On her left at the table Augusta placed Michael Fortescue, a personable young man with political aspirations. He was said to be close to the prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli, who had been ennobled and was now Lord Beaconsfield. Fortescue was the second of the three people Augusta needed to help her get Joseph a peerage. He was not as clever as Hobbes but he was more sophisticated and self-assured. Augusta had been able to overawe Hobbes, but she would have to seduce Fortescue.
Deacon Maple said grace and Hastead poured wine. Neither Joseph nor Augusta would drink wine, but they offered it to their guests. As the consomme was served Augusta smiled warmly at Fortescue and said in a low, intimate voice: 'When are we going to see you in Parliament?'
'I wish I knew,' he said.
'Everyone speaks of you as a brilliant young man, as you must know.'
He was pleased but embarrassed by her flattery. 'I'm not sure I do know.'
'And you're so good-looking, too--that never hurts.'
He looked rather startled. He had not expected her to flirt--but he was not averse to it.
'You shouldn't wait for a general election,' she went on. 'Why don't you stand in a by-election? It should be easy enough to arrange--people say you have the ear of the prime minister.'
'You're very kind--but by-elections are expensive, Mrs. Pilaster.'
It was the response she had been hoping for, but she did not let him know that. 'Are they?' she said.
'And I am not a wealthy man.'
'I didn't know that,' she lied. 'You should find a sponsor, then.'
'A banker, perhaps?' he said in a tone that was half playful, half wistful.
'It's not impossible. Mr. Pilaster is keen to take a more active part in the government of the nation.' He would be, if a peerage were offered. 'And he doesn't see why commercial men should feel obliged to be Liberals. Between you and me, he often finds himself more in agreement with the younger Conservatives.'
Her confidential tone encouraged him to be frank--as she intended--and now he said directly: 'In what way would Mr. Pilaster like to serve the nation--other than by sponsoring a by-election candidate?'
This was a challenge. Should she answer his question, or continue to be indirect? Augusta decided to match his frankness, 'Perhaps in the House of Lords. Do you think it is possible?' She was enjoying this--and so was he.
'Possible? Certainly. Whether it is likely, is another question. Shall I inquire?'
This was more straightforward than Augusta had anticipated. 'Could you do so discreetly?'
He hesitated. 'I believe I could.'
'It would be most kind,' she said with satisfaction. She had turned him into a co- conspirator,
'I shall let you know what I find out.'
'And if a suitable by-election should be called ...'
'You're very good.'
She touched his arm. He was a very attractive young man, she thought. She enjoyed plotting with him. 'I believe we understand one another perfectly,' she murmured. She noticed that he had unusually big hands. She held his arm a moment longer, looking into his eyes; then she turned away.
She was feeling good. She had dealt with two of the three key people and she had not yet slipped. Throughout the next course she talked to Lord Morte, who was sitting on her right. With him she made polite, pointless conversation: it was his wife she wanted to influence and for that she had to wait until after dinner.
The men stayed in the dining room to smoke and Augusta took the ladies upstairs to her bedroom. There she got Lady Morte alone for a few minutes. Fifteen years older than Augusta, Harriet Morte was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria. She had iron-gray hair and a superior manner. Like Arnold Hobbes and Michael Fortescue, she had influence; and Augusta hoped that, like them, she would be corruptible. Hobbes and Fortescue were vulnerable because they were poor. Lord and Lady Morte were not so much poor as improvident: they had plenty of money, but they spent more than they had. Lady Morte's gowns were splendid and her jewelry was magnificent, and Lord Morte believed, against the evidence of forty years, that he had a good eye for a racehorse.
Augusta was more nervous about Lady Morte than she had been about the men. Women were more difficult. They would not take anything at face value and they knew when they were being manipulated. Thirty years as a courtier would have refined Lady Morte's sensibility to the point where nothing could slip by her.
Augusta began by saying: 'Mr. Pilaster and I are such admirers of the dear queen.'
Lady Morte nodded, as if to say Of course. However, there was no of course about it: Queen Victoria was disliked by much of the nation for being withdrawn, staid, remote and inflexible.
Augusta went on: 'If there were ever anything we could do to help you with your noble duties, we would be thrilled.'
'How very kind.' Lady Morte looked a little puzzled. She hesitated, then decided to ask. 'But what could you possibly do?'
'What do bankers do? They lend.' Augusta lowered her voice. 'Court life must be cripplingly expensive, I imagine.'
Lady Morte stiffened. There was a taboo on talking about money in her class and Augusta was breaking it flagrantly.
But Augusta plowed on. 'If you were to open an account with Pilasters, there would never be any problems in that area....'
Lady Morte was offended, but on the other hand she was being offered the remarkable privilege of unlimited credit at one of the largest banks in the world. Her instincts told her to snub Augusta, but greed held her back: Augusta could read the conflict in her face.
Augusta did not give her time to think about it. 'Please forgive my being so frightfully candid,' she went on. 'It comes only from a wish to be of service.' Lady Morte would not believe that, but she would assume Augusta simply wanted to curry favor with royalty. She would not look for a more specific motive, and Augusta would give her no more clues tonight.
Lady Morte hesitated a moment longer, then said: 'You're very kind.'
Mrs. Maple, the mother of Emily, returned from the bathroom, and Lady Morte took her turn. She went out with an expression of mild embarrassment frozen to her face. Augusta knew that she and Lord Morte would agree, in the carriage going home, that commercial people were impossibly vulgar and ill-mannered; but one day soon he would lose a thousand guineas on a horse, and on the same day her dressmaker would demand payment of a six-month-old bill for three hundred pounds, and the two of them would remember Augusta's offer, and they would decide that vulgar commercial people did after all have their uses.
