Only Time Will Tell

by Jeffrey Archer

  He remained silent while the three boys took turns tuning into the two stations and listening intently to the strange voices and music that came out of the speaker. This was regularly followed by laughter or applause.

  Mrs Barrington chatted to Harry about a recent concert of the Messiah she’d attended, adding how much she’d enjoyed his rendition of I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Barrington,’ said Harry.

  ‘Are you hoping to go on to Bristol Grammar School after you leave St Bede’s, Clifton?’ asked Hugo, spotting an opening.

  ‘Only if I win a scholarship, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘But why is that important?’ asked Mrs Barrington. ‘Surely you will be offered a place, like any other boy?’

  ‘Because my mother wouldn’t be able to afford the fees, Mrs Barrington. She’s a waitress at the Royal Hotel.’

  ‘But wouldn’t your father—’

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Harry. ‘He was killed in the war.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘I didn’t realize.’

  At that moment the door opened and the under-butler entered the room carrying a large cake on a silver tray. After Giles had succeeded in blowing out all twelve candles with one puff, everyone applauded.

  ‘And when’s your birthday, Clifton?’ asked Hugo.

  ‘It was last month, sir,’ Harry replied.

  After Giles had cut the cake, Hugo stood up and left the room without another word.

  He went straight to his study, but found he couldn’t concentrate on his papers for the next day’s board meeting. Clifton’s reply meant he would have to seek advice from a lawyer who specialized in the law of heredity.

  After an hour or so he heard voices in the hall, then the front door closing and the sound of a car driving away. A few minutes later there was a knock on his study door, and Elizabeth walked in.

  ‘What made you leave us so abruptly?’ she asked. ‘And why didn’t you come and say goodbye, when you must have known Giles and his guests were leaving?’

  ‘I have a very tricky board meeting tomorrow morning,’ he said without looking up.

  ‘That’s no reason not to say goodbye to your son, especially on his birthday.’

  ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ he said, still looking down at his notes.

  ‘Surely nothing is so important that you need to be rude to guests. You were more offhand with Harry Clifton than you would be with one of the servants.’

  Hugo looked up for the first time. ‘That’s possibly because I consider Clifton inferior to our servants.’ Elizabeth looked shocked. ‘Did you know that his father was a dock labourer and his mother is a waitress? I’m not sure that’s the sort of boy Giles should be mixing with.’

  ‘Giles clearly thinks otherwise, and whatever his background, Harry’s a charming boy. I can’t understand why you’re so against him. You didn’t treat Deakins that way, and his father’s a newsagent.’

  ‘He’s also an open scholar.’

  And Harry is the school’s prize choral scholar, as every church-going citizen in Bristol knows. Next time you come across him, I hope you’ll be a little more civil.’ Without another word, Elizabeth left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Sir Walter Barrington remained in his place at the head of the boardroom table as his son entered the room.

  ‘I’m becoming increasingly concerned about the government’s proposed legislation on import tariffs,’ said Hugo as he took a seat on the right of his father, ‘and the effect it might have on our balance sheet.’

  ‘That’s why we have a lawyer on the board,’ said Sir Walter, ‘so that he can advise us on such matters.’

  ‘But I’ve calculated that it could cost us twenty thousand pounds a year if it becomes law. Don’t you think we ought to seek a second opinion?’

  ‘I suppose I could have a word with Sir James Amhurst when I’m next in London.’

  ‘I’m travelling up to London on Tuesday for the Association of British Ship Owners’ annual dinner,’ said Hugo. ‘As he’s the industry’s legal adviser, perhaps I should have a word with him.’

  ‘Only if you’re convinced it’s necessary,’ said Sir Walter. ‘And don’t forget that Amhurst charges by the hour, even at dinner.’

  The Association of British Ship Owners’ dinner was held at the Grosvenor House, and was attended by over a thousand members and their guests.

  Hugo had earlier phoned the association’s secretary and asked if he could be seated next to Sir James Amhurst. The secretary raised an eyebrow, but agreed to rearrange the guests on the top table. After all, old Joshua Barrington had been a founder member of the association.

