“I can solve the mystery!” announced a man from the doorway. He was in a cloak and a broad-brimmed hat, both muddied from a long ride.
“Roderick!” cried Quentin.
“I passed a phaeton on the road through Quigley Magna, containing Boadicea and a young woman dressed as a maid.”
“I do not understand,” said Quentin, giving voice to a thought shared by everyone.
“We shall learn more of her hereafter,” Roderick continued. “Let us first occupy ourselves with more pressing matters. Where is Aunt Fanny?”
Heads turned. Mary Tudor stepped forward.
“You have returned, nephew. I suggest you retire and rest yourself; we can speak on the morrow. In private.”
Roderick shook his head. “No, this cannot wait. I have brought someone to meet you. Brother,” he turned to Napoleon who referred him to Marie Antoinette, “I believe I am permitted to bring a guest.”
Quentin nodded. Roderick stepped aside, revealing a small woman in a hooded cloak. He spoke softly to her, encouraging her to reveal her face.
The gasps of the assembly were swiftly replaced by sounds of bewilderment. No one knew who the devil this woman might be. No one, that is, apart from Aunt Fanny, who staggered back a couple of steps before regaining her composure.
“Lemmon!” she cried. “You dare to come here!”
The small woman, elderly and birdlike, nodded. “I would not have come, Miss, but this fellow was more than insistent. Threatening me with the law and all sorts.”
Roderick, smirking, nodded.
“I say, what is all this?” Julius Caesar spoke up. “Is this a ball or is it not? Let there be dancing! Birkworth, more wine!”
“My brother is quite right,” said Aunt Fanny, seeing a chance. “All this can wait. Maestro, if you please!”
She nodded to the leader of the quintet who struck up a merry tune, then she marched over to the little bird-woman, caught her by the wrist and led her from the room. Roderick followed, hotly pursued by Quentin, Francis, Reginald, Frederic, two Joannas and the Squire.
Aunt Fanny pushed open the door to the drawing room and dragged the Lemmon woman in after her. The family pressed through, shutting out the noise of the ball.
“Now,” said Roderick, folding his arms, “let it all come out into the open.”
Quagmire
It was Roderick who spoke first, while Aunt Fanny glowered and Miss Lemmon cowered. The other members of the family took seats around the room.
“There is a reason why I have been absent all these years,” Roderick began, clearly enjoying himself. “You all think I have been travelling across and around the continent - and that is true. What you do not know is how my trip - my grand tour - was funded. That woman there,” he pointed across the room, “not the little one, the Mary Tudor one, our sainted Aunt Fanny, paid me a lump sum to leave the familial hearth and home. I was young and foolhardy and, I must own, happy to go. It was the chance of a lifetime, to see something of the world before deciding what to do with the rest of my life, or settling down and producing an heir to the family fortune.
“Why, you might ask, was my aunt so keen to remove me from the picture? At last, it can be told.”
“Nephew, I beg you!” Aunt Fanny cried out in distress. It was the Squire who answered.
“Sister, we shall hear what the boy has to say and then you shall have the chance to answer. Odds are he has got hold of the wrong end of someone else’s stick and a simple explanation can make all of this unpleasantness go away.”
He did not sound convinced by his own words but others nodded along as if they believed this would be the outcome. Not Quentin. He was watching Aunt Fanny squirming like a worm on a fishhook, and he was enjoying the spectacle.
“The reason that I have returned is the money dried up. I had no choice but to come back. I worked my passage from Aleppo - a circuitous route but it appears I have returned at the optimal moment. Check the accounts, Father; you will see she has been siphoning off funds for years.”
Aunt Fanny smirked.
Squire Quigley blustered. “Son, we have been through this already. We have checked the accounts and found them to be in order.”
“Oh, really?” said Roderick. “And yet your horses are dwindling, your livestock is disappearing, the revenue from renting out the cottages is severely diminished and so on and so forth. She has been bleeding you dry for twenty years. I contend that any ledger she allowed you to see was a forgery. Ask her! Ask her why she has moved into the manor when she has a perfectly reasonable residence of her own? Why? I shall tell you. She has sold it.”
