Chapter 18 #2
‘He will be the kind of banker who started with a pool of money from what he and his partners could gather from their friends and acquaintances and then they lend it at a high interest rate to rich men wanting to cover their debts or make investments,’ said Jacob, revealing his familiarity with the workings of the world of finance.
‘These small banks tend to take on more risk than the large ones because the rewards are commensurably bigger.’
‘I can understand better now why Mr Austen is so anxious that no bad associations are attached to his bank,’ said Dora. ‘If those original investors come asking for their money back because they got the jitters, they might find the pool too shallow as it has been siphoned off to their debtors.’
Jane was looking worried by all this discussion of moneylending.
Dora could sympathise. It did sound a very shaky foundation on which to build a life in London, nothing as tangible as the army commission Henry had once held, or the living his father had had in the Church.
It could all vanish like a fairy feast. How it must irritate him that his brother Edward had been adopted by a rich family and come into an estate and wealth beyond a man’s imaginings!
Perhaps that was driving him to try to rival Edward by making his own fortune?
Henry received them in his private office.
The first room was occupied by two clerks sitting at high desks, making entries in the bank’s ledgers.
They looked up curiously as the visitors passed before returning to what looked a mind-numbing task.
Henry’s office was plain but elegant, without any of the feminine touches of his home.
He offered them chairs as he returned to his seat behind the desk.
‘Am I to understand from your visit here that you have news? I asked you to try to be discreet and turning up here in force is hardly that,’ he said gloomily.
‘Henry, dear,’ said Jane, ‘I believe after three attacks yesterday we are beyond being primarily interested in saving appearances.’
‘You can say that, but I have all this to protect.’ He flicked his fingers at their surroundings. ‘I’ve already had four customers enquiring if they can withdraw their money.’
‘The good news, sir,’ said Jacob quickly before Henry and Jane could argue further, ‘is that nothing we’ve discovered indicates there is any truth in the rumours that the Comte D’Antraigues was disloyal to Britain and her allies.
Far from it. It appears the comte was a trusted source of information on foreign affairs and was in receipt of a pension from His Majesty’s government. ’
‘Was he indeed?’ Henry folded his hands on the ledger, looking a little relieved. ‘He never said. Do you think the government would admit to that, should we need to put down rumours of him working for the French?’
Jacob looked sceptical. ‘It is a sensitive subject because there are many in Parliament and the press who will take issue with paying a foreigner so much when there are many demands on the public purse.’
‘It was ever thus.’
‘Indeed, but I think they would prefer not to say anything, and we have no leverage to make them speak the truth in public. I was told this in confidence by someone in the government and they will not thank me for bruiting it about. Am I to understand from your ignorance of the arrangement that the comte did not bank that pension with you, meaning you have no proof of where his funds came from?’
‘No. He would occasionally lodge sums with me or borrow to buy an artwork that came up for auction, but I was under the impression he didn’t have large investments anywhere in London.’
‘Did he ever miss a payment?’
‘I… He always paid eventually.’
The man was likely close to being bankrupt and kept going from pension to pension, thought Dora, knowing all too well what it was like to live from hand to mouth. His life sounded a gilded version of the same.
‘Did he ever say where the money came from, sir?’ she asked.
‘He said from his writing, Miss Fitz-Pennington. I knew he wrote tracts against Napoleon and assumed that he was exceptionally well paid for them.’ In other words, Henry hadn’t wanted to ask too many questions, which might be why he had been worried enough to start this enquiry.
‘He must have been paid far more than what I get for writing novels,’ mused Jane.
‘But his writing was more dangerous – as events have proved,’ said Henry.
‘I’d like to see everything you have on the comte if you would oblige,’ said Jacob. ‘The present comte, Julien, is aware we are making enquiries.’
‘Then of course. I will send up the books.’
‘You have no other holdings, no private papers or strong box?’ asked Dora.
‘We aren’t well placed to store clients’ valuables, Miss Fitz-Pennington. He would likely use one of the larger banks with an underground vault for matters like that.’
‘Any idea who?’
‘I’d try Coutts. I believe he had some dealings with them.’
Jacob went to the inner office to look through the Comte D’Antraigues accounts, leaving the ladies with Henry. Jane produced her basket and placed it on his desk. The wonderful smell of the Tandoor chicken filled the room.
‘I brought something to cheer you up,’ she said.
‘Jane, what would I do without you?’ Henry said, giving her a boyish grin. He sent a clerk off to find some plates and forks and divided the contents of the basket into four small helpings.
‘We met some Russians at Julien’s house,’ said Jane, picking cardamon pods out of her rice. ‘Do you know anything about them?’
‘Which ones?’ Henry held a piece of chicken spiked on the tines.
‘The Vorontsovs.’
He chewed and swallowed. ‘Heavenly. Not personally, but I believe they arrived in the spring. Once Napoleon succeeded in alienating his old allies, the Russians have decided we aren’t so bad after all and have come to set up shop again in London.’
‘Can you think why they might want the comte and comtesse dead?’ asked Dora.
He swallowed a second mouthful awkwardly and coughed.
‘Good Lord. You don’t pull your punches, do you, Miss Fitz-Pennington?
No, I cannot. The Russian delegation would regard the Comte D’Antraigues as an asset, a Frenchman writing against Napoleon, useful in putting across their arguments against the emperor.
And if he were writing valuable reports, why kill the goose laying the golden eggs? ’
Jane had a meeting with her publisher that afternoon, so they left her with her brother. Dora wished she had the leisure to stay and hear how the negotiations were going, but murder was a more pressing concern.
‘Did you find anything in the accounts?’ Dora asked Jacob as they walked quickly back to the office, her with her hand on her pistol in her pocket, Jacob ready to use his walking cane to drive off anyone who dared approach.
‘Nothing that would cast light on our case. I’ve moved away from the theory that he was taking bribes or acting as a double agent in receipt of money from the French. It seems more straightforward: he was a skilled political commentator and governments were prepared to pay for his analysis.’
‘And one was prepared to kill for it?’
‘Yes.’
‘The French?’
‘That would be the obvious conclusion. The killer had been in the French army and we only have his word that he deserted. I think we need to dig into his background and find out who he really was.’
Dora fully agreed with that plan. ‘I think I might know where to start.’
‘Where would that be?’
‘He was Italian so would not the Italians in London be more likely to know him? He might’ve preferred to spend evenings with people who spoke his language.’
Jacob smiled, getting the hint. ‘Is it time for dessert?’
‘I believe it is. But let’s go to the kitchen door this time. I don’t want to find myself in the papers again tomorrow.’