To the Manor Born

by Peter Rimmer

  * * *

  Soon after Robert had stared dumbstruck at the piece of steak that covered his plate an inch thick, Samantha had steered the subject away from Harry Brigandshaw, a man she had heard so much about from Glen even before they were married. The man who had farmed in southern Africa was special to her husband. Someone unique. His brief visit to Elephant Walk, even among tragedy, a highlight of Glen’s life. She had never met this Harry Brigandshaw and knew she never would. Glen was making a gesture, probably with publicity in mind. The poor man was dead as mutton somewhere in the jungle of Africa. Only the legend of the man would live after him. The legend and the legend’s children. It was the thought of the poor children growing up without their father that made her change the subject. And, the hope Freya would admit she was pregnant as everyone around her knew. The girl was positively glowing. The idea of sharing with Freya the things that had to be done before the baby was born was going to give Samantha a lot of pleasure. She loved her family. They were everything in her life. Without them, there never could have been any reason for her life. The very thought of Glen going to look for Harry in the jungles of Africa had made her sick to the stomach.

  “Where are you both going to live?” she asked.

  “We are not sure,” said Robert. “Probably have a permanent home in Denver as well as my flat in London.”

  “How can you do that with children?” asked Samantha.

  “How do you mean?” said Freya on the defensive.

  “Oh, come on. You’re among friends. Any woman who has had children can tell when another woman is pregnant.”

  “No, they can’t.”

  “Then why the wedding all of a sudden? Where are you going to have the baby? Is he going to be American or English?”

  “He’ll be born in England,” said Robert see no point in lying. “I owe that much to my ancestors. Unless Merlin has children, our son will one day inherit the title.”

  “Goodness me. I never thought of that,” said Freya. “Isn’t Merlin looking for a wife?”

  “He’s so set in his ways he can’t even change the menu for breakfast. After twenty years, Smithers is the housewife in that establishment.”

  “So Freya is pregnant?” said Samantha.

  “We agreed some time ago to only marry if we had children. The whole point of a marriage is a family. Now are you satisfied, Samantha?”

  “Not until I’ve had a good chinwag with Freya on her own. Real good women talk.” She was smiling all over her face.

  To change the subject again, Glen thought it time to speak. There was still a stigma in America for a child being conceived out of wedlock.

  “Max Pearl was in Denver just before you came back from England, Robert.”

  “What did he want in Denver? Rather far from his New York haunts. Now there’s a man who should find a nice wife and settle down.”

  “Again?” said Samantha. She knew from Glen, Max Pearl had been divorced three times.

  “He questioned me about Holy Knight seeing I introduced the two of you. He said a critic from The Boston Globe gave you a grilling at the London launch of your book. The critic suggested the parchments you based the book on don’t exist. The hole in the dining room wall was part of your vivid imagination, Robert. Now you’ve come clean about the baby tell me the truth.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can shut up Max Pearl when he brings up the subject again. To tell a good lie you have to know the truth.”

  “Of course parchments nearly seven hundred years old don’t exist. I got the story from father. Passed down the centuries. Same thing without proof. Max wanted to know for certain before we published in America so I invented great-grandfather’s dinner party. Yes, great-grandfather did go through the family money so the story to me had the ring of truth. The wine in the face and ducking the goblet. That bit did happen and the goblet hit the wall behind great-grandfather. Only there wasn’t a hollow ring. Or there may have been but that wasn’t told when the story was retold time and again. Our family have numerous stories from the past.”

  “You told Hank Curley of The Boston Globe you were going to send him the parchments or rather Barnaby said he was going to send them. How did Barnaby get into the act?”

  “We were going to forge them. Chaucerian English from the original French would have been my explanation. Until Freya went to the British Museum in London and realised just how hard it was going to be to make our parchments sound authentic. Harder than writing the actual book in today’s English. Barnaby had invited Hank Curley to Purbeck Manor to meet my father and mother during a conversation they had at the launch party. Before we did all the work on our forgeries we told Barnaby to send the man a written invitation this time. The man never replied. Probably chasing some other poor novelist to expose as if writing a good book is easy. Holy Knight is history to The Boston Globe thank goodness. Just don’t tell Max. He is rather meticulous about the truth when he has vouched for it himself. The parchments in the wall were part of his publicity splurge. Anyway, that’s over and I’m into another book now.

  “That chalet on the ski slopes is just as beautiful in summer. And for me and Freya is just as creative. She’s writing a play for Oscar Fleming. I told him I don’t write plays. He produces Christopher Marlowe’s with other people’s money. First, it was poor Harry. Now it is Barnaby’s money. Marlowe’s good. Harry made a fortune out of Happy Times. Barnaby has got back his money already from A Walk in the Woods and the show is still running. He’ll likely double his money.”

  “What’s it about, Freya? The play?”

  “She won’t tell me so she won’t tell you. What’s this about Americans being so damn honest? I wish I’d never come out with the parchments in the first place. Max is so damn gullible my tongue ran away with me while I wound him up. Lapped it up like a puppy dog.”