  After the Bishop of Newcastle had said grace, Hugo made no attempt to interrupt the eminent silk while he was deep in conversation with the man on his right. However, when the lawyer finally turned his attention to the stranger they’d put on his left, Hugo didn’t waste any time in getting to the point.

  ‘My father, Sir Walter Barrington,’ he began, capturing his quarry’s attention, ‘is rather concerned about the import tariff bill that is going through the House of Commons, and the effects it might have on the industry. He wonders if he could consult you on the subject when he’s next in London.’

  ‘By all means, dear boy,’ said Sir James. ‘Just ask his secretary to give my clerk a call and I’ll make sure I’m free when he’s next in town.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hugo. ‘On a lighter note, I wondered if you’d ever read anything by Agatha Christie?’

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ said Sir James. ‘Is she any good?’

  ‘I’m much enjoying her latest book, Where There’s a Will,’ said Hugo, ‘but I’m not sure if the plot would stand up in a court of law.’

  ‘What’s the lady suggesting?’ asked Amhurst as a sliver of over-cooked beef served on a cold plate was placed in front of him.

  ‘According to Miss Christie, the eldest son of an hereditary knight automatically inherits his father’s title, even if the child is illegitimate.’

  ‘Ah, now that is indeed an interesting legal conundrum,’ said Sir James. ‘In fact, the Law Lords have quite recently reviewed such a case. Benson v. Carstairs, if I remember correctly. It’s often referred to by the press as “the bastard’s amendment”.’

  ‘And what conclusion did their lordships come to?’ asked Hugo, trying not to sound too interested.

  ‘If no loophole could be found in the original will, they came out in favour of the first born, even if the young man in question was illegitimate.’ Another answer Hugo hadn’t wanted to hear. ‘However,’ Sir James continued, ‘their lordships decided to cover their backsides, and added a codicil that each case should be treated on its own merits, and then only after it had been reviewed by the Garter King of Arms. Typical of the Law Lords,’ he added before picking up his knife and fork and attacking the beef. ‘Too frightened to set a precedent, but quite happy to pass the buck.’

  When Sir James returned his attention to the man on his right, Hugo thought about the implications of Harry Clifton discovering that he might have the right to inherit not only the Barrington shipping line, but also the family estate. Having to admit he had sired an illegitimate son would be bad enough, but the idea of Harry Clifton inheriting the family title after his death and becoming Sir Harry did not bear thinking about. He would be willing to do anything in his power to make sure that wouldn’t be the outcome.

  24

  HUGO BARRINGTON was having breakfast when he read the letter from the headmaster of St Bede’s, outlining the details of an appeal the school was launching to raise a thousand pounds to build a new cricket pavilion for the First XI. He opened his cheque book and had written the figures ‘100’ when he was distracted by the sound of a car coming to a halt on the gravel outside.

  Hugo walked across to the window to see who could possibly be visiting him so early on a Saturday morning. He was puzzled when he saw his son step out of t
he back of a taxi carrying a suitcase, as he’d been looking forward to watching him open the batting for the school that afternoon in the final match of the season against Avonhurst.

  Jenkins appeared just in time to open the front door as Giles reached the top step. ‘Good morning, Master Giles,’ he said, as if he’d been expecting him.

  Hugo walked quickly out of the breakfast room to find his son standing in the hall, head bowed, suitcase by his side. ‘What are you doing at home?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t there another week to go before the end of term?’

  ‘I’ve been rusticated,’ said Giles simply.

  ‘Rusticated?’ repeated his father. ‘And what have you done to merit that, may I ask?’

  Giles looked up at Jenkins, who stood silently by the front door. ‘I’ll take Master Giles’s suitcase up to his bedroom,’ the butler said, before picking up the bag and proceeding slowly up the stairs.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Hugo once the butler was out of sight.

