Blood Line: What if your family was the last left alive? (The Blood Line Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Green

  Steven nodded again and then asked, ‘What about Aunt Margaret?’

  ‘She’d never survive the journey, even supposing we could get her out of the park.’

  ‘How will Allison feel about leaving her behind? You know how much Aunt Margaret relies on her.’

  ‘Warren and Adam will look after her. I’m sure Allison will come if she knows her mother is being well cared for.’ Mark said the words with as much conviction as he could muster, but he was worried.

  ‘We’ve forgotten Uncle Paul and the girls,’ Steven said before Mark could ponder the problem further.

  ‘Your Uncle Paul won’t leave. He told me that ages ago, and if he won’t leave, Cheryl and Bridget won’t go either.’

  ‘Great! We travel halfway round the world, and the one person we’ve come to rescue isn’t interested!’

  ‘If we hadn’t come to England, you wouldn’t have met Penny,’ Mark reminded him.

  Steven quickly changed the subject. ‘I think Adam and his sons should be offered places.’

  ‘If we take Luke and Robert, we’ve removed all the males of the third generation with the exception of Nigel’s sons. We’ll have transferred the problem from Gulf Harbour to Haver. I don’t think this community could survive with such a limited gene pool.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘Haver has to survive — however we feel about the present set-up. The human race can’t afford to have all its eggs in one basket.’

  The intensity of Mark’s focus was reinforced by his response to Steven’s next suggestion: ‘What about Diana? She’s got brains and a wide range of skills.’

  ‘She’s past childbearing age.’

  ‘Duncan, Andrea and Virginia?’

  ‘Andrea and Virginia have both got two strikes, and Duncan wouldn’t leave without his daughters.’

  In the end the list almost compiled itself. Some people were ruled out because they had two strikes. Others had a relative with two strikes they would be unwilling to leave behind. Some, like Paul, had indicated they wouldn’t leave England.

  Eventually Mark and Steven agreed that the eight adults were to be Penny Morgan, Fergus Steed, Allison Dalton (together with her daughters Charlene and Jessica), and Cameron Steed and his daughters Kimberley and Rebecca. Somehow they would also squeeze in the two children — Jessica’s son Tommy and Penny’s son Lee.

  At Steven’s insistence Mark finally agreed that if anyone dropped out, Adam and his sons Luke and Robert would be offered the final places. Despite agreeing, he remained concerned at the implications of robbing the Haver community of so many males.

  ‘Of course,’ Steven said at the conclusion of the discussion, ‘no one may want to leave England.’

  ‘In that case we’ll go by ourselves.’

  However, despite the firmness in his voice, Mark continually fretted during the following weeks about what would happen if either Penny or Allison refused to leave with them. It was his dread of putting the question to the test that spurred him on to try for the alternative to escaping — installing democracy at Haver.

  There were limited options as to how change might be achieved. First, Nigel could accept a request for the introduction of democracy. Second, the community could make a stand and force a move to democracy. Third, they could ignore the guns, walk out of the park and form a new community elsewhere.

  Mark knew that ideally he needed to have a plan in place before he approached the other families. The only person he could talk to safely was Steven, and he was afraid someone would overhear their conversations and report back to Nigel. Such an event could result in a trial for sedition and a third strike for Steven. Only when he and Steven were in open spaces, well away from any other people, would he discuss the subject.

  ‘Force is the only way,’ Steven concluded after many weeks of listening to his father’s suggestions and plans. ‘Nigel will never accept a voluntary move to democracy. If the community tries to force the issue, Damian will shoot as many as he can. He’ll do the same thing if they attempt to walk out of the park. That leaves only one option. And if you foul it up there’ll be a bloodbath.’

  ‘I realise that.’ There was frustration in Mark’s voice.

  ‘And if you do manage to disarm them, you’re either going to have to shoot them or imprison them indefinitely, because they’ll always be waiting to grab power back again. And if they manage to do that, they’ll take their revenge — which will definitely result in a bloodbath.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Mark said irritably. He knew Steven was right, but it didn’t help to be told.

