‘It’s of no consequence to me in the least, sir—’
‘But it is. My dear – dear Savill, of course it is. I know you would take my note of hand. But when a debt of honour is involved, a gentleman feels it here.’ He laid his hand on his heart. ‘A tradesman’s bill can wait until the Last Trump for all I care, but a debt of honour is a very different thing. Besides, why should you wait? You’re my friend. And anyone in this city will tell you: Jack Wintour is a man of his word. Ask anyone, anyone at all. If any man says otherwise, I’ll blow out his brains, do you hear?’
‘Really, sir, you are too kind, but I am in no hurry for the money.’
He hammered his fist on the table, making the counters twitch on the board. ‘Nothing could be more absurd than the situation I’m in, sir. Is it not perfectly ludicrous that a man of my expectations should have to suffer from a shortage of ready money? Does Mount George mean nothing? God damn it, what’s credit for, sir, if not to ease a temporary embarrassment of this nature? And I insist – you shall not wait. There is no need, either. I have a scheme that will settle the matter at once. Pray have the goodness to ring the bell.’
I leaned across from my chair to the bell-pull to the left of the fireplace. ‘I believe I have had enough wine for this evening.’
‘No, no – it’s not for that; though come to think of it, we might as well have them bring up another bottle.’
Josiah came into the room and made his reverence.
‘Tell Miriam to step this way,’ Wintour said.
The old man looked up. ‘Miriam, sir?’
‘Yes, you old fool – Miriam. Are you going deaf? And then bring up another bottle.’
Josiah bowed again and withdrew. A moment later, the maidservant entered the room. She curtsied and waited for Wintour to speak.
‘Step forward, woman – there: stand in the light by the fire.’
She obeyed him. Her face was blank, like a house with the shutters up.
‘Turn round,’ he ordered, raising one of the candles so it shone more on her. ‘No, not like that – slowly. So we may study you at all points.’ He glanced at me. ‘What do you think, sir?’
‘I do not think it proper for me to have an opinion about another man’s servant.’
Wintour laughed. ‘But that’s the point, sir. Don’t you see? She’s not a servant. She’s a slave.’
‘Yes, but the principle—’
‘The principle is the same as if she was my horse. Or my dog. Or my house, for that matter. She’s mine. That is to say, she’s mine to sell.’
He turned back to Miriam, who was no longer revolving. Her face was averted from the light.
‘What would you say? Ninety guineas at auction? A hundred? Trained ladies’ maids don’t grow on trees. Prime of life, too, fine figure.’ His voice roughened. ‘Look at me, girl, and open your mouth.’
Miriam stared down at him. She opened her mouth. I glimpsed her pink, wet tongue.
‘There! I knew it!’ he cried. ‘See? She’s got her own teeth, or most of them. They like that in a house slave, you know. Damned if I know why, but they do. I’ll put her in for auction tomorrow. You won’t have to wait long, I assure you. She’ll be snapped up in a trice.’
‘But Miriam is Mrs Arabella’s maid, sir – wouldn’t the sale inconvenience her? I would not do that for the world.’
Wintour laughed. ‘You won’t do that, I assure you. My wife does not need a maid all the time – she can share my mother’s if she wants one – and anyway she shall have any number of maids when the war’s over.’
‘But Miriam serves Mrs Wintour, too, I believe.’
He sat up very straight in his chair. ‘This is a matter of honour with me, sir.’
At this moment there was a distraction in the form of Josiah and another bottle of madeira. The old man opened and poured the wine. I took a glass to be companionable. Josiah did not withdraw but stood back in the shadows near the door.
‘I wonder, sir, would you oblige me in this?’ I said, holding my wine up to the candle flame.
‘If I could, sir, I would oblige you in anything you care to name but a debt of honour is—’
‘You see,’ I interrupted, ‘it does not suit me to have so large a sum of ready money about me at present, with the city in such a lawless state. And these days one cannot trust a bank or a merchant to negotiate a bill without cheating a man, or defaulting, or going bankrupt.’
‘True, sir.’ Wintour frowned. ‘Bankers are the worst of criminals. Greed blinds them to all morality as well as to common sense. I have often remarked upon it.’
‘It follows, sir, as a simple matter of logic, that it would be far more secure and indeed more convenient for me to accept your note of hand for the money instead. I know it will be safer with you than with the Bank of England itself.’
I held my breath, wondering if the absurdity of discussing the security of non-existent money would strike my host. But it did not.
Instead he sipped his wine and contemplated with evident enjoyment the idea that money, whether real or not, was safer with him than with the Bank of England.
He set down the empty glass. ‘I cannot bear to deny a friend’s request,’ he said. His chin sank to his chest. After a moment he stirred and his eyelids fluttered. ‘Besides, my dear sir, I shall soon have my box of curiosities and all our troubles will be over.’
His eyes closed. His breathing became heavy and regular. A log shifted in the grate. Miriam and Josiah stood waiting like dark statues in the shadows.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning, I slept late. I awoke when Josiah drew back the bed-curtains and a current of cold air swirled over my face. My throat was dry and my head ached from the madeira.
I struggled up to a sitting position.
Something was different. Something had changed. The very air was charged with brightness.
The old man was standing by the window with his back to the room.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘The snow, your honour.’ Josiah turned. He was smiling broadly. ‘It came in the night. Just an inch or two. But everything is white.’
I breakfasted by myself in the parlour; I rarely saw any of the family before I left for the office. As Josiah was bringing me my hat and coat, however, Mrs Arabella came down the stairs with Miriam behind her. The women were dressed for going out.
‘You are going to your office, I collect?’ Mrs Arabella said, when we had wished each other good morning. For the first time that winter she was wearing furs, which brought out the extraordinary lustre of her dark eyes and the creamy pallor of her complexion.
‘Yes, ma’am. Unless I may have the honour of escorting you somewhere first?’
Mrs Arabella inclined her head. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to give me your arm as far as Little Queen Street. I promised to meet a friend there this morning.’
‘With pleasure.’
I offered her my arm and we left the house with Miriam following five paces behind. Under