Andrew Wareham Read online

  A clerk – no doubt referred to as a boy – a man of forty or so, stood as he entered.

  “My name is Stark. I am to see Mr Knatchbull, I believe.”

  “Indeed, sir, you are expected. Please to follow me.”

  The clerk, who – quite properly - had made no attempt to introduce himself, led Tommy up a broad, mahogany railed staircase and into an office on the first upstairs floor.

  “Mr Stark, sir.”

  “Please to take a seat, Mr Stark. I am Mr Knatchbull, senior partner.”

  Tommy put his hat on the little table by the door and took the comfortable chair indicated; he knew just enough of business practices to understand that he was honoured to speak to the senior partner – he must be a significant client.

  “First, Mr Stark, my condolences on this terrible tragedy – an unexpected bereavement! These aeroplanes – shockingly dangerous, one cannot doubt!”

  “Thank you, Mr Knatchbull. My father was, of course, concerned to develop and build newer, safer machines. In this instance, he failed. I shall continue in the field, though solely as a pilot – I do not possess my father’s skills as an engineer and constructor of flying machines.”

  Mr Knatchbull’s face made his opinion of the elder Stark’s skills quite clear.

  “It is a new world, Mr Stark, and I am old in it.”

  Tommy glanced at the lawyer, taking notice of him as a person rather than a figure behind a desk; ancient and dry, in his forties and looking sixty, lined features and thinning hair valiantly combed across in hopeful concealment of pink scalp. He wondered if Knatchbull had ever been young.

  “Now, Mr Stark, there is a first question of your age, for if you have not reached adulthood then trustees must be appointed and acknowledged by the court before Probate can be granted. Perhaps conveniently, you were not born in England and have no birth certificate, and one is aware that you have possessed a Driving Licence for some little time; I think it is practical therefore to make a Declaration that you are of one-and-twenty years, sir. Do you agree?”

  “I do indeed, Mr Knatchbull.”

  “Very good, sir. I took the liberty of having the appropriate document written in advance, Mr Stark. If you would care to sign, sir?”

  Tommy took the pen and did as he was told without reading the Declaration or mentioning his actual age, which was evidently Knatchbull’s unspoken intent. Neither party could now in the strictest sense of the literal words be aware that they had committed an unlawful act, and each could, in the unlikely event of being questioned in court, claim ignorance of wrongdoing.

  “Very good, sir. We may now proceed to the provisions of your esteemed father’s Will. He amended it with me in this office only one month ago, wishing, he said, to ensure that all was up-to-date and correct. From the little he said, he was aware that he was, ah, taking a risk or two in the advanced construction of his new flying machine.”

  “He was, sir; we disagreed strongly on his interpretation of the mathematics of the wing-loading in particular. I would add that I have no pleasure at all in discovering that he was in the wrong.”

  “Not something that is in my experience, Mr Stark.”

  ‘Mathematics, wing-loading or being in the wrong?’ Tommy was unsure exactly which the lawyer was referring to.

  “Normally, one would expect all family members to be present at the reading of a Last Will and Testament, but the only direct relative is Mr Joseph Stark and he is not a legatee and has no interest in any of your father’s disposable goods and chattels. Your father was an only child, as was your grandfather, and there are no cousins in the first or second degree. Such being the case, one may reasonably proceed. You will be given a copy of the whole document, Mr Stark, and it seems to me simpler if I merely summarise its provisions at the moment.”

  “That will be easier, sir, I doubt not – for I have no legal education, as you know, and would simply not understand the technicalities.”

  Knatchbull permitted himself a superior little smile.

  “Quite. The Lodge House and that land held in the parish of Long Benchley and leased as five separate farms is all held in entail and will descend to Mr Joseph Stark. I have sent a letter to inform him of his good fortune. The income from the farms has been held in accounts separate from your father’s other financial interests and there is a surplus of nearly two thousands of pounds derived from the land which also goes to the entail. All other goods and chattels accrue to you, sir. Your father spent a number of years in America and was active in business there – some matter of silver prospecting in the Rocky Mountains, I believe. He returned with some thousands of pounds which were kept entirely separate from the entail and which form the basis of your inheritance.”

