Mr Forster's Fortune (19 page)

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Simon started coughing once again. Lord Barnham could see that his fists were clenched under the paper-thin cover, willing him to go on. He helped him to some stingo. It seemed to do some good.

‘So I could not revenge myself on my dastardly brother.
But if I could not take my revenge on my brother, then his family would have to do. I waited, and watched, and bided my time. I waited and watched for a long, long time – a very long time indeed. Revenge, they say, is best served cold – and the longer I waited and the longer I watched, the colder I became. My opportunity came when your father fell in love with a sweet young mort – Becky they called her – as lovely a little thing as ever a man could wish for – little rosebud of a mouth, clear hazel eyes, shining hair – so dainty she looked as if a breath of wind would blow her quite away. He himself was a fine young blood in those days – tall and dashing, already a viscount, though with hardly a croker to his name. He had inherited all of his father’s charms, and none of his terrible viciousness. He wanted her to splice with him – was desperate for her to splice him – and he said he would enlist as a soldier in order that she could. And then I saw my chance had come. It was time at last for me to make my move.’

Lord Barnham’s eyes widened
and he caught his breath. He felt a shiver of horror pass through him. He knew exactly where the story would go from here.

‘
I was making my fortune as a privateer – you may not know that I was a privateer? – and just at the time that they were making their plans I brought my fortune home. I had a good deal of kelter – a vast amount of kelter – and the parallel with my brother was alluring. So I found a way to get back at him. I seduced little Becky with my balsam and my charm – oh, yes, I had a good deal of charm in those days, Barnham, the family was replete with it, though I know you won’t believe it now. I had weasly ways with women, my lad – all seamen do, and we privateers – well, we spun some yarns that drew them all in, like pretty little moths to our lascivious flames. So I tapped his little Becky and enticed her quite away. But I did not splice with the mort. I did not want to give your father the satisfaction of knowing that I’d rescued her. But even then he was prepared to have her. He loved her so much that he was still prepared to splice with her, and she agreed to do so in the end. She died giving birth to a six-month child on the very day that they should have wed. I even took him to see her when she died – took him to see the love of his life, who had just then departed our world whilst bearing me my own dead bantling. And when I saw your father’s face when he looked at her – looked at her death-pale face, and the tiny little bundle in her arm – I suddenly realised what a bastard I had been – how the devil had got hold of me and filled me with evil and hate. I had hardly thought of it before. I had hardly thought of anything – my hatred, my lust for revenge had been all-powerful, all consuming – even on an innocent lad, as he was, and even on an innocent young wench. But suddenly – seeing his face as he stared at his loved one – seeing what I’d done to that poor mort and that good, innocent man – suddenly I saw myself for what I had become.’ He fixed his gaze on a cobweb that hung, black, above the mattress. There was a faraway look in his eyes. It was as if he were back there, in that room, surveying the ghastly scene, re-living again and again the evil that he’d done. ‘I looked in the mirror and all I could see was evil – black, despicable evil, an evil so foul that I could hardly bear to look at it. So I slunk away – I slunk away like the odious sea-snake that I was, back to the oceans where I belonged. And every day since then I have thought of it – thought of her pretty face, that little child, your father’s despair at what I had done. Every day I have thought of it, and repented of it, and every night it has hounded me, hounded me for thirty years and more. The ghost of that poor sweet mort has followed me wherever I have gone – across the seas, to foreign lands. Everywhere I have gone, the ghost of her has gone with me, reproaching me with that sad, pale little face and those lovely, rosebud lips. I detested myself and I detested my life, but I’d do nothing to relieve myself of all those ghosts. I could not beg for forgiveness – from him, from God, or from myself. It was my own way of expiating my sins, living with those ghosts. So I never went back to him, never threw myself upon my sword. And I never had sight nor sound of your father from that day onwards, and thought I never would. So I never saw your father again – not until this past few weeks, when we came across each other in the baths, and recognised each other as if it had all just happened yesterday. And as soon as he saw me your father came up to me and insisted on shaking my hand. And when I saw him I realised what a very great gentleman your father was – a greater gentleman than anyone I have ever known in the whole of the rest of my life – not in monetary terms, or society, of course – I don’t mean anything like that – but as a person, as a man. The man whose happiness I had deliberately destroyed came up to me and insisted on shaking my hand. And from that very moment, Barnham, the ghosts disappeared into nothingness and I could find some peace at last.’

