Claude was relieved. He had done what he could to fulfil Sir Bernard’s wishes. The locket was around his daughter’s neck and would be passed from her to her daughter, and then to her daughter through the years. He would arrange for Josephine’s likeness to be painted by one of the prime portraitists of the time and it would hang in The Lodge for generations. Everyone would know ‘Josephine’s locket’ and the reader of the slip of paper in the notebook, wherever it was, would know where to look.
“William, I am told you are to go travelling.” Claude spoke as though he had known nothing of the plan.
“I thought to go to America. There are many opportunities there.”
“But you have nowhere specific in mind?”
William shook his head. “I had thought to book passage to New York and head for Pennsylvania. You see Uncle, I still remember our conversation.”
Claude nodded. “I will tell you everything I know of your American family to help you find them but that will hardly take you any time.”
“I could contact the Royal Geographical Society, I have some contacts there. I am sure some expedition or other will be pushing civilisation westwards. I could join one. There will be many opportunities.”
“What about Africa?” Josephine suggested. “Or Australia?”
“Never mind such adventures now, let us now go in to dinner.”
*
After the ladies had withdrawn leaving Claude and William to share brandy and cigars their conversation took a more serious tone.
“May I ask something of you?” Claude put down his cigar to emphasise the importance of his question.
“Anything.”
“Your father was one of the few men in my life I could call friend. I owe him more than I can ever admit to any man.”
“Certainly more than I will ever know.”
“You are right, William, more than you must ever know. As you see more of life you will understand that all men have secrets. But I will tell you that much of what your father had was through his acquaintance with me and that without that acquaintance I would have had less than nothing. My will, therefore, will be changed to leave everything that is mine to you. It would, of course, become yours on your marriage to Josephine but I wish you to understand that whatever I have is yours of right. I only ask that you undertake to support my daughter should she choose not to marry you and also Patience should I predecease her.” When William tried to interrupt Claude waved his hand dismissively. “These things must be spoken of.”
William nodded. He was aware that under the law everything that was Josephine’s would become his on their marriage but it made him feel more comfortable that his uncle understood the delicacy of the situation.
“Everything that is mine will be yours by direct inheritance not marriage,” Claude repeated and smiled before continuing. “You will, by what I have said, see how confident I am that a marriage between you will take place.”
“I do intend to make something of myself, you know Uncle, I will make my own fortune on my travels so I will not be entirely dependent on your generosity.”
“I understand your need to prove yourself. When I was the age you are now I, too, needed to prove myself, though the circumstances were somewhat different. Suffice to say I advanced in the path I chose and many good men believed my career to be a success. Without telling you more than it is good for you to know I did prove myself, but when I look back I understand that I was not as strong as I should have been. I had a simple belief, to win at… at what I did… and I did win, every time I played the game I won, except that one last time.”
William listened, not understanding half of what was being said but aware that the old man was speaking of things that were of the utmost importance to him. As he listened he decided that as soon as he returned to his room he would to write down everything he could remember of this conversation. He had a feeling that he would never again hear his uncle talk with such honesty and openness.
“Many men’s lives were ruined because of me. I have seen countless men lying dead on the battlefield but I remember one more than any other. As I looked on I thought of the many friends that man would have had, yet he lay there deserted by all but a dog that stood howling by his dead master. Without regret I had given orders which brought death to thousands yet I was stirred to tears by the grief of that dog.”
Tears were in his eyes as he spoke.
William tried to comfort the old man with the only sympathy he could offer. “We cannot imagine what you saw through the French wars.”
“No, William, you cannot and I pray to the God that you cannot believe in that you do not see such sights and are not required to perform such acts as fell to your father and myself in those years.”
“You have never spoken of those times.”
“No, and after today I will not again.” Claude lapsed into silence, his eyes clouded with memories and regrets, and it was some minutes before he could continue. “I will answer for much when I meet my maker but there is another man whose death I remember. A good man died for me. That death hangs on my conscience more than any of the others.” Barely aware of William’s presence Claude continued. “His name was Jolliffe, Ennor Jolliffe. He was a Cornishman. I am sorry Cornishman, for all that they made you do for me.”
Then, as if none of the previous few minutes had occurred, Claude cleared his throat and spoke firmly. “I am going to ask you to do something for me.”
“Of course, anything.” William was relieved to hear the familiar powerful tones in his uncle’s voice.
“On your travels I want you to go to St Helena.”
“The island of Bonaparte’s exile?”
“The same. Your father spoke of him often and I would like to know more of his time in exile. You are a skilled geologist, you will understand and appreciate the land, but you are also observant and will see more than is at the surface. I want you to explore the island, learn some of its secrets and pass them back to me. I will expect regular communications, many ships stop at Jamestown on their way to the Cape and to India, so I shall expect at least a monthly letter.”