  * * *

  Keppel Howland arrived in Denver the day before the wedding with Ralph Madgwick and Rebecca Rosenzweig. Rebecca was to stay with a family of a banking associate of Sir Jacob. The family were Orthodox Jews. Sir Jacob knew his daughter would be watched better than he could watch her himself. Especially when he looked back on the hours in his office during which Rebecca had found a way of contacting Ralph Madgwick. With Ralph becoming a Jew he would have to behave himself Sir Jacob had rationalised. He had had the impression his daughter would have taken an aeroplane to Denver anyway. The compromise with the Orthodox family was the way for father and daughter to keep face with each other.

  * * *

  The meeting took place that afternoon in Glen Hamilton’s office. Within two hours the basic details were agreed upon. Glen was a little taken aback when Keppel asked for some of the money in advance. The expedition to Africa had not even got underway. As they were leaving for the church, Robert told him the story of the Madgwick and Madgwick bursary that had sent Keppel up to Oxford. That Keppel’s father was not rich from running sheep on a farm in the Isle of Man.

  “Chap’s broke. Happens to all of us. Just scraped up the boat fair to New York. Staying with Ralph. I mean you can’t make money right away out of a bachelor of arts in English. How much did you give him?”

  “One hundred dollars.”

  “You’re a skinflint.”

  “I have to account for my money! I don’t own the paper.”

  “Right. Take it from me now. When your board of directors agrees on this expedition it can all be part of the accounting or whatever they do. I don’t know. I’m a novelist. When I need money I just ask my publishers. Anyway, it’s vulgar to talk about money.”

  Glen gave Robert a look which suggested the English were beyond his comprehension. Then they all packed into the one car to go to the wedding. Glen Hamilton was Robert’s best man. Samantha the matron of honour. Closer to the church they were going to split up and make it look as if they had come in separate cars, the groom to wait at the altar for his bride like all good grooms.

  “I can lie to you,” Freya had said. “I c
an lie to myself. I cannot lie to God. God knows I am pregnant. Knows I have lived in sin. I asked him forgiveness for the white dress that signifies a virgin. Even my mother has not been told I’m going to have a baby. My father will count the days after the baby is born and not explain to my mother. My father is very pleased to have me out of the house, so to speak. He considers me at thirty an old maid. Now, Robert, please start the car so you and I can go and get married. This baby will wait for no one.”

  * * *

  There were far more people in the church than had received invitations, the invitations going out at such short notice. Robert, one of the first in the church with Glen Hamilton, had kept turning around from where he stood all dressed up in front of the altar to find out what was going on.

  “Who are they all?” asked Robert.

  “Mostly the press by the faces I recognise,” said Glen. “Didn’t you know, Robert? You are famous. You make good copy. For all those people who have read your books. Take it as a compliment. Now turn round and face the priest. Here comes the bride.”

  * * *

  Freya, coming down the aisle on the arm of her father was also surprised to see so many people she had never before seen in her life. She looked from side to side for friendly faces to smile at. One of them was the girl she had last seen at the pedestrian crossing into Central Park. They smiled at each other. The girl was radiant. A man next to her gave Freya a broad smile. The man was likely Ralph Madgwick. So many people weaving their lives in and out of each other. Touching each other with devastating consequence. How the generations came and went. Mostly by chance. Freya’s whole mind was whirling around like a kaleidoscope, nothing making sense.

  Robert was turning around with Glen Hamilton to have a look at her. The look of gentle pleasure on Robert’s face turned in an instant to horror. For a moment Freya thought Robert was going to make a run for it. Then they were standing side by side being married to each other and the bells in the tower above in the belfry were ringing out. They were walking back. The car was waiting to take them to her parents’ house where the guests would celebrate the wedding.

  “What was that all about back in the church? You saw me and panicked.”

  “Hank Curley. He’s at our wedding.”

  “My mother did say the press had been phoning ever since we announced the date of our wedding. She just told them to come along. She always has too much food.”

  “What are we going to say to him?”

  “Nothing. Just hope he has forgotten all about your great-grandfather.”

  * * *

  One of the first people to shake Robert’s hand in the marquee was Hank Curley. People were swarming over the food and drink. Hank Curley had made a straight line for Robert.

  “So Barnaby couldn’t get here in time? He said he was going to catch the Mauretania but the time would be short. I really appreciated your father’s invitation to visit with him in Dorset. Meet your mother. See the wall where the chalice hit the spot.”

  Robert tried his best to look natural. He even smiled at Hank Curley. Like an old friend.

  “When are you going over? Are you flying?”

  “No. Six days on the RMS Olympic. I like your British boats. Do me good, a sea voyage however short… Never met a real-life lord before.”

  “When does she sail? The RMS Olympic?”

  “On the fifteenth of next month.”

  “Jolly good. Have a lovely trip. We shall see each other most likely. My wife and I are going to England for our honeymoon.”

