The Brigandshaw Chronicles Box Set

by Peter Rimmer

  There was a letter from his bank that he hoped would not have been there. He went cold. His stomach turned. With the first good night’s sleep since Barnaby’s arrival having restored his senses, Merlin had intended making discreet enquiries concerning the source of his brother’s new-found wealth. He had met Max and Porter during the social swirl. They had been introduced by Barnaby as his business partners. Porter had raised an eyebrow. Merlin had taken a dislike to the pair of them on sight. They were too well dressed. Too well spoken. Too emphatic. Their speech was as smooth as silk. Porter had given Merlin his calling card as his grand gift.

  It was as if Porter knew more about the St Clair family than Merlin wished him to know. The gesture had been slightly condescending, a rich man giving a poor man a crumb from the table.

  Before he had sat down to breakfast, he had made a call to his old firm in the City where he had worked as a Lloyd’s insurance broker before the war. An old friend was now a senior director of Cornell, Brooke and Bradley, Lloyd’s of London insurance brokers.

  “Philip, old chap, did you ever hear of a chap in the City called Porter? CE Porter to be exact. Doesn’t list any club on his calling card.”

  “Nasty piece of work, so I hear.”

  “So you know him?”

  “Know of him, Merlin. How are you?”

  “Not bad, considering. Young Barnaby staying with me.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you see, Philip?”

  “You’d better come over. Maybe nothing.”

  “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “Always fit in a friend. Make it four o’clock. Then we can go off to the club for a drink. I’m not surprised Porter doesn’t list a club on his card. He was thrown out of the Cavalry Club for talking business on the premises. More than once, so I hear. Asked the members too many questions. Club rule, no shop.”

  “Is this about Porter or my brother?”

  “Both of them, I’m afraid.”

  When Merlin opened the letter from his bank, expecting to find the cheque from his brother returned, it was his monthly statement. The cheque which he had deposited the day Barnaby arrived had been credited to his account. He had written on the back for the bank to check the funds, backing the five hundred pounds cheque, before it was presented to Cox’s and King’s. Bouncing a cash cheque was fraud. Once prosecuted, the fraudster went to jail. He had had no wish to put his brother in jail for a five hundred pounds loan he had never expected to see again.

  For a moment he thought of phoning Philip Spence and cancelling his appointment. There was always a snag with Barnaby.

  “Better to find out now than later,” he said out loud while he picked up the latest copy of the Tatler. He liked to know who was out and about. Old friends from school. Old friends who had survived the war. The magazine kept him in touch, he told himself.

  It was strange that Barnaby, the penniless member of the family, had been so welcome in high society, something Merlin knew he would never be fully part of himself. Neither was he going to be the next Lord St Clair of Purbeck, nor was he going to be truly rich. The Tatler gave him a window on a world he sometimes touched but never entered. In the simpler moments of his life, walking the woods, the stream, the hills of Purbeck, he had known it was a world he never wanted… Or had he just told himself that? Convinced himself. ‘I can’t have it so I don’t want it.’ The Tatler was his proxy to that other world. The glamour. The wealth. The power of money. The seduction.

  The third page had a full-length photograph of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was smiling straight at him, straight into his groin. The fact she was smiling at him from the page of the magazine made it no different.

  There was a full article written about the girl. Merlin read the article twice, constantly turning his eyes from the words to the picture. Nowhere did it tell her age as it was expected. She was young. Much younger than most of the pictures of the girls he had seen before. The name Christine Pringle meant nothing. Albert Pringle meant nothing, the brother the article said was rich. The girl was staying at the Savoy. Merlin determined he and Philip would take their drink in the Savoy Hotel. He wanted to see the girl. Catch a glimpse. There was a chance. There was always a chance in life. If anyone had said he had met the girl as a child many times with Barnaby he would have laughed in their face. He had known a little girl called Tina. A small boy called Bert. They were the same to him as any other of the servants’ children. Unimportant… The name Pringle had rung a bell. Merlin thought it a boy from school. A boy from prep school.