  “So, sir, you are saying that Mr Joseph Stark has no claim on that money?”

  “None at all, Mr Stark. It is all entirely at your father’s disposal and he chose to leave none of it to Mr Joseph Stark.”

  Tommy noticed that the lawyer did not use the term ‘your brother, Mr Joseph Stark’ at any point.

  “In cash, Mr Stark, there is a relatively small sum – slightly more than three hundred pounds in his account in the South Hampshire bank. I shall speak to the manager and we shall arrange for that to be made immediately available to you to cover your necessary expenses in the weeks before probate is granted – a normal procedure. In investments, in the form of stocks and shares, there is the sum of eighteen thousand pounds, at current prices, bringing the income from interest and dividends of seven hundred and forty pounds in the last financial year; the capital has been placed in Trust for you, the whole to be made available to you in the year 1920. Your father believed this would enable to you to be independent for the next few years and not to have to concern yourself with making a living.”

  Tommy knew that his father had paid the mechanics at the airfield the generous sum of four pounds a week, which had been sufficient for them to keep their families in a degree of comfort; his own income of more than fourteen pounds a week was amply sufficient.

  “Additionally, Mr Stark, you possess in freehold the premises at the airfield consisting of workshop and, ah, ‘hangar’ and all the contents thereof. Your father has left you his motor car and all of his personal belongings and the books in his study and the contents of the safe in his bedroom – duplicate keys to which are here.”

  The lawyer opened a sealed envelope and passed a pair of keys across.

  “Your father left as well in a savings account to which I have access, the sum of one hundred pounds to be given to the housekeeper, Mrs Rudge, and lesser amounts for each of the other staff and for the two employees at the airfield. I am instructed to contact these people and hand them the monies myself, your father thinking you might find the task distressing. You will not have had experience of the lower classes in time of stress, Mr Stark, but one has observed them often to give way to their emotions!”

  “Thank you, Mr Knatchbull. I had obviously been a little worried about my financial position, knowing of the entail. My father has been very generous to me. I should tell you, sir, that I hope to take a commission as a pilot with the Royal Flying Corps, and so shall not be much in this ‘neck of the woods’ as they say, in future. I would wish nonetheless to leave all of my affairs in your charge, sir.”

  “That can easily be done, Mr Stark. I have responsibility for the business of a number of officers posted overseas in various parts of the Empire, some of them absent for several years at a time. I am to collect your interest and dividends and disburse them to your account as your Trustee in any case and can simply deal with other concerns, such as any query that might be raised by Mr Joseph Stark.”

  Tommy was immediately worried that the Will might be challenged.

  “No. Utterly out of the question – no solicitor would advise him to go to litigation and a barrister, if contacted, would strongly recommend him to avoid any court action that might lead to the details of his parentage being raised in public process. Was
he found to be a bastard, then he would have no rights under the entail and the whole would fall to you. Mr Stark’s solicitor might possibly question whether all of the income derived from the lands had been retained in the entail – and I will be able to show him the accounts kept for the very purpose of meeting that enquiry. You need have no fears, sir.”

  “It will be my intention to dispose of the buildings at the aerodrome, Mr Knatchbull, and I would expect that to be easily done, though probably for a nominal price. It will be a transaction between friends rather than a commercial affair. I will place the matter in your hands, if you will oblige.”

  Mr Knatchbull was only too pleased to earn another fee.

  Tommy returned to the Lodge and a difficult few minutes with Mrs Rudge.

  “My father’s lawyer will make contact with you and the rest of the staff in a few days, Mrs Rudge.”

  She knew exactly what that meant, wondered how much the gentleman had left her – possibly as much as fifty pounds, which would come in very handy, especially if she had to search for another position.

