A Dangerous Fortune

by Ken Follett

  Maisie was startled. "I didn't think he had the brains!"

  "He hasn't. I shall resign at the end of the year."

  "Oh, Hugh!" Maisie knew how much he cared for that bank. All his hopes were tied up in it. "What will you do?"

  "I don't know. I'm staying on until the end of the financial year, so I've got time to think about it."

  "Won't the bank go to ruin under Edward?"

  "I'm afraid it may."

  Maisie felt very sad for Hugh. He had had more bad luck than he deserved, while Edward had far too much good. "Edward is Lord Whitehaven, too. Do you realize that if the title had gone to Ben Greenbourne, as it should have, Bertie would be in line to inherit it now?"

  "Yes."

  "But Augusta put a stop to all that."

  "Augusta?" said Hugh with a puzzled frown.

  "Yes. She was behind all that rubbish in the newspapers about 'Can a Jew be a peer?' Do you remember?"

  "I do, but how can you be so sure that Augusta was behind it?"

  "The Prince of Wales told us."

  "Well, well." Hugh shook his head. "Augusta never ceases to amaze me."

  "Anyway, poor Emily is Lady Whitehaven now."

  "At least she got something out of that wretched marriage."

  "I'm going to tell you a secret," Maisie said. She lowered her voice even though there was no one within earshot. "Emily is about to ask Edward for an annulment."

  "Good for her! On the grounds of nonconsummation, I presume?"

  "Yes. You don't seem surprised."

  "You can tell. They never touch. They're so awkward with each other, it's hard to believe they're man and wife."

  "She's been leading a false life all these years and she's decided to put an end to it."

  "She'll have trouble with my family," Hugh said.

  "With Augusta, you mean." That had been Maisie's reaction too. "Emily knows that. But she's got a streak of obstinacy that should serve her well."

  "Does she have a lover?"

  "Yes. But she won't become his mistress. I can't think why she should be so scrupulous. Edward spends every night in a brothel."

  Hugh smiled at her, a sad, loving smile. "You were scrupulous, once."

  Maisie knew he was talking about the night at Kingsbridge Manor when she had locked her bedroom door against him. "I was married to a good man and you and I were about to betray him. Emily's situation is quite different."

  Hugh nodded. "All the same I think I understand how she feels. It's the lying that makes adultery shameful."

  Maisie disagreed. "People should grab happiness where they can. You only have one life."

  "But when you grab happiness you may let go of something even more valuable--your integrity."

  "Too abstract for me," Maisie said dismissively.

  "No doubt it was for me, that night at Kingo's house, when I would have betrayed Solly's trust willingly, if you had let me. But it's become more concrete to me over the years. Now I think I value integrity more than anything else."

  "But what is it?"

  "It means telling the truth, keeping promises, and taking responsibility for your mistakes. It's the same in business as it is in everyday life. It's a matter of being what you claim to be, doing what you say you'll do. And a banker of all people can't be a liar. After all, if his wife can't trust him, who can?"

  Maisie was getting angry with Hugh and she wondered why. She sat back in silence for a while, looking out of the window at the London suburbs in the dusk. Now that he was leaving the bank, what was there left in his life? He did not love his wife and his wife did not love their children. Why should he not find happiness in the arms of Maisie, the woman he had always loved?

  At Paddington Station he escorted her to the cab stand and helped her into a hansom. As they said goodbye she held his hands and said: "Come home with me."

  He looked sad and shook his head.

  "We love each other--we always have," she pleaded. "Come with me, and to hell with the consequences."

  "But life is consequences, isn't it?"

  "Hugh! Please!"

  He withdrew his hands and stepped back. "Goodbye, dear Maisie."

  She stared at him helplessly. Years of suppressed yearning caught up with her. If she had been strong enough she would have seized him and dragged him into the cab by force. She felt maddened by frustration.

  She would have stayed there forever, but he nodded to the cabbie and said: "Drive on."

  The man touched the horse with his whip, and the wheels turned.

  A moment later Hugh was gone from her sight.

