Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One - House of Lords
Chapter Two - Day Before Bloody Sunday
Chapter Three - New York Docks
Chapter Four - Marmalade Park
Chapter Five - The Bishops Avenue
Chapter Six - Kilburn London
Chapter Seven - Kilburn London
Chapter Eight - Marphallow Home
Chapter Nine - Marphallow Home
Chapter Ten - Marphallow Home
Chapter Eleven - Marphallow Home
Chapter Twelve - Marphallow Home
Chapter Thirteen - Marmalade Park
Chapter Fourteen - Scotland Yard
Chapter Fifteen - Scotland Yard
Chapter Sixteen - Loughty Residence
Chapter Seventeen - House of Lords
Chapter Eighteen - Marphallow Home
Chapter Nineteen - Marphallow Home
THE BARON AT BISHOPS AVENUE
Jason Blacker
Copyright © 2015 Jason Blacker
PUBLISHED BY: Lemon Tree Publishing
Visit www.JasonBlacker.com on the web to stay up to date
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Editing: Andrea Anesi
ISBN-13: 978-1-927623-57-2
For my mother who taught me all about justice and fairness.
CHAPTER ONE
House of Lords
THE Palace of Westminster is one of the iconic buildings of the United Kingdom and specifically the City of London. Indeed, most of the world knows the Elizabeth Tower and the iconic clock at the top of such tower called colloquially "Big Ben". Though the clock is not named. Big Ben refers to the largest of the five bells in the belfry, and the only bell that rings in the hours. But that aside, perhaps what is less well known is that both Houses of Parliament sit their sessions at Westminster Palace. This is the House of Commons and the upper house is known as the House of Lords.
For some odd reason Westminster Palace always reminded Eric Marmalade of dragon's teeth. Perhaps it was all the pointed spires or the architectural design. Though on more dour days like today Eric felt that the metaphor of the Houses of Parliament looking more like dragon's teeth had more to do with the bickering that took place in the Lords Chamber than with any actual aesthetic of the building's design.
The fifteenth of November in 1920 was a Monday. A Monday that Eric was not thrilled about to be attending the Lords Chamber. There wasn't anything specifically disastrous about this day, rather it was a day of disappointment like many hundreds that had preceded it.
Eric had always considered himself staunchly liberal. But for the past few years he had been sitting opposite the Woolsack. He was now known as a "crossbencher". The word was spat out as if it were distasteful. It was a slur really. And one to which Eric didn't take too kindly. But here he was, a crossbencher, having found himself without a political party to follow since Herbert Henry Asquith had been defeated by the current Prime Minister David Lloyd George. This was the problem with politics, it had less to do with ideology and more to do with emotionality. And for the last little while Asquith and Lloyd George had been fighting about ideology when in reality they just didn't like each other.
If Eric were to choose sides, he might have sided with Lloyd George. But in fairness, he practically disliked them equally. They were quarrelsome and power hungry. The reason the Liberal Party had forked into two was because Asquith had sought a Conservative coalition for he lacked the courage to stand by liberal principles. Though to be fair to him, Eric wondered if his liberal principles were of convenience. He was a womanizer and arrogant leader thinking ever more of himself for having become the longest serving Prime Minister England had endured. And an endurance it was.
Nevertheless, the conservatives were no better and the National Liberal Party under Lloyd George only slightly more playable to Eric's tastes. Indeed, as Eric stepped into the Lords Chamber he wondered why he did so. Perhaps it was some archaic sort of honor that he was here in fact to serve the greater good of England and her people. Though he oftentimes thought he might be fooling himself.
The dull hum of the place was reminiscent of a hornet's nest. An idea that was not far off. Eric sat down in the front row reserved for the crossbenchers. All around him sat mostly rotund, older white men on the plump red cushions of the benches. In front of him, across a large desk and chaise lounge about fifty feet away sat the Lord Chancellor, Baron Christopher Marphallow, on his Woolsack. He was a fat, short man. Five feet six inches on a good day and almost as wide as he was tall. He looked younger than his fifty seven years thanks to the fat in his jowls and chin. His eyes were squinty and his voice was hoarse and staccato as he gasped for breath between every thought. He had a thin wispy mustache that drooped like miniature mammoth tusks from his upper lip. He twirled them for emphasis and when he had nothing to say but wanted a moment to think.
Eric didn't like him. He was a difficult man to like for anyone with any common sense. But he ingratiated himself with the right people and that gave him the position of Lord Chancellor, and an opportunity to sit against the Woolsack cushion.
Eric politely greeted Lord Perry Fernsby. He was an undistinguished looking man of middle age and thinning hair. The only problem was that he didn't know it. Or chose to cover it up. He had grown the hair on his left side long enough to comb over his thinning pate. He had a full beard well kept. Perhaps to keep your eyes off his thinning head. He was average in every way. A quite dull and boring man. An example of the reason why Eric could no longer consider himself a supporter of hereditary peerage.
To Eric's right was Lord Larmer Loughty. A tall thin man who had spent a lifetime ducking under doors. As such, his carriage was stooped and he wore a permanently furrowed brow across his pale white forehead. His eyes were a diluted blue and his hair, thin only in diameter, covered his head and his face held no hint of hair other than wispy eyebrows that seemed surprised to have arisen above his eyes.