“Jamestown? I know nothing of the place.”
“Jamestown is the only town on that small island, but it is a busy and prosperous port. I suggest you spend some months learning what you can and passing on that understanding to me.”
“It is important to you?”
“Shall we just say that I am curious?”
“I will find it fascinating to study an island, unique, isolated and self-regulated, and one so much more remote than Wight.” The opportunities began to open up to William. “I can publish papers.”
“And if you find anything of interest to your family, let me know that too.”
“Something of interest to my family?” William asked, unsure what was meant.
“It is entirely possible that your father visited the island. I should like to know if he did and if there are any memories of him.”
“My father?”
“Sir Bernard was, as I have tried to impress upon you and your brother, an important man. He had, shall we say, ‘connections’ with the man held prisoner on that island. I should like to know if he is remembered.”
“The man held prisoner?” William asked. “You mean Napoleon Bonaparte?”
“As I say, the man held prisoner.” With Ennor Jolliffe in his mind Claude could not bring himself to lie.
When William retired to his room he sat at his writing desk and wrote down everything he could remember of his conversation with Claude. He looked back over his notes time and again, filling in details as he ran through the conversation in his mind. When he was certain he had recalled and recorded everything his uncle had said he placed the pages in the copy of Yarrell’s A History of British Birds that Josephine had given him as a birthday gift and poured himself another brandy. Standing at the window of his room, looking out to the distant lights of boats on the black sea, he wondered at how much of his life had been
mapped out in just one day.
He was to travel to St Helena; he was to study and publish papers and become known; and then he was to return to marry Josephine, in due course inheriting The Lodge where he would raise his family and grow old. He had also learned more of his uncle’s life in the day than in all of the previous ten years.
He wondered if, when he returned from his travels, he would learn the whole story.
Chapter 8
1842 to 1853
A little more than three months after he left The Lodge William’s letter arrived. Claude read the letter carefully several times before sharing long sections with his wife and daughter.
This communication is the first of what I expect to be the thirteen I will send you through my travels.
I have arrived on the island of Saint Helena just as the Southern Hemisphere’s spring is becoming summer and it is remarkably beautiful. It is smaller than I had expected, a little less than one quarter the size of our island of Wight, and far wilder, the soils not being conducive to agriculture. Jamestown is unexpectedly bustling. We are, of course, on the route to the Cape Colony and to India so there is a regular round of visitors. There is also a naval squadron based here to hunt down the ships that continue to transport human beings from West Africa to the Americas, thereby breaking our new laws against the African slave trade. You would not believe the degradation that men subject their fellows to and I could not find the words to describe its full horror.
I have found lodgings and my landlord, known to all only as Root, has shown me the depot where the liberated Africans are housed. It was a frightening spectacle. I had believed I had seen poverty and deprivation in inner cities and in the countryside but nothing could prepare me for the sight of a slave ship being unloaded of its cargo. It is difficult to remember that these poor creatures are as human as you and I. Slavery has to be something of the past now.
William’s letters were received regularly at The Lodge and Claude always read them first so that when he read them to his wife and daughter he could leave out the more graphic descriptive sections.
Root has introduced me to the sizeable community of scientists on the island and I do my best to fit in well. Although my days are spent alone as I walk the island, noting and sketching the landscape, my evenings are spent in convivial conversation with the men from England who are researching the tides and studying the stars at the observatory on Ladder Hill. I enjoy myself immensely in their company.
In the letter to Claude that marked the anniversary of his arrival on the island he announced that his work detailing the basaltic dykes of the north-east of the island was to be published in the papers of the Royal Geographical Society I can, at last, hold my head up in the company of these men who have become my friends. He also said he was not, yet, returning to England as, although he was beginning to make a name for himself, he had yet to make his fortune.
The social life is more than ever I could have expected. We frequently are offered hospitality by our island governor, Hamelin Trelawney, and just last month we were joined by Peregrine Maitland, governor of the Cape Colony who regaled us with tales of his service in the Low Countries, on the Peninsula, at Waterloo and in Paris during the 1815 occupation. He had many tales to tell of Wellington, whom he knew well, and Wellington’s inner circle which included a man he knew as ‘Lacey’ but he was unable to tell me much about this ‘Lacey’ so I can anticipate no connection with our family.
Claude read the section relating to Maitland many times, aware that William knew far more than he had written. He decided to ask more about Maitland, a family with which he had had dealings, on William’s return which, he hoped, would not be much delayed. He was disappointed, therefore, to read William’s letter received in February 1846.