  Neither of them spoke again until Hugo had closed the study door behind him. ‘What have you done to cause the school to take such a drastic measure?’ demanded his father as he sank back into his chair.

  ‘I was caught stealing from the tuck shop,’ said Giles, who had been left standing in the middle of the room.

  ‘Is there some simple explanation? A misunderstanding, perhaps?’

  ‘No, there isn’t, sir,’ said Giles, fighting back tears.

  ‘Do you have anything to say in your defence?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Giles hesitated. ‘Except …’

  ‘Except what?’

  ‘I always gave the sweets away, Papa. I never kept them for myself.’

  ‘To Clifton, no doubt.’

  ‘And to Deakins as well,’ said Giles.

  ‘Was it Clifton who put you up to it in the first place?’

  ‘No, it was not,’ responded Giles firmly. ‘In fact, once he found out what I’d been up to, Harry always took the sweets I gave him and Deakins back to the tuck shop. He even took the blame when Mr Frobisher accused him of stealing them.’

  A long silence followed before his father said, ‘So you’ve been rusticated, not actually expelled?’

  Giles nodded.

  ‘Do you think they will allow you to go back next term?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Giles.

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘Because I’ve never seen the headmaster so angry.’

  ‘Not half as angry as your mother will be when she finds out.’

  ‘Please don’t tell her, Papa,’ pleaded Giles, bursting into tears.

  ‘And how do you expect me to explain to her why you’re home a week early and might not even be returning to St Bede’s next term?’

  Giles made no attempt to respond, but continued to sob quietly.

  ‘And Heaven knows what your grandparents will say,’ his father added, ‘when I have to tell them why you won’t be going to Eton after all.’

  Another long silence followed.

  ‘Go to your room, and don’t even think about coming back down until I say so.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Giles. He turned to leave.

  ‘And whatever you do, don’t discuss this with anyone, especially not in front of the servants.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ said Giles, who ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Jenkins as he shot past him on the stairs.

  Hugo leant forward in his chair, trying to think if there might be some way to turn the situation around before he had to face an inevitable call from the headmaster. He placed his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands, but it was some time before his eyes focused on the cheque.

  A smile crossed his lips as he added an extra nought before signing it.

  25

  MITCHELL WAS SEATED in the far corner of the waiting room, reading the Bristol Evening Post when Hugo walked across and sat down beside him. It was so draughty that Hugo kept his hands in his pockets.

  ‘The subject,’ said Mitchell, still looking at his newspaper, ‘is trying to raise five hundred pounds for a business venture.’

  ‘What sort of business venture could she possibly be interested in?’

  ‘Tilly’s tea shop,’ replied Mitchell. ‘It seems the subject worked there before she moved to the Palm Court room at the Royal. Miss Tilly has recently had an offer of five hundred pounds for the business from a Mr Edward Atkins. Miss Tilly doesn’t care for Atkins and has made it clear to the subject that if she were able to raise the same amount, she would prefer her to take over the business.’

  ‘Where could she possibly hope to get hold of that much money?’

  ‘Perhaps from someone who wished to have financial control over her, which might at a later date prove advantageous?’

  Hugo remained silent. Mitchell’s eyes never left his paper.

  ‘Has she approached anyone to try and raise the money?’ Hugo eventually asked.

  ‘She’s currently taking advice from a Mr Patrick Casey, who represents Dillon and Co., a finance company based in Dublin. They specialize in raising loans for private clients.’

  ‘How do I get in touch with Casey?’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise that,’ said Mitchell.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He visits Bristol about once a month, and always stays at the Royal.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have to meet at the Royal.’

  ‘He has struck up a close personal relationship with the subject. Whenever he’s in town he takes her to dinner or the theatre, and recently she’s been seen returning with him to the hotel, where they spend the night together in room 371.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Hugo. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘It may also interest you to know that the subject banks with the National Provincial, 49 Corn Street. The manager is a Mr Prendergast. Her current account is showing a balance of twelve pounds and nine shillings.’