  3

  HUGH SLEPT BADLY that night. He kept waking up and running over his conversation with Maisie. He wished he had given in and gone home with her. He could be sleeping in her arms now, his head on her breasts, instead of tossing and turning alone.

  But something else was bothering him, too. He had a feeling she had said something momentous, something surprising and sinister, the significance of which had escaped him at the time. It still eluded him.

  They had talked about the bank, and Edward's becoming Senior Partner; Edward's title; Emily's plan to seek an annulment; the night at Kingsbridge Manor when they had almost made love; the conflicting values of integrity and happiness.... Where was the momentous revelation?

  He tried running over the conversation backwards: Come home with me.... People should grab happiness where they can.... Emily is about to ask Edward for an annulment.... Emily is Lady Whitehaven now.... Do you realize that if the title had gone to Ben Greenbourne, as it should have, Bertie would be in line to inherit it now?

  No, he had missed something. Edward had got the title that should have gone to Ben Greenbourne--but Augusta had put a stop to all that. She had been behind all the nasty propaganda about whether a Jew could be a lord. Hugh had not realized that, although looking back he thought he should have been able to guess. But the Prince of Wales had known, somehow, and he had told Maisie and Solly.

  Hugh turned over restlessly. Why should that be such a momentous revelation? It was just another example of Augusta's ruthlessness. It had been kept quiet at the time. But Solly had known....

  Suddenly Hugh sat up in bed, staring into the darkness.

  Solly had known.

  If Solly knew that the Pilasters were responsible for a press campaign of racial hatred against his father, he would never again do business with Pilasters Bank. In particular, he would have canceled the Santamaria railroad issue. He would have told Edward that he was canceling it. And Edward would have told Micky.

  "Oh, my God," Hugh said aloud.

  He had always wondered whether Micky had something to do with the death of Solly. He knew Micky had been in the neighborhood. But the motive had always puzzled him. As far as he knew, Solly had been about to consummate the deal and give Micky what he wanted; and if that was right Micky had every motive for keeping Solly alive. But if Solly had been about to cancel, Micky might have killed him to save the deal. Had Micky been the well-dressed man quarreling with Solly a few seconds before he was run over? The coachman had always claimed Solly was pushed into his path. Had Micky shoved Solly under the wheels of that carriage? The thought was horrifying and disgusting.

  Hugh got out of bed and turned up the gaslight. He would not go back to sleep tonight. He put on a dressing gown and sat by the dying embers of the fire. Had Micky murdered two of his friends, Peter Middleton and Solly Greenbourne?

  And if he had, what was Hugh going to do about it?

  He was still agonizing over the question the next day when something happened that gave him the answer.

  He spent the morning at his desk in the Partners' Room. He had once longed to sit here, in the quiet, luxurious center of power, making decisions about millions of pounds, under the eyes of his ancestors' portraits; but now he was used to it. And soon he would be giving it up.

  He was tying up loose ends, completing projects he had already begun but not starting new ones. His mind kept
returning to Micky Miranda and poor Solly. It maddened him to think that a man as good as Solly had been done away with by a reptile and parasite such as Micky. What he really wanted to do was strangle Micky with his bare hands. But he could not kill him; in fact there was not even any point in reporting his beliefs to the police, for he had no proof.

  His clerk, Jonas Mulberry, had been looking agitated all morning. Mulberry had come into the Partners' Room four or five times on different pretexts but had not said what was on his mind. Eventually Hugh divined that the man had something to say that he did not want the other partners to hear.

  A few minutes before midday Hugh went along the corridor to the telephone room. They had had the phone installed two years before, and they were already regretting the decision not to put it in the Partners' Room: each of them was called to the instrument several times a day.

  On the way he met Mulberry in the corridor. He stopped him and said: "Is there something on your mind?"

  "Yes, Mr. Hugh," said Mulberry with evident relief. He lowered his voice. "I happened to see some papers being drawn up by Simon Oliver, Mr. Edward's clerk."

  "Come in here for a moment." Hugh stepped into the telephone room and closed the door behind them. "What was in the papers?"

  "A proposal for a loan issue to Cordova--for two million pounds!"

  "Oh, no!" said Hugh. "This bank needs less exposure to South American debt--not more."