  When he left to go to the City and his meeting with Philip Spence, he had left the magazine alone on the table.

  When Barnaby came home at four o’clock to change and ready himself for the night, he just had time to phone Porter and report the business news of the day. Then he picked up the new Tatler and took it to the bathroom where Smithers had run his bath.

  Wiping his hands with a towel and making sure not to wet the pages, Barnaby settled back in the hot bath to read his favourite magazine. First, he flipped to the social pages, the chit-chat, the photographs of couples. There were two photographs of himself with different girls. Neither would mind the other girl. He liked looking at the pictures of the prim young girls and remembering his manhood thrust in their mouths. They had both looked so different. Animals. Their eyes screaming for more, their legs stuck back around their ears. The thought gave him an erection which he found a surprise. The one woman had been married. About forty, insatiable. Probably not had sex with her husband for years. He smiled at his erection. Like money, if there was more to be had, he wanted it. He had escaped a war alive. Life was shorter than anyone knew. The older women were so grateful. They knew young, virile studs were hard to come by. He liked the older women. It gave him a feeling of power. He always made sure they never got enough of him. He did it well once. Maybe twice. Then he left them alone.

  He was hoping he would find what he wanted again. At the party. At the theatre. At the after-theatre dinner. At the nightclub. Where did not matter.

  Then he turned back to the magazine, to the photograph of Tina Pringle and his heart began to thump in his chest.

  “Damn you, Tina. I was having a good time.”

  Merlin had his back to the entrance to the lounge of the Savoy Hotel when Philip Spence licked his lips slowly and lost the thread of their conversation. Merlin knew who it was without looking around. The eyes of every man taking drinks or having tea at the round coffee table set apart in the lounge were following the same direction. Merlin thought it was like a draught of warm air that had swept between the pillars of the big room where a man on a dais in evening clothes was playing the piano, his black tails hanging over the back of the piano stool. The conversation subsided and then rose again as the men tried to remember their manners. Merlin stopped himself from looking around.

  “Sorry, old chap. What did you say?” asked Philip Spence.

  “Is she very pretty?”

  “Exquisite. There was a photograph of her in the latest Tatler. I’m sure it’s the same girl. I wonder who the lucky man is? Her name is Christine Pringle. I remember that from the article. Brother owns Serendipity Mining. Frightfully rich. I think we’re in luck. They are heading for that empty table in front of you… Don’t turn around. Shouldn’t be rude. I’ll be damned! The same girl in the flesh. I think the article said she was staying in the hotel so it’s not such a coincidence. What a stunner… Now, where were we? Yes. Mr CE Porter. There should be a law against what he does. Totally unethical. The man’s a rotter. Finds out what’s happening in companies before the chaps publish their accounts. Knows what’s happening before the rest of us. Damn unfair, I say. Not cricket. We all wait for the figures and then buy or sell. Not Porter. I rather think your brother Barnaby’s a leg man, I think they call it. For Porter. Specialises purely in mining information… Are you listening, Merlin?”

  “She’s exquisite,” sighed Merlin to himself. �
�Absolutely exquisite… What did you say again about Barnaby?”

  Tina Pringle had seen Merlin St Clair when she stepped out of the lift. She had returned to the hotel the previous day from Dorset and wondered if the light was playing tricks. Having been so close to the St Clairs all the time she was growing up, suddenly one of them was walking through the same hotel. The man with him was bald and tall but there was no mistaking Merlin, right down to the monocle he affected in his left eye to dramatise the different colours of his eyes. As a child, she had always been frightened of Merlin after the ginger cat shot out of the kitchen window when Merlin came looking for Barnaby. They had been eating her mother’s best apple and bramble pie. The cat was only young then, she recalled. Probably a year old. She was seven or eight. It was long before the war. She saw Merlin a few times after that but never said a word in his presence. Barnaby had wanted to know why. He had told her more than once that Merlin was his favourite brother. Even his sisters came in for praise. Everyone loved Barnaby and Barnaby loved everyone.

  Tina doubted if Merlin would know who she was. What he would know was where she could find Barnaby in London.

