“I have one more act of kindness to ask of you. There are five volumes to be entrusted to Henry. This one is the first, the key.” He handed over the notebook with the letter attached. “You will find the others on the desk in my study. Please give them to Henry on the occasion of his twenty-first birthday.”
“Henry?”
“He is my heir, the elder. They must go to him.”
There was something in Claude’s face that made Sir Bernard concerned.
“You are unhappy with that?”
“Henry is not sound, he will not make a good custodian,” Claude said firmly.
“Henry is my heir. He is the elder. They must go to him.”
Claude reluctantly nodded his agreement.
“You will swear.” Sir Bernard spoke forcefully and Claude nodded again.
“You have my word. I will give them to Henry.”
“He will have the title and the estate.”
“But what of William?”
“I have made provision for William because it is unfair that an hour should make such a difference to his prospects.”
“As far as I am aware no one has been sufficiently foolish as to have suggested that what occurs in life should be, in any way, fair,” Claude said, still doubtful that his secrets should be in the hands of Henry, a boy he did not entirely trust.
“William will have neither Oakridge Court nor the title but he will have enough to allow him to live well and to set up his own establishment.”
“The boys will support each other?”
“They will be pulled apart as they grow older. I think of Henry as a boy of the body. He rides and shoots as well as any of the young bucks years older than he is but he shows the signs of an arrogance and an assumption of privilege that I admit to finding rather unpleasant. He expects all to do his bidding, especially his brother.”
“Whereas William is a boy of the mind?”
“Well put. William has never taken any pleasure in killing animals and birds. He prefers to observe when he walks or rides. He is certainly more bookish than his brother. Where Henry would get angry on a wet afternoon, William would find a book and lose himself in it. I imagine them to be the two sides of a coin, Henry is the head and William the tail but both, of course, with the same value.”
“You love them both.”
“I do, though I suspect Henry has more of his father in him and William more of his mother, so you will know which one I find easier to feel real affection for.”
The two men fell silent and night was beginning to fall when finally Sir Bernard stood.
“If it please Your Imperial Majesty, I will take my leave. May God go with you and with those we both love.” Sir Bernard bowed his head in salute and without meeting his friend’s eyes, left the room.
*
Just as he passed from the estate of The Lodge into that of Oakridge Court Sir Bernard Lacey stopped and reached inside his coat for his handgun.
As he took one last, lingering, look around him at the peaceful countryside he placed the barrel to his temple and fired.
*
Claude knew what was in his friend’s mind. The words ‘Your Imperial Majesty’ rang in his ears and as he waited for time to pass he let his mind return to past glories and to how much he owed the man who he knew had ended his existence. He watched the minute hand of the clock on the mantelpiece pass one full circle before leaning on his desk and slowly rising to his feet. He knew what he would find on the walk to Oakridge Court.
He had seen many dead in that previous life but not for many years, and the sight of his friend disturbed him more than he had reckoned. He stood over Sir Bernard’s body for some minutes before taking off his coat and covering the destroyed face.
Instead of walking back to The Lodge he continued on to Oakridge. He had to retrieve the diaries before notifying the authorities in Newport of his neighbour’s accident.
*
Claude sat in Sir Bernard’s chair looking at the folders.
He could not open them. He could not know exactly what information they contained but he believed them to tell every secret, every twist and every turn of their charade.
“Oh my friend, you cannot have me trust Henry with our secrets.” He spoke aloud to the silent room. He considered the day, ten years in the future, when he would give Henry the folders and the means to interpret their contents. “I cannot trust him. I cannot. But I gave my word to you.” Every instinct told him that Henry should not be handed the diaries. Henry would not obey his father’s commands. He would open the diaries and he would read them. He would then have immeasurable power. “I should destroy these, my friend, but I cannot.”
He placed his hand on the folders as if asking them for an answer to his dilemma.
Aware that he was betraying his friend who lay dead and unattended he made a decision.
*
The moon gave him his only light as he walked through the woods to the old chapel where his dead children lay.
He pushed aside the stone that covered the tomb of his daughter, Mary Lettice. Placing the four folders, wrapped in a heavy waxed cloth, on the small coffin inside he spoke quietly into the silence.
“Forgive me for failing you my friend. Forgive me, Maria Leticia, for disturbing your peace. I pray that you are not again disturbed but should you be I pray also that the man has education and judgement.”
Chapter 7
1839 to 1842
Since the earliest days of their marriage Claude and Patience had made Christmas Eve a special day. As the neighbouring families had grown it became a tradition for the Laceys to join the Olivierres for dinner and an evening of entertainments. As soon as they were old enough Henry and William, with their cousin Josephine, had joyfully planned and prepared the games they would all play through the long dark evening.
Though Christmas Eve in the first year after their parents’ deaths was a subdued affair, the passing of the years saw the boys’ enthusiasm return and every December, on their return from Winchester, they were involved in decorating the house with boughs of yew and loading the Yuletide tree with nuts and fruit.
