by Ken Follett
He longed to touch her most intimate places. He put his hand between her legs. She stiffened immediately, and the dog barked, sensing the tension. Hugh pulled away a little and said: "Let's put the dog outside."
Nora looked troubled. "Perhaps we should stop."
Hugh could not bear the thought of stopping. However, the word "perhaps" encouraged him. "I can't stop now," he said. "Put the dog out."
"But ... we're not even engaged, or anything."
"We could get engaged," he said without thinking. She went slightly pale. "Do you mean it?"
He asked himself the same question. From the start he had thought of this as a dalliance, not a serious courtship; yet only a few moments ago he had been thinking how much he would like to spend the rest of his life holding hands with Nora in front of a fire. Did he really want to marry her? He realized that he did, in fact there was nothing he would like better. There would be trouble, of course. The family would say he was marrying beneath him. They could go to the devil. He was twenty-six years old, he earned a thousand pounds a year, and he was about to be made a partner in one of the most prestigious banks in the world: he could marry who the hell he liked. His mother would be troubled but supportive: she would worry, but she would be glad to see her son happy. And the rest of them could say what they pleased. They had never done anything for him.
He looked at Nora, pink and pretty and lovable, lying back on the old sofa with her hair around her bare shoulders. He wanted her badly, now, quickly. He had been alone too long. Maisie was thoroughly settled with Solly: she would never be his. It was time he had someone warm and soft to share his bed and his life. Why not Nora?
He snapped his fingers at the dog. "Come here, Blackie." It approached him warily. He stroked its head then grabbed the ribbon around its neck. "Come and guard the hall," he said, and he put the dog outside and closed the door. It barked twice and subsided into silence.
He sat beside Nora and took her hand. She looked wary. He said: "Nora, will you marry me?"
She flushed red. "Yes, I will."
He kissed her. She opened her mouth and kissed him back passionately. He touched her knee. She took his hand and guided it beneath the skirts of her dress, up between her legs to the fork of her thighs. Through the flannelette of her underwear he could feel the rough hair and soft flesh of her mound. Her lips tracked across his cheek to his ear, and she whispered: "Hugh, darling, make me yours, tonight, now."
"I will," he said hoarsely. "I will."
Section 2
THE DUCHESS OF TENBIGH'S COSTUME BALL was the first great event of the 1879 London season. Everyone was talking about it weeks in advance. Fortunes were spent on fancy dress, and people would go to any length to get an invitation.
Augusta and Joseph Pilaster were not invited. That was hardly surprising: they did not belong in the very highest echelon of London society. But Augusta wanted to go, and she made up her mind she would be there.
As soon as she heard about the ball she mentioned it to Harriet Morte, who responded by looking embarrassed and saying nothing. As a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, Lady Morte had great social power; and on top of that she was a distant cousin of the duchess of Tenbigh. But she did not offer to get Augusta invited.
Augusta checked Lord Morte's account with Pilasters Bank and found that he had an overdraft of a thousand pounds. The next day he got a note asking him when he hoped to regularize the account.
Augusta called on Lady Morte the same day. She apologized, saying that the note had been an error and the clerk who sent it had been sacked. Then she mentioned the ball again.
Lady Morte's normally impassive face was momentarily animated by a glare of pure hatred as she understood the bargain that was being offered. Augusta was unmoved. She had no wish to be liked by Lady Morte, she just wanted to use her. And Lady Morte was confronted with a simple choice: exert her influence to get Augusta invited to the ball, or find a thousand pounds to pay off her overdraft. She took the easier option, and the invitation cards arrived the following day.
Augusta was annoyed that Lady Morte had not helped her willingly. It was hurtful that Lady Morte had to be coerced. Feeling spiteful, Augusta made her get Edward an invitation too.
Augusta was going as Queen Elizabeth and Joseph as the earl of Leicester. On the night of the ball they had dinner at home and changed afterwards. When she was dressed Augusta went into Joseph's room to help him with his costume and talk to him about his nephew Hugh.