Christmas Day, 1845. I can hardly believe I have been on this small island more than twenty-five months. I have another paper accepted by the Royal Society (on the volcanic arrangements of the island) but have been retained by the Governor to locate mineral deposits that may assist the island in its development. I shall be here a while longer.
William’s letters kept Claude informed of his efforts to locate minerals but gave no hint about his return to England. Claude opened every letter he received from William in the hope that it would contain news of his return, but was dismayed by the letter received in in August 1846. I fear I have failed, or at least the island has. We have found no minerals of use to man. For an island a little more than ten miles by six miles there is still so much to explore but it is time to move on. I have been given the opportunity to find success in my search for minerals, but elsewhere. I have been flattered into joining a party aiming to find gold and diamonds in the colony of New South Wales. We leave next month for the port of Melbourne and thence who can tell? An adventure at any rate.
William had kept his promise to Claude. He had written every month and had passed on all he had learned, not only of the island’s physical appearance and construction but of the people and in particular, its most famous former resident, Napoleon Bonaparte.
On the receipt of the last letter from St Helena Claude sent the bundle of William’s letters and the copies he had made of his replies to a bookbinder in Newport. Letters from Melbourne, he knew, would be few and far between. It disappointed him that William had not discovered any person who had met the General nor had he found any evidence that Sir Bernard Lacey had visited the island but he would enjoy reading and re-reading his nephew’s letters that had arrived, so regularly, from St Helena.
*
William had had no intention of going to Australia. He had been ready to return to England, despite being well aware that he had not made his fortune, when he was persuaded that an investigation of a copper mine in Australia would be worth a year of his life.
Had William intended to remain a bachelor he would have been happy with the annuity he had from his father’s estate, funds that Henry could not take away from him. But he was to marry Josephine, and have a family, and he was uncomfortable with the knowledge that everything he would have would be from Claude. He had hoped to use his time away to obtain wealth of his own but this had not been possible on St Helena. Despite keeping him away from The Lodge for so much longer than he had hoped he believed that Australia was too good an opportunity to pass up.
It took six months to travel via the Cape, India and the Malay islands and when William finally disembarked in the port of Melbourne in the colony of New South Wales on the continent of Australia he found that his life was no longer his own.
On his arrival in Melbourne he sent a letter home explaining that he was heading into the interior where there was no regular mail service and he would not be able to send any news of himself, nor receive any of them. He warned them that he would be out of contact for some time and they were not to be concerned. But even as he despatched the letter he knew the pain his prolonged absence was causing the only three people in the world he cared for.
For the first time in the nearly three years he had been away he felt homesick for the winds and rains of The Lodge. But he had set himself to make his fortune and he could not return until he had given it his best shot.
*
Along with the men who had persuaded him to travel with them he headed into the interior in search of silver and copper. As the geologist of the group it was his responsibility to find new sources of these valuable metals and on his advice they acquired land in the Barrosa Valley and set about the business of developing surface and underground copper mines.
Within a year the copper mine had provided well and he knew he would be a tolerably rich man on his return to England but there were rumours that gold, and its promise of unimaginable wealth, was to be found so he remained. His decision was vindicated when his group of prospectors was amongst the first to find a rich seam in the area that in future months would become the centre of a gold rush.
In the heat of mid-summer 1849 William rode into the growing town of Ballarat and realised it w
as Christmas Day. As he drank with his companions he imagined the dining room at The Lodge and remembered the Christmases past, the games the family had played and the musical entertainments they had enjoyed together and he knew it was time to go home. The next morning he wished his friends well, took his share and rode the seventy miles to Melbourne alone.
At the Post Office he found many letters awaiting his arrival. He had the long voyage to read them and the more he read the more he knew he had been away too long.
The early letters were enthusiastic about his plans and notes from Josephine wished him luck. After a year there were strictures from Claude saying he should return soon, a fortune was not as important as being with the ones whom he loved and who loved him. One of the letters told him that Henry had sold Oakridge Court and had left for London after his unwanted advances to Josephine had been rejected. Josephine, Claude noted in every letter, looked forward to William’s return.
As he checked the dates of the letters William realised there had not been one for more than a year. Perhaps, he thought, they think me dead.
*
Six months after leaving Melbourne, having stopped briefly in St Helena, William was in London and his adventures were over. It was July 1850. He had been away nearly seven years.
He had never intended to be away that long. But then he had never imagined he would return with such wealth.
The morning his ship docked in London William telegraphed the news of his arrival to the household of The Lodge. At last in London. Will be home in three days. He kept the telegraph short as he had no idea what to say and how his words would be received.
He could not leave London immediately as he had two tasks to fulfil. First he had to attend at the offices of Coutts and Company on the Strand, a bank to which he had been recommended and where he spent a satisfying afternoon discussing his financial situation.
A Set of Lies Page 16
