A Dangerous Fortune (17 page)

He softened immediately. “And I haven’t thanked you for saving my watch. It was my mother’s wedding gift to my father, so it’s more precious than its price.”

“And the child will find another fool to rob.”

He laughed. “I’ve never met anyone like you!” he said. “Would you like to have a glass of beer? It’s so hot.”

It was just what she felt like. “Yes, please.”

A few yards off there was a heavy four-wheeled cart loaded with huge barrels. Hugh bought two pottery tankards of warm, malty ale. Maisie took a long draught: she had been thirsty. It tasted better than Solly’s French wine. Fixed to the cart was a sign chalked in rough capital letters saying
WALK OFF WITH A POT AND IT WILL BE BROKE OVER YOUR HED
.

A meditative look came over Hugh’s usually lively face, and after a while he said: “Do you realize we were both victims of the same catastrophe?”

She did not. “What do you mean?”

“There was a financial crisis in 1866. When that happens, perfectly honest companies fail … like when one horse in a team falls and drags the others down with it. My father’s business collapsed because people owed him money and didn’t pay; and he was so distraught that he took his own life, and left my mother a widow and me fatherless at the age of thirteen. Your father couldn’t feed you because people owed him money and couldn’t pay, and you ran away at the age of eleven.”

Maisie saw the logic of what he was saying, but her
heart would not let her agree: she had hated Tobias Pilaster for too long. “It’s not the same,” she protested. “Workingmen have no control over these things—they just do what they’re told. Bosses have the power. It’s their fault if things go wrong.”

Hugh looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, perhaps you’re right. Bosses certainly take the lion’s share of the rewards. But I’m sure of one thing, at least: bosses or workers, their children aren’t to blame.”

Maisie smiled. “It’s hard to believe we’ve found something to agree about.”

They finished their drinks, returned the pots and walked a few yards to a merry-go-round with wooden horses. “Do you want a ride?” said Hugh.

Maisie smiled. “No.”

“Are you here on your own?”

“No, I’m with … friends.” For some reason she did not want him to know she had been brought here by Solly. “And you? Are you with your awful aunt?”

He grimaced. “No. Methodists don’t approve of race meetings—she’d be horrified if she knew I was here.”

“Is she fond of you?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then why does she let you live with her?”

“She likes to keep people in sight, so she can control them.”

“Does she control you?”

“She tries.” He grinned. “Sometimes I escape.”

“It must be hard, living with her.”

“I can’t afford to live on my own. I have to be patient and work hard at the bank. Eventually I’ll get promoted and then I’ll be independent.” He grinned again. “And then I’ll tell her to shut her gob like you did.”

“I hope you didn’t get into trouble.”

“I did, but it was worth it to see the expression on her face. That was when I started to like you.”

“Is that why you asked me to dine with you?”

“Yes. Why did you refuse?”

“Because April told me you haven’t a penny to your name.”

“I’ve enough for a couple of chops and a plum pudding.”

“How could a girl resist that?” she said mockingly.

He laughed. “Come out with me tonight. We’ll go to Cremorne Gardens and dance.”

She was tempted, but she thought of Solly and felt guilty. “No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

She asked herself the same question. She was not in love with Solly and she was taking no money from him: why was she saving herself for him? I’m eighteen years old, she thought, and if I can’t go out dancing with a boy I like, what’s the point in living? “All right, then.”

“You’ll come?”

“Aye.”

He grinned. She had made him happy. “Shall I fetch you?”

She did not want him to see the Soho slum where she shared a room with April. “No, let’s meet somewhere.”

“All right—we’ll go to Westminster Pier and take the steamer to Chelsea.”

“Yes!” She felt more excited than she had for months. “What time?”

“Eight o’clock?”

She made a rapid calculation. Solly and Tonio would want to stay until the last race. Then they had to get the train back to London. She would say good-bye to Solly at Victoria Station and walk to Westminster. She thought she could make it. “But if I’m late, you’ll wait?”

“All night, if necessary.”

Thinking of Solly made her feel guilty. “I’d better get back to my friends now.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he said eagerly.

She did not want that. “Best you don’t.”

“As you wish.”

She put out her hand and they shook. It seemed oddly formal. “Until tonight,” she said.

