Master of His Fate

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “That’s the way it goes. You’re just walking along, minding your own business, and you suddenly get hit by a train. Wham! And you’re a goner.” Reggie struck a Swan Vestas, put the flame to the cigarette, and took a long drag. “That was your lucky day, Sebastian.”

  “It was. Thanks for agreeing to be my best man, Reg. I really do appreciate it.”

  “I would have been as mad as hell if you’d asked anyone else,” Reginald declared, sounding indignant.

  “Who would I have asked?” Sebastian threw him a puzzled look.

  “Doug, Francis, or Malcolm, our three little friends from our Eton days. Tra-la, tra-la.”

  Grinning, Sebastian exclaimed, “That’s something I can’t possibly visualize, although I did invite them to the wedding and they are coming.”

  “’Course they are. They wouldn’t miss it for the world. And they’ll be eaten up with envy when they set eyes on the bride.”

  “Speaking of my bride, I have created a trust for her which will come into play once we are married. As I explained last night, you are still executor of my will, alongside my sister Thea. I’ve had to make some changes to it because of my marriage. However, it pretty much remains the same, except that I had to make provision for my future wife. I want her to be totally secure financially if something happens to me.”

  “I understand you completely, but you’ve also got the consolation that she’s her father’s heir. His only child. The Malvern company will be hers one day. She’ll be very, very rich in her own right.”

  “I know, I know. But I felt I must do the proper thing. After all, she is going to be Mrs. Sebastian Trevalian.”

  “Claudia inherits Courtland, doesn’t she?” Reggie said.

  “Yes, as my oldest child and heir, she gets everything. Well, almost. Her sisters have trusts. Let’s move on … I have studied those papers you sent me before I left London. I really think Marcus Whitely has made you a terrific offer for the newspaper company. I would take it if I were you. I doubt you’ll do better, get a higher offer.”

  Reggie nodded, looking pleased. “I’m glad I have your blessing. I don’t have a son to inherit. I’m in the same boat as you … only daughters. Frankly, I want to get rid of the lot and go off and have a bit of playtime. I’m tired.”

  Unexpectedly, the heavy clouds darkened and a drizzle started. Within seconds it turned into a heavy shower. Both men jumped up and set off down the path, heading toward the house. They began to run when the shower became a heavy downpour. They were both sodden to the skin when they rushed into the front hall, their clothes dripping rain onto the highly polished marble floor.

  * * *

  Sebastian sat in his bath, hoping to get warm and to ease the ache in his bones. He had understood exactly what Reggie had meant when he remarked that he was glad he was selling his company, that he was tired. He had been feeling the same way for the last few months. But after all, he was in his forties now.

  There had been the fuss of his daughter’s marriage, all that planning, training Cornelius, and, of course, making the changes in his last will and testament, a necessity since he was about to embark on marriage.

  Marriage to Alexis. Here at Courtland. It would be a lovely occasion, surrounded by family and just a few friends. A small affair, but one he was looking forward to, and then the trip to Paris. He really couldn’t wait.

  He drifted with his thoughts, dozing in his tub, until at last he roused himself. He got out, wrapped himself in a large bathrobe, and went into the bedroom to sit in front of the fire. He couldn’t help wondering why he had been feeling so chilled lately. It’s the cold, he thought. I caught cold. It’s nothing; it will go away. Colds always do after a few days.

  * * *

  Sebastian stood on the terrace, looking out across the park. It had turned into a lovely evening. The rain had stopped, the dark clouds had fled, and the sky was pale blue tinged with pink around the edges of wispy white clouds.

  The air was fresh, and there was the smell of wet grass floating in the air. He took several deep breaths, relieved that he could breathe properly again.

  When he was dressing for dinner, he had been overwhelmed by a coughing attack; at one moment he had thought he might choke.

  Thankfully he was fine now. But he must watch himself, get rid of the cold. It was the twelfth of September, and on the twenty-ninth he was getting married. He must be fit and well for this important event in his life.

