Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(25)

Harry didn’t interrupt Elizabeth as she leant back and, with all the energy she could muster, removed an envelope from under her pillow. ‘Now listen to me carefully, Harry,’ she said. You must be sure to carry out my instructions to the letter.’ She gripped his hand. ‘If Giles should contest my latest will—’

‘But why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s a Barrington, and Barringtons have always been weak when it comes to women. So, if he should contest my latest will,’ she repeated, ‘you must give this envelope to the judge who is selected to decide which member of the family will inherit my estate.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘You must destroy it,’ said Elizabeth, her breathing becoming shallower by the second. ‘You are not to open it yourself, or ever let Giles or Emma know of its existence.’ She tightened her grip on his hand, and whispered almost inaudibly, ‘Now you must give me your word, Harry Clifton, because I know Old Jack taught you that should always be enough.’

‘You have my word,’ said Harry, and placed the envelope in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Elizabeth relaxed her grip, and sank back on the pillow, a contented smile on her lips. She never did discover if Sydney Carton escaped the guillotine.



Harry opened the post while he was having breakfast.

Bristol Grammar School,

University Road,

Bristol

July 27th, 1951

Dear Mr Clifton,

I am sorry to inform you that your son, Sebastian, has not been . . .





Harry leapt up from the breakfast table and walked across to the telephone. He dialled the number at the bottom of the letter.

‘Headmaster’s office,’ announced a voice.

‘May I speak to Mr Garrett?’

‘Who’s calling, please?’

‘Harry Clifton.’

‘I’ll put you through, sir.’

‘Good morning, headmaster. My name is Harry Clifton.’

‘Good morning, Mr Clifton. I’ve been expecting your call.’

‘I can’t believe the board came to such an ill-founded decision.’

‘Frankly, Mr Clifton, neither could I, especially after I’d pleaded your son’s case so vehemently.’

‘What reason did they give for turning him down?’

‘That they mustn’t be seen to be making an exception for an old boy’s son when he’d failed to obtain the pass mark in two compulsory subjects.’

‘And that was their only reason?’

‘No,’ replied the headmaster. ‘One of the governors raised the matter of your son being cautioned by the police for shoplifting.’

‘But there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for that incident,’ said Harry, trying not to lose his temper.

‘I don’t doubt there is,’ said Garrett, ‘but our new chairman couldn’t be swayed on the matter.’

‘Then he’ll be my next call. What’s his name?’

‘Major Alex Fisher.’





GILES BARRINGTON





1951–1954





9


GILES WAS DELIGHTED although not surprised to find that the parish church of St Andrew’s, where Elizabeth Harvey had been married, and her three children baptised and later confirmed, was packed with family, friends and admirers.

The Reverend Mr Donaldson’s tribute reminded everyone how much Elizabeth Barrington had done for the local community. Indeed, he said, without her generosity, the restoration of the church tower would not have been possible. He went on to tell the congregation just how many people, far beyond these walls, had benefited from her wisdom and insight when she was patron of the cottage hospital, and of the role she had played as head of her family, following the death of Lord Harvey. Giles was relieved, as no doubt were most of those present, that the vicar made no reference to his father.

Reverend Donaldson ended his eulogy with the words, ‘Elizabeth’s life was cut short by her untimely death at the age of fifty-one, but it is not for us to question the will of our Lord.’

After he had returned to his pew, Giles and Sebastian each read a lesson, ‘The Good Samaritan’ and ‘The Sermon on the Mount’, while Emma and Grace recited verses by their mother’s favourite poets. Emma chose Shelley:

Lost angel of a ruined paradise!

She knew not ’twas her own, – as with no stain

She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.





While Grace read from Keats:

Stop and consider! life is but a day;

A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way

From a tree’s summit; a poor Indian’s sleep

While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep . . .





As the congregation filed out of the church, several people asked who the attractive woman on Sir Giles’s arm was. Harry couldn’t help thinking that Elizabeth’s prediction was already coming to pass. Dressed entirely in black, Virginia was standing at Giles’s right hand as the pall-bearers lowered Elizabeth’s coffin into the grave. Harry recalled his mother-in-law’s words: I still have one card up my sleeve.