  "I knew you'd feel that way."

  "What is it for, specifically?"

  "To build a new harbor in Santamaria Province."

  "Another scheme of Senor Miranda's."

  "Yes. I'm afraid that he and his cousin Simon Oliver have a great deal of influence over Mr. Edward."

  "All right, Mulberry. Thank you very much for letting me know. I'll try to deal with it."

  Forgetting his phone call, Hugh returned to the Partners' Room. Would the other partners let Edward do this? They might. Hugh and Samuel no longer had much influence, as they were leaving. Young William did not share Hugh's fear of a South American collapse. Major Hartshorn and Sir Harry would do as they were told: And Edward was Senior Partner now.

  What was Hugh going to do about it? He had not left yet, and he was still earning his share of the profits, so his responsibilities were not at an end.

  The trouble was that Edward was not rational: as Mulberry had said, he was completely under the influence of Micky Miranda.

  Was there any way Hugh could weaken that influence? He could tell Edward that Micky was a murderer. Edward would not believe him. But he began to feel that he had to try. He had nothing to lose. And he badly needed to do something about the dreadful revelation he had had in the night.

  Edward had already left for lunch. On impulse, Hugh decided to follow him.

  Guessing Edward's destination, he took a hansom to the Cowes Club. He spent the journey from the City to Pall Mall trying to think of words that would be plausible and inoffensive, to help convince Edward. But all the phrases he thought of sounded artificial, and when he arrived he decided to tell the unvarnished truth and hope for the best.

  It was still early, and he found Edward alone in the smoking room of the club, drinking a large glass of Madeira. Edward's skin rash was getting worse, he noticed: where his collar chafed his neck it was red and raw.

  Hugh sat down at the same table and ordered tea. When they were boys, Hugh had hated Edward passionately, for being a beast and a bully. But in recent years he had come to see his cousin as a victim. Edward was the way he was because of the influence of two wicked people, Augusta and Micky. Augusta had suffocated him and Micky had corrupted him. However, Edward had not softened toward Hugh, and he now made no bones about showing that he had no wish for Hugh's company. "You didn't have to come this far for a cup of tea," he, said. "What do you want?"

  It was a bad start, but nothing could be done about that. Feeling pessimistic, Hugh began. "I have something to say that will shock and horrify you."

  "Really?"

  "You'll have trouble believing it, but all the same it's true. I think Micky Miranda is a murderer."

  "Oh, for God's sake," Edward said angrily. "Don't bother me with such nonsense."

  "Listen to me before you dismiss the idea out of hand," Hugh said. "I'm leaving the bank, you're Senior Partner, I have nothing left to fight for. But I discovered something yesterday. Solly Greenbourne knew that your mother was behind that press campaign to stop Ben Greenbourne's getting a peerage."

  Edward gave an involuntary start, as if what Hugh had said chimed with something he already knew.

  Hugh felt more hopeful. "I'm on the right track, am I not?" he said. Guessing, he went on: "Solly threatened to cancel the Santamaria railroad deal, didn't he?"

  Edward nodded.

  Hugh sat forward, trying to contain his excitement.

  Edward said: "I was sitting at this very table, with Micky, when Solly came in, angry as the devil. But--"

  "And that night Solly died."

  "Yes--but Micky was with me all night. We played cards here, then went on to Nellie's."

  "He must have left you, just for a few minutes."

  "No--"

  "I saw him coming into the club about the time Solly died."

  "That must have been earlier."

  "He may have gone to the toilet, or something."

  "That hardly gives him enough time." Edward's face settled into an expression of decided skepticism.

  Hugh's hopes faded again. For a moment he had succeeded in creating a doubt in Edward's mind, but it had not lasted.

  "You've lost your senses," Edward went on. "Micky's not a murderer. The notion is absurd."

  Hugh decided to tell him about Peter Middleton. It was an act of desperation, for if Edward refused to believe that Micky might have killed Solly eleven years ago, why would he believe that Micky had killed Peter twenty-four years ago? But Hugh had to try. "Micky killed Peter Middleton, too," he said, knowing that he was in danger of sounding wild.