His wide, frightened, regretful eyes closed wearily. It had taken him all his strength to finish his tale.
Lord Barnham shuffled uncomfortably as he kneeled still on the floor. Miss Forster hardly knew whether to stay, or go. But they both remained there, transfixed by what the old man had told them – transfixed by it, feeling privileged to hear it, and feeling sickened and appalled that such terrible things could ever have taken place.

‘
You have made your peace with my father, uncle, and you have made your peace with us,’ muttered his lordship, eventually, ‘and now you can make your peace with God. Thank you for telling us your story. It was important for us to know. I only wish – I only wish I had understood it earlier – a long, long time ago. I would have felt more compassion for my father had I understood the truth.’

He felt beneath the cover and pulled out his uncle’s trembling hand. He clasped it for a moment with tears in his eyes. Then he assisted his sister from the stool and they quietly left the room.

The next day Lord Barnham and Miss Forster went back to Milk Street to check on him once more. And this time the mattress was completely covered over, and the sad and remorseful old gentleman had finally joined the nephew whom he had so badly wronged.

‘I say, Barnham – now your old man’s passed on I suppose it’s you I have to talk to about my
allowance, is it not, old chap?’

Tom Springfield had suddenly reached this most delightful conclusion in the midst of discussing important world events with his cousin in
the inn on North Parade. The important world events in question had focused on news of the Prince of Wales’ appointment as Regent and, more particularly, on the new Regent’s first levee, due to be held the following week, which Lord Barnham, as a new peer of the realm, would most certainly be expected to attend.

Lord Barnham broke off in mid sentence and eyed his cousin
suspiciously.

‘It is indeed, Tom,’ he acknowledged.
‘But why do you feel the need to raise it with me now?’

‘Well, what an absolute hoot. I’ll be able to do exactly what I want from n
ow on, thank God. You couldn’t advance me a monkey today, could you, old chap? Only I’ve got a dun on me tail who’s making a blasted nuisance of himself at the moment and I’d be really glad to send him on his way, if you know what I mean. If you can’t manage it today then I daresay tomorrow will have to do...’

Lord Barnham frowned as h
e drained his glass for the sixth time that day.

‘And what makes you think I’ll be advancing you anything at all, cousin?’ he asked him,
pleasantly, smacking his lips and replacing the glass on the table. ‘My father allowed you a monkey a year, if what I see in the paperwork is correct, and sorted all your household bills on top. A monkey is a very great figure for any young gentleman to spend, though I may be persuaded to increase it very slightly in a year or so’s time. But I have no intentions of giving you carte blanche, my friend. There is no question whatsoever of me doing anything of the kind.’

Mr Springfield st
ared at his cousin disbelievingly. He had just been in the middle of downing a deep draught. He nearly choked on it.

‘What?’ he gasped, spluttering a little. ‘What the hell do you mean, Barnham? Of course you’ll give me access to me
rag. I’ve got no end of plans for it. Why, I’ve ordered some new outfits at Jackson’s already on the strength of it, and I’ve not quite paid for the last ones yet. And then there’s Fellowes and Smythe-Grey to pay – I can’t get out of
those
ones, that’s for sure, or I’ll never be allowed in White’s again. And...and...’

His lordship was visibly less than usually impressed. Mr Springfield broke off in confusion. And then an unwelcome thought made its way into the ethe
r of his consciousness and he glared at his cousin with a look of great mistrust.