She was incensed that Hugh was to be made a partner in the bank at the same time as Edward. Worse still, everyone knew that Edward had been made a partner only because he had married and been given a PS250,000 investment in the bank, whereas Hugh was being made a partner because he had brought off a spectacularly profitable deal with Madler and Bell of New York. People were already talking of Hugh as a potential Senior Partner. The thought made Augusta grind her teeth.
Their promotion was to take place at the end of April, when the annual partnership agreement was formally renewed. But earlier in the month, to Augusta's delight, Hugh made the unbelievably foolish mistake of marrying a plump little working-class girl from Camden Town.
The Maisie episode six years ago had shown that he had a weakness for girls from the gutter, but Augusta had never dared to hope that he would marry one. He had done the deed quietly, in Folkestone, with just his mother and sister and the bride's father in attendance, then he had presented the family with a fait accompli.
As Augusta adjusted Joseph's Elizabethan ruff she said: "I presume you'll have to think again about Hugh's being made a partner, now that he's married a housemaid."
"She's not a housemaid, she's a corsetiere. Or was. Now she's Mrs. Pilaster."
"All the same, a partner in Pilasters can hardly have a shopgirl as a wife."
"I must say I think he can marry whom he likes."
Augusta had been afraid he would take this line. "You wouldn't say that if she were ugly, bony and sour," she said acidly. "It's only because she's pretty and flirtatious that you're so tolerant."
"I just don't see the problem."
"A partner has to meet cabinet ministers, diplomats, leaders of great businesses. She won't know how to act. She could embarrass him at any moment."
"She can learn." Joseph hesitated, then added: "I sometimes think you forget your own background, my dear."
Augusta drew herself up to her full height. "My father had three shops!" she said vehemently. "How dare you compare me to that little trollop!"
He backed down instantly. "All right, I'm sorry."
Augusta was outraged. "Furthermore, I never worked in my father's shops," she said. "I was brought up to be a lady."
"I've apologized, let's say no more about it. It's time to go."
Augusta clamped her mouth shut but inside she was seething.
Edward and Emily were waiting for them in the hall, dressed as Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Edward was having trouble with his gold braid cross-garters, and he said: "You go on, Mother, and send the carriage back for us."
But Emily quickly put in: "Oh, no, I want to go now. Fix your garters on the way."
Emily had big blue eyes and the pretty face of a little girl, and she was very fetching in the embroidered twelfth-century gown and cloak, with a long wimple on her head. However, Augusta had discovered that she was not as timid as she looked. During the preparations for the wedding it had become clear that Emily had a will of her own. She had been happy to let Augusta take over the wedding breakfast, but she had insisted, rather stubbornly, on having her own way about her wedding dress and her bridesmaids.
As they got into their carriage and drove off, Augusta recalled vaguely that the marriage of Henry II and Eleanor had been stormy. She hoped Emily would not give Edward too much trouble. Since the wedding Edward had been bad-tempered, and Augusta suspected there was something wrong. She had tried to find out by questioning Edward delicately, but he would not say a word.
However,
the important thing was that he was married and a partner in the bank. He was settled. Everything else could be worked out.
The ball began at half-past ten and the Pilasters arrived on time. Lights blazed from every window of Tenbigh House. There was already a crowd of onlookers outside, and in Park Lane a line of carriages waited to enter the courtyard. The crowd applauded each costume as the guests descended from their vehicles and mounted the steps to the door. Looking ahead as she waited, Augusta saw Anthony and Cleopatra, several Roundheads and Cavaliers, two Greek goddesses and three Napoleons enter the house.
At last her carriage reached the door and they got out. Once inside the house there was another queue, from the hall up the curving staircase to the landing where the duke and duchess of Tenbigh, dressed as Solomon and Sheba, were greeting their guests. The hall was a mass of flowers and a band played to entertain them while they waited.