“I’ll be there.”

She turned and walked away, feeling that he was watching her. Now why did I do that? she thought. Do I want to go out with him? Do I really like him? The first time we met we had a quarrel that broke up the party, and today he was ready to squabble again if I hadn’t smoothed it over. We really don’t get on. We’ll never be able to dance together. Perhaps I won’t go.

But he’s got lovely blue eyes.

She made up her mind not to think about it anymore. She had agreed to meet him and she would. She might enjoy it or she might not, but fretting beforehand would not help.

She would have to invent a reason for leaving Solly. He was expecting to take her out to dinner. However, he never questioned her—he would accept any excuse, no matter how implausible. All the same she would try to think of something convincing, for it made her feel bad to abuse his easygoing nature.

She found the others where she had left them. They had spent the whole afternoon between the rail and the bookmaker in the checked suit. April and Tonio were looking bright-eyed and triumphant. As soon as April saw Maisie she said: “We’ve won a hundred and ten pounds—isn’t it wonderful?”

Maisie was happy for April. It was such a lot of money to get for nothing. As she was congratulating them, Micky Miranda appeared, strolling along with his thumbs in the pockets of his dove-gray waistcoat. She was not surprised to see him: everyone went to Goodwood.

Although Micky was startlingly good-looking, Maisie disliked him. He reminded her of the circus ringmaster, who had thought all women should be thrilled to be
propositioned by him, and was highly affronted when one turned him down. Micky had Edward Pilaster in tow, as always. Maisie was curious about their relationship. They were so different: Micky slim, immaculate, confident; Edward big, clumsy, hoggish. Why were they so inseparable? But most people were enchanted by Micky. Tonio regarded him with a kind of nervous veneration, like a puppy with a cruel master.

Behind them were an older man and a young woman. Micky introduced the man as his father. Maisie studied him with interest. He did not resemble Micky at all. He was a short man with bowed legs, very broad shoulders and a weatherbeaten face. Unlike his son he did not look comfortable in a stiff collar and a top hat. The woman was clinging to him like a lover but she had to be younger than him by thirty years. Micky introduced her as Miss Cox.

They all talked about their winnings. Both Edward and Tonio had made a lot on a horse called Prince Charlie. Solly had won money then lost it again, and seemed to enjoy both equally. Micky did not say how he had fared, and Maisie guessed he had not bet as much as the others: he seemed too careful a person, too calculating, to be a heavy gambler.

However, with his next breath he surprised her. He said to Solly: “We’re going to have a heavyweight game tonight, Greenbourne—a pound minimum. Will you join in?”

She was struck by the thought that Micky’s languid posture was covering up considerable tension. He was a deep one.

Solly would go along with anything. “I’ll join in,” he said.

Micky turned to Tonio. “Would you care to join us?” His take-it-or-leave-it tone sounded false to Maisie.

“Count on me,” Tonio said excitedly. “I’ll be there!”

April looked troubled and said: “Tonio, not tonight
—you promised me.” Maisie suspected that Tonio could not afford to play when the minimum stake was a pound.

“What did I promise?” he said with a wink at his friends.

She whispered something in his ear, and the men all laughed.

Micky said: “It’s be the last big game of the season, Silva. You’ll be sorry if you miss it.”

That surprised Maisie. At the Argyll Rooms she had got the impression that Micky disliked Tonio. Why was he now trying to talk Tonio into joining the card game?

Tonio said: “I’m lucky today—look how much I’ve won on the horses! I shall play cards tonight.”

Micky glanced at Edward, and Maisie caught a look of relief in their eyes. Edward said: “Shall we all dine together at the club?”

Solly looked at Maisie, and she realized she had been provided with a ready-made excuse for not spending the evening with him. “Dine with the boys, Solly,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve had a lovely day. You spend the evening at your club.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Micky.

He and his father, Miss Cox and Edward took their leave.

Tonio and April went to place a bet on the next race. Solly offered Maisie his arm and said: “Shall we walk for a while?”

They strolled along the white-painted rail that bounded the track. The sun was warm and the country air smelled good. After a while Solly said: “Do you like me, Maisie?”

She stopped, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. “I like you a lot.”