  "This is ridiculous!"

  "You think you killed him, I know that. You ducked him repeatedly, then went chasing after Tonio; and you think that Peter was too exhausted to swim to the side, and drowned. But there's something you don't know."

  Despite his skepticism, Edward was intrigued. "What?"

  "Peter was a very strong swimmer."

  "He was a weed!"

  "Yes--but he had been practicing swimming every day that spring. He was a weed all right, but he could swim for miles. He swam to the side without difficulty--Tonio saw it."

  "What ..." Edward swallowed. "What else did Tonio see?"

  "While you were climbing up the side of the quarry, Micky held Peter's head under the water until he drowned."

  To Hugh's surprise, Edward did not spurn the idea. Instead he said: "Why have you waited so long to tell me this?"

  "I didn't think you'd believe me. I'm only telling you now out of desperation, to try to dissuade you from this latest Cordovan investment." He studied Edward's expression, and went on: "But you do believe me, don't you?"

  Edward nodded.

  "Why?"

  "Because I know why he did it."

  "Why?" said Hugh. He was inflamed by curiosity. He had wondered about this for years. "Why did Micky kill Peter?"

  Edward took a long swallow of his Madeira, then he went silent. Hugh was afraid he would refuse to say any more. But eventually he spoke. "In Cordova the Mirandas are a wealthy family, but their dollars don't buy much over here. When Micky came to Windfield he spent his entire year's allowance in a few weeks. But he had boasted of his family's riches, and he was much too proud to admit the truth. So, when he ran out of money ... he stole."

  Hugh remembered the scandal that had rocked the school in June of 1866. "The six gold sovereigns that were stolen from Mr. Offerton," he said wonderingly. "Micky was the thief?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'm damned."

  "And Peter knew."

  "How?"


  "He saw Micky coming out of Offerton's study. When the theft was reported he guessed the truth. He said he would tell unless Micky owned up. We thought it was a piece of luck to catch him at the pool. When I ducked him I was trying to frighten him into silence. But I never thought ..."

  "That Micky would kill him."

  "And all these years he's let me think it was my fault, and he was covering up for me," Edward said. "The swine."

  Hugh realized that, against the odds, he had succeeded in shaking Edward's faith in Micky. He was tempted to say Now that you know what he's like, forget about the Santamaria harbor. But he had to be careful not to overplay his hand. He decided he had said enough: Edward should be left to draw his own conclusions. Hugh stood up to go. "I'm sorry to have given you such a blow," he said.

  Edward was deep in thought, rubbing his neck where the rash itched. "Yes," he said vaguely.

  "I must go."

  Edward said nothing. He seemed to have forgotten Hugh's existence. He was staring into his glass. Hugh looked hard at him and saw, with a jolt, that he was crying.

  He went out quietly and closed the door.

  4

  AUGUSTA LIKED being a widow. For one thing, black suited her. With her dark eyes, silver hair and black eyebrows she was quite striking in mourning clothes.

  Joseph had been dead for four weeks and it was remarkable how little she missed him. She found it a little odd that he was not there to complain if the beef was underdone or the library was dusty. She dined alone once or twice a week but she had always been able to enjoy her own company. She no longer had the status of wife of the Senior Partner, but she was the mother of the new Senior Partner. And she was the dowager countess of Whitehaven. She had everything Joseph had ever given her, without the nuisance of having Joseph himself.

  And she might marry again. She was fifty-eight, and no longer capable of bearing children; but she still had the desires that she thought of as girlish feelings. In fact they had got worse since Joseph's death. When Micky Miranda touched her arm, or looked into her eyes, or let his hand rest on her hip as he ushered her into a room, she felt more strongly than ever that sensation of pleasure combined with weakness that made her head spin.

  Looking at herself in the drawing room mirror, she thought: We are so alike, Micky and I, even in our coloring. We would have had such pretty dark-eyed babies.

  As she was thinking it, her blue-eyed, fair-haired baby came in. He was not looking well. He had gone from being stout to positively fat, and he had some kind of skin problem. He was often bad-tempered around tea-time, as the effects of the wine he had drunk at lunch wore off.