It took Edward three evenings to reach the last box. At first, he'd wondered why the boxes weren't in his father's study but soon came to realize that he'd kept these letters under the bed for a reason. He'd had mistresses. Lots of them, and it appeared he had tried wherever possible to keep in touch with them, even when they were no longer sharing his bed. Edward read a lot of letters at first but soon tired of the same amorous language. As far as he could see, they were just love letters and of no real importance and certainly not to be seen by his mother. He'd get Roberts to burn them.
On the third evening, he pulled the last box to him and opened it. More scented letters and fancy ribbons. He was grateful that the tedious task was almost over. He was just about to give up, fearing all the letters in the box were love letters when he spotted an unopened envelope.
The letter was in a white envelope. It was a letter his father had written to someone but never sent. Edward read the address: Captain Landsborough, Landsborough Hall, Landsborough Estate. Why had his father not sent the letter? His father was dead and couldn't object, so Edward opened it.
Dear Captain Landsborough,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance the other evening.
I must say it was foolhardy of you to risk your ownership of the Landsborough Estate in a simple game of cards. Of course, I mustn't complain at having won it from you, but it was nonetheless foolhardy.
The reason for my letter is thus: I have heard that you are under investigation by the Army. It seems they have an objection to one of their captains gambling in the manner to which you seem to have become accustomed.
I understand the hearing is Tuesday next, and the possible punishment is a dishonorable discharge.
Under the circumstances, I feel it would be inappropriate of me to see you penniless. I, therefore, propose to return your estate to you and your wife. It was after all just a game of cards which unfortunately became unseemly.
I will instruct my lawyers to issue the paperwork forthwith.
Yours
John
Duke of Haslemere
A card game? Who puts up a whole estate as collateral in a card game, Edward thought? Father is obviously writing about the Landsborough Estate. But we still own it, so he didn't give it back. Why didn't he send this letter?
Over the course of the next few days, he asked as many people about the Landsborough Estate as possible. The Duke had acquired it a year before Edward was born, twenty-one years ago. Some older tenants told him that it used to belong to a family called Landsborough. Apparently they moved away, but none of them knew why. All of them just assumed they had sold it to the Duke for the money. Even Jepson didn't know, and he ran the largest farm on the Landsborough Estate.
''Mother, what do you know about the Landsborough Estate?'' Edward asked at dinner.
''It's three thousand acres, that much I know, and not much more.''
''Three thousand acres is large. We've only owned it for twenty-one years, do you know how father acquired it?''
Roberts, the butler, looked at Edward as he placed the salmon on the table. He was relieved the young man had his mother's character, not his father's. ''You're father bought it from the Landsboroughs.''
No, he won it in a ridiculous game of cards, but didn't dare tell you, because you are kind and wouldn't have allowed him to keep it, Edward thought. ''Thank you mother, I just wondered, that's all.''
*****
Victoria was allowed one day off to bury her father. Few people came to the funeral. Lizzie came to comfort Victoria, and there were a couple of direct neighbors from the village. The vicar, seeing so few people, decided to do away with any singing, and the said service lasted just ten minutes. When the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the grave, Victoria collapsed into Lizzie's arms and wept.
Victoria's father had left some money for his funeral. She had hated him talking about it, but he'd told her they had to be practical. Now she was grateful to him. On her wages, it would have taken her whole lifetime to pay the undertaker.
''How are you bearing up?'' Mr. Pickford asked. He'd told Mary to bring her to his office on the day after the funeral. Victoria was standing in the middle of the room as he walked around her.
''I'm as well as can be expected Mr. Pickford,'' she answered politely.
''It's a shame. I liked your father. He was a good worker, never missed a day until his illness started.'' He continued to circle her, gawking at her breasts. He was small, and he had a large pot belly, which he tried to hide behind a baggy waistcoat with a gold watch chain dangling across it. He also tried to cover up his considerable bald patch by dragging strands of hair ridiculous distances across his head. ''I want to help you. It can't be easy now you're alone,'' he spluttered, his jowls shaking. ''At the moment I have a full contingency of assistants, but as soon as one leaves, I would like you to take her place. I have it on good authority that there will be a vacancy very soon. What do you say?''