  Steven rose to leave. ‘By the way, do you know what day it is today?’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘It’s Jane’s birthday,’ Steven said as he left the room.

  Steven’s reminder only added to Mark’s misery. Left alone, he once again began to worry about the situation at Gulf Harbour. How was Jane coping? Had she slipped back into depression? How were Zach and Nicole and Audrey? They must be growing up fast — and he wasn’t with them.

  Was Christopher’s illness being controlled by the Thyroxine tablets or had he died? Were any of them still alive? And if they were, what sort of shape were they in? It was now almost eighteen months since Steven and he had left New Zealand. Everything had been left in good order, but he knew that if any of the equipment had failed, those left behind would not have had the skills to fix it.

  But it was the memory of Jane and the rapist Tom that concerned him most. What if a gang of Toms had survived and stumbled across the community of three women and five young children? No, it wasn’t possible; the Chatfield family alone had survived — only they had the Chatfield blood line. But what if …

  50

  Over the next few weeks Mark became increasingly frustrated. He couldn’t be with Allison and he continued to worry about Jane, his grandchildren and what might be happening at Gulf Harbour.

  He had accepted Steven was right; the only practical option was to depose Nigel by force. Despite his best attempts, he’d been unable to construct a foolproof plan. He needed fresh ideas: he would declare his hand to Duncan at their next meeting. The community had to decide whether or not they were prepared to take a stand and attempt to overthrow Nigel. If they weren’t, he and Steven would try to go back to New Zealand.

  Steven obeyed his father’s orders not to take risks, in all respects except one. He couldn’t desert Penny. Most nights he would leave his quarters and creep silently down the corridors to her bed. Neither of them told anyone. Even Lee sleeping in the next room remained unaware of his mother’s nightly visitor.

  On the morning of the day Mark intended to have his discussion with Duncan, he and Steven were scheduled to prepare vegetable beds at the far end of the gardens. They would be well out of earshot of anyone else, and Mark decided he’d take the opportunity to run his latest plans past Steven.

  However, as they collected their tools, Damian arrived to say Steven was required to work in the staterooms. As Mark laboured in the gardens, he wondered whether he should wait another week before presenting his plans to Duncan. It would give him a chance to develop the plans further, but as the morning progressed, he began to chastise himself. It was just an excuse; he’d been putting off broaching the subject for weeks. He would definitely talk to Duncan at their meeting that evening.

  Steven, meanwhile, was led down the Crimson Gallery, where he passed the Morgan girls busily polishing the floor.

  At the end of the gallery they turned right into Lady Beatrice Grenville’s Bedroom. Steven had never been in the room before and was fascinated by the tapestries that lined the walls. He noticed the locked door leading to the adjoining dressing room. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered his journey with Fergus through the roof space above, and what they had seen through the periscope.

  ‘I want something done about this window,’ Damian ordered, pointing to the window that looked out over the gardens. ‘It sticks when it rains — and there’s a horr
ible smell.’

  Steven opened and closed the window several times, inspecting the joints. ‘No wonder it smells,’ he said eventually. ‘You’ve got rot all around the side and along the bottom here.’

  ‘Can you fix it?’

  ‘Sure. The rot needs to be cut out, and new wood grafted in.’

  ‘Well, get on with it then,’ Damian snapped.

  ‘I need to go to the workshop and get some wood and tools.’

  ‘Go on then. Go straight there and back, no wandering off and getting up to any of your old tricks.’

  Steven was surprised that he wasn’t being escorted. He retraced his steps, enjoying the freedom and taking the opportunity to joke with the Morgan girls along the way.

  When he returned, Damian was lolling on the four-poster bed, flicking through glossy magazines.

  Steven spent the morning painstakingly chiselling out the rotten wood. The rot had spread into the Jacobean oak panelling that was a feature of the room. As always, he was determined that when he’d finished the job no one would be able to see his repair.

  Damian spent most of the morning reading and watching Steven work. For once Damian was civil, but his presence made Steven nervous; he hated an audience when he was working.

  ‘I need to go and get some lunch,’ he said to Damian when the great clock struck twelve. He would be glad to get away.

