But most of the time he thought about himself, an indulgence that was only interrupted when the train arrived at Fishguard. He waited for everyone else to leave the carriage before he took his suitcase down from the rack and stepped out on to the platform.
He followed the megaphone directions, ‘Buses to the harbour. Buses to the harbour!’ There were four. He chose the third. This time it was only a short journey, and he couldn’t miss the terminal, despite the blackout; another long third-class queue, this time for the Cork ferry.
After buying a one-way ticket, he walked up the gangway, stepped on board and found a nook that no self-respecting cat would have curled up in. He didn’t feel safe until he heard two blasts on the foghorn and, in the gentle swell, felt the ship drifting away from the quayside.
Once the ferry had passed the harbour wall, he relaxed for the first time, and was so exhausted he rested his head on the suitcase and fell into a deep sleep.
Hugo couldn’t be sure how long he’d been asleep when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see two men towering over him.
‘Sir Hugo Barrington?’ one of them asked.
There didn’t seem much point in denying it. They yanked him up by the shoulders and told him he was under arrest. They took their time reading out a long list of the charges.
‘But I’m on my way to Cork,’ he protested. ‘Surely we must be beyond the twelve-mile limit?’
‘No, sir,’ said the second officer, ‘you’re on your way back to Fishguard.’
Several passengers leaned over the ship’s railings to get a closer view of the handcuffed man being escorted down the gangway, who had been the cause of them being delayed.
Hugo was bundled into the back of a black Wolseley car, and moments later he began the long journey back to Bristol.
When the cell door opened a uniformed man brought in some breakfast on a tray – not the kind of breakfast, not the kind of tray and certainly not the kind of uniformed man Sir Hugo was accustomed to seeing first thing in the morning. One look at the fried bread and tomatoes bathed in oil, and he pushed the tray to one side. He wondered how long it would be before this became part of his staple diet. The constable returned a few minutes later, took away the tray and slammed the cell door closed.
The next time the door opened, two officers entered the cell and escorted Hugo up the stone steps to the charge room on the first floor. Ben Winshaw, the Barrington Shipping Line’s company solicitor, was waiting for him.
‘I’m so very sorry, chairman,’ he said.
Hugo shook his head, a look of resignation on his face. ‘What happens next?’ he asked.
‘The superintendent told me they’ll be charging you in the next few minutes. You’ll then be taken to court, where you’ll appear before a magistrate. All you have to do is plead not guilty. The superintendent made it clear that they would oppose any request for bail, and would point out to the magistrate that you were arrested while trying to leave the country in possession of a suitcase containing eight hundred pounds. The press, I fear, are going to have a field day.’
Hugo and his solicitor sat alone in the charge room and waited for the superintendent to appear. The solicitor warned Hugo that he should be prepared to spend several weeks in prison before the trial opened. He suggested the names of four KCs who might be retained to defend him. They had just settled on Sir Gilbert Gray, when the door opened and a sergeant walked in.
‘You are free to leave, sir,’ he said, as if Hugo had committed some minor traffic offence.
It was some time before Winshaw recovered enough to ask, ‘Will my client be expected to return later in the day?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, sir.’
Hugo walked out of the police station a free man.
The story only made a small paragraph on page 9 of the Bristol Evening News. The Hon Toby Dunstable, second son of the eleventh Earl of Dunstable, died of a heart attack, while in custody at Wimbledon Police Station.
It was Derek Mitchell who later filled in the details behind the story.
He reported that the earl had visited his son in his cell, just a couple of hours before Toby took his own life. The officer on duty overheard several sharp exchanges between father and son, during which honour, the family’s reputation and the decent thing to do in the circumstances were repeated again and again by the earl. At the inquest held a fortnight later at Wimbledon Crown Court, the magistrate asked the officer in question if he’d seen any pills pass between the two men during the earl’s visit.
‘No, sir,’ he replied, ‘I did not.’
Death by natural causes was the verdict delivered by the magistrate’s panel at Wimbledon Crown Court later that afternoon.
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