Death and the Jubilee

27

There were over two hundred passengers on the Dublin to Liverpool boat. It had been a rough passage. Many of them had not slept, walking round the decks all night until dawn greeted them over the dull grey coast of England. Pale-faced and tired, they carried themselves and their luggage down the gangplank and off to the waiting trains.

At the bottom of the gangplank were two burly constables, and behind them two agents from Dominic Knox’s secret intelligence department in the Irish Office. The policemen changed. The secret agents did not. They had watched thousands and thousands of Irish travellers take their first steps on to English soil. Some of them they stopped. Always they were female, usually between twenty and thirty years old. ‘They’ll be young. They may well be pretty,’ their chief had told the two agents. ‘They will certainly look as innocent as newborn babes. For God’s sake, don’t miss them.’

Siobhan McKenna had attached herself to a large family with children ranging from four to seventeen. She hoped she wouldn’t be noticed in that company. But something different about her clothes, slightly superior to the dress of her companions, made her stand out to the watching eyes below. As the family came down, dragging the youngest reluctantly by the hand, the first agent tapped the police sergeant on the shoulder.

‘That girl, there, with the black hair.’

‘Excuse me, miss,’ said the policeman, ‘these gentlemen here would like to ask you a few questions.’

The senior agent drew the girl away from the rest of the passengers. His companion stayed at his post, scanning every new arrival as they left the boat.

‘May I ask where you are going, miss?’ said the agent.

‘I’m going to London,’ replied the girl, smiling brightly at the agent. Smile at them, flirt with them, charm them, she remembered Michael Byrne’s instructions on handling questions from the police.

‘And what is the purpose of your visit, miss?’

‘I’m going for an interview for a job at a school,’ said Siobhan McKenna, tossing her curls in the way that usually worked with the young men of Dublin.

‘Do you have any papers to back that up, miss?’ The agent gave nothing away. But he could feel his heart racing as he closed in on his prey.

‘I have a letter here from the Convent of Our Lady of Sorrows in Kensington,’ she said, taking a letter from her bag and handing it over with a smile.

Sister Ursula was delighted to hear from Miss McKenna. She looked forward to seeing her for an interview on Monday morning at eleven o’clock. She provided instructions on the easiest way to reach the school.

‘Thank you very much, Miss McKenna,’ said the agent. ‘Have a good journey now, and the best of luck with the interview.’

The girl thought she was going to faint with the relief of it all. As she set off for the train to London she was too elated to look behind her. Twenty yards behind, the other agent was following her every step.

‘I don’t want the messengers,’ Knox had told his agents, ‘I want to know where they are going, who they are going to see. We don’t want the minnows in the pond, we want the bloody sharks because at present we don’t know who they are. But the minnows can lead us to them. Then we will strike.’

The Prime Minister saw Rosebery and Powerscourt in the upstairs drawing room in 10 Downing Street. He had grown old in office. He had also expanded from fifteen stone at the start of his administration to over seventeen stone at the time of the Jubilee. He blamed the lack of time for exercise. The Prime Minister, unlike many of his opponents, did not believe that the function of politics was to make the world a better place, to be constantly bringing schemes for improvement in the nation’s life. He believed that change was almost always bad, that it should, wherever possible, be resisted, that when necessary some small concessions might have to be made for the purposes of winning elections, but that was all.

‘I presume your business must be urgent, Rosebery,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Lord Powerscourt, good day to you. I can give you gentlemen fifteen minutes before I have to meet a delegation of ministers from the Empire. New Zealand today, I think. There are so many of them who have to be seen.’

Rosebery sketched out the nature of their business. It took him just over six minutes. The Prime Minister made one note of only a few words on a piece of paper in front of him. Reading it upside down Powerscourt could see that it said: ‘Monday, four million pounds + + +.’

‘That is the crux of the problem, Prime Minister,’ Rosebery concluded. ‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer is out of town. Mr William Burke, a leading City financier who knows the situation, is talking to the Governor of the Bank of England this afternoon. Time is very short.’

The Prime Minister looked at them gravely, stroking the long black beard that flowed down on to his chest.

‘Thank you, Rosebery. Let me try to sum up the difficulties we face.’ Outside the windows they heard a series of carriages arriving. The New Zealanders had come early.

