A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [206]
She knew she was jeopardizing Hugh’s plans. Edward had been right about that. The goodwill of the syndicate depended on the family’s being serious about paying off their debts. A family member running off to the Continent with her luggage full of jewelry was just the thing to upset a fragile coalition. In a way, that made the prospect more attractive: she would be happy to trip up the self-righteous Hugh.
But she had to have a stake. The rest would be easy: she would pack a single trunk, go to the steamship office to book passage, call a cab early in the morning, and slip away to the railway station without warning. But what could she use for money?
Looking around her husband’s room she noticed a small notebook. She opened it, idly curious, and saw that someone—presumably Stoddart, the agent’s clerk—had been making an inventory of the house contents. It angered her to see her possessions listed in a clerk’s notebook and casually valued: dining table £9; Egyptian screen 30s; portrait of a woman by Joshua Reynolds, £100. There must be a few thousand pounds’ worth of paintings in the house, but she could not pack those in a trunk. She turned the page and read 65 snuffboxes—refer to jewelry department. She looked up. There in front of her, in the cabinet she had bought seventeen years ago, was the solution to her problem. Joseph’s collection of jeweled snuffboxes was worth thousands, perhaps as much as a hundred thousand pounds. She could pack it into her luggage easily: the boxes themselves were tiny, designed to fit into a man’s waistcoat pocket. They could be sold one by one, as money was needed.
Her heart beat faster. This could be the answer to her prayers.
She reached out to open the cabinet. It was locked.
She suffered a moment of panic. She was not sure she could break it open: the wood was stout, the panes of glass small and thick.
She calmed herself. Where would he keep the key? In the drawer of his writing table, probably. She went to the table and pulled open the drawer. In it was a book with the horrifying title of The Duchess of Sodom, which she hastily pushed to the back, and a small silver-colored key. She snatched up the key.
With a trembling hand she tried it in the lock of the cabinet. As she turned it she heard a bolt click, and a moment later the door opened.
She breathed deeply and waited until her hands stopped shaking.
Then she began to remove the boxes from the shelves.
CHAPTER FOUR
DECEMBER
1
THE PILASTER CRASH was the society scandal of the year. The cheap newspapers reported every development breathlessly: the sale of the great Kensington mansions; the auctions of the paintings, antique furniture, and cases of port; the cancellation of Nick and Dotty’s planned six-month honeymoon in Europe; and the modest suburban houses where the proud and mighty Pilasters now peeled potatoes for themselves and washed their own undergarments.
Hugh and Nora rented a small house with a garden in Chingford, a village nine miles from London. They left all their servants behind, but a muscular fourteen-year-old girl from a nearby farm came in the afternoons to scrub floors and wash windows. Nora, who had not done housework for twelve years, took it very badly, and shuffled about in a grubby apron, halfheartedly sweeping floors and preparing indigestible dinners, complaining constantly. The boys liked it better than London because they could play in the woods. Hugh traveled into the City every day by train and continued to go to the bank, where his work consisted of disposing of Pilasters’ assets on behalf of the syndicate.
Each partner received a small monthly allowance from the bank. In theory they were not entitled to anything. But the syndicate members were bankers just like the Pilasters, and in their hearts they thought There but for the grace of God go I. Besides, the cooperation of the partners was helpful in selling off the assets, and it was worth a small payment to retain their goodwill.
Hugh watched the progress of the civil