‘I say, old chap – I know you’re stiver cramped and all that – poor old James, lacking his commission. Wanted to be a – whatever did that King blok
e say he would want to be – an ensign or something? – and you thinking of that Wetherby woman for a while – whatever went wrong with that one, anyway? – seemed to be going on quite well, to me. I say - you’re not thinking of dipping in on your own account, are you? I’m not too sure that I’d be entirely happy with
that
.’

Lord Barnham, who had just that moment been in the process of calling the waiter for a refill, froze in mid-motion like a carved-ice statue. His finger, held aloft, suspended itself in the
vacant space in front of his face. His body remained rigid and taut. Only his eyebrows, twitching slightly, gave any indication that he was a living being at all. Then his eyes blinked and directed themselves fiercely at his cousin.

‘What did you just say to me, Springfield?’ he demanded. He sounded
surprisingly menacing. ‘What did you just tell me that you said to Captain King?’

Mr Springfield shuffled back in his chair uncomfortably.

‘Captain King?’ he repeated, sounding vague. ‘Err – well, I couldn’t say exactly, Barnham. It was quite some time ago, you understand. It was when James first came to Bath, I believe. We were saying that you – well, you were all in need of – of some kelter...’

Mr Springfield trailed off guiltily and looked intently at his cousin’s nose. It was a very fine nose – straight and rather long – although, had the circumstances been only very slightly different it seems unlikely that he would
have found it quite as alluring as it appeared to be just then.

Mr Forster was quite obviously stunned. He had wondered where Lady Cecily had heard about his financial difficulties. He might have known that it would all lie directly at his wretched cousin’s door.

‘So you accuse me of being a fortune-hunter to the cousin of the woman whom I was hoping to marry? And you accuse me of helping myself to your kelter into the bargain? Damn-it, man – I can hardly believe you’ve just said that to me. Do you not realise how damnably insulting that is? For God’s sake, Thomas – think about what – what devilish dishonour you’re accusing me of. It’s completely beyond the pale, old chap – completely beyond the pale. Were you not just seventeen I’d be asking you right now for the name of your second - cousin or no cousin - and I’ve half a mind to claw you anyway. If I were you I should make straight for that door right now, Mr Springfield. I should make straight for the door whilst you still have legs to carry you there - and never, ever, dare to contact me again.’

Lord Barnham found himself
inundated with paperwork over the course of the next few days, with two funerals to arrange and pay for, paperwork to find and sort through, men of business to see. It was fortunate that his sister was around to help him. She was able to take charge of her mother’s appointments, to keep her tolerably composed and amused by reading constantly to her of the daily news, to try to restrain her from commissioning an extra set of mourning clothes in addition to the ones she had on, and generally to reduce the burden that she embodied to a surprisingly large degree. His lordship, indeed, had first planned to set off for London to see his father’s attorney as soon as possible after the death of Great-Uncle Simon but his mother could not even hear of the plan without fainting into a chair – ‘I cannot possibly do without you here, Barnham, really, it really will not do’ – and so Miss Forster had suggested postponing his plans for a few days longer before raising the prospect again.

Despite his lack of derby Lord Barnham had been determined to ensure that everything proper was done not onl
y for his father, but also for Great-Uncle Simon. The fact that this included an announcement in the newspapers – something that, when he discussed the need to do so with his sister, she urged him on no account to omit – had not been expected to have any tangible consequences whatsoever. But in this he was proved mistaken. For the very next day after issuing the announcement, whilst his lordship was staring blankly at a depressingly tall pile of paperwork on the floor, a rap upon the front door was followed almost immediately by a rap upon his study door, and a servant presenting him with a florid card which bore the words ‘Jonathan Withers, Esq, attorney to the gentry’ and a place of business in Gay Street where his services might be found.

‘Show him in, Frank,’ commanded his lordship, and in another second the
gentleman by name of Mr Withers was appearing, and bowing majestically, by his desk.