  A smile flickered when he thought of Alexis. She was busy in London this week, having fittings for her trousseau at Madame Valance’s atelier. Aided and abetted by Claudia and Lady Jane. How lucky he was to have found her, this quite extraordinary young woman who doted on him, as he did on her.

  “There you are,” Lord Reginald exclaimed, walking onto the terrace, coming to a stop next to Sebastian and following his gaze.

  “The park looks at its best tonight, especially in this light.” Reggie glanced up. “‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning.’ So at least we know it won’t rain tomorrow.”

  Sebastian nodded. “What a soaking we took. I hope you had a hot bath … I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  “No, I didn’t. Perhaps I’m like Prime Minister Melbourne, who once told Queen Victoria he never took a bath. But actually I do bathe frequently. We’re a funny lot, we English, we’re afraid of water, think it opens our pores, and exposes us to dangerous diseases.”

  Sebastian started to laugh. “I know, but I need a good hot soak some days. It takes away the aches and pains. To change the subject, I was thinking about Whitely’s offer for your company earlier and wondering if you really do want to sell to him? Or anyone else for that matter? I mean, what would you do without the newspapers?”

  “My God, how extraordinary! I’ve been thinking about that exact same thing. It occurred to me I might be at a loss, not know how to pass my time, unless you retired from the bank and then we could go traveling the world, having fun.”

  Shaking his head, grimacing, Sebastian exclaimed, “I could never retire. I must run Trevalians as long as I’m able to do so. I’ve started training Cornelius early, because I want him to take over one day, and need him to be aware of everything. He’s good, thank God. I was extremely lucky Claudia picked a man who came from a banking family. She had the good sense to choose one with his feet on the ground, and who doesn’t mind having his nose to the grindstone.”

  “The thing that worries me is The Chronicle. I’ve managed to have the best editors, who have kept the paper on the right track. There’s not a hint of the tabloid press there. It’s a fine newspaper, and I’m proud of it. I wouldn’t want it to change.”

  Sebastian nodded. He took hold of Reggie’s arm. “Let’s go inside and have a glass of bubbly before supper, and talk some more.”

  They went into the library. As he usually did, Sebastian stood in front of the fire, warming himself. Mr. Kingsley, the butler at Courtland, walked forward. “Good evening, sir. What can I serve you, your lordship?”

  “I’ll have champagne, Kingsley, since I spot a bottle ready and waiting. Thank you.”

  A moment later the two old friends were clinking glasses and Sebastian picked up their conversation. “I thought The Chronicle’s coverage of those frightful Whitechapel murders was excellent. Any new developments?”

  Reggie grimaced. “Nothing. It’s very strange. The police are baffled. Apparently they haven’t been able to pin down any suspects. But my money’s on the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police. They’ll solve it.”

  Reggie chuckled when he realized Sebastian was puzzled, if only momentarily. “That’s the real name for Scotland Yard, which is actually the name of the street and the building where they are housed. At the moment. They’ll soon be moving over to a new building on the Embankment.”

  Sebastian nodded, sipped his drink. “I didn’t know that.”

  Reggie went on, “Centuries ago, the street
called Scotland Yard housed a palace where the Scottish kings stayed when they visited London. Bet you didn’t know that either, eh?”

  “No, I didn’t, and I wonder who else does?” Sebastian eyed his longest and dearest friend in amusement. “I always said you are full of an enormous amount of strange information—”

  “That nobody has any use for?” Reggie interrupted.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. What you’ve just told me is rather interesting, since I like hearing new things about English history.” Sebastian paused, finally said, “Going back to the murders, they’ve been awfully violent, haven’t they?”

  “Yes. Even seasoned policemen were sickened by the way the women’s bodies were mutilated, ripped apart, so I’m told by my editor. Hence the name Jack the Ripper … whoever thought of that. It’s a bit lurid, I think.”

  “I was worried about Alexis and Claudia going to Haven House in Whitechapel, but I soon realized that it’s not anywhere near the district where the murders took place. They went there this afternoon, I believe. They always go on Wednesday. I suppose they wanted to reassure the women there today.”