‘It is not and cannot be the business of Government to bail out financial concerns whose imprudence or wickedness has left them unable to meet their obligations. I do not need to tell you, Rosebery, the outcry that would erupt in the House of Commons if members felt that taxpayers’ money was being used for these purposes.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘The New Zealand delegation is waiting for you, Prime Minister,’ said the private secretary.

‘They’re early, for God’s sake,’ growled the Prime Minister. ‘I shall be with them in five or ten minutes. Give them some tea, show them round the bloody building, just give me a little time.’

The private secretary backed quickly out of the room.

‘In one way this business is very like Barings,’ the Prime Minister went on. ‘I myself played a little part in the resolution of that crisis. But this time there is a difference. Barings was saved by a rescue package put together in the full glare of publicity. The newspapers were full of it for weeks. We cannot afford any publicity at all at the present time, not one word, not one paragraph. The effect would be devastating.’ The Prime Minister nodded towards the presence of the invisible New Zealand delegation who could be heard clattering around the building.

‘An earlier Chancellor, Powerscourt, told me once that he had conducted an experiment in the speed of rumour in this great city of ours. It took about five hours to get round the Foreign Office. It took three hours to get round the House of Commons. But it took less than half an hour to get round the City of London. Maybe it’s because they deal in little else over there. But if word ever got out, then the damage this German person wants to cause would have been done. We cannot let that happen. We cannot.’

Powerscourt saw from the clock on the wall that their interview had lasted nearly twenty minutes.

‘You say this banker fellow is with the Governor this afternoon?’ said the Prime Minister.

‘So we believe, Prime Minister,’ said Rosebery.

‘Then we must all meet again early this evening. I might be able to avoid another of these damned receptions. Perhaps I shall be indisposed. Might I suggest that we reconvene, with Mr Burke and the Governor, here at seven o’clock. And pray give some thought to how we smuggle four million pounds into the coffers of Harrison’s Bank before Monday. I must go and make conversation with these New Zealanders. Bloody sheep, I expect.’

It was nearly five o’clock when Sophie Williams finally reached Markham Square.

‘You must be Miss Williams,’ said Lady Lucy, as the girl was shown into the Powerscourt drawing room. ‘How very kind of you to call.’

‘How do you do, Lady Powerscourt, how very kind of you to invite me here after all the trouble Richard has caused everybody.’ Sophie was smiling at her new friend.

‘Not at all,’ said Lady Lucy, smiling back at the young teacher. ‘But it’s Richard you’ll be wanting to see, Miss Williams, I’m sure.’

‘Is he all right, Lady Powerscourt? He’s not hurt, is he?’

‘He’s fine, just fine, a few bruises here and there.’ Lady Lucy spoke as if a few bruises were a regular part of a banker’s daily life. ‘At this moment he’s closeted with Mr Burke, who you know, upstairs. I’ll just go and bring him down. Would you like some tea?’

‘That would be very kind, Lady Powerscourt,’ said Sophie, ‘it’s a long way from North London.’

Lady Lucy departed upstairs to see her brother-in-law. As Richard Martin made his way downstairs she had a brief conversation with William Burke.

‘William,’ she said firmly, ‘whatever happens, however much the nation is in peril, you are to stay here for the next half-hour. If, by any chance, you have to leave, please do not go into the drawing room.’

‘Here I am,’ said Burke plaintively, ‘trying to resolve great affairs of finance that endanger the future prosperity of this country, and you tell me I cannot go in to your drawing room for half an hour?’

Lady Lucy smiled again. ‘Affairs of the heart, William, are at least as important as affairs of state, particularly when the people involved are young.’

Sophie had just time to notice a copy of Jude the Obscure lying on a side table when Richard appeared.

‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said shyly. He thought she looked perfectly at home in this luxurious house.

‘Richard,’ replied Sophie, ‘I am so pleased to see you all in one piece again.’

He told her of his adventures, of his incarceration in the summerhouse at Blackwater, the last-minute rescue, the desperate flight down the Thames and the early morning journey to Markham Square.

‘And there’s another thing, Sophie,’ he went on. ‘Mr Burke has offered me a job in his bank. It pays a little more than I was getting at Harrison’s.’