Squire Quigley looked aghast. “Is this true, Fanny? You had no right.”
Aunt Fanny jutted her chin; she had decided to ride out the storm in a stoical manner. “I had need of the cash,” she said flatly. “And there’s an end to it. I checked the legalities in one of your very own books; I was within my rights to liquidise the asset.”
Quentin had to admire her barefaced effrontery. How cold she appears! How ruthless her glaring eyes! Like a shark’s!
“But I fail to comprehend,” said the Squire. He put a hand to his head and seemed surprised to find Caesar’s laurel wreath upon it. He pulled off the crown and tossed it to the carpet. “Why did you need the money? What have you done with it all?”
“There!” Aunt Fanny extended a finger to indicate the quivering Lemmon woman. “That is the creature who has proved so expensive over the years. It is she who has received large stipends for the past twenty years. She has bled me dry like a leech left on too long but she shall receive no more, not from me, not after this night!”
All eyes turned to the quaking stranger. Miss Lemmon drew herself to her full height, which was not very far, and shook her head. “Pardon me but I have not received a single penny in all my born days.”
“Lies!” roared Aunt Fanny. “Don’t listen to her.”
“Would I appear to you now, in ragged and tattered garments such as these, if I had received the remuneration of which you speak? Look at me; I am on the brink of pauperhood and destitution. I come here to ask you why you have not kept to your promise, why you did not send the payments as we agreed.”
Aunt Fanny’s mouth hung open.
“Forgive me,” said the Squire, smiling kindly at the poor woman, “but who are you and what is your history?”
“I am Eglantine Lemmon,” the woman announced. “The name means nothing to you but my profession, twenty years ago, was that of a midwife. Your sons will not remember me but I brought them into the world. My eyes were the first to see them and bid them welcome.”
Reginald and Frederic exchanged glances and shrugs. Squire Quigley was none the wiser.
“And then, twenty years ago, before your youngest was born, I was summoned to an address in Nether Quigley - you have guessed it: the home of your sister, sir, where I delivered a baby boy to an unmarried woman and was paid handsomely for my silence.”
“And that is why I was sent abroad!” cried Roderick. “I overheard my aunt discussing her predicament with the doctor of this parish - a man who has long since retired and kicked the bucket, I believe; he assured her the midwife would never blab, even though the babe must now be seven or eight years of age. It was among his papers that I discovered the whereabouts of Miss Lemmon. I was bribed with the trip of a lifetime and to my undying shame I rose to the bait, instead of alerting my family to the true nature of the viper among us.”
Aunt Fanny hung her head. The Squire was shaking his. He wiped tears from his eyes. “I remember you now,” he said sadly to the midwife. “You were sent for when my wife went into her labour; you did not come.”
“And for that I am eternally sorry,” Miss Lemmon wrung her hands.
“My mother died!” said Quentin. “Giving life to me!”
Miss Lemmon was wracked with remorseful sobs and kept repeating how sorry she was.
“You were paid and handsomely too,” said Aunt Fanny, in a kind of savage bitterness.
“I was not!” Miss Lemmon protested. “I never got a penny. O, you vouchsafed me an agreement. Take the child, you said, place him in a home or bring him up yourself, and you shall be richly rewarded for your pains. And like a fool, I took you at your word. A month passed by and there was no money and I realised I had been duped. And now, twenty years later, this young gentleman turns up and asks me to confirm the story to be true. Well, I am here to say it is. Every word. That woman said she was going to pay me to take her baby but she never did!”
All eyes turned to Aunt Fanny again. The once formidable woman was beginning to crumble. “Then where has all the money gone?” she wailed. “All that money, all these years!”
“The money be hanged!” said the Squire. “What happened to the baby?”
