by Mark Daydy
“How did Eddie guarantee losses?”
Terry chuckled. “Yes, losses… okay, so, in a worst-case scenario, you could lose everything you owned. But, so what! That kind of mega-disaster hadn’t happened since the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. There was no real risk. Well, only the tiniest one imaginable. That’s why Eddie and Eleanor put their names on the list.”
Lucy was aware that Libby rented her home. Her parents had rented too.
“I have a horrible feeling about this,” she said.
“And then…?” Jane’s eyebrow was raised.
“That impossible thing that could never happen? It happened. The whole thing went to hell and Lloyd’s was on the edge of going under. Luckily, the big boys at Lloyd’s didn’t need to worry for long. They could just put everything on the Names. And there were thousands of them. It made the front pages because you had Wimbledon tennis champions, world championship boxers, famous actors, all sorts… including idiots from Sussex who saw themselves as important.”
It clicked with Lucy. When her brother, Richard, dealt with their father’s estate, he discovered he rented his home. It didn’t matter that her parents hadn’t been homeowners – it was just that she’d always assumed they were. It seemed she now knew why.
“What caused the losses?” she asked, although it hardly seemed to matter at this point. Eddie had lost everything for her parents and she hated him.
“The American courts decided to allow substantial payouts for workers affected by asbestos. The policies were open-ended, so the claims could go back decades. The claims hitting Lloyd’s were off the scale. It almost brought the institution down. They put their house in order after that, but it left thousands of Names to sell everything they owned to pay the claims.”
Jane tutted. “What an appalling family we come from. Frankly, I’m ashamed of the whole lot of them. A bunch of duplicitous parasites.”
Lucy could only agree. How much of this would be appearing in Aunt Eleanor’s book about the Howards, she wondered.
A few moments later, walking back to the car, Jane had a hunch.
“Just wait.”
“What for?” asked Lucy.
“We’re on rat watch. If that big rat is getting his info from another rat…”
“You think Fast Frankie might show up?”
“There’s a big piece of cheese under that barometer.”
They waited.
“Did you know my parents moved home around that time?” said Jane.
“Did you know mine stayed put but sold up to a landlord and became renters?” countered Lucy.
“Do you know what I think?” said Jane. “After this Lloyd’s Names thing wiped them out, I reckon my mum, your mum, and Libby all worked hard to give each other the impression they were fine. Big claim? Ha! We shrugged it off!”
“I think that’s really sad… and true,” said Lucy. “I can’t imagine them ever discussing who had the least left after it.”
“Rat alert.”
“Oh… he’s quite a small one.”
They made their way back to Terry’s and waited outside.
A few minutes later, the smaller rat re-emerged.
“Frankie,” said Jane. “Exactly how fast are you?”
Frankie scuttled away. The two cousins made up the ground easily.
“Not amazingly fast,” said Jane.
“You’ve got my fifty,” said Lucy. “How about sharing a little more information.”
“Thirty. That’s all I get. Terry’s commission is twenty. I’m sure he’s a crook.”
“Tell us about Billy Brown,” said Jane.
Frankie hesitated. “Well, I suppose if you two lovelies would like to take me for a drink?”
Lucy was fuming. “I get the distinct idea you know everything we need to know and you’re just stringing us along to make money.”
“I can’t believe you’re turning me down for that drink. I’ve been out with film stars.”
“Yes, okay, Bruce Willis,” said Jane, “just tell us about Billy Brown.”
Frankie weighed it up.
“Billy Brown… well now… let me see. Did you know he got a load of fake silver antiques, had them insured, and then arranged for them to be stolen.”
“A fake theft of fake antiques?” said Jane.
“It’s hardly likely,” said Lucy.
“It is,” insisted Frankie. “You just need a dodgy valuer.”
“How depressing,” said Lucy.
“Not for Billy,” said Frankie.
Lucy huffed. “He should have gone to prison.”
“He was too clever. He stitched your uncle Eddie up though.”
“How?” asked Jane.
“Eddie did some work for him. Billy paid him with a fake cup.”
“What kind of work was it?” asked Lucy.
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask Billy.”
Lucy tried to picture the scene, the actual handover of the cup.
“Did Eddie know it was fake?”
“No. That’s Billy’s way. Even now, he’s got a pile of worthless copies in a cabinet with the real stuff locked away somewhere. Anyway, I can’t help you more than that. If I think of anything, I’ll be in touch via Terry. You don’t want to pay me a little retainer, do you? Another fifty? Keep me at it?”
“No,” said Lucy and Jane in unison.
They watched him scuttle away, back into the dark, even though it was daylight.
“Weasel,” muttered Jane.
“Do we believe him?” Lucy wondered.
“Okay, so Billy collects fake silver antiques… and our chalice is as genuine as a nine-pound note.”
“We need to go after the bad guy,” said Lucy. “If it’s Billy, we’ll bring him down.”
Jane nodded. “Maybe we should wear capes?”
“If Eddie worked for Billy, it can’t have been above board. The only problem is what to say to Libby and your mum.”