Such was the expectation in The Lodge that Christmas Eve 1839 would be the same as that of 1838 and the preceding years that the failure of the brothers to have returned home by late afternoon was a great worry to Patience, to Josephine and also to Claude.
“Where are the boys?” Josephine had asked her mother as they sat together taking tea in their drawing room. “It’s Christmas Eve. They should have been here days ago.”
“Your father has heard nothing from them.”
“I suppose they think now that they are no longer schoolboys but are undergraduates at Oxford they are too important for our celebrations.”
“And you have done so well with the decorations,” her mother added. “And in the preparation of the games.”
“Perhaps they feel themselves too sophisticated for us,” Josephine said, trying not to sound too disappointed. She always looked forward to William and Henry returning home with news of what she always thought of as ‘the world’. “Perhaps they are reluctant to come home because they know what Father is going to tell them.”
“And what is it that your father is going to tell them?” Claude asked with a tolerant smile.
“He’s going to tell them that they must choose which of them is to marry me.”
*
When they were very young children the three had played together as equals but as they had grown older the boys had imposed their superior status over her to such an extent that, by the time their parents had died when Josephine was twelve years old and the boys not yet eleven, she was third in the hierarchy of three.
She had not known whether to be sad for them at losing their parents or jealous that they were sent away to the north island where they would meet new people and learn about the world. She accepted that, being a girl, she would be expected to learn all she needed in her schoolroom at The Lodge and all she wo
uld see of the world was on her weekly trips into Newport.
When the boys had arrived to live at The Lodge after their first term away at Winchester, Josephine had seen the opportunity to regain something of her old equality. Although the boys knew The Lodge well it was Josephine who knew the house rules. It was she who could tell them in which parts of the house they were allowed to be at different times of the day, when they were allowed to talk and when they must stay silent, and it was she who could teach them the behaviour expected when in the presence of her parents. For a year they reluctantly looked to her for guidance and she maintained what power she had by passing this essential information to the boys slowly, drop by drop.
Once they had become more familiar with the routines of the household, however, what Henry considered the natural order of things was re-established. As the elder boy he became the leader with William allowed to be his lieutenant, but Josephine was a girl and therefore no longer to be considered.
As the years passed the brothers had spent less and less time with their cousin. When they spent their holidays riding and shooting she had to stay inside, out of the sun and the wind, though they knew she escaped to walk for miles through the woods and down to the sea when she could. When it rained and they had to sit together reading, the books she was allowed to read had none of the excitement contained in the ones given to the boys.
By the time she was fifteen it was clear to Josephine that men were of a completely different species from women but she was very fond of both her cousins, as she would be of rather irritating younger brothers.
It was on her sixteenth birthday that her mother had told her that one day she would be expected to marry either Henry or William, and she knew that she would have no say in which one it would be. She rather assumed it would be Henry because of the title and the property but it had seemed something so far in the future as to be irrelevant.
On Christmas Eve 1839, however, Josephine was nineteen years and six months old and she knew the decision would be delayed no longer.
*
“Josephine!” Patience tried to sound shocked, but they both knew that Claude had decided that his daughter’s future was to be settled.
“Well it’s true isn’t it? One or other of them is to be my husband.”
“And you are not comfortable with that?”
Josephine was saved from having to answer her mother by the door opening.
“Aunt Patience, Uncle Claude, Cousin Josephine.” William made his bow. “We have arrived.”
“And none too soon.” Patience tried to hide her relief at seeing William with brusqueness. “You have now only two hours to prepare for dinner and it looks like you will need every minute of that to make yourself presentable.”
Josephine returned William’s smile as he lowered his head in a slight bow and left the room.
*
Three hours later the extended family sat down to their Christmas meal. Claude sat at the head of the dining table with Josephine to his right and Henry to his left. William, sitting next to his brother, was to the right of Patience, who faced her husband. It was the way they had been seated for every meal they had shared since the summer of 1832 when the boys had been so small they had had to have cushions on their chairs as they sat uncomfortably and self-consciously at the long table in the oak-lined dining room of The Lodge. Now, grown men, they each sat with the easy grace of familiarity.
“We are so pleased to see you both home again. You must tell us how you have been getting on in Oxford.” Patience spoke gently, her voice betraying neither her earlier worries nor her pleasure at having her family complete once more.
“We had hoped you would arrive with us on Friday.” Claude’s tone was harsher. “That would have allowed more time to prepare for the Christmas celebrations and would have saved your aunt considerable unease.”
“There was so much going on, you understand.” Henry, rudely, did not look at either his aunt or his uncle as he replied, gazing out of the large bay window at the familiar view.
William, trying, as he so often did, to make up for his brother’s lack of manners added hastily, “There was our college dinner on Friday so we couldn’t really leave until yesterday.”
