of Parliament, and indebted to Augusta. She had made it very clear how he could repay that debt: by helping her to get a peerage for Joseph. The by-election had cost five thousand pounds, enough to buy the finest house in London, but that was a cheap price to pay for a title. The afternoon was the time for calls, so morning visitors generally had urgent business. She felt sure Fortescue would not have called so early unless he had news of the peerage, and her heart beat faster. “Put Mr. Fortescue in the lookout,” she told the butler. “I shall be with him directly.” She sat still for a few moments, trying to make herself calm.
Her campaign had gone according to plan so far. Arnold Hobbes had published a series of articles in his journal The Forum calling for peerages for commercial men. Lady Morte had talked to the queen about it, and had sung Joseph’s praises; and she said Her Majesty had seemed impressed. And Fortescue had told Prime Minister Disraeli that there was a groundswell of public opinion in favor of the idea. Now perhaps the whole effort was about to bear fruit.
The tension was almost too much for her, and she felt a little breathless as she hurried up the stairs, her head full of the phrases she hoped soon to hear: Lady Whitehaven … the earl and countess Whitehaven … very good, m’lady … as your ladyship pleases….
The lookout was a curious room. It was over the front lobby, and was reached by a door halfway up the stairs. It had a bay window over the street, but that was not what gave the room its name. What was unusual about it was an interior window that looked down into the main hall. People in the hall did not suspect they were observed, and over the years Augusta had seen some strange sights from that vantage point. The room was informal, small and cozy, with a low ceiling and a fireplace. Augusta received visitors there in the morning.
Fortescue looked a little tense. Augusta sat close to him on the window seat and gave him a warm, reassuring smile.
“I’ve just been with the prime minister,” he said.
Augusta could hardly speak. “Did you talk about peerages?”
“We did indeed. I’ve managed to convince him that it is time the banking industry was represented in the House of Lords, and he’s now minded to grant a peerage to a City man.”
“Wonderful!” said Augusta. But Fortescue had an uncomfortable expression, not at all like the bringer of glad tidings. “So why do you look so glum?” she said uneasily.
“There’s also bad news,” Fortescue said, and suddenly he looked a little frightened.
“What?”
“I’m afraid he wants to give the peerage to Ben Greenbourne.”
“No!” Augusta felt as if she had been punched. “How can that be?”
Fortescue became defensive. “I suppose he can give peerages to whomever he pleases. He is the prime minister.”
“But I didn’t go to all this trouble for the benefit of Ben Greenbourne!”
“I agree it’s ironic,” Fortescue said languidly. “But I did my best.”
“Don’t be so smug,” she snapped. “Not if you want my help in future elections.”
Rebellion flashed in his eyes, and for a moment she thought she had lost him, thought he was going to say that he had repaid the debt and now he no longer needed her; but then he dropped his gaze and said: “I assure you I’m devastated by this news—”
“Be quiet, let me think,” she said, and she began to pace up and down the little room. “We must find a way to change the prime minister’s mind…. We must make it into a scandal. What are Ben Greenbourne’s weaknesses? His son is married to a guttersnipe, but that’s not really enough….” It occurred to her that if Greenbourne got a title it would be inherited by his son Solly, which would mean that Maisie would eventually be a countess. The thought was sickening. “What are Greenbourne’s politics?”
“None known.”
She looked at the young man and saw that he was sulking. She had spoken too harshly to him. She sat down beside him and took one of his big hands in both her own. “Your political instincts are remarkable, in fact that’s what first made me notice you. Tell me what your guess would be.”
Fortescue melted immediately, as men generally did when she took the trouble to be nice to them. “If pressed he would probably be Liberal. Most businessmen are Liberal, and so are most Jews. But as he has never expressed any opinion publicly, it will be hard to make him out to be an enemy of the Conservative government—”
“He’s a Jew,” Augusta said. “That’s the key.”
Fortescue looked dubious. “The prime minister himself is a Jew by birth, and he has now been made Lord Beaconsfield.”
“I know, but he’s a practicing Christian. Besides …”
Fortescue raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“I have instincts too,” Augusta said. “Mine tell me that Ben Greenbourne’s Jewishness is the key to it all.”
“If there is anything I can do …”
“You’ve been wonderful. There’s nothing for the moment. But when the prime minister begins to have doubts about Ben Greenbourne, just remind him that there is a safe alternative in Joseph Pilaster.”
“Rely on me, Mrs. Pilaster.”
Lady Morte lived in a house in Curzon Street which her husband could not afford. The door was opened by a liveried footman in a powdered wig. Augusta was shown into a morning room crowded with costly knickknacks from Bond Street shops: gold candelabra, silver picture-frames, porcelain ornaments, crystal vases, and an exquisite antique jeweled inkstand that must have cost as much as a young racehorse. Augusta despised Harriet Morte for her weakness in spending money she did not have; but at the same time she was reassured by these signs that the woman was as extravagant as ever.
She paced up and down the room as she waited. A feeling of panic grew over her every time she faced the prospect that Ben Greenbourne would get the honor instead of Joseph. She did not think she could mount a campaign like this a second time. And it made her squirm to think that the result of all her efforts might be that the title of countess would eventually go to that little sewer rat Maisie Greenbourne….
Lady Morte came in, saying distantly: “What a lovely surprise to see you at this time of day!” It was a reproof to Augusta for calling before lunch. Lady Morte’s iron-gray hair looked hastily combed, and Augusta guessed she had not been fully dressed.
But you had to receive me, didn’t you? thought Augusta. You were afraid I might be calling about your bank account, so you had no choice.
However, she spoke in a subservient tone that would flatter the woman. “I’ve come to ask your advice over something urgent.”
“Anything I can do …”
“The prime minister has agreed to give a peerage to a banker.”
“Splendid! I mentioned it to Her Majesty, as you know. Doubtless that had its effect.”