All eyes turned to the former midwife. Miss Lemmon shook her head. “When the first payment did not come and was long past due, I had to get rid of him. I couldn’t look after him on my own, for I am an unmarried woman. And so, I brought him here. To the richest family in the county. They can afford another mouth to feed, I thought; it won’t make no difference to them. And so I snuck into the stables and left him there, all wrapped up in a blanket.”
A cry escaped from Francis and his hand flew to his mouth.
“My word!” said Quentin. “Then you are my cousin! Aunt Fanny, I believe this is your long-lost baby boy!”
The room was about to explode in general consternation when Birkworth, who had at some point unknown, slipped into the room, stepped forward.
“I am afraid you are mistaken,” he said. “The stable boy is not Miss Quigley’s baby.”
“Thank goodness!” Aunt Fanny cried, lowering herself into a chair.
“I am sure,” Birkworth continued, “Miss Lemmon will confirm, the night in question was a stormy one. The house was steeped in sadness because of the recent bereavement, and all the curtains were drawn.”
“That’s right,” Miss Lemmon nodded. “It was ever so dark and the rain was pelting down like billy-o. Nobody saw me coming or going.”
“No one except me,” Birkworth corrected. “I saw you steal from the stables and so I went out to see if anything was missing. It was then that I discovered the infant. Tiny, little thing he was, and as fragile as porcelain. I took him inside and - God forgive me! - I knew he couldn’t survive a life in service. He was too small, too weak. There was no way he could work to earn his keep and so - and so I did something unspeakable, unconscionable, but you must all believe me it was for the best.”
“Birkworth...” Squire Quigley grumbled, “What did you do?”
“The family was in turmoil, sir, quite understandably so. I would not have got away with it otherwise.”
“Damn it, man!” the Squire slapped the table. “What did you do?”
“I took the foundling to the nursery, sir. It was warm in there and the crib was crammed with soft quilts, and I could see the child would have every advantage. Here, the poor little mite would stand a chance of surviving, sir. And not only that but thriving as well. I swapped the babies over. There was not much difference in their ages so I took a chance no one would notice. It has been my pleasure to watch him grow and flourish over the years, and I still maintain it was the right thing to do.”
Quentin was alarmed to find everyone was staring in his direction and not because of his fabulous frock. “What? What are you saying?”
“It is you, sir!” Birkworth stepped toward him and grabbed his hands. “You are the foundling boy. And this,” he turned to Francis, “is the true son of the Squire.”
***
All of a sudden everyone was speaking at once, demanding clarification, confirmation or at the very least repetition of the outlandish claim. The little prince was no longer the little prince but some child of the wrong side of the blanket and the stable boy, previously thought to be a foundling, was in fact a true-blooded Quigley.
“Welcome, brother!” Reginald clapped Francis squarely on the back.
“Yes, welcome to the family!” laughed Frederic. “It is something of a relief to have someone else who may continue the bloodline.”
This remark earned him a swipe from his wife, who narrowed her wrinkled eyes and pursed her puckered lips.
Francis was too amazed to speak. His new family clamoured around him; the Squire pulled him to the paternal breast and declared himself the happiest fellow in the county. The brothers’ wives admired the new addition, commenting on the musculature that was evident beneath his abhorrent Napoleon costume, and the square shape of his Quigley jaw, a feature they had both found so attractive when their husbands had been their suitors.
Aunt Fanny and Roderick were yelling at each other, neither listening to the other, and poor Miss Lemmon was fretting quietly to herself. Birkworth busied himself at the drinks cabinet and carried around a tray of brandy and other restoratives. The Squire, lifting a snifter, glowered at the butler and Birkworth feared for his continuing employment. Then the Squire laughed and insisted Birkworth join him in a toast to celebrate the righting of an ancient wrong. Relieved the butler poured himself a stiff one.
“All’s well that ends well,” the Squire observed.