  ‘I need some lunch myself. I’ll have something brought up here for both of us.’

  Before Steven could decline, Damian had pulled the tassel of the ancient mechanical bell cord beside his bed. Within seconds, Penny hurried into the room.

  ‘You rang, Sir Damian?’

  ‘Bring me a tray for two, we’ll take lunch in here today,’ he commanded.

  ‘For two, sir?’ she asked, wide-eyed. Damian was inviting Steven for lunch!

  ‘Yes. And bring us a bottle of that wine I had yesterday.’

  ‘And fruit juice for me,’ Steven said quickly.

  Damian glowered at him.

  ‘Bring us two wine glasses and two tumblers,’ Damian commanded, before waving Penny away.

  ‘Certainly, Sir Damian,’ she said as she bowed and hurried from the room.

  ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m not drinking wine. This is tricky work,’ Steven explained.

  A few minutes later Penny returned with a tray loaded with a huge plate of sandwiches, a bottle of wine, a jug of apple juice, two crystal tumblers and two wine glasses. She put the tray on the walnut table and left; Damian didn’t bother to thank her. Steven glanced across at the sandwiches; he was ravenous, but he knew he would have to wait until Damian gave him permission to eat.

  Eventually Damian got up from the bed and walked over to the tray. Steven continued working, but over his shoulder he could hear Damian uncork the wine bottle and pour the drinks.

  ‘Come and help yourself,’ Damian said. He’d already taken his own wine and food, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, eating. Steven put two sandwiches on his plate; he could have eaten half a dozen.

  He ignored the wine poured for him, picked up the glass of apple juice and carried it and the sandwiches over to the window-sill.

  ‘You can sit down here if you like,’ Damian said, patting the side of the bed.

  ‘Thanks, but I need to work out what to do next,’ Steven said, peering into the crevices of the wall to emphasise his point. He knew precisely what he was going to do next, but after months of hostility he was finding Damian’s civility unnerving.

  Everything about Damian’s presence made him uneasy. He’d only taken two sandwiches when he wanted six, and he was nibbling at them when what he really wanted to do was wolf them down. He even found himself sipping his apple juice as if he were at a cocktail party.

  When Damian stood up and walked towards the locked door to the dressing room, Steven was relieved. At last he would be rid of his unwelcome spectator. But as Damian reached the door, he turned and gave Steven a long, hard look. Instantly, Steven’s relief turned to absolute terror.

  He felt his legs weaken and suddenly his eyes were fighting to focus. The glass of fruit juice fell to the floor and smashed. Despite his blurred vision he saw Damian smiling as he prepared to unlock the door leading to his private room. The knowledge of what lay beyond the door aroused every instinct in Steven’s body, and he found himself lunging drunkenly towards Damian.

  The smile disappeared from Damian’s face as he saw Steven heading in his direction. Steven was running on autopilot; his anger and instinct for self-preservation were fighting to overcome the drug Damian had given him. In panic, Damian groped for his pistol.

  They all heard the shot. In the gardens Mark and Paul looked up from their work briefly, assuming one of the Chatfield brothers was out shooting rabbits. Fergus and Duncan, working in Flag Court, realised the shot had come from the staterooms and looked nervously at one another. Frightened, Melanie and Theresa Morgan ran along the Crimson Gallery away from the sound.

  Penny raced towards Damian’s bedroom. She arrived at the same time as Jasper, hurrying out of the doorway leading from the Sequin Bedroom opposite.

  She gasped when she saw Steven lying on the floor, pistol in hand. Damian sat slumped on the floor in front of the door he hadn’t managed to unlock. He was white-faced and clutching his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Miles and Nigel, who had been playing billiards in the Warwick Gallery, arrived moments after Penny and Jasper.

  ‘He shot me,’ whined Damian. ‘He stole my wine, got drunk and then he attacked me.’

  ‘But …’ began Penny.

  ‘Shut up,’ Jasper snapped as he tied his belt around his brother’s arm to form a tourniquet.

