Emma closed the front door and quickly returned to the breakfast room. “It’s for you, darling,” she said, handing the envelope to Harry. “From Buck House,” she added nonchalantly, as she hovered behind him.
Harry put down his paper and studied the envelope, before picking up a knife and slowly slitting it open. He pulled out a letter and unfolded it. He read the contents slowly, then looked up.
“Well?”
He handed the letter to Emma, who had read no further than the opening words, I am commanded by Her Majesty, before she said, “Congratulations, my darling. I only wish your mother was still alive. She would have enjoyed accompanying you to the Palace.” Harry didn’t respond. “Well, say something.”
“This letter should have been addressed to you. You deserve the honor so much more than I do.”
*
“Great photograph of Harry on the front page of the Times, holding up a pen,” said Giles.
“Yes, and have you read the speech he gave at the Nobel Prize ceremony?” said Karin. “Hard to believe he wrote it in twenty-four hours.”
“Some of the most memorable speeches ever written were composed at a time of crisis. Churchill’s ‘blood, toil, tears and sweat.’ for example, and Roosevelt’s ‘day of infamy’ address to Congress the day after Pearl Harbor, were both delivered at a moment’s notice,” said Giles, as he poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Praise indeed,” said Karin. “You should phone Harry and congratulate him. He’d be particularly pleased to hear it coming from you.”
“You’re right. I’ll call him after breakfast,” said Giles, turning the page of his paper. “Oh, how sad,” he said, his voice suddenly changing when he saw her photograph on the obituaries page.
“Sad?” repeated Karin, putting down her coffee.
“Your friend Cynthia Forbes-Watson has died. I had no idea she used to be the deputy director of MI6. Did she ever mention it to you?”
Karin froze. “No, no never.”
“I always knew she’d been something in the Foreign Office, and now I know what that something was. Still, eighty-five, not a bad innings. Are you all right, darling?” Giles said, looking up. “You’re as white as a sheet.”
“I’ll miss her,” said Karin. “She was very kind to me. I’d like to attend her funeral.”
“We should both go. I’ll find out the details when I’m in the Lords.”
“Please do. Perhaps I should cancel my trip to Cornwall.”
“No, she wouldn’t have wanted that. In any case, your father will be looking forward to seeing you.”
“And what are you doing today?” asked Karin, trying to recover.
“I’ve got a running three-line whip on the education bill, so I don’t suppose I’ll be back much before midnight. I’ll give you a call first thing in the morning.”
*
The last couple of years had been a nightmare for Virginia.
Once Buck Trend had warned her that Ellie May had tracked down Mr. and Mrs. Morton, she knew the game was up and reluctantly accepted that there was no point in pursuing Cyrus for any more money. And worse, Trend had made it clear he was no longer willing to represent her unless she paid him a monthly retainer in advance. His way of saying she was a lost cause.
If that wasn’t enough, the bank manager had reappeared on the scene. While purporting to offer his condolences on the death of her father, in the next breath he suggested it might be wise given the circumstances—his way of reminding her that the earl’s monthly allowance had ceased—for her to consider putting Onslow Gardens on the market, withdrawing Freddie from his expensive pre-prep school, and disposing of her butler, housekeeper and nanny.
What the bank manager didn’t realize was that her father had promised to leave her the Glen Fenwick Distillery along with its annual profit of over ￡100,000. Virginia had traveled up to Scotland the night before to attend the reading of the will, and was looking forward to reminding Mr. Fairbrother that, in future, he should only ever address her through a third party.
But there still remained the problem of what to do about Freddie. This wasn’t the time to tell her brother, the tenth earl, that she wasn’t the child’s mother and, even worse, the father was from below stairs.
“Are you expecting any surprises?” Virginia asked him as they walked back toward Fenwick Hall.
“Seems unlikely,” said Archie. “Father disliked surprises almost as much as he disliked taxes, which is why he signed the estate over to me almost twenty years ago.”
“We all benefited,” said Fraser, throwing another stick for his Labrador to retrieve. “I ended up with Glencarne, and Campbell got the town house in Edinburgh, all thanks to Pa.”
“I think Pa always planned to leave this world as he entered it,” said Archie. “Naked and penniless.”
“Except for the distillery,” Virginia reminded them, “which he promised he’d leave to me.”
“And as you’re the only one of us who’s produced a son, I expect you can look forward to a whole lot more than just the distillery.”