A Dangerous Fortune(33)
He shook his head. “I must go to the bank.”
“What a shame, to be shut up in a dusty office on a beautiful day like this.”
“There has been a panic in Bologna.”
Hugh was intrigued. Since the Vienna “Krach” there had been several bank failures and company liquidations in different parts of Europe, but this was the first “panic.” London had escaped damage, so far. In June the bank rate, the thermometer of the financial world, had risen to seven percent—not quite fever level—and it had already dropped back to six percent. However, there might be some excitement today
Augusta said: “I trust the panic won’t affect us.”
“So long as we take care, no,” said Joseph.
“But it’s a holiday today—there will be no one at the bank to make your tea!”
“I daresay I shall survive half a day without tea.”
“I’ll send Sara to you in an hour. She’s made a cherry cake, your favorite—she shall bring you some, and make your tea.”
Hugh saw an opportunity. “Shall I come with you, Uncle? You may want a clerk.”
Joseph shook his head. “I shan’t need you.”
Augusta said: “You may want him to run errands, my dear.”
Hugh said with a grin: “Or he may want to ask my advice.”
Joseph did not appreciate the joke. “I shall just read the telegraph messages and decide what is to be done when the markets open again tomorrow morning.”
Foolishly, Hugh persisted. “I should like to come, all the same—just out of interest.”
It was always a mistake to badger Joseph. “I tell you I don’t need you,” he said irritably. “Drive in the park with your aunt, she needs an escort.” He put his hat on his head and went out.
Augusta said: “You have a talent for needlessly annoying people, Hugh. Get your hat, I’m ready to go.”
Hugh did not really want to drive with Augusta, but his uncle had commanded him to do so, and he was curious to see the Lioness, so he did not argue.
Augusta’s daughter Clementine appeared, dressed to go out. Hugh had played with his cousin when they were children, and she had always been a telltale. At the age of seven she had asked Hugh to show her his doodle, and then told her mother what he had done, and Hugh had been thrashed. Now twenty years old, Clementine looked like her mother, but where Augusta was overbearing, Clementine was sly.
They all went out. The footman handed them up into the carriage. It was a new vehicle, painted bright blue and drawn by a superb pair of gray geldings—an equipage fit for the wife of a great banker. Augusta and Clementine sat facing forward, and Hugh settled himself opposite them. The top was down because of the brilliant sunshine, but the ladies opened their parasols. The coachman flicked his whip and they set off.
A few moments later they were on South Carriage Drive. It was as crowded as the writer of the letter to The Times had claimed. There were hundreds of horses ridden by top-hatted men and sidesaddle women; dozens of carriages of every type—open and closed, two-wheel and four-wheel; plus children on ponies, couples on foot, nurses with baby carriages and people with dogs. The carriages gleamed with new paint, the horses were brushed and combed, the men wore full morning dress and the women sported all the bright colors that the new chemical dyes could produce. Everyone moved slowly, the better to scrutinize horses and carriages, dresses and hats. Augusta talked to her daughter, and the conversation required no contribution from Hugh other than the occasional indication of agreement.
“There’s Lady St. Ann in a Dolly Varden hat!” Clementine exclaimed.
“They went out of fashion a year ago,” said Augusta.
“Well, well,” said Hugh.
Another carriage pulled alongside, and Hugh saw his aunt Madeleine Hartshorn. If she had whiskers she’d look just like her brother Joseph, he thought. She was Augusta’s closest crony within the family. Together they controlled the social life of the family. Augusta was the driving force, but Madeleine was her faithful acolyte.
Both carriages stopped, and the ladies exchanged greetings. They were obstructing the road, and two or three carriages pulled up behind them. Augusta said: “Take a turn with us, Madeleine, I want to talk to you.” Madeleine’s footman helped her down from her own carriage and into Augusta’s and they drove off again.
“They’re threatening to tell old Seth about Samuel’s secretary,” Augusta said.
“Oh, no!” said Madeleine. “They mustn’t!”
“I’ve spoken to Joseph, but they won’t be stopped,” Augusta went on. Her tone of sincere concern took Hugh’s breath away. How did she manage it? Perhaps she convinced herself that the truth was whatever it suited her to say at any moment.
“I shall speak to George,” said Madeleine. “The shock could kill dear Uncle Seth.”
Hugh toyed with the idea of reporting this conversation to his uncle Joseph. Surely, he thought, Joseph would be appalled to know how he and the other partners were being manipulated by their wives? But they would not believe Hugh. He was a nobody—and that was why Augusta did not care what she said in front of him.
Their carriage slowed almost to a halt. There was a knot of horses and vehicles up ahead. Augusta said irritably: “What’s the cause of this?”