'A professional consideration, but I need what we journalists call a slant. For instance, we could accuse Disraeli--or Lord Beaconsfield, as he now is--of partiality to members of his own race. Now that would be a slant. However, he is in general a man so upright that that particular charge might not stick.'
Augusta hated dithering, but she reined in her impatience because she could see there was a genuine problem here. She thought for a moment and was struck by an idea. 'When Disraeli took his seat in the House of Lords, was the ceremony normal?'
'In every way, I believe.'
'He took the oath of loyalty on a Christian Bible?'
'Indeed.'
'Old and New Testament?'
'I begin to see your drift, Mrs. Pilaster. Would Ben Greenbourne swear on a Christian Bible? From what I know of him, I doubt it.'
Augusta shook her head dubiously. 'He might, though, if nothing were said about it. He's not a man to look for a confrontation. But he's very stiff-necked when challenged. If there were to be a noisy public demand for him to swear the same way as everyone else he might well rebel. He wouldn't let people say he had been pushed into anything.'
'A noisy public demand,' Hobbes mused. 'Yes ...'
'Could you create that?'
Hobbes warmed to the idea. 'I see it already,' he said excitedly. ''Blasphemy in the House of Lords.' Now that, Mrs. Pilaster, is what we call a slant. You're quite brilliant. You ought to be a journalist yourself!'
'How flattering,' she said. The sarcasm was lost on him.
Hobbes suddenly looked pensive. 'Mr. Greenbourne is a very powerful man.'
'So is Mr. Pilaster.'
'Of course, of course.'
'Then I may rely on you?'
Hobbes rapidly weighed the risks and decided to back the Pilaster cause. 'Leave everything to me.'
Augusta nodded. She was beginning to feel better. Lady Morte would turn the queen against Greenbourne, Hobbes would make an issue of it in the press, and Fortescue was standing by to whisper into the ear of the prime minister the name of a blameless alternative: Joseph. Once again the prospects looked good.
She stood up to go, but Hobbes had more to say. 'If I might venture a question on another topic?'
'By all means.'
'I've been offered a printing press rather cheaply. At present, you know, we use outside printers. If we had our own press it would reduce our costs, and we could perhaps make a little extra by printing other publications as a service.'
'Obviously,' Augusta said impatiently.
'I was wondering whether Pilasters Bank might be persuaded into a commercial loan.'
It was the price of his continuing support. 'How much?'
'A hundred and sixty pounds.'
It was a peppercorn. And if he campaigned against peerages for Jews with as much energy and bile as he had brought to his campaign in favor of peerages for bankers, it would be well worth it.
He said: 'A bargain, I assure--'
'I'll speak to Mr. Pilaster.' He would assent, but she did not want to let Hobbes have it too easily. He would value it more highly if it was granted reluctantly.
'Thank you. Always a pleasure to meet with you, Mrs. Pilaster.'
'Doubtless,' she said, and she went out.
Chapter FOUR
JUNE
Section 1
THE CORDOVAN MINISTRY was quiet. The offices on the first floor were empty, the three clerks having gone home hours ago. Micky and Rachel had given a dinner party in the second-floor dining room for a small group--Sir Peter Mountjoy, an under-secretary at the Foreign Office, and his wife; the Danish Minister; and the Chevalier Michele from the Italian embassy--but the guests had left and the domestic staff had cleared away. Micky was about to go out.
The novelty of being married was beginning to wear off. He had tried and failed to shock or disgust his sexually inexperienced wife. Her unfailing enthusiasm for whatever perversion he proposed was beginning to unnerve him. She had decided that whatever he wanted was all right with her, and when she made a decision like that there was no moving her. He had never met a woman who could be so implacably logical.
She would do anything he asked in bed, but she believed that outside the bedroom a woman should not be a slave to her husband, and she was equally rigid about both rules. Consequently they were always fighting about domestic issues. Sometimes Micky could turn one situation into the other. In the middle of a row about servants or money he would say: 'Lift up your dress and lie on the floor,' and the quarrel would end in a passionate embrace. But that no longer worked every time: sometimes she would recommence the argument as soon as he rolled off her.
Lately he and Edward had been spending more and more evenings in their old haunts. Tonight was Mask Night at Nellie's brothel. This was one of April's innovations: all the women would be wearing masks. April claimed that sexually frustrated high-society ladies came in and mingled with the regular girls on Mask Nights. Certainly some of the women were not regulars, but Micky suspected the strangers were in fact middle- class women in desperate financial straits, rather than bored aristocrats in search of degenerate thrills. Whatever the truth of the matter, Mask Night never failed to be interesting.
He combed his hair and filled his cigar case, then he went downstairs. To his surprise, Rachel was standing in the hall, barring the way to the door. Her arms were folded and she wore a determined expression. Micky braced himself for a fight.
'It's eleven o'clock in the evening,' she said. 'Where are you going?'
'To the devil,' he replied. 'Get out of my way.' He picked up his hat and cane.
'Are you going to a brothel called Nellie's?'
He was startled enough to be silenced for a moment.
'I see you are,' she said.
'Who have you been talking to?' he said.
She hesitated, then said: 'Emily Pilaster. She told me that you and Edward go there regularly.'
'You shouldn't listen to women's gossip.'
Her face was white. She was scared. That was unusual. Perhaps this fight would be different.
'You must stop going there,' she said.
'I've told you, don't try to give orders to your master.'
'It's not an order. It's an ultimatum.'
