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Chapter 5: Tea At The Institute
Whitworth House, the home of the Institute of Practicing Engineers, overlooks the Thames not far from Westminster, adjacent to Mr Tait’s splendid new gallery. It is a building that I find intriguing. The combination of fine Portland stone topped with the two towers of cast iron girder-work speak of both the stability and the innovation that the Institute seeks to promote. Members of the Institute have been at the core of our country’s economic growth. The projects that they have initiated and led around the world (the Glasgow-Belfast tunnel for the Great Northern Railway, the Telectroscope1 installation between London and Hong Kong and the Madurai to Colombo causeway linking the island of Ceylon to the Indian sub-continent spring to mind at once) have shown the quality of their work.
The Institute’s president, Sir Bristow Merriweather, had been knighted for his work at Buckingham Palace East on the shores of the Indian Ocean after the completion of the Ganges-Indus Canalisation. He had steered the Institute to its current pre-eminence. His office was on the first floor, directly over the portico of the main entrance. Harwell and I sat waiting for our appointment in a comfortable ante-room.
Exactly at the time agreed for our appointment, the door to Merriweather’s office opened and a tall, negro woman – I adjudged her to have come from the southern African colonies – emerged. She cut an imposing figure, dressed very much to my own tastes in a high-necked blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a long straight skirt that clung closely to her hips and thighs. About her neck she wore a thin gold chain from which hung, like a medallion, a heavy piece of gold in the shape of some Chinese character or other. Her height was evidently contributed to by the heels on the boots that could just be seen beneath the hem of her skirt. The trimness of her figure owed something, I was certain, to boned underpinnings that were an effective combination of the engineer’s and the couturier’s arts.
“Gentlemen,” the woman announced, “Sir Bristow is able to see you now.” She clasped her hands together in front of her waist, waiting as Harwell and I got to our feet. “Please,” she said and turned to open the office door. To my amusement, I saw as she did so that one of the buttons that ran up the back of her skirt was not fastened, allowing a flash of white underclothing to be seen in the gap where her skirt stretched across her buttocks. I suspected that the disarray was the result of some fumbled exchange with Sir Bristow, abruptly ended when the pair had realised that the time of the meeting was upon them. My suspicions were reinforced by Sir Bristow’s florid countenance and breathlessness as he stood up from his desk to welcome us.
“Remarkable girl, Ngoya,” he said as the tall negress left the office. “Remarkable. It is a revelation how some of the girls from the colonies understand so much better what is needed around the office than some English girls.” He turned towards me with a smile. “But, of course, with your methods we might change that, mightn’t we?”
“You know of my work?” I was surprised. I had expected Sir Bristow to be aware of Brankston Tusker but not of my own activities.
Sir Bristow smiled. “Of course. I always take efforts to research those who wish to make use of my time. I was fortunate in this case to have the intelligence of one of your clients to depend on. You will remember Meriel James, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“He has advised me on some of the Institute’s business methods. I was keen that we should embrace all that Mr Babbage’s engine could do for us. Mr James has a useful combination of talents in technical know-how and business understanding, a rare ability. He speaks highly of how you were able to help him and his wife. I must say that I spent a most agreeable evening in their company when Mr James was proposing how he might help us.”
“I am pleased. I found great satisfaction in being able to help them. And it is about my services that I wished to speak.”
Sir Bristow suggested that we should all sit. Ngoya reappeared with a tray of tea things and saw to our need for refreshment. I noticed as she left that she had closed the unfortunately unfastened button.
Harwell Tusker took up our story. He explained about his unfortunate brother and the tragic accident that had befallen him and his wife. Sir Bristow offered condolences and sympathies but was, I could see, anxious for Harwell to come to the nub of the matter. “Then,” Harwell continued, “there is the matter of his daughters, my nieces. Two young ladies of marriageable age who, without careful guidance, may fall foul of any of the temptations and moral pitfalls that we find around us.”
At this Sir Bristow’s attention became more focussed. I took the opportunity to seize the story from Harwell. “It is proposed that these two young ladies,” I passed across to him the daguerreotypes of the two girls, “should undergo the same programme of adjustment that has succeeded so well for my other clients and that the results of this programme would then be made available to whosoever should invest in the programme. The proposal, Sir Bristow, is that the Institute should underwrite this funding, thereby providing two of its members with life partners who would most assuredly strengthen their position in business and, by extension, that of the Institute, too.”
Sir Bristow put down the two framed pictures. “Underwrite?” Sir Bristow leant forward. “How do you imagine this would work?”
“I seek solely to gain the level of recompense for my services that I normally would realise, a percentage of my client’s future income. I propose that the Institute should seek out two of its members that it believes would benefit. We would put in place the necessary agreements with them but the Institute would undertake to cover any shortfall between the future income of those you choose and, let us say, the average income of all members. In the event of your choices being more successful than the average – which I can assure is highly likely if you choose well – then the additional funds would be shared between us. If there were to be a shortfall, the Institute would be liable. The arrangement is rather like a bursary for two of your up and coming members in which they receive wives most ably equipped to help them in their future careers. And, of course, the Institute is able to stand by the children of one of its erstwhile members and, possibly, gain monetarily at the same time.”
“Or lose.” Sir Bristow appeared to be considering my suggestions but was by no means entirely persuaded.
Ngoya arrived to clear the tea things. She smiled at each of us as she collected our cups and saucers. Harwell, I could tell, was taken with her dark attractiveness. It perhaps reminded him of trading visits to the southern African continent in his youth. He appeared quite oblivious to my discussions with Sir Bristow. It seemed to me a perfect example of the strength of my proposition.
“But such a small risk, Sir Bristow. You surely understand the value that support of the kind I offer can give to someone making their way in the world. The way in which their persuasive and negotiating abilities are enhanced by the support of a capable and attractive wife or,” I looked at Ngoya and Harwell in turn and then back to Sir Bristow, “other partner.”
Sir Bristow Merriweather beamed and laughed loudly. “Capital, sir, capital! You are indeed correct. If I had a guinea for every client that Miss Mbute here had distracted, I would be a wealthy man. Ha! And I am! An original proposition, my dear chap, and one I am happy for the Institute to be party to. Miss Mbute will see that you have access to our legal and commercial staff in order to finalise the agreements.”
“Well, thank you, Sir Bristow,” I said, getting to my feet and offering my hand. “I shall take no more of your time.” It has long been my practice to leave as soon as possible after successfully concluding a negotiation, so avoiding the risk of any change of heart. I was well pleased with the outcome of our discussions.
© Freddie Clegg 2012
1 An astonishing invention that, in some way, manages to send moving pictures over telegraph wires. The experimental service has proved popular but I am not clear whether it will prove to have any lasting value.
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