Sophie felt that insufficient attention had been paid to her own role in the rescue of Richard Martin. ‘It’s just as well I went to call on Mr Burke the other afternoon, Richard,’ she said firmly. ‘If I hadn’t, you might still be locked up down there by that funny lake.’

She didn’t say that she had broken down in tears, but Mr Burke had already told Richard that. Sophie felt that her relations with Richard must be on a new footing now. She stood up and went to the window. Maybe we always have to take the initiative, she thought. Maybe these feeble men would never do anything if women didn’t give them a lead.

‘Richard . . .’ She turned back to face him, her eyes dancing. ‘Richard, give me a kiss.’

The Governor of the Bank of England was a very worried man. He rubbed his ample stomach as if for reassurance. He fidgeted with his small beard. His eyes flickered restlessly round the room.

Burke had told Powerscourt before the evening meeting that the Governor was not facing up to the crisis well.

‘He’s never seen anything like this in his whole life, Francis. His only idea of a commercial crisis is two bad tea harvests in a row. Even then he probably had enough of the stuff stockpiled somewhere to raise his prices and make a killing. But of bankers and bankers’ follies he has no idea, no idea at all. I fear he will not serve the City well tonight.’

The Prime Minister, fresh from his conference with the New Zealanders, looked tired. By seven o’clock in the evening he had normally fled by train back to his beloved Hatfield. Rosebery looked anxious. Powerscourt wondered how much money Rosebery and the Prime Minister would lose personally if there was a great crash in the City. Burke had put on a clean shirt for the occasion, remarking to his wife that one might as well go to Armageddon in a fit state to meet God or the Devil.

The Prime Minister called the meeting to order. They were seated at a small square table in the study of Number 10 Downing Street. The Governor was on the Prime Minister’s left, with Burke on his far side. Rosebery and Powerscourt, representing forces other than Mammon, were on the other flank, Powerscourt feeling slightly out of place.

‘Very well,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘I hope we can find a way out of this sorry imbroglio this evening. Governor, what do you have to report?’

The Governor was breathing fast. His fingers beat a small tattoo on the table as he spoke.

‘I believe Lord Rosebery has already acquainted you with the facts, Prime Minister. The position, I understand, is more serious than we first thought. As well as the Latin American loan obligations, there are a number of bills due next week, amounting to another million pounds, bringing the total obligation to five million pounds. We believe that the total available capital of Harrison’s Bank at present is less than one hundred thousand pounds. The rest of it has been transferred abroad. I do not have to tell you, Prime Minister, that our hands are tied. If we approach any of the private or joint stock banks in the City for assistance, I believe they would refuse. Nobody liked the Harrisons. The Bank of England’s total reserve at the present time is just over one million pounds. We cannot effect a rescue. We cannot try to mount a combined operation, even if that were likely to succeed. The only solution,’ the Governor looked desperately at the Prime Minister, ‘is to let Harrison’s Bank fail, with all that means. Or for the Government itself to intervene.’

The Prime Minister looked at the Governor as he might have looked at the senior steward on his estates, bringing him news of a bad harvest.

‘I see, Governor. Mr Burke, let me ask you two questions. If a combined rescue operation were attempted, what in your opinion would be the chances of success? And what would be the chances of keeping it secret?’

Burke paused for a moment before he replied. ‘Let me answer your questions in reverse order, Prime Minister. I do not believe it would be possible to keep such an operation secret, were it to be mounted. Too many people, too many boards of directors would have to be consulted. I do not believe the secret could be kept for as long as twenty-four hours. As to your first point, people are prepared to rally round, to pass the hat if you like, for one of their own, for people they like. It is an almost indefinable thing in the City. People who have been to the same school or belong to the same clubs will always have a sense of fellow feeling with their own kind. The Harrisons were outsiders. They were tolerated, but not welcomed. Some of our foreign bankers have made every effort to wrap themselves in the garments of Englishness, if I may put it that way. They join the clubs, they hunt or shoot with their colleagues in the financial world. They try to become insiders. The Harrisons were outsiders, necessary outsiders probably, performing a useful function in the business life of the financial community, but not really belonging. I do not believe anyone would lift a finger to save them.’

