“You might want to stay with me overnight, for example,” Edward said, giving Micky a very direct look.
Micky suddenly saw how he could exploit this idea. He feigned sadness and shook his head. “By the time you get the house I shall probably have left London.”
Edward was devastated. “What the devil do you mean?”
“If I don’t raise the money for the new harbor, I’m sure to be recalled by the president.”
“You can’t go back!” Edward said in a frightened voice.
“I certainly don’t want to. But I may not have the choice.”
“The bonds will sell out, I’m sure,” Edward said.
“I hope so. If they don’t …”
Edward hit the table with his fist, making the glasses shake. “I wish Hugh had let me underwrite the issue!”
Micky said nervously: “I suppose you have to abide by the decision of the partners.”
“Of course — what else?”
“Well …” He hesitated. He tried to sound casual. “You couldn’t just ignore what was said today, and simply have your staff draw up an underwriting deal, without telling anyone, could you?”
“I could, I suppose,” Edward said worriedly.
“After all, you are Senior Partner. That ought to mean something.”
“It damn well should.”
“Simon Oliver would do the paperwork discreetly. You can trust him.”
“Yes.”
Micky could hardly believe Edward was agreeing so readily. “It might make the difference between my staying in London and my being recalled to Cordova.”
The waiter brought their wine and poured them each a glass.
Edward said: “It would all come out, eventually.”
“By then it will be too late. And you can pass it off as a clerical error.” Micky knew this was implausible and he doubted if Edward would swallow it.
But Edward ignored it. “If you stay …” He paused and dropped his eyes.
“Yes?”
“If you stay in London, will you spend nights at my new house sometimes?”
That was the only thing Edward was interested in, Micky realized with a surge of triumph. He gave his most winning smile. “Of course.”
Edward nodded. “That’s all I want. I’ll speak to Simon this afternoon.”
Micky picked up his wineglass. “To friendship,” he said.
Edward clinked glasses and smiled shyly. “To friendship.”
WITHOUT WARNING, Edward’s wife Emily moved into Whitehaven House.
Although everyone still thought of it as Augusta’s house, Joseph had in fact bequeathed it to Edward. Consequently they could not throw Emily out: it would probably have been grounds for divorce, and that was just what Emily wanted.
In fact Emily was technically mistress of the house, and Augusta just a mother-in-law living there on sufferance. If Emily had openly confronted Augusta there would have been a mighty clash of wills. Augusta would have relished that, but Emily was too adroit to fight her openly. “It is your home,” Emily would say sweetly. “You must do whatever you wish.” The condescension was enough to make Augusta flinch.
Emily even had Augusta’s title: as Edward’s wife she was the countess of Whitehaven now, and Augusta was the dowager countess.
Augusta continued to give orders to the servants as if she were still mistress of the house, and whenever she got the chance she would countermand Emily’s instructions. Emily never complained. However, the servants became subversive. They liked Emily better than Augusta — because she was foolishly soft on them, Augusta thought — and they found ways to make Emily’s life comfortable despite Augusta’s efforts.
The most powerful weapon an employer had was the threat of dismissing a servant without a character reference. No one else would give the servant a job thereafter. But Emily had taken this weapon away from Augusta with an ease that was almost frightening. One day Emily ordered sole for lunch. Augusta changed it to salmon, sole was served, and Augusta dismissed the cook. But Emily gave the cook a glowing reference and she was hired by the duke of Kingsbridge at a better wage. And for the first time ever, Augusta’s servants were not terrified of her.
Emily’s friends would call at Whitehaven House in the afternoon. Tea was a ritual presided over by the mistress of the house. Emily would smile sweetly and beg Augusta to take charge, but then Augusta would have to be polite to Emily’s friends, which was almost as bad as letting Emily play the role of mistress.
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.”
