A Dangerous Fortune(117)
We trust there is no truth in the rumours, currently circulating at Westminster and in the London clubs, that the Prime Minister is contemplating the grant of a peerage to a prominent banker of the Jewish race and faith.
We have never favoured persecution of heathen religions. However, tolerance can go too far. To give the highest accolade to one who openly rejects Christian salvation would be perilously close to blasphemy.
Of course, the Prime Minister himself is a Jew by race. But he has been converted, and took his oath of allegiance to Her Majesty on the Christian Bible. No constitutional question was therefore raised by his ennoblement. But we have to ask whether the unbaptised banker of whom rumour speaks would be prepared so far to compromise his faith as to swear on the combined Old and New Testaments. If he were to insist on the Old Testament alone, how could the bishops in the House of Lords stand by without protest?
We have no doubt that the man himself is a loyal citizen and an honest man of business….
There was much more of the same. Augusta was pleased. She looked up from the page. “Well done,” she said. “That should cause a stir.”
“I hope so.” With a quick, birdlike gesture, Hobbes reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I have taken the liberty of contracting to buy the printing press I mentioned to you. The bill of sale—”
“Go to the bank in the morning,” Augusta snapped, ignoring the proffered paper. Somehow she could never bring herself to be civil to Hobbes for long, even when he had served her well. Something about his manner irritated her. She made an effort to be more pleasant. In a softer voice she said: “My husband will give you a cheque.”
Hobbes bowed. “In that case I will take my leave.” He went out.
Augusta breathed a sigh of satisfaction. This would show them all. Maisie Greenbourne thought she was the leader of London society. Well, she could dance with the Prince of Wales all night long, but she couldn’t fight the power of the press. It would take the Greenbournes a long time to recover from this onslaught. And meanwhile Joseph would have his peerage.
Feeling better, she sat down to read the article again.
3
ON THE MORNING AFTER THE BALL Hugh woke up feeling jubilant. His wife had been accepted into high society and he was going to be made a partner in Pilasters Bank. The partnership gave him the chance to make not just thousands of pounds but, over the years, hundreds of thousands. One day he would be rich.
Solly would be disappointed that Hugh would not be working for him after all. But Solly was nothing if not easygoing: he would understand.
He put on his robe. From his bedside drawer he took a gift-wrapped jeweler’s box and slipped it into his pocket. Then he went into his wife’s bedroom.
Nora’s room was large but it always felt cramped. The windows, the mirrors and the bed were all draped with patterned silk; the floor was covered with rugs two and three deep; the chairs were piled with embroidered cushions; and every shelf and tabletop was crowded with framed pictures, china dolls, miniature porcelain boxes and other knickknacks. The predominant colors were her favorite pink and blue, but just about every other color was represented somewhere, in the wallpapers, bedclothes, curtains or upholstery.
Nora was sitting up in bed, surrounded by lace pillows, sipping tea. Hugh perched on the edge of the bed and said: “You were wonderful last night.”
“I showed them all,” she said, looking pleased with herself. “I danced with the Prince of Wales.”
“He couldn’t stop looking at your bosom,” Hugh said. He reached over and caressed her breasts through the silk of her high-buttoned nightdress.
She pushed his hand aside irritably. “Hugh! Not now.”
He felt hurt. “Why not now?”
“It’s the second time this week.”
“When we were first married we used to do it constantly.”
“Exactly—when we were first married. A girl doesn’t expect to have to do it every day forever.”
Hugh frowned. He would have been perfectly happy to do it every day forever—wasn’t that what marriage was all about? But he did not know what was normal. Perhaps he was overactive. “How often do you think we should do it, then?” he said uncertainly.
She looked pleased to have been asked, as if she had been waiting for an opportunity to clear this up. “Not more than once a week,” she said firmly.
“Really?” His feeling of exultation went away and he suddenly felt very cast down. A week seemed an awfully long time. He stroked her thigh through the sheets. “Perhaps a little more than that.”
“No!” she said, moving her leg.
Hugh was upset. Once upon a time she had seemed enthusiastic about lovemaking. It had been something they enjoyed together. How had it become a chore she performed for his benefit? Had she never really liked it, but just pretended? There was something dreadfully depressing about that idea.
He no longer felt like giving her his gift, but he had bought it and he did not want to take it back to the shop. “Well, anyway, I got you this, to commemorate your triumph at Maisie Greenbourne’s ball,” he said rather dolefully, and he gave her the box.
Her manner changed instantly. “Oh, Hugh, you know how I love presents!” she said. She tore off the ribbon and opened the box. It contained a pendant in the shape of a spray of flowers, made of rubies and sapphires on gold stems. The pendant hung from a fine gold chain. “It’s beautiful,” she said.