  Reggie nodded, and after a few swallows of the champagne, he threw Sebastian a questioning look. “Were you going to tell me not to make a deal to sell my newspapers?”

  “Not exactly. I was going to retract my rather hasty response to you earlier. I now believe you should think it over. There’s no hurry, is there.”

  “None at all. I shall take your advice, mull it over.” A reflective look settled on his face. A second later he said in a low voice, “I do love The Chronicle. My paper.”

  * * *

  The two men had supper in the Chinese dining room. Medium in size, it was painted scarlet. It was a favorite of both men. Sebastian had designed it himself some years earlier. The walls and ceiling had been given a coat of lacquer to make them shine. A chandelier created from Chinese lanterns hung down over a round ebony-wood table, surrounded by Chinese chairs made of the same black wood.

  Framed paintings of Chinese landscapes on the walls and other pieces of Chinoiserie-style furniture added to the unique effect. As in all the rooms at Courtland Priory, a fire blazed in the hearth.

  “I always feel as if I’m cozy and safe inside a small red box,” Reggie said, looking across the table at Sebastian.

  “That was my intention,” Sebastian answered. He ate an oyster, explained, “These are from Colchester, by the way, and the best fishmonger.”

  “That’s how they taste. Jolly good choice on your part, and I’m glad the season has started. Incidentally, what did Douglas Manfield say about us not going to join him at Templeton Hall for the grouse last weekend? Was he put out?”

  “I’m not sure. Worried maybe. He was short of guns when we dropped out. However, I think he managed to invite a couple of other guns at the last minute. I just said I was up to my neck with planning the wedding and that you were busy with me. I let it go at that. I didn’t say anything about our growing aversion to shooting down blameless little birds for no real reason.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t! He would’ve thought we’d turned into sissies.”

  Sebastian stared at Reggie, taken aback, and they both laughed, not caring at all what their old Etonian friend thought about them.

  After the oysters, Kingsley and one of the maids served rack of lamb with mixed vegetables, and the dessert was a mixture of strawberries, meringue, and thick cream commonly known as Eton Mess.

  Later that evening, as they sat by the fire in the library, sipping cognac, Sebastian suddenly leaned forward. “I’m glad you were able to spend this week here with me, Reg, especially since I didn’t particularly want to have a bachelor night. These few days with you are much more important. Thank you.”

  “No thanks required, old chap, it’s my pleasure. Once a chap gets married, things do change. Jane went along with it quite happily, knowing how lives evolve in different ways. Anyway, she’s busy with the bride and happy I’m here with you.”

  Sebastian smiled at the thought of Alexis. After a moment, he said, “I’ve never quite understood about bachelor nights. It seems to me it’s just an excuse to go on a bender. And who needs that the night before getting married? A hangover must be something of a burden on the wedding day.”

  A silence fell between them for a short while. It was Reggie who broke it when he murmured, “Can you imagine, we’ve been best friends for over thirty years? And not once have we had a quarrel.”

  Grinning at him, Sebastian exclaimed, “That’s absolutely true. But there have been moments when I’ve wanted to punch you on the nose.”

  Reggie burst out laughing. “And I’ve felt the same about you. The thing is, we never did it.”

  Thirty-nine

  Lord Reginald Horatio Carpenter, heredity peer of the realm, publishing tycoon, and generous philanthropist who helped the poor and needy, was a man of many talents. He was extremely clever and could usually solve most problems which faced him, whatever they were.

  But not at this moment in time. His closest and dearest friend was just that little bit cleverer. At least in hiding the fact that he was ill, which is what Sebastian had done for the last two days since Reggie had come down to stay with him.

  As he walked toward the stable block at Courtland, early on Thursday morning, Reginald wondered how he was going to outmaneuver Sebastian and get Dr. Sedgewick over to the house as soon as possible. He knew the doctor who lived and worked in nearby Cirencester and that he had treated the Trevalian family for years.

  Last night, at supper, Sebastian had looked well enough and had appeared perfectly normal. He had been elegantly dressed as always. But Reginald was certain his friend had hidden a bout of coughing by excusing himself and leaving the table for a moment or two.