  Glen had been standing behind Robert listening to the conversation. He left them to go and talk to Freya. To warn her she was now going to England for her honeymoon.

  * * *

  They left for England the next morning. Mr and Mrs Taylor drove them to the airfield. Mrs Taylor was in one of her calibrated states at the thought of her daughter getting on an aeroplane.

  Ralph Madgwick had phoned Rosie Prescott from Mr Taylor’s study while the orchestra was still playing in the marquee that had been set up on the lawn between Mr Taylor’s rose beds. Ralph was in the business of shipping. One good deed deserved another. Rosie had been instructed to use the influence of Madgwick and Madgwick to get the honeymooners a cabin on the Mauritania. The four-funnelled ship that held the Blue Ribbon for crossing the Atlantic in the fastest time had docked in New York the night before the wedding. Aircraft did not fly with passengers at night which was why Barnaby had stayed in England. The big liner was due to sail for England on the following evening two days after the wedding. With three stops including one overnight, the aircraft would get them to New York in time to board the Mauritania for Liverpool. The ship sprinted across the Atlantic in four days. It would get them to England well ahead of the RMS Olympic and Hank Curley of The Boston Globe. Robert would have almost three weeks at home to convince his parents to tell a lie. Three weeks would not have been enough time to forge the parchments. Robert’s father would play the high and mighty. Tell Hank Curley, if he asked them, that the parchments were not for public scrutiny. That the skeletons in the St Clair cupboard were to be left by the family exactly as they were.

  Barnaby was going to have to help. Their father would have to be coached properly or he would get it all wrong.

  Robert hoped the threat of Max Pearl suing him for breach of contract would concentrate his father’s mind. Robert was quite certain Max would turn any publicity away from himself. His reputation as a publisher was at stake. There were many other writers in his stable. Robert would be thrown to the wolves. Sued for the financial loss of all the returns of his books that would flood back from the retailers, let alone the lost sales in the future. Max would ruin Robert before losing his own hard-worked for reputation and who could blame him.

  The only answer was for the St Clair family to unite. Hank Curley had to leave Purbeck Manor knowing the parchments were safe but the content never to be divulged to the public. Barnaby’s crackpot idea of forgery was now far too dangerous. This time Robert knew he was in a real crisis with no time for games. It was not the kind of wedding present he had expected giving to his new wife. But first, he told his feverish mind they had to reach New York in time to board the Mauritania. The next boat to sail with passengers for England was the RMS Olympic making it likely he and Hank would arrive at Purbeck Manor with no time for him to properly warn the family. Convincing his father to lie was one thing. Convincing his mother quite another. Using a phrase in his mind he had first used in the first of his books, the one Max Pearl had been given in manuscript by Glen Hamilton just after the war, Robert told himself he was tense as a turkey on Christmas Eve. Which barely made him smile. All they needed was for the car to break down. For the aircraft to break down before it climbed into the air. Robert now knew just how the poor turkey felt.

  The airfield was a well-cut strip of grass in the centre of which was a long line of tarmac. At the end of the tarmac was the aeroplane. It looked small with four round windows down the side facing them. A car was standing next to the aircraft. Mr Taylor drove on to the field. The pilot was waiting for them, his only passengers. Freya and Robert had overnight suitcases. They were going to buy more clothes in New York.

  Mrs Taylor was holding on to her daughter as if she did not wish to let her go.

  “Be careful, darling. For both of you.”

  Robert and Freya climbed up the rickety steps on to the plane. The small door was closed by the pilot from the inside. They sat down looking through one of the round windows. They could see Mr and Mrs Taylor on the tarmac. They all waved at each other as the propellers of the twin engines began to turn noisily. The aircraft began to move forward, to turn and face into the wind. Mrs Taylor was holding her stomach in a strange way, mouthing something the noise of the engines drowned out. The parents moved out of their line of sight as the plane’s engines revved up in preparation for flight.

  “Your mother knows,” shouted Robert. “She knows you are pregnant. The ‘both of you’ had nothing
to do with me.”

  “Relax. We’re all going to make it. I’m sure your mother will understand everything.”

  “You don’t know my mother. She’s never told a lie in her life.”

  The one person Robert was not going to visit in New York was Max Pearl, even if they did have the six hours to spare as they expected.

  As usual, Rosie Prescott had done a good job. She was going to meet them in the company car at the airport and take them shopping for clothes they would need on the boat where dressing up for meals was obligatory.

  Freya was holding his hand. They were married. If he could think clearly for a moment he knew that nothing else much mattered.

  * * *

  When Ralph Madgwick returned to his office in New York and Rebecca Rosenzweig to her father’s apartment in Abercrombie Place, there was a long message waiting for Ralph from his Uncle Wallace in Rosie Prescott’s handwriting. Rosie handed over the message with a look that spoke of sympathy and inevitability. She then quietly left his office that overlooked the docks and closed his door. Wearily, Ralph put the sheet of paper on his desk unread. Rosie’s look had told him all he needed to know. The beautiful holiday in Denver was over in more ways than one.

  * * *