“We ought to tell them what we know. Billy effectively stole twenty thousand from Libby by giving Eddie a fake cup.”
“Yes, but what about the Names thing?”
“I don’t think they should be spared.”
Lucy was concerned. “They won’t react well.”
“You tell Libby, I’ll handle my mum. I already know how she’ll react. She’ll take two seconds to adjust, then she’ll say we might lack money, but we have our reputation, and no one can take that away from us.”
Lucy was glad she wasn’t telling Eleanor. That said, she wasn’t exactly sure how she would raise the subject with Libby.
*
Lucy waited until that evening to pop round to Libby’s. Soon after her arrival, she was in the kitchen making coffee while Libby watched a soap on TV. There were still a few hurdles to get over before this could reach a conclusion.
Should she trust Frankie?
Obviously not.
Could she ask Libby about Eddie working for a known crook?
Again, no.
Libby came in.
“Do you feel you’ve discovered anything worthwhile?” she asked.
Lucy thought – yes, she’d discovered that she really needed to change a few things in her life, but that making changes wasn’t easy.
“I’ve discovered our family lost everything in the Lloyd’s Names scandal,” she said.
“Ah.”
“I am right in thinking my parents got sucked into Eddie’s scheme?”
“I thought you were looking into my chalice?”
“Bloody thing. Mum and Dad lost their home.”
“Your mother insisted on joining. Eddie didn’t have to persuade her. She practically kicked the door down.”
Lucy backed off. Libby’s imagery rang true.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get annoyed. It’s not your fault.”
“That’s alright, but… um… would it be possible for you to stop investigating now?”
23. Money Talks
Friday morni
ng saw a refreshed and rested Lucy bring the hired Nissan to a halt just up the road from Billy Brown’s house. She would be acting alone on this occasion – a last-minute text from Jane mentioned book supplier issues that needed fixing.
Beside Billy’s property was a side road that led into a cul-de-sac. From one vantage point, on tiptoe, Lucy could see into his back garden.
He was out there, on the phone.
The way he paced… the expression of confidence. An old man, yes, but a supremely assured one.
She thought of Greg. He had that swagger, that self-belief.
She went to the front door and rang the bell. It was a full minute before he answered.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something? Who gave Eddie Cole the cup?”
“No idea. If you find out, let me know.”
He was about to close the door on her.
“Are you a dealer in fake antiques? Silver antiques?”
Billy paused, clearly weighing his choices. Obviously, slamming the door in her face was one, but he seemed to be intrigued.
Lucy pressed on. “It would have been tempting to con Eddie knowing he could afford it. Before my aunt became Libby Cole, she was Libby Howard. The family was well known and had money and influence.”
She decided to omit the part where they lost the cash as greedy Names.
“I know all about the Howards,” said Billy.
“I’m Eddie’s niece. He worked with you. You paid him in antique silver. Fake antique silver. I can show you the photo of you and Eddie again, if you like?”
“No need. I bumped into him a few times. That’s it.”
“I’m going to find out what happened. I’ll never stop.”
“Don’t. You won’t like what you find.”
He sounded serious, like it was a threat, but Lucy wasn’t about to be intimidated.
“You won’t put me off, whether you’re playing the bully or that fake nice old man.”
“Typical Howard. You make me laugh. If you’re so bloody fascinated by fakes, why not start with Sir George?”
He closed the door, leaving Lucy unsure of what he meant.
Back in the car, she thought for a moment. What did she actually know?
Eddie lost everyone’s money in the Names scandal.
He most likely tried ways to make up the losses.
He worked with or for Billy Brown.
He was paid with an antique silver cup.
If that cup was meant to be real, then Billy would owe Libby twenty thousand.
If Eddie knew it was fake, why would he hide it in the loft?
She felt a little closer to wrapping things up. Getting Libby’s money from Billy though… not so easy.
She considered the police.
But no, not yet. She needed more information. Priority Number One was to avoid looking like a fool again.
She studied her phone. What to do…?
She called Jane.
A moment later, her cousin’s voice was in her ear, apologizing for not being there. Lucy understood and guessed that Jane really didn’t have the time for this.
“How did your mum take your news, yesterday?”
“She hardly missed a beat. She said money wasn’t everything, and that the family had a respected standing in the community that no one could take away from us. How did you get on with Libby?”
“She asked if we could stop investigating.”
“Oh… poor Libby.”
“Anyway, I’ve been investigating.”
“Good.”
“I’ve just come from Billy Brown’s doorstep.”
“Was he a happy little bunny?”
“No, possibly because I called him a fake nice old man.”
“You mean he didn’t like that?”
“He said if I’m so bloody fascinated by fakes, why not start with Sir George?”
“You think Sir George dealt in fake antiques?”
“I think he was referring to Sir George himself.”
“What do you think he meant?”
“I’m not sure. Is it something we can check?”
“Lucy, is it me, or are we destroying the entire family one by one?”
“We’re serving the truth.”