The Pilasters were followed in by Micky Miranda--invited because of his diplomatic status--and his new wife Rachel. Micky looked more dashing than ever in the red silk of a Cardinal Wolsey outfit, and for a moment the sight of him made Augusta's heart flutter. She looked critically at his wife, who had chosen to come as a slave girl, rather surprisingly. Augusta had encouraged Micky to marry but she could not suppress a stab of resentment toward the plain girl who had won his hand. Rachel returned Augusta's stare coolly, and took Micky's arm possessively after he kissed Augusta's hand.
As they slowly mounted the stairs Micky said to Rachel: "The Spanish envoy is here--be sure to be nice to him."
"You be nice to him," Rachel said crisply. "I think he's a slug."
Micky frowned but said no more. With her extreme views and forceful manner, Rachel would have made a good wife for a campaigning journalist or a Radical member of Parliament. Micky deserved someone less eccentric and more beautiful, Augusta felt.
Up ahead of them Augusta spotted another pair of newlyweds, Hugh and Nora. Hugh was a member of the Marlborough Set, because of his friendship with the Greenbournes, and to Augusta's chagrin he was invited to everything. He was dressed as an Indian rajah and Nora seemed to have come as a snake charmer, in a sequined gown cut away to reveal harem trousers. Artificial snakes were wound around her arms and legs, and one lay its papier-mache head on her ample bosom. Augusta shuddered. "Hugh's wife really is impossibly vulgar," she murmured to Joseph.
He was inclined to be lenient. "It is a costume ball, after all."
"Not one of the other women here has been so tasteless as to show her legs."
"I don't see any difference between loose trousers and a dress."
He was probably enjoying the sight of Nora's legs, Augusta thought with distaste. It was so easy for such a woman to befuddle men's judgment. "I just don't think she's fit to be the wife of a partner in Pilasters Bank."
"Nora won't have to make any financial decisions."
Augusta could have screamed with frustration. Evidently it was not enough that Nora was a working-class girl. She would have to do something unforgivable before Joseph and his partners would turn against Hugh.
Now there was a thought.
Augusta's anger died down as quickly as it had flared. Perhaps, she thought, there was a way she could get Nora into trouble. She looked up the stairs again and studied her prey.
Nora and Hugh were talking to the Hungarian attache, Count de Tokoly, a man of doubtful morals who was appropriately dressed as Henry VIII. Nora was just the kind of girl the count would be charmed by, Augusta thought biliously. Respectable ladies would cross the room to avoid speaking to him, but all the same he had to be invited everywhere because he was a senior diplomat. There was no sign of disapproval on Hugh's face as he watched his wife bat her eyelashes at the old roue. Indeed Hugh's expression showed nothing but adoration. He was still too much in love to find fault. That would not last. "Nora is talking to de Tokoly," Augusta murmured to Joseph. "She had better take care of her reputation."
"Now, don't you be rude to him," Joseph replied brusquely. "We're hoping to raise two million pounds for his government."
Augusta did not care a straw for de Tokoly. She continued to brood about Nora. The girl was most vulnerable right now, when everything was unfamiliar and she had not had time to learn upper-class manners. If she could be brought to disgrace herself somehow tonight, preferably in front of the Prince of Wales ...
Just as she was thinking about the prince, a great cheer went up outside the house, indicating that the royal party had arrived.
A moment later the prince and Princess Alexandra came in, dressed as King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, followed by their entourage got up as knights in armor and medieval ladies. The band stopped abruptly in the middle of a Strauss waltz and struck up the national anthem. All the guests in the hall bowed and curtsied, and the queue on the staircase dipped like a wave as the royal party came up. The prince was getting fatter every year, Augusta thought as she curtsied to him. She was not sure whether there was any gray in his beard yet, but he was rapidly going bald on top. She always felt sorry for the pretty princess, who had a great deal to put up with from her spendthrift, philandering husband.
At the top of the stairs, the duke and duchess welcomed their royal guests and ushered them into the ballroom. The guests on the staircase surged forward to follow them.