  “I do not inherit the house and lands, Mrs Rudge, they are entailed. I cannot promise that the house will be kept open or that you will have a place.”

  Mrs Rudge had worked for the family since they had returned from America and she was familiar with local gossip and had always known that there was an elder brother in the background; she was not pleased to hear that he must inherit.

  “I shall stay until the new owner arrives, Mrs Rudge, but I much expect to leave the premises immediately thereafter.”

  “Yes, sir. Beg pardon, sir, but do you know if the new master has a wife who will run the house?”

  “I know nothing of him, Mrs Rudge.”

  Tommy made his way up to his father’s bedroom, the largest in the house in the nature of things. He had been shown the yard-tall, green painted safe years before, although he had never seen inside it. He performed the routine he had been shown, muttering the steps to himself.

  “Bedroom door shut. Wardrobe doors fully open, clicking onto their stops. Now, turn on the electric light.”

  The house had a generator driven by a small petrol engine, the envy of the neighbourhood which, being rural, did not so much as have a gas supply.

  “Key number One into the upper keyhole and turn one full rotation clockwise. Key Two into the lower and two full turns. Grasp the handle and turn through ninety degrees and then pull the door open.”

  The door opened smoothly, exactly as it should.

  ‘Two inches thick, solid steel. So heavy that he had to have a reinforcing beam installed in the floor. Why?”

  There were two shelves in the top, the upper almost empty – just a photograph of his mother, a studio portrait with ‘New York ’97’, pencilled on the back – taken just a few weeks before her death in the influenza epidemic. On the second shelf there was a flat leather case, perhaps three inches thick and two feet on the side and front. Tommy pulled it out and found no lock and opened it.

  There was a pair of automatic pistols inside, each with two loaded clips. They were surprisingly new; he spotted the date, 1910, on the inside of the box. He could not imagine why the Old Chap should have bought them. There was a note, he saw, superscribed ‘Tommy’.

  “If you go overseas, you’ll need these, my boy. Colt .45 Automatics – good insurance!”

  There was the remains of a packet of fifty rounds to the side of the shelf.

  The bottom of the safe contained a wooden box, perhaps an eighteen-inch cube; it was labelled in his father’s handwriting. Tommy craned his neck to read the inscription.

  “’Ill-Gotten Gains’! What the Hell?”

  Tommy reached with one hand to pull the box out, found it too heavy to shift, had to wrestle it out and onto the floor, which creaked under it. There was no catch to the top and he simply lifted it off to disclose a dozen large leather bags, each tied by a drawstring and containing variously sovereigns and silver dollars.

  He sat down to count.

  Eight hundred gold sovereigns, weighing about fourteen pounds, a stone; money that could be spent in any country on Earth. A fugitive might live for five years on that amount of gold, longer if he chose the right country. The silver dollars weighed far more – one thousand of them coming in at nearly sixty pounds – but were worth much less. As Tommy remembered, the rate was four dollars eighty cents to the pound sterling, fixed at that level for many years; a little less than two hundred and ten pounds, doing the working in his head.

  His father had kept a thousand pounds tucked away; Tommy wondered why… Then he wondered what the Old Chap had done that made him keep running money to hand. Perhaps his prospecting in the States had been less than entirely lawful. None of Tommy’s affair – the crimes of the father did not pass down to the son.

  The question arose of what to do with the coins. Fifty sovereigns tucked away in a pocket of his rough tweed jacket, everyday wear. The remainder should not go to the bank, for he would have to explain their provenance. There was only one course available.

  When Empires Collide

  Chapter Two

  “I have a problem, sir. The contents of my father’s safe.”

  Mr Moncur-Fisher-Hallows shook his head; this was a secret he was not privy to.

  “Would you care to look into the passenger seat of my car, sir?”