He looked into her eyes, and she was mystified to
see tears behind his spectacles. “Solly, dear, what is it?” she said.

“I like you, too,” he said. “More than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.” She was touched. It was unusual for Solly to show any emotion stronger than mild enthusiasm.

Then he said: “Will you marry me?”

She was flabbergasted. This was the last thing in the world she had expected. Men of Solly’s class did not propose to girls like her. They seduced them, gave them money, kept them as mistresses, and had children by them, but they did not marry them. She was too astounded to speak.

Solly went on: “I’d give you anything you want. Please say yes.”

Marriage to Solly! Maisie would be unbelievably rich for ever and ever. A soft bed every night, a blazing fire in every room of the house, and as much butter as she could eat. She would get up when she pleased, not when she had to. She would never be cold again, never hungry, never shabbily dressed, never weary.

The word “yes” trembled on the tip of her tongue.

She thought of April’s tiny room in Soho, with its nest of mice in the wall; she thought of how the privy stank on warm days; she thought of the nights they went without dinner; she thought of how her feet ached after a day of walking the streets.

She looked at Solly. How hard could it be, to marry this man?

He said: “I love you so much, I’m just desperate for you.”

He really did love her, she could tell.

And that was the trouble.

She did not love him.

He deserved better. He deserved a wife who really loved him, not a hard-hearted guttersnipe on the make. If
she married him she would be cheating him. And he was too good for that.

She felt close to tears. She said: “You’re the kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever met—”

“Don’t say no, please?” he interrupted. “If you can’t say yes, say nothing. Think about it, at least for a day, perhaps longer.”

Maisie sighed. She knew she should turn him down, and it would have been easier to do so right away. But he was begging her. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

He beamed. “Thank you.”

She shook her head ruefully. “Whatever happens, Solly, I believe I’ll never be proposed to by a better man.”

2

HUGH AND MAISIE TOOK THE PENNY RIDE
on the pleasure steamer from Westminster Pier to Chelsea. It was a warm, light evening, and the muddy river was busy with cockle-boats, barges and ferries. They steamed upstream, under the new railway bridge for Victoria Station, passing Christopher Wren’s Chelsea Hospital on the north shore and, on the south, the flowers of Battersea Fields, London’s traditional dueling ground. Battersea Bridge was a ramshackle wooden structure that looked ready to fall down. At its south end were chemical factories, but on the opposite side pretty cottages clustered around Chelsea Old Church, and naked children splashed in the shallows.

Less than a mile beyond the bridge they disembarked and walked up the wharf to the magnificent gilded gateway of Cremorne Gardens. The Gardens consisted of twelve acres of groves and grottoes, flower beds and lawns, ferneries and copses between the river and the King’s Road. It was dusk when they arrived, and there
were Chinese lanterns in the trees and gaslight along the winding paths. The place was packed: many of the younger people who had been at the races had decided to finish the day here. Everyone was dressed up to the nines, and they sauntered carefree through the gardens, laughing and flirting, the girls in pairs, the young men in larger groups, the couples arm-in-arm.

The weather had been fine all day, sunny and warm, but now it was becoming a hot, thundery night that threatened a storm. Hugh felt at once elated and nervous. He was thrilled to have Maisie on his arm, but he had the insecure sense that he did not know the rules of the game he was playing. What did she expect? Would she let him kiss her? Would she let him do anything he wanted? He longed to touch her body, but he did not know where to begin. Would she expect him to go all the way? He wanted to, but he had never done it before and he was afraid of making a fool of himself. The other clerks at Pilasters talked a lot about dollymops, and what they would and would not do, but Hugh suspected that much of what they said was boasting. Anyway, Maisie could not be treated as a dollymop. She was more complex than that.

He was also a little worried that he might be seen by someone he knew. His family would disapprove powerfully of what he was doing. Cremorne Gardens was not only a lower-class place, it was thought by Methodists to encourage immorality. If he were found out, Augusta would be sure to use it against him. It was one thing for Edward to take loose women to disreputable places: he was the son and heir. It was different for Hugh, penniless and poorly educated and expected to be a failure like his father: they would say that licentious pleasure gardens were his natural habitat, and he belonged with clerks and artisans and girls like Maisie.