How trite, thought Quentin! But has it ended, this sordid quagmire of shock and revelation? What is to become of me? There were still so many questions left unanswered. Who is my father? Am I still a Quigley, or what am I? Where did all the money go? And where on Earth did Frederic find that old witch he married?
Dazed and confused, Quentin wandered from the room. In the hall, he could hear the ball was still ongoing. The guests seemed to be having a good time, regardless of the absence of the hosts. A footman twitched, ready to open the doors but Quentin shook his head. Instead, he trudged up the grand staircase to his room - while it was still his room - to change from his ridiculous costume and into something more suitable - but what? Am I to dress like a stable boy now? Is that what I am? Are Francis and I simply to exchange places, swap our stations in the world? I shall not cope! Birkworth saw that when I was an infant. I couldn’t cope then and I shall not cope now.
He wiped the caked powder and smeared paint from his face with a wet flannel and then took off Marie Antoinette’s extravagant gown for the last time. He opened his closet to select an outfit but stayed his hand. Am I even permitted to wear these garments? Do they belong to me or to Francis?
Stunned and exhausted, Quentin lowered himself onto the bed. He did not know what to do. Everything he had known had dropped away as if the ground had opened up and swallowed it, leaving him stranded in a strange and empty world.
He sat like that for an hour or so. In the corridor, a clock struck the midnight hour. I should not be surprised if it struck thirteen, he thought bitterly... Was there potential for an opening line there, with a clock striking thirteen? He could not consider it, so tormented were his thoughts. Had I a big brother I might consult him?
A couple of hours later, the hall was full of the sounds of happy guests taking their leave. The Squire’s voice was among them, thanking them for coming and sharing in the doctor’s happiness, as if that had been the object of the celebration all along.
None of this Quentin heard; he had fallen asleep on the counterpane, curled in a tight little ball, in much the same way that Birkworth had originally found him all those years ago.
Quits
The following morning, Quentin dressed and stumbled downstairs to the breakfast room. Bleary from sleep, he could barely string a sentence together or form a coherent thought. He felt sick.
“All children except one throw up...” The line flashed across his beleaguered imagination. He dismissed it at once.
&n
bsp; The Squire was already at the head of the table, poring over a newssheet.
“Morning, Quentin,” he said without looking up. “There’s chocolate if you want it.”
My favourite, Quentin registered absently. He took a seat at the far end of the table and nodded to Birkworth for a cup of tea. The butler was as inscrutable as ever. Quentin was baffled. Had it all been a dream? Had the revelations of the night before only taken place in his head?
Quentin’s brothers came in next - except they are no longer my brothers, he realised. It is no wonder then that I never considered myself like them, for I am not one of them. I had always thought I took after my mother, who I never met, in terms of colouring and complexion, and now I find I do not, for I am nothing like Aunt Fanny - who is no longer my aunt but my - O, it is unthinkable!
“Morning, Q!” said Frederic, breezily.
“Lovely morning, what!” added Reginald.
Behind them, somewhat sheepish, came Francis, looking altogether uncomfortable in a velvet suit with a lace collar. Hardly suitable attire for mucking out the stables, Quentin observed, and then a stark thought chilled his bones: Am I expected to wield the shovel now?
Francis took a seat next to Quentin’s. His new brothers exhorted him to help himself from the breakfast buffet. Francis, pallid of face and rather overwhelmed, claimed he had no appetite.
The woman Quentin used to regard as his Aunt Fanny came in next, looking peaked after a night deprived of sleep. She merely nodded in response to her nephews’ hearty greeting. Frederic and Reginald were nudging each other under the table; their Aunt Fanny chose to ignore their suggestive looks. She brought a rattling cup and saucer to the table and sat at Quentin’s free side. Quentin could not bring himself to look at her and neither could she do the same for him. She took a sip of tea and steeled herself.
“Good morning, neph - Quentin,” she said flatly. Her eyes darted sideways for an instant, trying to gauge his reaction. Quentin did not respond.
Quoits and Quotability Page 15
