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.'
'Unfortunately, he wants to give it to Ben Greenbourne.'
'Oh, dear. That is unfortunate.'
Augusta could tell that Harriet Morte was secretly pleased by this news. She hated Augusta. 'It's more than unfortunate,' Augusta said. 'I've expended a good deal of effort over this and now its seems the benefits will go to my husband's greatest rival!'
'I do see that.'
'I wish we could prevent it happening.'
'I'm not sure what we can do.'
Augusta pretended to be thinking aloud. 'Peerages have to be approved by the queen, don't they?'
'Yes, indeed. Technically it is she who grants them.'
'Then she could do something, if you asked her.'
Lady Morte gave a little laugh. 'My dear Mrs. Pilaster, you overestimate my power.' Augusta held her tongue and ignored the condescending tone. Lady Morte went on: 'Her Majesty is not likely to take my advice over that of the prime minister. Besides, what would be my grounds of objection?'
'Greenbourne is a Jew.'
Lady Morte nodded. 'There was a time when that would have finished it. I remember when Gladstone wanted to make Lionel Rothschild a peer: the queen refused point-blank. But that was ten years ago. Since then we have had Disraeli.'
'But Disraeli is a Christian. Greenbourne is a practicing Jew.'
'I wonder if that would make a difference,' Lady Morte mused. 'It might, you know. And she's constantly criticizing the Prince of Wales for having so many Jews among his friends.'
'Then if you were to mention to her that the prime minister is proposing to ennoble one of them ...'
'I can bring it up in conversation. I'm not sure it will be enough to effect your purpose.'
Augusta thought hard. 'Is there anything we can do to make the whole question a matter of more concern to Her Majesty?'
'If there were to be some public protest--questions in Parliament, perhaps, or articles in the press ...'
'The press,' Augusta said. She thought of Arnold Hobbes. 'Yes!' she said. 'I think that could be arranged.'
Hobbes was splendidly discombobulated by Augusta's presence in his cramped, inky office. He could not make up his mind whether to tidy up, attend to her or get rid of her. Consequently he did all three in a hysterical muddle: he moved sheets of paper and bundles of proofs from the floor to the table and back again; he fetched her a chair, a glass of sherry and a plate of biscuits; and at the same time he proposed that they go elsewhere to talk. She let him run wild for a minute or two then said: 'Mr. Hobbes, please sit down and listen to me.'
'Of course, of course,' he said, and he subsided into a chair and peered at her through his grimy spectacles.
She told him in a few crisp sentences about Ben Greenbourne's peerage.
'Most regrettable, most regrettable,' he blabbered nervously. 'However, I don't think The Forum could be accused of lack of enthusiasm in promoting the cause which you so kindly suggested to me.'
And in exchange for which you got two lucrative directorships of companies controlled by my husband, Augusta thought. 'I know it's not your fault,' she said irritably. 'The point is, what can you do about it?'
'My journal is in a difficult position,' he said worriedly. 'Having campaigned so vociferously for a banker to get a peerage, it's hard for us to turn around and protest when it actually happens.'
'But you never intended for a Jew to be so honored.'
'True, true, although so many bankers are Jews.'
'Couldn't you write that there are enough Christian bankers for the prime minister to choose from?'
He remained reluctant. 'We might....'
'Then do so!'
'Excuse me, Mrs. Pilaster, but it's not quite enough.'
'I don't understand you,' she said impatiently.