The Prime Minister nodded. He looked, Powerscourt thought, strangely unperturbed at the terrible tidings passing across his table. There was worse to come.

‘Tell me, Governor,’ he said, turning to look the tea importer straight in the eye. The fingers continued strumming nervously on the table. ‘Leaving aside the question of the Jubilee, now almost upon us, what would be the impact of the crash of Harrison’s Bank on the reputation of London as a place of business?’

The Governor’s eyes looked wilder yet. ‘Catastrophe, Prime Minister.’ The Governor said the word catastrophe very slowly, dragging it out so the full horror could sink in. ‘There is no other word. The City’s reputation would be ruined, coming so soon after the near collapse of Barings seven years ago. Business would disappear to the Continent, to New York. It would be a catastrophe, Prime Minister. Could I just refer back to Barings?’

‘No, you may not at this moment refer to Barings!’ The Prime Minister was very firm. ‘I have my own thoughts on Barings as I was in office myself at the time. Lord Rosebery, as a former Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister, could you tell us your view on the impact of such a collapse so close to the Jubilee?’

Rosebery looked surprised. The Prime Minister himself had been Foreign Secretary for a far longer period than he had.

‘It would be a very great blow to the prestige of Great Britain,’ Rosebery began. ‘The foreign press, come to report on the glories of the Jubilee, would report instead on the weakness of what had been one of this nation’s greatest strengths. They would glory in our discomfiture. We would be humiliated abroad. It would be as though some great Roman general were to be told, on the eve of his triumph through the streets of Rome, that the armies had mutinied and the colonies had raised the standard of revolt. The prestige and authority of the nation overseas, invisible but invaluable, would be greatly weakened. The Titan would still be a Titan, of course, but it would be a wounded Titan, limping on its passage, with blood dripping on the floor as it passed by.’

The Prime Minister managed a menacing smile.

‘Thank you, Rosebery. Tell me, Governor, why do you not appeal to the patriotism of your colleagues, swear them to secrecy in your dealings, persuade them to save Harrison’s Bank for the honour of their country?’

The Governor stopped drumming his fingers on the table. He looked as though he might be about to cry.

‘Prime Minister,’ he said, ‘I have considered that. Of course I have. But I do not believe that such an appeal would work.’

‘Is there no patriotism left then?’ The Prime Minister was almost shouting now, turning the full authority of his office and his personality on the man beside him. ‘Does profit come before the honour of the country? Does it, Governor?’

The Governor was on the ropes now. Powerscourt didn’t think he would get up again.

‘I don’t think the people in the City would put it like that, Prime Minister. But if it came to a choice between preserving their own houses and their own balance sheets, and some misty notion of the honour of the country abroad, I have no doubt how they would react. They would choose to keep what they had, rather than throw it away. Please may I return to Barings, Prime Minister? On that occasion it was the Government itself that led the rescue. Surely it is up to the Government to do so again.’

The Prime Minister banged a very large fist on the table. The pictures shivered on the walls. ‘Do not speak to me of Barings in that false fashion. The Government did give certain guarantees, but only when we were sure they would not be needed. Your predecessor had his rescue mission already in place when we gave our undertakings. They merely underwrote the confidence that the rescue would succeed. You do not have any rescue mission in place. You sound, forgive me for saying so, incapable of putting any rescue mission in place. Not a canoe, not a paddle boat, do I see about to set off from the quays of Threadneedle Street. You in the City are incapable of rescuing this wretched firm. It is politically impossible for the Government to commit itself to such sums without asking Parliament. Harrison’s must sink, and the reputation of the City and the prestige of the British Empire will sink with it.’

Silence dropped on the room. Powerscourt was thinking, not of the impact of the crash on the City of London, but of Lady Lucy and her tragic family, the Farrells. He remembered Lucy telling him that the eldest child had also died, that the father was at death’s door. The rooms they lived in were owned by Harrison’s Private Bank. Burke had told him on the way to the meeting that the flats would have to be sold, whatever remained of the Farrell family thrown on to the cruel streets of London once more. One more widow, three more homeless children. He wondered how many more families would lose their homes if Harrison’s failed, more statistics to be added to the enormous totals of the capital’s poor.