  There had been many messages when she got back to the hotel. The article in Tatler had been a great success. The manager, who was very sweet, had presented her with a diary, so she could keep all the invitations in order. Lord and Lady, Mr and Mrs, General and Mrs, invited Miss Christine Pringle to the coming of age dance of their sons Lance, George, Frederick. She had clapped her hands at all the invitations, certain one of them would bring her face-to-face with Barnaby St Clair. Tina was very determined with what she was going to do to Barnaby for not even writing her a letter.

  The man she was to meet at the reception desk had been sent to escort her to a coming out dance for a girl she had never heard of before, let alone met. There was clearly a shortage in London of rich young girls who did not look like the back end of a bus… Recovering from her surprise at seeing Merlin, she walked gracefully as taught by Miss Pinforth towards the chinless wonder waiting for her at the desk. There was no doubt it was him. He kept changing feet and looked most uncomfortable, poor boy. He was older than she expected. His parents must be desperate. Tina smiled. She was dressed in a silk sheath that tried to make her breasts look as flat as a pancake which she knew was impossible. The fur stole hung around her neck. Diamond and pearl earrings, given to her by Albert for her twenty-first, sparkled in the light from the chandelier. The black cloche hat fitted perfectly. She had what she knew was a sweet black bag in her right hand that went with the long black gloves that came up to her elbows. Over her left arm trailed a fur coat given to her by Benny Lightfoot at the same twenty-first. She knew better than anyone she looked a million dollars.

  “You must be Mr Willoughby-Smythe,” she said to the chinless wonder. “I hate getting to a party early. Why don’t we take a small drink in the lounge before we go? I do like to be naughty. I hope you do, Mr Willoughby-Smythe?”

  “You are even prettier than the photograph in the Tatler,” the man stammered.

  “You see the man sitting with his side to us, wearing a monocle. There’s a table next to him. Please lead the way. Then I have a favour to ask you.”

  “Anything, Miss Pringle.”

  Merlin removed the monocle with the plain glass from his left eye as he did not wish to be seen staring. Their eyes had met and locked soon after the girl sat down at the vacant table next to them. Merlin thought the man with her looked like a perfect twit. The girl smiled at him and then leaned towards the twit. Philip Spence was also speechless. To their surprise, the twit got up and came to their table. Merlin screwed his monocle in his left eye to frighten the man.

  “Miss Pringle, the lady I am escorting to the dance, requests the pleasure of your company, Mr St Clair. I’m afraid we have not had the pleasure. Willoughby-Smythe. You may have heard of my father. Textiles.”

  “I’m sorry. There must be a mistake.”

  “Your name is St Clair?” persisted the twit. The girl was smiling at him and moving the long silk dress by recrossing her legs. “Miss Pringle tells me your families are old friends. From the same part of the world. Have you forgotten, sir?”

  “Of course not,” said Merlin standing up, the memory of Tina Pringle suddenly returning. “Spence, please meet Willoughby-Smythe… Would you mind, old chap, if we change tables?” he said to Philip Spence.

  “Not at all.” Philip was leering at him. “Old friends?”

  “Well, more of an old friend of my brother, Barnaby… How are you, Tina? I did not recognise you at first. How old were you the last time we met?”

  “The first time I was eight. The cat bolted through the kitchen window.”

  “They do that, I’m afraid. How’s Bert?”

  “Very well. He has a little girl.”

  “What can I do for you, Tina?”

  “Where is Barnaby?”

  “Ah, Barnaby. Please, may I present Philip Spence? Miss Christine Pringle. Our families grew up together. It will be a pleasure to join you. I’m sure the waiter will bring across our drinks.”

  Merlin sat down quickly without being asked further. He was reduced to water, something no woman had ever done in his life.

  “May I say you have become a very beautiful woman?”

  “Why thank you, Merlin.”

  “Barnaby is staying at my flat. When would you care to come to dinner? My man Smithers is a passable cook. You’ll come, of course, Willoughby-Smythe?”

