Augusta said: “Edward’s South American bonds have made a fortune for the bank.”
Hugh nodded. “It’s true that we have sold many millions of pounds’ worth of South American bonds in the last ten years, and Edward has handled all that business. But it’s dangerous money. People bought the bonds because they trust Pilasters. If one of those governments should default on interest payments, the price of all South American bonds will go through the floor — and Pilasters will be blamed. Because of Edward’s success in selling South American bonds our reputation, which is our most precious asset, is now in the hands of a set of brutish despots and generals who can’t read.” Hugh found himself becoming emotional as he said this. He had helped to build up the reputation of the bank by his own brains and hard work, and it made him angry that Augusta was willing to jeopardize it.
“You sell North American bonds,” Augusta said. “There’s always a risk. That’s what banking is about.” She spoke triumphantly, as if she had caught him out.
“The United States of America has a modern democratic government, vast natural wealth and no enemies. Now that they’ve abolished slavery, there’s no reason why the country shouldn’t be stable for a hundred years. By contrast, South America is a collection of warring dictatorships that may not be the same for the next ten days. There is a risk in both cases, but in the north it’s much smaller. Banking is about calculating risk.”
“You’re just envious of Edward — you always were,” she said.
Hugh wondered why the other partners were so silent. As soon as he asked himself the question, he realized that Augusta must have spoken to them beforehand. But surely she could not have persuaded them to accept Edward as Senior Partner? He began to feel seriously worried.
“What has she said to you?” he said abruptly. He looked at each of them in turn. “William? George? Harry? Come on, out with it. You’ve discussed this earlier and Augusta has nobbled you.”
They all looked a little foolish. Finally William said; “Nobody has been nobbled, Hugh. But Augusta and Edward have made it clear that unless Edward becomes Senior Partner, they …” He seemed embarrassed.
“Out with it,” Hugh said.
“They will withdraw their capital from the business.”
“What?” Hugh was stunned. Withdrawing your capital was a cardinal sin in this family: his own father had done it and had never been forgiven. That Augusta should be willing even to threaten such a step was astonishing — and showed that she was deadly serious.
Between them, she and Edward controlled about forty percent of the bank’s capital, over two million pounds. If they withdrew the money at the end of the financial year, as they were legally entitled to do, the bank would be crippled.
It was startling that Augusta should make such a threat — and even worse that the partners were ready to give in to her. “You’re surrendering all authority to her!” he said. “If you let her get away with it this time she’ll do it again. Anytime she wants something she can just threaten to withdraw her capital and you’ll cave in. You might as well make her Senior Partner.”
Edward blustered: “Don’t you dare speak of my mother like that — mind your manners!”
“Manners be damned,” Hugh said rudely. He knew he was doing his cause no good by losing his temper, but he was too angry to stop. “You’re about to ruin a great bank. Augusta’s blind, Edward is stupid and the rest of you are too cowardly to stop them.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, throwing his napkin down on the table like a challenge. “Well, here’s one person who won’t be bullied.”
He stopped and took a breath, realizing he was about to say something that would change the course of the rest of his life. Around the table they all stared at him. He had no alternative. “I resign,” he said.
As he turned from the table he caught Augusta’s eye, and saw on her face a victorious smile.
Uncle Samuel came to see him that evening.
Samuel was an old man now, but no less vain than he had been twenty years ago. He still lived with Stephen Caine, his “secretary.” Hugh was the only Pilaster who ever went to their home, which was a house in raffish Chelsea, decorated in the fashionable aesthetic style and full of cats. Once, when they were halfway down a bottle of port, Stephen had said he was the only Pilaster wife who was not a harridan.
When Samuel called, Hugh was in his library, where he generally retired after dinner. He had a book on his knee but had not been reading it. Instead he had been staring into the fire, thinking about the future. He had plenty of money, enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life without working, but he would never be Senior Partner now.
Uncle Samuel looked weary and sad. “I was at odds with my cousin Joseph for most of his life,” he said. “I wish it had been otherwise.”