“Well… I have an idea. There’s a local history group based at the library. I could see if there’s anyone who knows about the Howards. Give me an hour to finish off this book supply issue, then I’ll see if I can get a contact.”
*
Two hours later, Lucy collected Jane. She had received a text from her cousin stating she had a name and address that might prove useful.
“Libraries are terrible places,” she said as her backside hit the passenger seat. I had to wait ages before the one member of staff went off and left the reception desk unmanned.”
“I see.”
“This is the thing with public sector cutbacks that’s never considered. Staff shortages mean abuses can take place.”
“So what have we learned?”
“We’re going to see Brian Peabody in Arundel. He knows the history of all the big families in the area.”
Thirty minutes later, they were ringing Mr Peabody’s bell.
He wasn’t pleased to see them – even after they explained themselves and their link to Sir George Howard.
“I’m currently writing a book about the British aristocracy between the Wars,” he said. “Is that something you’d buy?”
“Er…” said Lucy.
“Yes,” said Jane, two seconds too late to sound convincing.
“Thought not. I don’t think I can help you.”
“Please?” said Lucy, imploringly. She hated to beg but sometimes it was hard to think of alternatives.
Peabody gave a mild little huff.
“Sir George? Knighted in 1921?” he said. “That should tell you everything. It took them another four years to put it right, you know. To prevent that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“I’m very busy. Goodbye.”
With the door closed on them, they walked back to the car.
“What happened in 1921?” Lucy mused.
Jane didn’t answer. She was busy googling.
Back in the car, Lucy wondered what to do next.
“Interesting,” said Jane.
“What have you found?”
“Honour… it’s origin is in Middle English from the Old French ‘onor’. Looks like the Americans spell it right and the Brits have dressed it up with an extra U.”
“That’s not helpful.”
They both began searching.
“Famous Sussex people,” said Jane. “There are tons.”
Lucy thought. “Peabody said Sir George received his honour in 1921. And something about four years later. I’ll try 1925 honours.”
A moment later, things became a little clearer.
“Ah…”
“What is it?” asked Jane.
“There are quite a few entries under ‘Honours, Prevention of Abuses Act’. It was passed in 1925.”
“Abuses? That doesn’t sound good.”
Lucy read aloud. “It was an Act of Parliament that made the sale of peerages or any other honours illegal.”
“The sale…?”
“Yes.”
Lucy and Jane were quickly back at Peabody’s door.
He didn’t look happy.
“I thought I explained—”
“Are you saying my great grandfather paid cash to become a Sir?” said Jane.
Peabody looked them over and sighed.
“Yes,” he finally uttered. “Ten thousand pounds.”
“I’m guessing that was a lot of money a hundred years ago,” said Lucy.
“Half a million in today’s money,” said Peabody.
“Half a million?” Jane gasped.
“I had no idea you could buy a title,” said Lucy.
“You can’t, thanks to an Act of Parliament in 1925. Prime Minister, David Ll
oyd George was selling honours to fund his political ambitions right up until he resigned in 1922. He wasn’t the first to do it, but he was as bold as brass, openly charging £10,000 for a knighthood, £30,000 for a baronetcy, and £50,000 if you wanted to become a Lord. The law came in three years later, but those esteemed Knights and Lords kept their titles.”
For someone who didn’t want to talk, Peabody had come to life.
“So, Sir George Howard was a fake,” Lucy pondered.
“Not a fake,” said Peabody. “A genuine knight of a corrupt realm. Take the whisky millionaire Frank Buchanan. He didn’t trust politicians, so in 1922 he wrote a huge cheque to the David Lloyd George political fund and signed it Baron Woolavington. No such baron existed, so the only way the Prime Minister could cash the cheque was to create that title. If you look in the records, Buchanan was awarded the title Baron Woolavington in the County of Sussex for being a generous supporter of many public and charitable objects.”
Lucy turned to Jane. “We have more in common with Fast Frankie than we thought.”
“This will hurt Libby and my mum.”
“Good grief, your mum’s history of the family.”
“That’ll be the official version. Like when a tinpot dictator writes a memoir.”
“Goodbye, ladies,” said Peabody. “I quite enjoyed that, but please don’t call again.”
Jane sighed. “Mum said we have no money, but we have our reputation, and no one can take that away from us.”
Lucy felt terrible. “Jane, we’ve just taken it away from her.”
“What shall we do?” Jane wondered as they began walking back to the car.
“I’m not sure,” said Lucy. “At this rate, we’ll discover our great-great-gran ran a brothel.”
“That would explain where George got the money to buy a knighthood.”
“I was joking,” Lucy explained.
Jane shrugged. “I wasn’t.”
*
Having dropped Jane home, Lucy pulled up outside Libby’s.
Over an early lunchtime sandwich, Libby took in the alarming results of Lucy and Jane’s enquiries. She seemed placid enough in the face of the barrage, although Lucy was concerned it might be shock.
“We’re not a perfect family after all,” Lucy added for no real reason other than the silence was deafening.