Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(59)

When Sir James returned his attention to the man on his right, Hugo thought about the implications of Harry Clifton discovering that he might have the right to inherit not only the Barrington shipping line, but also the family estate. Having to admit he had sired an illegitimate son would be bad enough, but the idea of Harry Clifton inheriting the family title after his death and becoming Sir Harry did not bear thinking about. He would be willing to do anything in his power to make sure that wouldn’t be the outcome.





24


HUGO BARRINGTON was having breakfast when he read the letter from the headmaster of St Bede’s, outlining the details of an appeal the school was launching to raise a thousand pounds to build a new cricket pavilion for the First XI. He opened his cheque book and had written the figures ‘100’ when he was distracted by the sound of a car coming to a halt on the gravel outside.

Hugo walked across to the window to see who could possibly be visiting him so early on a Saturday morning. He was puzzled when he saw his son step out of the back of a taxi carrying a suitcase, as he’d been looking forward to watching him open the batting for the school that afternoon in the final match of the season against Avonhurst.

Jenkins appeared just in time to open the front door as Giles reached the top step. ‘Good morning, Master Giles,’ he said, as if he’d been expecting him.

Hugo walked quickly out of the breakfast room to find his son standing in the hall, head bowed, suitcase by his side. ‘What are you doing at home?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t there another week to go before the end of term?’

‘I’ve been rusticated,’ said Giles simply.

‘Rusticated?’ repeated his father. ‘And what have you done to merit that, may I ask?’

Giles looked up at Jenkins, who stood silently by the front door. ‘I’ll take Master Giles’s suitcase up to his bedroom,’ the butler said, before picking up the bag and proceeding slowly up the stairs.

‘Follow me,’ said Hugo once the butler was out of sight.

Neither of them spoke again until Hugo had closed the study door behind him. ‘What have you done to cause the school to take such a drastic measure?’ demanded his father as he sank back into his chair.

‘I was caught stealing from the tuck shop,’ said Giles, who had been left standing in the middle of the room.

‘Is there some simple explanation? A misunderstanding, perhaps?’

‘No, there isn’t, sir,’ said Giles, fighting back tears.

‘Do you have anything to say in your defence?’

‘No, sir.’ Giles hesitated. ‘Except . . .’

‘Except what?’

‘I always gave the sweets away, Papa. I never kept them for myself.’

‘To Clifton, no doubt.’

‘And to Deakins as well,’ said Giles.

‘Was it Clifton who put you up to it in the first place?’

‘No, it was not,’ responded Giles firmly. ‘In fact, once he found out what I’d been up to, Harry always took the sweets I gave him and Deakins back to the tuck shop. He even took the blame when Mr Frobisher accused him of stealing them.’

A long silence followed before his father said, ‘So you’ve been rusticated, not actually expelled?’

Giles nodded.

‘Do you think they will allow you to go back next term?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Giles.

‘What makes you so sure of that?’

‘Because I’ve never seen the headmaster so angry.’

‘Not half as angry as your mother will be when she finds out.’

‘Please don’t tell her, Papa,’ pleaded Giles, bursting into tears.

‘And how do you expect me to explain to her why you’re home a week early and might not even be returning to St Bede’s next term?’

Giles made no attempt to respond, but continued to sob quietly.

‘And Heaven knows what your grandparents will say,’ his father added, ‘when I have to tell them why you won’t be going to Eton after all.’

Another long silence followed.

‘Go to your room, and don’t even think about coming back down until I say so.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Giles. He turned to leave.

‘And whatever you do, don’t discuss this with anyone, especially not in front of the servants.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Giles, who ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Jenkins as he shot past him on the stairs.

Hugo leant forward in his chair, trying to think if there might be some way to turn the situation around before he had to face an inevitable call from the headmaster. He placed his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands, but it was some time before his eyes focused on the cheque.

A smile crossed his lips as he added an extra nought before signing it.





25


MITCHELL WAS SEATED in the far corner of the waiting room, reading the Bristol Evening Post when Hugo walked across and sat down beside him. It was so draughty that Hugo kept his hands in his pockets.

‘The subject,’ said Mitchell, still looking at his newspaper, ‘is trying to raise five hundred pounds for a business venture.’

‘What sort of business venture could she possibly be interested in?’