  Later that evening, unable to fall asleep, his mind on the sale of his newspapers, Reginald had heard Sebastian coughing once more. Dismayed and worried, he had left his bed, gone out into the corridor to stand outside Sebastian’s door. He had wondered whether to go in and see if his friend needed help. In the end he had decided against intruding, aware how private Sebastian was.

  When Reginald arrived at the stable block, he saw the head groom saddling up Brilliant Boy, the stallion Reginald had ridden yesterday.

  “Good morning, Smiley,” he called, hurrying across the cobblestone yard. “I’ve decided not to ride today. I should have told you earlier.”

  The groom swung around, saluted Reginald. “Morning, sir. Not a problem, your lordship, just wanted to be prepared in case you were up for a good gallop before breakfast.”

  Reginald stroked the horse’s nose, patted his neck. “He’s a wonderful stallion,” he announced, taking a step back, his admiration for the horse showing on his face. He had been around horses all his life and knew a piece of great horseflesh when he saw it.

  Smiley said, “The best we have in the stable, sir. If you asks me, he could’ve been trained to race … he’s a racehorse, in my humble opinion. Look at his fabulous legs, his flanks. Gorgeous bit of stuff.”

  As he spoke, Smiley went back to the horse, began to unbuckle the saddle. Looking across at Lord Reginald, the groom asked, “What about tomorrow, sir? Might you be up for a trot then?”

  “Yes, indeed. And perhaps Mr. Trevalian will join me, Smiley. We’ll probably go out together.”

  “Oh, I do hope so, your lordship! Mr. Trevalian didn’t ride at all when he was here last weekend. Under the weather, mebbe.”

  Reginald inclined his head slightly, knowing better than to discuss his host with an employee, or with anybody for that matter. Bad form, totally beyond the pale.

  Reaching out, he smoothed his hand over the glossy, dark brown coat of the horse, and said to the groom, “You certainly keep him in fine fettle, Smiley. Good work indeed. Very good grooming.”

  “I try, sir, and Brilliant Boy is worth it. He’s got breeding, stamina, and heart. What more can you ask from a horse.”

  “Y
ou’re absolutely correct, Smiley,” Reginald replied, strolling out of the yard, making his way to the Great Park, walking along the grove lined with ancient oak trees. He breathed deeply of the fresh air on this wonderful sunny morning.

  That was another thing he had noticed. Sebastian had had trouble breathing toward the end of supper last night. Instantly Reginald came to an abrupt stop. His friend might well have caught cold, as he insisted he had, but it was now more than that. He was sure there was a worse problem, something to do with Sebastian’s chest or his lungs.

  “Damn it,” Reginald cursed under his breath, and thought, I’m going to tackle him at breakfast and insist he sends for the doctor.

  His mind now made up, Reginald swung around and walked back up the grove, determined to take charge of Sebastian’s health. He was getting married at the end of the month. He had to regain his full health by then. That was an imperative.

  As he strode along, Reginald couldn’t help wondering why he was being such a coward, not speaking out at supper last night. Or going into Sebastian’s bedroom when the coughing had been so harsh, very loud in the late hours. So loud and hacking, he had heard it across the corridor.

  He had been foolish, and he cursed himself for that. Stand tall, his father had always said to him. Stand tall and speak your mind. Stand your ground. You are from a long line of soldiers who have fought wars and died for their country. Heroes all.

  So many times his father had said that to him.

  But his father hadn’t been a solider. He had been a skilled businessman who had made a lot of money. Just as he had himself.

  His ancestors had indeed been heroes. One great-great-uncle had even been at Waterloo in 1815. An officer in the British infantry fighting against French hussars and Polish lancers. But they had won that bloody and horrific war, thanks to Wellington, he had no doubt.

  Reginald paused, took out his timepiece, and saw that it was only seven-thirty. Sebastian was usually an early riser. However, he suspected he would not be in the dining room yet. The coughing attack had lasted quite a long time during the night.