A Dangerous Fortune(60)
Micky said quickly: “He deserved it.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” said the older man.
Edward said: “I need a drink.”
Micky said: “Order a brandy for me, would you? I’d better go after Silva and make sure he doesn’t throw himself under the wheels of a horse bus.” He dashed out.
This was the most subtle part of his plan: he now had to convince the man he had ruined that he was his best friend.
Tonio was hurrying along in the direction of St. James’s, not looking where he was going, bumping into people. Micky ran and caught up with him. “I say, Silva, I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said.
Tonio stopped. There were tears on his cheeks. “I’m finished,” he said. “It’s all over.”
“Pilaster turned me down flat,” Micky said. “I did my best….”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I failed.”
“But you tried. I wish there was something I could do to show my appreciation.”
Micky hesitated, thinking: Do I dare to ask him for his job, right now? He decided to be bold. “As a matter of fact there is—but we should talk about it another time.”
“No, tell me now.”
“I’d feel bad. Let’s leave it until another day.”
“I don’t know how many more days I’ll be here. What is it?”
“Well …” Micky feigned embarrassment. “I suppose the Cordovan Minister will eventually be looking for someone to replace you.”
“He’ll need someone right away.” Comprehension showed on Tonio’s tear-stained face. “Of course—you should have the job! You’d be perfect!”
“If you could put in a word….”
“I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell him what a help you’ve been, and how you tried to get me out of the mess I got myself into. I’m sure he’ll want to appoint you.”
“I wish I weren’t benefiting from your troubles,” Micky said. “I feel I’m behaving like a rat.”
“Not at all.” Tonio took Micky’s hand in both of his. “You’re a true friend.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SEPTEMBER
1
HUGH’S SIX-YEAR-OLD SISTER Dorothy was folding his shirts and packing them into his trunk. He knew that as soon as she went to bed he would have to take them all out and do them again, because her folding was hopelessly untidy; but he pretended she was very good at it, and encouraged her.
“Tell me about America again,” she said.
“America is so far away that in the morning the sun takes four hours to get there.”
“Do they stay in bed all morning?”
“Yes—then they get up at lunchtime and have breakfast!”
She giggled. “They’re lazy.”
“Not really. You see, it doesn’t get dark until midnight, so they have to work all evening.”
“And they go to bed late! I like going to bed late. I’d like America. Why can’t we go with you?”
“I wish you could, Dotty.” Hugh felt rather wistful: he would not see his baby sister again for years. She would be changed when he returned. She would understand time zones.
September rain drummed on the windows, and down in the bay the wind lashed the waves, but here there was a coal fire and a soft hearth-rug. Hugh packed a handful of books: Modern Business Methods, The Successful Commercial Clerk, The Wealth of Nations, Robinson Crusoe. The older clerks at Pilasters Bank were contemptuous of what they called “book-learning,” and were fond of saying that experience was the best teacher, but they were wrong: Hugh had been able to understand the workings of the different departments much more quickly because he had studied the theory beforehand.
He was going to America at a time of crisis. In the early 1870s several of the banks had made large loans on the security of speculative railway stocks, and when railway construction ran into trouble in the middle of 1873 the banks started to look shaky. A few days ago Jay Cooke & Co., the agents of the American government, had gone bust, dragging the First National Bank of Washington down with them; and the news had reached London the same day via the transatlantic telegraph cable. Now five New York banks had suspended business, including the Union Trust Company—a major bank—and the old-established Mechanics’ Banking Association. The Stock Exchange had closed its doors. Businesses would fall, thousands of people would be thrown out of work, trade would suffer, and Pilasters’ American operation would get smaller and more cautious—so that it would be harder for Hugh to make his mark.
So far the crisis had had little impact in London. The bank rate had gone up a point, to four percent, and a small London bank with close American links had failed, but there was no panic. All the same, old Seth insisted there was trouble ahead. He was quite weak now. He had moved into Augusta’s house and spent most days in bed. But he stubbornly refused to resign until he had steered Pilasters through the storm.
Hugh began to fold his clothes. The bank had paid for two new suits: he had a suspicion his mother had persuaded his grandfather to authorize that. Old Seth was as tight-fisted as the rest of the Pilasters but he had a soft spot for Hugh’s mother; in fact it was the small allowance Seth gave her that she had been living on all these years.