  “I’ll have to check my diary,” said Tina. “Please remember me to Barnaby. I live at the hotel. Africa was very good to me… You may remember a mutual friend of Robert’s. Brigandshaw. Harry Brigandshaw.”

  “You met Harry!”

  “Oh, yes. I meet a lot of people.”

  “I’ll ask Barnaby to phone the invitation to your hotel.”

  “Why not yourself?” said Tina.

  When she left twenty minutes later with her chinless wonder she was chortling inside. She had struck lightning in Merlin St Clair. She would play Merlin against Barnaby. Her revenge was going to be sweeter than she thought. “Dear oh dear,” she said to herself, “Merlin!”

  It was strange. So often the older men fell at her feet… There was still something about Merlin that gave her the shivers.

  All through that night, she thought of nothing but Barnaby. She did not remember saying goodbye to the chinless wonder.

  Merlin tried his best. He went to the theatre that night where a girl he had taken twice to supper was playing a minor part. When he asked, the girl was otherwise engaged for the night. He knew where Barnaby was going to for the last part of his evening. They had both received an invitation to join a group of friends at the Embassy where there was a small dance floor. The Prince of Wales sometimes joined the group, Barnaby had said.

  When Merlin arrived the Royal Prince was nowhere to be seen. To Merlin’s surprise, Barnaby was drunk. Not enough to be embarrassing, even Barnaby was well bred enough not to make a fool of himself in public. Only a brother or a close friend would have known he was drunk. His eyes were watery. His speech measured. He sat too quietly.

  Merlin had joined the party without any fuss. His usual glass of whisky was put in front of him, which came as a surprise. He thought he was not that well known. Everyone knew each other. There were no introductions. He heard somebody say to someone he was Barnaby’s brother. The music changed to ragtime and the girls all got up as one. Luckily for Merlin, there were more men than girls. Barnaby stayed seated. Merlin moved to sit next to him.

  “You’re all right, Barnaby?”

  “Why can’t she come from the right family? Why can’t she be rich?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about but I do know you have drunk too much.”

  “I love her, Merlin. I always have. Our mother would be ashamed. Our family. What can I do?… She’s back in England. The photograph was in the Tatler you left on the table.”

  “I know. I had
drinks with her earlier tonight.”

  “What are you talking about, my dear Brother?”

  “Tina Pringle. Christine Pringle. And if you asked me she looked rich enough. The diamond and pearls were real, and the coat was mink. I want to talk to you about CE Porter. Philip Spence says he’s a bad egg.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Philip knows what is going on in the City.”

  “I’m talking about Tina.”

  “She’s staying at the Savoy. I said you will give her a ring. She wanted to know where you were. Mother always said your childhood friendship should have stopped a lot earlier than it did. You can’t get involved with the staff.”

  “She’s not the staff.”

  “Her father was. The Pringles have worked for the St Clairs as far back as anyone can remember.”

  “So what?”

  “You are drunk, Barnaby. I’m taking you home. Come along.”

  “I know a small bar that stays open. Against the law but who cares? I need a drink, Merlin.”

  “All right. But come on before this music stops. Have you paid your bill?”

  “I have no idea. If I haven’t, they’ll keep it for me. Did I tell you, you’re a jolly good chap, Merlin? Be a sport and get my hat and coat. And my cane. It’s a swordstick, but I didn’t tell you… Just in case. You never know… You’re a splendid chap… Why did she have to leave Africa? I was quite fine. Quite fine. Now I’m going to be quite miserable.”

  “No, you’re not. In the morning you won’t remember a thing.”

  “I’ve got to phone her. Where is the phone?”

  “Not now, Barnaby.”

  “All right. We’ll go and have a drink. You and me. The two brothers. I wish Robert was in town. If he was, I’d invite him. He’s a dear chap is Robert… Please don’t push my elbow, Merlin, or I may fall down. I don’t wish to fall down in the Embassy. Had a girlfriend here once. Went to India, I think… Yes, that is my coat. And my hat. I promise not to pull out the sword. Might frighten the gals.”