'I know what he'll say,' Joseph said. 'When we formed our joint enterprise with Madler and Bell there was an implicit understanding that the London end of the operation would be run by Hugh. Now Hugh has resigned, as you know.'
'But you did not wish Hugh to resign.'
'No, but I could keep him by offering him a partnership.'
There was some risk of Joseph's weakening, Augusta could see. The thought scared her. She had to stiffen his nerve. 'I trust you won't allow outsiders to decide who shall and who shall not be a partner in Pilasters Bank.'
'Indeed I won't.'
A thought occurred to Augusta. 'Can Mr. Madler terminate the joint enterprise?'
'He could, though he hasn't threatened to, so far.'
'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. 'Good-bye, 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
