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By Root 1144 0

Mulberry. The banking hall was quiet now. A few customers stood at the long polished counter. Behind the counter, clerks lifted the big ledgers on and off the shelves. Pilasters did not have many private accounts. It was a merchant bank, lending money to traders to finance their ventures. As old Seth would say, the Pilasters weren’t interested in counting the greasy pennies of a grocer’s takings or the grubby banknotes of a tailor—there was not enough profit in it. But all the family kept accounts at the bank, and the facility was extended to a small number of very rich clients. Hugh spotted one of them now: Sir John Cammel. Hugh had known his son at Windfield. A thin man with a bald head, Sir John earned vast incomes from coal mines and docks on his lands in Yorkshire. Now he was pacing the marble floor looking impatient and bad-tempered. Hugh said: “Good afternoon, Sir John, I hope you’re being attended to?”

“No, I’m not, lad. Doesn’t anyone do any work in this place?”

Hugh glanced around rapidly. None of the partners or senior clerks was in sight. He decided to use his initiative. “Will you come upstairs to the Partners’ Room, sir? I know they will be keen to see you.”

“All right.”

Hugh led him upstairs. The partners all worked together in the same room—so that they could keep an eye on one another, according to tradition. The room was furnished like the reading room in a gentlemen’s club, with leather sofas, bookcases and a central table with newspapers. In framed portraits on the walls, ancestral Pilasters looked down their beaklike noses at their descendants.

The room was empty. “One of them will be back in a moment, I’m sure,” Hugh said. “May I offer you a glass of Madeira?” He went to the sideboard and poured a generous measure while Sir John settled himself in a leather armchair. “I’m Hugh Pilaster, by the way.”

“Oh, yes?” Sir John was somewhat mollified to find he was talking to a Pilaster, rather than an ordinary office

“Yes, sir. I was there with your son Albert. We called him Hump.”

“All Cammels are called Hump.”

“I haven’t seen him since … since then.”

“He went to the Cape Colony, and liked it there so much that he never came back. He raises horses now.”

Albert Cammel had been at the swimming hole on that fateful day in 1866. Hugh had never heard his version of how Peter Middleton drowned. “I’d like to write to him,” Hugh said.

“I daresay he’ll be glad of a letter from an old school friend. I’ll give you his address.” Sir John moved to the table, dipped a quill in the inkwell and scribbled on a sheet of paper. “There you are.”

“Thank you.” Sir John was mollified now, Hugh noted with satisfaction. “Is there anything else I can do for you while you’re waiting?”

“Well, perhaps you can deal with this.” He took a cheque out of his pocket. Hugh examined it. It was for a hundred and ten thousand pounds, the largest personal cheque Hugh had ever handled. “I’ve just sold a coal mine to my neighbor,” Sir John explained.

“I can certainly deposit it for you.”

“What interest will I get?”

“Four percent, at present.”

“That’ll do, I suppose.”

Hugh hesitated. It occurred to him that if Sir John could be persuaded to buy Russian bonds, the loan issue could be transformed from being slightly undersubscribed to slightly oversubscribed. Should he mention it? He had already overstepped his authority by bringing a guest into the Partners’ Room. He decided to take a chance. “You could get five and three-eighths by buying Russian bonds.”

Sir John narrowed his eyes. “Could I, now?”

“Yes. The subscription closed yesterday, but for you—”

“Are they safe?”

“As safe as the Russian government.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Hugh’s enthusiasm had been aroused now and he wanted to close the sale. “The rate may not be the same tomorrow, as you know. When the bonds come on the open market the price may go up or down.” Then he decided he was sounding too eager, so he backed off. “I’ll place this cheque to your account immediately, and if you wish you could talk to one of my uncles about the bonds.”

“All right, young Pilaster