  ‘Lock him up,’ Nigel said, pointing to Steven. ‘You’, he continued, turning to Penny, ‘go and find Allison; tell her I want her here to look at Sir Damian’s arm.’

  Penny hesitated. She was more worried about Steven than Damian. Steven was lying on the floor, twitching and mumbling senselessly.

  ‘Now!’ Nigel yelled as he walked over and kicked the pistol out of Steven’s hand.

  Penny rushed along the Crimson Gallery and through the Ballroom. As she entered the Turner Gallery she met Allison, who’d also heard the shot and was hurrying to investigate.

  ‘Sir Damian’s been shot,’ Penny blurted, tears streaming down her face. ‘They’re saying Steven did it.’

  ‘Where did it happen?’ Allison asked, her pace quickening.

  ‘In Sir Damian’s bedroom.’

  As they reached the landing of the Great Staircase they met Jasper and Miles, who were holding Steven up as they dragged him along. His legs were barely functioning.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Allison demanded.

  ‘He’s drunk,’ Jasper said.

  ‘It looks more serious than that to me.’

  ‘Go and look at my brother,’ Jasper snapped. ‘Your loyalty is to the Chatfield family, not this mongrel.’

  ‘He needs help, too,’ Allison said defiantly.

  ‘He doesn’t need any help. He’s going to the block. He’ll be dead tomorrow morning.’

  The words brought a hysterical scream and a fresh flood of tears from Penny.

  ‘Go and help my brother. Or else,’ Jasper threatened Allison as he and Miles dragged Steven down the stairs. Allison hurried along the Crimson Gallery towards Damian’s bedroom. ‘And you,’ Jasper called back up the staircase to Penny, ‘stop snivelling and get back to work, and get those sisters of yours back to work too.’

  Penny took no notice. She cut through the Ballroom and down the servants’ staircase into the private gardens. From there she ran as fast as she could out through the West Gate to the vegetable gardens.

  The Grey family heard her sobbing before they saw her. Greg heard her also, from the top of the tower. He challenged her to stop but she ignored him. He fired a warning shot in front of her but she kept running. Mark caught her and placed himself between her and Greg. She was trembling and distraught.
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br />   ‘Steven’s shot Damian,’ she blurted, trying to catch her breath.

  ‘What!’ Mark exclaimed in disbelief.

  ‘Steven got drunk and shot Damian.’

  By this time the whole of the Grey family had stopped work and gathered around.

  ‘Is Damian dead?’

  ‘No, he’s just wounded in the arm.’

  ‘Pity,’ Cheryl said dryly.

  ‘Careful what you say,’ Paul cautioned angrily. ‘This is bad. It could mean Steven’s third strike.’

  He didn’t need to say any more. The words brought more tears from Penny. ‘They say he’s going to the block tomorrow morning,’ she sobbed.

  ‘He won’t go to the block,’ Mark said. ‘There hasn’t even been a trial yet. There’s got to be an explanation.’ He was not sure whether he was trying to convince Penny or himself. ‘Where’s Steven now?’

  ‘Nigel said he was to be locked up.’

  ‘Cromwell’s Tower probably,’ Paul said.

  They all turned and began walking towards the West Gate.

  ‘Hold it there,’ Greg shouted from the top of the tower. They looked up. Greg had swapped his rifle for the machine gun, which was mounted on a tripod and pointing down at the family. ‘If you take another step, you’ll get it — all of you.’

  ‘There’s been a shooting,’ Mark shouted up at him.

  ‘And if you take one more step in this direction, there’ll be another one.’

  They knew he meant it.

  ‘We’d better get back to work,’ Paul said anxiously.

  ‘Is Steven hurt?’ Mark asked Penny.

  ‘No, but he’s drunk.’

  ‘Drunk! I’ve never known Steven to drink when he’s working.’

  ‘Get back to work,’ Greg shouted from the top of the tower. ‘And Penny, get back in the house.’

  ‘Yes, get back to work!’ Jasper bellowed.

  Mark looked up again. Jasper was leaning over the parapet while Miles was talking to Greg, obviously giving his version of what had happened to Damian.