Inside the long ballroom, masses of flowers from the hothouse at the Tenbigh's country home were banked up all around the walls, and the light from a thousand candles glittered back from the tall mirrors between the windows. The footmen handing round champagne were dressed as Elizabethan courtiers in doublet and hose. The prince and princess were ushered to a dais at the end of the room. It had been arranged that some of the more spectacular costumes should pass in front of the royal party in procession, and as soon as the royals were seated the first group came in from the salon. A crush formed near the dais, and Augusta found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Count de Tokoly.
"What a delightful girl your nephew's wife is, Mrs. Pilaster," he said.
Augusta gave him a frosty smile. "How generous you are to say so, Count."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do I detect a note of dissent? No doubt you would have preferred young Hugh to choose a bride from his own class."
"You know the answer to that without my telling you."
"But her charm is irresistible."
"Doubtless."
"I shall ask her to dance later on. Do you think she will accept?"
Augusta could not resist an acid retort. "I am sure of it. She is not fastidious." She turned away. No doubt it was too much to hope for that Nora would cause some kind of incident with the count--
She was suddenly inspired.
The count was the critical factor. If she put him together with Nora the combination could be explosive.
Her mind was racing. Tonight was a perfect opportunity. She had to do it now.
Feeling a little breathless with excitement, Augusta looked around, spotted Micky, and went over to him. "There's something I want you to do for me, now, quickly," she said.
Micky gave her a knowing look. "Anything," he murmured.
She ignored the innuendo. "Do you know Count de Tokoly?"
"Indeed. All we diplomats know one another."
"Tell him that Nora is no better than she ought to be."
Micky's mouth curled in a half-smile. "Just that?"
"You may elaborate if you wish."
"Should I hint that I know this from, let us say, personal experience?"
This conversation was transgressing the boundaries of propriety, but Micky's idea was a good one and she nodded. "Even better."
"You know what he will do?" Micky said.
"I trust he will make an indecent suggestion to her."
"If that's what you want...."
"Yes."
Micky nodded. "I am your slave, in this as in all things."
Augusta waved the compliment aside impatiently: she was too tense to listen to facetious gallantry. S
he looked for Nora and saw her staring around in wonderment at the lavish decor and the extravagant costumes: the girl had never seen anything like this in her life. She was quite off guard. Without further reflection Augusta made her way through the crowd to Nora's side.
She spoke into her ear. "A word of advice."
"Much obliged for it, I'm sure," Nora said.
Hugh had presumably given Nora a malevolent account of Augusta's character, but to the girl's credit she showed no sign of hostility. She appeared not to have made up her mind about Augusta, and was neither warm nor cold to her.
Augusta said: "I noticed you talking to Count de Tokoly."
"A dirty old man," Nora said immediately.
Augusta winced at her vulgarity but pressed on. "Be careful of him, if you value your reputation."
"Be careful?" Nora said. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"Be polite, of course--but whatever happens, don't let him take any liberties. The least encouragement is enough for him and if he is not set straight immediately he can be very embarrassing."
Nora nodded understanding. "Don't worry, I know how to deal with his type."
Hugh was standing nearby talking to the duke of Kingsbridge. Now he noticed Augusta, looked suspicious, and came to his wife's side. However, Augusta had already said all she needed to say, and she turned away to watch the procession. She had done her work: the seeds were planted. Now she had to wait anxiously and hope for the best.
Passing in front of the prince were some of the Marlborough Set, including the duke and duchess of Kingsbridge and Solly and Maisie Greenbourne. They were dressed as eastern potentates, shahs and pashas and sultanas, and instead of bowing and curtsying they knelt and salaamed, which drew a laugh from the portly prince and a round of applause from the crowd. Augusta loathed Maisie Greenbourne, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was rapidly turning over possibilities. There were a hundred ways her plot could go wrong: de Tokoly could be captivated by a different pretty face, Nora might deal with him graciously, Hugh might stay too close for de Tokoly to do anything offensive. But with a little luck the drama she had plotted would be played out--and then there would be ructions.