  Hugo would like to have asked how Mitchell had come across that particular piece of information, but satisfied himself with saying, ‘Excellent. The moment you come up with anything else, however insignificant, ring me.’ He took a bulky envelope from his overcoat pocket and slipped it across to Mitchell.

  ‘The train now arriving at platform nine is the seven twenty-two from Taunton.’

  Mitchell pocketed the envelope, folded his newspaper and walked out of the waiting room. He’d never once looked at his employer.

  Hugo had been unable to hide his anger when he discovered the real reason Giles had failed to be offered a place at Eton. He’d phoned the headmaster, who refused to take his calls, his prospective housemaster, who sympathized but offered no hope of redemption, and even the provost, who said he’d call back, but didn’t. Although Elizabeth and the girls had no idea what had caused Hugo to so regularly lose his temper of late, and for no apparent reason, they continued to bear the brunt of Giles’s misdemeanours with equanimity.

  Hugo reluctantly accompanied Giles to Bristol Grammar School on his first day of term, although he wouldn’t allow either Emma or Grace to join them, despite Emma bursting into tears and sulking.

  When Hugo brought the car to a halt in College Street, the first person he saw standing outside the school gates was Harry Clifton. Even before he pulled on the brake, Giles had leapt out and run across to greet his friend.

  Hugo avoided mingling with the other parents, whom Elizabeth seemed quite happy to chat to, and when he inadvertently came across Clifton, he made a point of not shaking hands with him.

  On the journey back to the Manor House, Elizabeth asked her husband why he treated Giles’s best friend with such disdain. Hugo reminded his wife that their son should have gone to Eton, where he would have mixed with other gentlemen and not with the sons of local tradesmen and, in Clifton’s case, far worse. Elizabeth retreated into the comparative safety of silence, as she had so often done recently.

  26

  ‘LOCAL TEA SHOP burnt to the ground! Arson suspected!’ hollered the pap
erboy standing on the corner of the Broad.

  Hugo threw on the brakes, leapt out of his car and handed the lad a ha’penny. He began reading the front page as he walked back to his car.

  Tilly’s Tea Shop, a Bristol landmark, much frequented by local citizens, was razed to the ground in the early hours of the morning. Police have arrested a local man in his early thirties and charged him with arson. Miss Tilly, who now lives in Cornwall …

  Hugo smiled when he saw the photograph of Maisie Clifton and her staff standing on the pavement, grimly surveying the burnt-out remains of Tilly’s. The gods were clearly on his side.

  He climbed back into his car, placed the newspaper on the passenger seat and continued on his journey to Bristol Zoo. He would need to make an early appointment to see Mr Prendergast.

  Mitchell had advised him that if he hoped to keep the fact that he was the subject’s backer confidential, any meetings with Prendergast should be held in Barrington’s offices, and preferably after Miss Potts had gone home for the night. Hugo didn’t attempt to explain to Mitchell that he wasn’t sure if Miss Potts did go home at night. He was looking forward to the meeting with Prendergast, when he would administer the last rites, but there was someone else he needed to see before he could do that.

  Mitchell was feeding Rosie when he arrived.

  Hugo walked slowly across, leant on the railing and pretended to take an interest in the Indian elephant that Bristol Zoo had recently acquired from Uttar Pradesh, and was already attracting a large number of visitors. Mitchell tossed up a lump of bread, which Rosie caught in her trunk and transferred to her mouth in one fluid movement.

  ‘The subject has returned to work at the Royal Hotel,’ said Mitchell as if he was addressing the elephant. ‘She’s doing the late shift in the Palm Court from ten at night until six the following morning. She’s paid three pounds a week, plus whatever she can make in tips, which, as there are so few customers at that time of night, doesn’t add up to much.’ He threw another crust at the elephant, and continued, ‘A Bob Burrows has been arrested and charged with arson. Burrows was her patisserie supplier before the subject sacked him. He’s made a full confession, even admitting that he had planned to propose to the subject and had purchased an engagement ring, but she’d spurned him; or at least that’s his story.’