“And we were held up because William insisted on travelling via Maidenhead and the new railway into London. It would have been quicker to have travelled to Portsmouth by coach via Reading but William would have it that we go with his friends to travel by train.”
“Was that exciting?” Josephine asked enthusiastically. “Tell us about it. Was it very dirty and very noisy? And fast? It must have been wonderfully fast!”
But William had no chance to describe the journey.
“However exciting were your travel arrangements you should have made your aunt aware of your intentions.” Claude was not going to let the young men off lightly.
“We are sorry Uncle, Aunt, truly sorry.” William tried to make amends. “But it really was very interesting. It won’t be many years before there’s a railway connection to Portsmouth and even a steam ferry, and then we will be up and down in no time at all. But yes, we should have let you know Aunt Patience. I am very sorry to have caused you concern.”
“Henry, you will also apologise to your aunt. She is the one who has been concerned for your well-being. You should have made us aware of your plans.” Claude looked severely at Henry.
“I am sorry that William’s plans caused worry.” Henry looked neither guardian in the eye as he absolved himself of any guilt.
“Well now that is over with can we be informed as to how you are taking to Oxford?” Josephine tried to lighten the atmosphere and reduce the tension that was threatening to ruin the boys’ homecoming. She looked at both brothers in turn as she spoke, not minding which answered.
“Oxford is such a bore.” Henry spoke in a languid tone that was the current fashion.
“No, Henry, it isn’t, it’s fascinating.” William contradicted his brother with enthusiasm. “There’s so much to see, so much to learn, so many interesting people to meet. And so much that is new, the steam railway is just one of the innovations that will change the world in our lifetimes.”
“You keep your new-fangled innovations to yourself, brother. Horses and carriages have been good enough for generations of Laceys, they will be good enough for me.” Henry wasn’t looking at his uncle so he wasn’t aware of the look of surprise, then of thoughtfulness, that crossed his uncle’s face. “I need my hunters when we return, if we return, to Oxford. It has been a great disadvantage not to have them with me. Someone should have equipped me in a manner proper to my status.”
“Well I will be returning.” William spoke with quiet determination.
“If we return,” and the elder brother put the emphasis on his first word as he turned to glare at his brother, “I shall have Wickens arrange stabling, and I’ll need a groom. I have missed out on some good sport and some excellent hospitality.”
“And what of your studies?” Josephine asked with faux innocence. She had always enjoyed teasing the boys.
“Studies? Why study? I’m there only to meet people of similar status to mine and enjoy myself. What possible use can study be to me?”
“To widen your mind to new thoughts and fresh ideas?” Josephine suggested with studied innocence.
William looked across at Josephine and smiled, trying to convey his agreement with her and approval of her goading of his brother.
When they had arrived at Oxford that Michaelmas, Henry had embarrassed his brother by insisting that he be addressed as ‘Sir Henry’. William had very soon become aware that in their new environment, away from boys and masters who had known him as a child, Henry would allow no one to forget that he was a baronet. William soon understood that Henry felt entitled to the unquestioning respect of those who were lower than he on the social scale and William suspected that Henry considered his brother, his cousin and his aunt and uncle to be in that inferior group.
While Wi
lliam had spent the term absorbing the newness of the world in which they found themselves Henry had fallen in with a group of dandies and young bucks whose time was spent on anything other than study. Henry rarely attended any lecture or seminar, his days being filled with sport and sleep and his nights with drinking and enjoying the company of the less inhibited women of the city. William, although attentive to his study of the Classics, had developed an interest in geology and had spent his weekends walking the Chilterns and Cotswolds, observing the different rocks and listening to his more experienced fellows arguing about the probable forces involved in their formation.
The brothers had consequently, inevitably, grown apart.
“What possible point is there in the study of the Classics, Uncle?” Henry asked, not expecting an answer. “What possible use can it be to me in my life? I will run my estate, when I am finally allowed to take over from Wickens, and in due course I will become a Member of Parliament despite the recent Act decimating the number of seats available on the island. I will marry and produce an heir. William, as the younger son, is fortunate in that he has no such responsibilities. He can do as he pleases.”
“Oh don’t be so pompous.” Josephine had not liked the look Henry had given her when he had mentioned marriage.
“What responsibilities?” William countered. “Wickens is a perfectly efficient Estate Manager who runs everything like clockwork. All you are required to do is approve his actions.”
“Well it’s more responsibility than you have. You shouldn’t be wasting your time digging up rocks, drawing coloured lines on maps and having earnest conversations with your bohemian friends. You should join the army. There are such adventures to be had in Afghanistan and China. I would jump at the chance of obtaining a commission but obviously, as the head of the Lacey family, I must not put myself in harm’s way.”
“Obviously,” Josephine said, hoping her father would fail to hear the sarcasm in her response.
A Set of Lies Page 13