Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(58)

After an hour or so he heard voices in the hall, then the front door closing and the sound of a car driving away. A few minutes later there was a knock on his study door, and Elizabeth walked in.

‘What made you leave us so abruptly?’ she asked. ‘And why didn’t you come and say goodbye, when you must have known Giles and his guests were leaving?’

‘I have a very tricky board meeting tomorrow morning,’ he said without looking up.

‘That’s no reason not to say goodbye to your son, especially on his birthday.’

‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ he said, still looking down at his notes.

‘Surely nothing is so important that you need to be rude to guests. You were more offhand with Harry Clifton than you would be with one of the servants.’

Hugo looked up for the first time. ‘That’s possibly because I consider Clifton inferior to our servants.’ Elizabeth looked shocked. ‘Did you know that his father was a dock labourer and his mother is a waitress? I’m not sure that’s the sort of boy Giles should be mixing with.’

‘Giles clearly thinks otherwise, and whatever his background, Harry’s a charming boy. I can’t understand why you’re so against him. You didn’t treat Deakins that way, and his father’s a newsagent.’

‘He’s also an open scholar.’

And Harry is the school’s prize choral scholar, as every church-going citizen in Bristol knows. Next time you come across him, I hope you’ll be a little more civil.’ Without another word, Elizabeth left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.





Sir Walter Barrington remained in his place at the head of the boardroom table as his son entered the room.

‘I’m becoming increasingly concerned about the government’s proposed legislation on import tariffs,’ said Hugo as he took a seat on the right of his father, ‘and the effect it might have on our balance sheet.’

‘That’s why we have a lawyer on the board,’ said Sir Walter, ‘so that he can advise us on such matters.’

‘But I’ve calculated that it could cost us twenty thousand pounds a year if it becomes law. Don’t you think we ought to seek a second opinion?’

‘I suppose I could have a word with Sir James Amhurst when I’m next in London.’

‘I’m travelling up to London on Tuesday for the Association of British Ship Owners’ annual dinner,’ said Hugo. ‘As he’s the industry’s legal adviser, perhaps I should have a word with him.’

‘Only if you’re convinced it’s necessary,’ said Sir Walter. ‘And don’t forget that Amhurst charges by the hour, even at dinner.’





The Association of British Ship Owners’ dinner was held at the Grosvenor House, and was attended by over a thousand members and their guests.

Hugo had earlier phoned the association’s secretary and asked if he could be seated next to Sir James Amhurst. The secretary raised an eyebrow, but agreed to rearrange the guests on the top table. After all, old Joshua Barrington had been a founder member of the association.

After the Bishop of Newcastle had said grace, Hugo made no attempt to interrupt the eminent silk while he was deep in conversation with the man on his right. However, when the lawyer finally turned his attention to the stranger they’d put on his left, Hugo didn’t waste any time in getting to the point.

‘My father, Sir Walter Barrington,’ he began, capturing his quarry’s attention, ‘is rather concerned about the import tariff bill that is going through the House of Commons, and the effects it might have on the industry. He wonders if he could consult you on the subject when he’s next in London.’

‘By all means, dear boy,’ said Sir James. ‘Just ask his secretary to give my clerk a call and I’ll make sure I’m free when he’s next in town.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hugo. ‘On a lighter note, I wondered if you’d ever read anything by Agatha Christie?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ said Sir James. ‘Is she any good?’

‘I’m much enjoying her latest book, Where There’s a Will,’ said Hugo, ‘but I’m not sure if the plot would stand up in a court of law.’

‘What’s the lady suggesting?’ asked Amhurst as a sliver of over-cooked beef served on a cold plate was placed in front of him.

‘According to Miss Christie, the eldest son of an hereditary knight automatically inherits his father’s title, even if the child is illegitimate.’

‘Ah, now that is indeed an interesting legal conundrum,’ said Sir James. ‘In fact, the Law Lords have quite recently reviewed such a case. Benson v. Carstairs, if I remember correctly. It’s often referred to by the press as “the bastard’s amendment”.’

‘And what conclusion did their lordships come to?’ asked Hugo, trying not to sound too interested.

‘If no loophole could be found in the original will, they came out in favour of the first born, even if the young man in question was illegitimate.’ Another answer Hugo hadn’t wanted to hear. ‘However,’ Sir James continued, ‘their lordships decided to cover their backsides, and added a codicil that each case should be treated on its own merits, and then only after it had been reviewed by the Garter King of Arms. Typical of the Law Lords,’ he added before picking up his knife and fork and attacking the beef. ‘Too frightened to set a precedent, but quite happy to pass the buck.’