Hugh offered him a drink and he asked for port. Hugh called his butler and ordered a bottle decanted.
“How do you feel about it all?” Samuel asked.
“I was angry before, but now I’m just despondent,” Hugh replied. “Edward is so hopelessly unsuited to be Senior Partner, but there’s nothing to be done. How about you?”
“I feel as you do. I shall resign, too. I shan’t withdraw my capital, at least not right away, but I shall go at the end of the year. I told them so after you made your dramatic exit. I don’t know whether I should have spoken up earlier. It wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“What else did they say?”
“Well, that’s why I’m here, really, dear boy. I regret to say I’m a sort of messenger from the enemy. They asked me to persuade you not to resign.”
“Then they’re damn fools.”
“That they certainly are. However, there is one thing you ought to think about. If you resign immediately, everyone in the City will know why. People will say that if Hugh Pilaster believes Edward can’t run the bank he’s probably right. It could cause a loss of confidence.”
“Well, if the bank has weak leadership people ought to lose confidence in it. Otherwise they’ll lose their money.”
“But what if your resignation creates a financial crisis?”
Hugh had not thought of that. “Is it possible?”
“I think so.”
“I wouldn’t want to do that, needless to say.” A crisis might bring down other, perfectly sound businesses, the way the collapse of Overend Gurney had destroyed Hugh’s father’s firm in 1866.
“Perhaps you ought to stay until the end of the financial year, like me,” Samuel said. “It’s only a few months. By then Edward will have been in charge for a while and people will be used to it, and you can go with no fuss.”
The butler came back with the port. Hugh sipped it thoughtfully. He felt he had to agree to Samuel’s proposal, much as he disliked the idea. He had given them all a lecture about their duty to their depositors and the wider financial community, and he had to heed his own words. If he were to allow the bank to suffer just because of his own feelings, he would be no better than Augusta. Besides, the postponement would give him time to think about what to do with the rest of his life.
He sighed. “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll stay until the end of the year.”
Samuel nodded. “I thought you would,” he said. “It’s the right thing to do — and you always do the right thing, in the end.”
BEFORE MAISIE GREENBOURNE finally said goodbye to high society, eleven years before, she had gone to all her friends — who were many and rich — and persuaded them to give money to Rachel’s Southwark Female Hospital. Consequently, the hospital’s running costs were covered by the income from its investments.
The money was managed by Rachel’s father, the only man involved in the running of the hospital. At first Maisie had wanted to handle the investments herself, but she had found that bankers and stockbrokers refused to take her seriously. They would ignore her instructions, ask for authority from her husband, and withhold information from her. She might have fought them, but in setting up the hospital she and Rachel had too many other fights on their hands, and they had let Mr. Bodwin take over the finances.
Maisie was a widow, but Rachel was still married to Micky Miranda. Rachel never saw her husband but he would not divorce her. For ten years she had been carrying on a discreet affair with Maisie’s brother Dan Robinson, who was a member of Parliament. The three of them lived together in Maisie’s house in suburban Walworth.
The hospital was in a working-class area, in the heart of the city. They had taken a long lease on a row of four houses near Southwark Cathedral and had knocked internal doors through the walls on each level to make their hospital. Instead of rows of beds in cavernous wards they had small, comfortable rooms, each with only two or three beds.
Maisie’s office, a cozy sanctuary near the main entrance, had two comfortable chairs, flowers in a vase, a faded rug and bright curtains. On the wall was the framed poster of “The Amazing Maisie.” The desk was unobtrusive, and the ledgers in which she kept her records were stowed in a cupboard.
The woman sitting opposite her was barefoot, ragged and nine months pregnant. In her eyes was the wary, desperate look of a starving cat that walks into a strange house hoping to be fed. Maisie said: “What’s your name, dear?”
“Rose Porter, mum.”
They always called her “mum,” as if she were a grand lady. She had long ago given up trying to make them call her Maisie. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please, mum.”
Maisie poured tea into a plain china cup and added milk and sugar. “You look tired.”
“I’ve walked all the way from Bath, mum.”