The Governor was wishing he was back in the peaceful company of his teas and his warehouses. His firm had made a fortune out of Jubilee Tea, a new blend, produced specially for the occasion, combining the finest flavour of the finest teas in the empire. It would have a bitter taste now. Rosebery was feeling relieved, not for the first time, that he was only a visitor and not the occupant of Number 10 Downing Street. William Burke wondered if the Prime Minister had deliberately forced the meeting to crisis point, only to pull a rabbit from his hat at the end. Powerscourt was looking at the portraits of previous Prime Ministers looking down on them from the walls, Melbourne looking avuncular, Pitt looking exhausted, Liverpool impassive.

‘Powerscourt!’ The Prime Minister at any rate had not given up yet. ‘It is thanks to your efforts that we know of this terrible plot. We are grateful to you. I know that you are not a man of finance, but have you any counsel to offer us now at the eleventh hour?’

The Prime Minister thought it would be only polite to hear from Powerscourt before he closed the meeting. He didn’t expect to hear anything of substance. He was already contemplating the diversion he would have to invent to draw attention away from the problems in the City, the immediate despatch of troops to some remote part of Africa, a revival of the Russian menace on the frontiers of the Raj perhaps. India would be best, he decided, the threat from the Russian Bear would play well on the patriotic feelings of the Jubilee.

Powerscourt was to tell Lady Lucy afterwards that the Prime Ministers on the wall had come to his rescue. Directly opposite him was Disraeli, dressed in pomp and splendour as Earl of Beaconsfield in his last days, but still with something of Shylock or Svengali about him, conjuring ancient mysteries from the East to dazzle a mourning Empress.

‘I was wondering about the Suez Canal,’ he began slowly. The plan was still taking shape in his mind.

‘The Suez Canal?’ the Governor said scornfully. His fingers were tapping remorselessly on the table once more. ‘What in God’s name has the Suez Canal got to do with it?’

The Prime Minister was gathering his papers, his left hand searching automatically for his train ticket to a more peaceful world.

‘I was thinking of the way it was bought actually,’ said Powerscourt, refusing to be put off by the Governor. ‘It had to be done in secret. The Government could not ask for help from the Bank of England in case word leaked out and the shares went up in price or were bought elsewhere. So they asked one man for a loan. Just one man. Rothschild. It was all done in less than half an hour, I believe.’

‘Are you suggesting that we ask Rothschild’s again?’ said Burke, anxious to assist his friend.

‘No, I am not,’ said Powerscourt, ‘But it was the principle I was thinking of. In this case the Bank cannot ask for help from the wealthy houses in the City, either because it would not be forthcoming, or because approaches to a variety of houses could not be kept secret. The Government cannot employ the taxpayers’ money on such a scale at this notice because the House of Commons would not stand for it. But if the Government were to borrow the money from just one individual, then those difficulties might be overcome. I have only just thought of this scheme, gentlemen, forgive me if it is not properly formed.’

The Prime Minister looked hard at Powerscourt. Maybe he wouldn’t have to organize a trumped-up row with the Russian Ambassador after all.

‘Do you have anybody in mind, Powerscourt?’ he said.

‘I am not sure about specific individuals, Prime Minister,’ Powerscourt replied, ‘but I have a very clear idea of the type of individual who might be prepared to give assistance. Mr Burke was talking earlier about outsiders who want to be insiders, somebody who wants to be embraced into the bosom of the English upper classes. My candidate would not be a peer, but he would be eternally grateful for a peerage.’

‘Bloody expensive for a peerage, five million pounds, even these days,’ said the Prime Minister, laughing for the first time that evening.

‘No doubt there are other inducements that could be offered,’ Powerscourt went on. ‘Some of our more fashionable clubs are very desirable for the simple reason that they are so hard to get into. I was thinking of the MCC or the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes for example. Some of the Pall Mall establishments may have been too quick in the past with their blackballs. That could, no doubt, be corrected. The Garter might be out of reach, Prime Minister, but surely the Chairmanship of a Royal Commission on some subject of little importance would not be. Invitations to spend the weekend with the Prince and Princess of Wales at Sandringham perhaps? Dinner with the Queen Empress herself at Windsor?’

Now it was Rosebery’s turn to laugh. The tension was ebbing from the room.