  Tommy led the Squire out to his driveway, opened the passenger door and flipped up the lid of the wooden box, pointed to the canvas bags, watched as the older man opened one and swore in amaze.

  “How much?”

  “Seven fifty in sovereigns, sir, and a little more than two hundred pounds in American dollars.”

  “Good God!”

  “That was very much my feeling, sir.”

  “What’s to be done with them?”

  “I hoped you might have an answer for me, sir. I thought about the bank, but then it seemed to me that I might have to answer some questions. And just what answers I could give, I know not!”

  “I damned if I know, either, my boy!”

  “It occurred to me, sir, that it might be best if that money was kept out of sight for a while before it was put to use. I do not know what its origin might be, and I have some suspicions of its legitimacy, so it may be best to avoid all questions and get rid of it quickly. I am within reason sure that I will not have a home within a very short time. Would it be possible to buy a house with that amount of money?”

  Squire nodded enthusiastically.

  “You could buy a very respectable little place on the edge of a town – eight or ten bedrooms, say, and four or five acres of gardens and a small stables block besides – with five hundred, and furnish it for one hundred more, or perhaps two. When you go into the RFC then you could lease it annually for perhaps fifty a year, so that you had a place to come back to that would be your own. Put it onto three months’ notice to quit to the tenant, to be fair. A house in which to keep your family, Tommy. A very wise move, for you will undoubtedly wish to marry in a few years from now. Let us discuss the matter with my lady.”

  Squire’s wife was much in favour; there were many towns nearby of a genteel nature and certainly with houses available.

  “I cannot think of a suitable house for sale in Farnborough, but Alton or Godalming or Guildford spring to mind, for one might not wish to look towards Reading, for example, or indeed to Aldershot!”

  Reading was rather industrial and Aldershot was full of soldiers, of all ranks.

  “Salisbury is not too far away, and there is always Winchester, and on the Sussex side any number of very fine little towns in which a family might be sure of the best of company and the right sort of friends for the grandchildren.”

  She noticed the raised eyebrows and became conscious that she might have let her tongue run away with her.

  “That is, well, I mean to say, I always think of you as a son, Tommy!”

  Squire’s eyebrows lifted even further; Tommy did not notice an
ything amiss.

  “Yes, well, ma’am, just how does one go about purchasing a house?”

  She had no idea – the family had lived in the Big House since forever and she had moved in at her marriage and had known they would never go away. Squire came to her rescue.

  “I believe it is often the case that houses for sale are advertised, my dear, in the pages of the newspapers, national sometimes as well as local. I shall speak to my agent, to Mr Sanderson, he will know.”

  They agreed that was sensible; for the while they would have the coins carried through to the estate office and locked away securely there.

  Once out of hearing of the females, Tommy broached the question of the other contents of the safe.

  “As well, sir, there is a matter of a pair of automatic pistols that should be put away as well. If I am commissioned, then of course I shall retain them as sidearms – always useful, I expect, even in an aeroplane.”

  “Very much so, Tommy. You might crash among the natives of Africa, for example, and a pair of pistols would be very handy then!”

  Tommy drove away after dinner and Squire quietly asked his wife exactly what she had meant by her reference to grandchildren.

  “Surely, my dear, you do not mean Grace and Tommy! Far too young!”

  “No girl is ever too young to be thinking about a husband, sir! And Grace has her mind thoroughly made up - since several years, I believe! And young Tommy is a man now, grown up more quickly than most for never having attended one of these pernicious schools whose sole aim is to avert the onset of mental and emotional maturity in their pupils. His father’s death has completed the process of bringing him to adulthood. Consider our George, now, sir – he is five years older than Tommy, and far more the schoolboy! Tommy drives his car and flies his aeroplanes, and we both know that he is utterly to be trusted with them. Give George a car and he would instantly drive it far too fast and either kill himself or some other poor innocent standing at the side of the road!”

  Squire did not deny the truth of her comment – George was a high-spirited lad!