"You look happy to be here," said Lord Loughty as he smiled at Eric.
Eric grinned at him.
"Is it that obvious?" he asked.
Larmer nodded and looked over at the Lord Chancellor who had stood and was getting ready to address the House of Lords. The hum turned to a murmur and then the chamber fell silent.
"My Lords," said Baron Marphallow, looking around and taking a moment to breathe, "Lord Huppington has been granted the right to speak first."
Marphallow looked over at the Government's Bench and nodded at a young man in his early forties with a very round face, greying hair and ruddy complexion. This was Lord Percivil Huppington. His two eyes were squeezed together on either side of his nose. A small nose that wasn't much more than a red lump of putty squashed into the middle of his face. He stood up and looked around. He didn't say anything for a moment, smiling benevolently as if he were the king overlooking his loyal subjects. He then looked at a wheezing Marphallow lying against the Woolsack like a beached sea lion.
"Thank you, Lord Chancellor," said Huppington before turning to look across at the Opposition's Bench. "My Lords, I fear I must once again declare my utter opposition to England's decision to rename British East Africa. Are we not talking about Br
itish lands? Indeed, the land that God has given great England to shower with civilization and the Englishman's benevolence. Is not calling British East Africa, Kenya, a slap against the strength of our empire?"
Huppington was becoming droned out by boos and hisses from the opposition. Before he could carry on, Lord Sinjin Paussage stood up to berate him.
"My Lords," he said forcefully, "is it not time to move on? British East Africa is now Kenya and the government has agreed on such. Lord Huppington wastes our time by wishing to discuss this matter which many months ago had already been put to rest."
Paussage was a forceful speaker. A well known drinker with the purpled dimpled nose to show for it, he was nonetheless eloquent when he so chose to be. A fat man with a bald head, he could be an imposing figure if you were not on his side. He sat down to an echo of "here, heres" and polite applause. Huppington remained unaffected.
He started to orate again about his displeasure regarding the renaming. Eric turned a deaf ear to him. He was an ignorant and generally facile man with little depth beyond his immediate interest. Eric couldn't care less what a country was called, and the fact that black Africans were being governed by outsiders from thousands of miles away didn't bring him comfort. He knew that it was only a matter of time until the African would demand to govern Africa. He had seen the horrors of war first hand in South Africa. And he had felt the distrust of the African during his tenure there. In any event, he had little interest in Africa as he had little business there. But as a humanitarian he could easily see the calamity brewing against the backdrop of the future like storm clouds gathering their cavalry.
Eric sighed. It was a soft inaudible sigh. He shouldn't have come in today to the Lords Chamber. It was off to a terrible start. He looked at his fingers and he looked at the backs of his hands. He was forty two and now middle aged. His hands were starting to show it. He kept trim and healthy but the skin was getting noticeably thinner. Eric's mind was not present as he could still subconsciously hear the droning of Huppington. To his right, movement stirred him from his reverie. Lord Loughty had stood.
"If it please my lords," he said, his voice carrying over the top of Huppington's, "I'd like to bring our attention to more pressing matters."
Loughty stood as he let the ebb of cheers wash over him. Marphallow took his time standing, and dabbed at his brow with his handkerchief. The effort of merely rising was a rousing event for him.
"I allow Lord Loughty the floor," said Marphallow as he turned to Huppington. "If the Lord of the Government's Bench will kindly take a seat."
Huppington threw his arms up in disgust. But it was a half-hearted effort. He knew he was defeated. If nothing else, he just liked to hear himself talk. And talk at length.
Marphallow nodded at Loughty and sat down slowly as if worried someone had stuffed the Woolsack with pins.
"Thank you, Lord Chancellor," said Loughty. "Notwithstanding my noble friend's assertion that Kenya is of concern, I'd like to bring the Lords' attention to more pressing matters at hand. Specifically the Irish problem."
It wasn't lost on most of the Lords that Loughty himself was an Irishman. He had however, lived most of his life in England and had lost all trace of his accent. But some suspected his loyalties remained with those living in Éire.
The Chamber remained quiet to give Loughty his opportunity to address the issue. It was well known that Ireland was indeed a sore and pressing concern for the British Government. With the founding of the Irish Republican Militia several years before, the relationship between Ireland and the United Kingdom had only become more difficult. This was coming to a head with the ongoing Irish War of Independence and the self proclaimed birth of the Irish Republic in 1919 under the Dáil.
"My Lords," continued Loughty, standing taller now, and thrusting his shoulders back, "I fear that calamity is nigh upon us if the Government will not come to talks with the representatives of the Irish Republic."
This met with boos, hisses and also polite applause, depending on which side of the throne you sat. The Opposition tending to the later and the Government tending to the former. Though Loughty was right. At least in Eric's estimation.
"Have we not learnt anything from the Great War that ended but just a whisper ago?" said Loughty. "And yet barely with its last dying gasp is born what I fear will become a new and ongoing war against our own people. Has war not taught us that dialogue is better than divisiveness?"