‘Come, Francis, you must have somebody in mind, surely?’ said Rosebery. ‘I am not a financier,’ said Powerscourt, secretly amazed at how quickly the plan had unfolded in his mind, ‘my only qualification is that when I began the investigations into Harrison’s Bank I read the back copies of the Economist and other financial papers for the past three years. I was thinking of one of those diamond people, not Rhodes of course, but one of the more shadowy ones who must have made more money than he ever did.’

‘Messel!’ Burke broke in. ‘Franz Augustine Messel. He might be our man. Or that other fellow, Sprecker, Hans Joachim Sprecker. They have both made enormous fortunes out of gold and diamonds in South Africa, Prime Minister. They are both resident in this country. Neither, to the best of my knowledge, has yet been elevated to the peerage.’

‘What do we put on the recommendation, Burke?’ asked the Prime Minister. ‘Even nowadays you have to say something about charitable good works or help for the deserving poor.’

‘Services to the financial community?’ suggested Powerscourt. ‘That could cover a multitude of sins. Usually does, I believe.’

‘Let us be serious, gentlemen.’ The Prime Minister’s hand had stopped looking for his train ticket. Maybe he would have to remain at his post a little longer yet. ‘Do either of you financial gentlemen believe this scheme to be possible? Governor?’

The Governor had turned pale. Life with Darjeeling and Earl Grey, Assam and Lapsang Souchong had not prepared him for this.

‘I think it is a most, a most interesting proposal,’ he spluttered. ‘I could not commit the Bank to saying whether it would succeed or not. I’m afraid -’

‘Mr Burke?’ the Prime Minister cut the Governor off brutally.

‘Well, Prime Minister . . .’ Something told Burke that bravery, even recklessness, might be better than prudence and his banker’s caution at this moment. ‘I think it could well work. It could get us out of all our difficulties. There is only one problem, now I think of it. I spoke a moment ago as if we had two possible candidates. I fear, with the time at our disposal, we have only one. Sprecker has made huge investments in some Central European railroad. Unlike almost all his contemporaries in the City he goes out in person to check on the progress of the schemes he has funded. We could not get to him in time.’

‘But Messel?’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Where is he?’

‘I believe he is at his place in Oxfordshire, Prime Minister. They call it the Chiltern Versailles. We could reach him tomorrow morning. We have nothing to lose.’

‘We have nothing to lose,’ said the Prime Minister grimly, ‘but the interest rate. What do you think he would charge for a loan in these circumstances?’

‘I fear we would have to pay over the odds, Prime Minister, however many inducements we were able to throw into the pot.’

‘Never mind.’ The Prime Minister was gathering his papers once again. ‘Bring him here. Bring him here tomorrow. On second thoughts, don’t bring him here. The place is full of these foreign persons and their reporters at present. Where do you suggest we meet, Mr Burke?’

‘Well,’ said Burke, ‘the Bank of England is out of the question. So is any office in the City. I would offer my house in Chester Square but my wife is having it repainted for the Jubilee.’ He smiled an apologetic smile. ‘Could I suggest, Prime Minister, that we meet in Lord Powerscourt’s house in Markham Square? Number 25. We could let you know when Messel is expected to arrive.’

‘Excellent,’ said the Prime Minister. He looked round at his predecessors on the walls, his gaze coming to rest on Disraeli’s wicked eyes. ‘I’m going to take a leaf out of Disraeli’s book, gentlemen. He sent his private secretary Montagu Corry to handle the negotiations with Rothschild about the Suez Canal. I shall use my equivalent. Schomberg McDonnell may look like a junior clerk in a solicitor’s office, but he bargains with straying backbenchers and rebellious members of the Cabinet as though he had been born in an Oriental bazaar.’

‘Does that mean, Prime Minister,’ Powerscourt was taking his duties as host very seriously, ‘that you won’t be coming to the meeting yourself?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Powerscourt!’ The huge frame shook with laughter. ‘McDonnell can talk to the fellow downstairs. Then he reports back to us upstairs. I don’t care if you have to hide me behind the arras, Powerscourt, I shouldn’t miss it . . .’ He paused suddenly and looked balefully at the Governor of the Bank of England. ‘I shouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China.’