Loughty looked around as the crowd took turns jeering and applauding him. Eric smiled wistfully. If this was supposed to be the Upper House, if these were supposed to be the cream of England's crop, he worried about the very future of England and her empire. If educated, wealthy men could not communicate in a civilized fashion, perhaps the sun was just now setting on the empire that had reached the far corners of the globe. Perhaps the gods were no longer pleased.
"And what does the Lord propose?" came a sarcastic voice from the Government's Bench.
Eric didn't see who it was, but he had an idea. It didn't matter though. As much as he thought Loughty's argument was on point, it was unlikely that a coalition government in the current form under Lloyd George was about to do any negotiations with what it considered to be domestic terrorists.
Loughty looked over at the Government's Bench searching the faces of the Lords for the sarcastic speaker. He didn't find him. Not to worry, Loughty put on a charming smiled and nodded at them collectively.
"It is simply a matter of dialogue as I mentioned before. My proposal is to form a committee, either with us in the Upper House or even within the Members of Parliament. Whether it be the House of Lords or the House of Commons that forms such a committee is moot. The important thing is that such a committee is formed. For I fear that if we do not, we shall soon enough see blood in the streets. We shall spill English and Irish blood upon our own lands. And that, my Lords, would be a far greater tragedy than negotiating some sort of peace with our own people."
Loughty let the murmurs of the crowd swirl and pool in the Lords Chamber until it slowly emptied through the drain of time. He remained standing for a short while, marshaling his thoughts. Lord Paussage stood again. He looked over at the Lord Chancellor who nodded at him.
"If it please my Lords, I'd like to take my noble friend to task with his shameless love for the Emerald Isle."
Paussage smiled, though it was more a snarl really. His face was hard to like. Not only because he was a heavy drinker and an irascible man, but because his smiles always seemed to look sinister like a snarl. One could never be sure if he was being genuinely friendly or just getting ready to tear a piece from you. The Government's Bench erupted in raucous laughter and cheering. Loughty smiled though he held his shoulders back.
"It is no secret that I was born in Ireland. But it should also be apparent to any Lord with moderately good eyesight that I have served His Majesty and England for longer than my noble friend on the Government's Bench."
Now it was the Opposition's chance aided by the crossbenchers to rouse support for the lanky Lord. Paussage nodded slightly at Loughty. If he was irascible he still nevertheless took well to acerbic wit.
"And that is what worries my Lords. Are those Irish eyes smiling because my noble friend is genuinely interested in peace or is it the glimmer of wishing to further divide our nation?" asked Paussage rhetorically.
"I shall not stoop to such low character assassination as I have been the subject of. Those whose input on this matter is important know the answer to Lord Paussage's rhetoric. I only ask that we put forward a motion that the Government be force to the table to negotiate in good faith with the IRM. After all, has Dáil not been elected freely just like our own Government?" asked Loughty.
There was more raucousness in the Lords Chamber, and both Paussage and Loughty stood silently until it had swept itself away again.
"I believe my noble friend is choosing his facts far too loosely. The Irish people have not voted for independence. I am not aware of any ref
erendum to that effect. Am I mistaken?" asked Paussage looking around at his fellow benchers.
There was a general agreement with his feeling. And indeed, to be fair, the Irish people had not yet held a referendum to remove themselves from the Government of the United Kingdom.
"There might not have been a referendum, but the people of Ireland have spoken loudly enough of their feelings. Just this past election they have sent seventy three members of Ceann Daoine to Parliament from the allotted one hundred and five. Is that not argument enough that they wish to form their own government?" asked Loughty.
Loughty was shouted down. The Chamber was becoming ever more antagonistic towards him as Eric thought they might. Though he feared that Loughty was right. There would be no good outcome if the Government refused to sit down and take their demands seriously. As far as he was concerned, if Ireland wanted to break away so be it. Let them. It was far better than fighting a civil war that could drag on for years.
"We cannot deal with terrorists," shouted Paussage who was by this time becoming visibly upset. "The Irish are a farming and tribal people. They cannot be relied upon to govern themselves civilly amongst a civilized nation. I say the Government and you, my Lords, should not vote to force the Government to sit down with these belligerents. Not until they have put down their weapons and beat their swords back into ploughs. No. We cannot allow for violence to steal us from our resolve. Or next we'll be dealing with the Scots looking to secede."
The Lords on the Government's side loved this. There was applause and cheering. Eric looked up at Loughty. His Irish eyes were no longer smiling. They were smoldering. And perhaps some years before, perhaps many years before, Loughty might have gone over to Paussage and punched him in the mouth for his rude remarks, and Eric would have cheered him on.
Today however, Loughty stood there, clenching his teeth. Resigned, as Eric was, that as a crossbencher, one would likely remain a groomsman and never the groom. At length the Lord Chancellor stood again and waited for a moment until all the hubris had been emptied from the minds of senile old men. Though that was not what he was thinking. Then he turned to Paussage and nodded. After that he turned to Loughty and smiled insincerely.
The Baron at Bishops Avenue (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 9) Page 1
