A Set of Lies

by Carolyn McCrae

  “No doubt you will be enjoying the company of your infernally pompous uncle and his nonentity of a wife.”

  “I believe they are to be present.”

  “And that slip of a daughter of theirs. I hear she is a pretty little thing, she’ll make someone a tasty dish soon no doubt.”

  “I doubt she will be there. She has been away in Switzerland. And I would prefer you didn’t speak of my cousin Lucille in that way, sir.”

  “You have her lined up for your own, have you? Well, well, well.”

  “I do not.” Gussie was, perhaps, a little too brisk in his denial.

  “So you will have a family dinner, no doubt your mother has vetoed the opportunity of any amusements. She was ever a killjoy.”

  “Just dinner, and perhaps some dancing for the family.”

  “Is there ever jollity in your house?”

  “No more than in yours, sir.”

  For ten years Sir Henry had lived in a ménage that many gossiped about but no one understood. His companions were three women of uncertain class and no education. All were older than he, one by more than a decade, and no society gossip could decide what the relationships were. The unkinder ones hinted darkly that the arrangements were purely financial and that, in exchange for favours they never did more than make veiled hints about, the ladies supplied him with the funds he needed to support his gambling and his drinking.

  “You instructed me to attend on you, Father. May I ask what it is you want of me?” Gussie wanted to leave; he felt he had done his duty.

  “I believe today is the twenty-first anniversary of your birth?”

  “It is, sir.”

  “Then I am to give you this.”

  Gussie had not expected that his father would mark his majority with a gift and was surprised when Sir Henry reached into his pocket and handed him a packet, a notebook tied to a letter with pink ribbon. Before his father could instruct him otherwise he opened the letter.

  “You should not have done that.”

  “Why not, sir?”

  “It is not for you to read.”

  “Why not, sir?” Gussie repeated,

  “It is not to be opened until the date written on it.”

  But he was too late, Augustus had unfolded the small sheet of paper and was reading what was written on the single sheet.

  “It is addressed to you, sir.”

  “To me?” He wondered, rather vaguely, how that could be when his father had instructed that it should be opened only sometime far in the future.

  “You have never read it?”

  “I gave my word as the gentleman I used to be that I would not.”

  “Where are the diaries?”

  “What diaries?”

  “The letter refers to diaries.”

  “There are none. There is only this. I was not given any more.”

  Henry’s mind went back to the day his Uncle Claude had given him the small packet. He had been rejected in favour of his brother. His uncle had seemed reluctant as he had handed him the letter. He had sworn never to open it.

  The realisation slowly dawned that his father had intended that he should read the letter, and have possession of the diaries. As he heard the words his son read Sir Henry understood how just how far he had been betrayed and just how much his uncle had ignored his father’s wishes.

  Sir Henry was filled with a rage he couldn’t put into words as he realised they had, without any doubt, been given to William. William had been given Josephine and William had been given his father’s secrets. He, the elder son, the heir, had been given the estate but William, the younger son, had been given everything of any importance.

  Henry spluttered, took a gulp of his brandy, and choked.

  For some minutes Gussie watched as the club servants clapped his father on the back, seeking to calm the paroxysms that seemed to be threatening his life. As the minutes passed and Sir Henry slowly gained control of his breathing Gussie was thinking about the letter and the notebook.

  “This letter is written by my grandfather?”

  “Yes. Sir Bernard Lacey.”

  “You have never spoken of him. I did not even know his name until now.”

  “The occasion never arose.”

  “It says you are the elder. That means you have a younger brother. I have an uncle?”

  *

  On leaving the Isle of Wight Sir Henry had moved to London where he had purchased a substantial house in South Audley Street, Mayfair. There he enjoyed the carefree life of a single rich man with a title in the capital.

  That freedom from care was disturbed after seven years when he had received an unannounced visit from his brother William.

  That meeting had frightened him. For the first time in his life he thought that there was a chance William was the stronger of the two and in a few, rare, moments of self-analysis Henry realised that, of course, Josephine would prefer William. Whereas his finances were in a poor state after years of profligacy and bad investments William was, he had said through his own efforts, richer than any dreams of avarice. And whereas he, Sir Henry, was tending to fat after years of debauchery William was obviously lean and healthy. As he had sat in the smoking room of his club he had decided it was time to marry and breed. He had to have a son. He could not let William have the title as well, and it would surely pass to William if he were to have no heir.

  Six months later Sir Henry had married Mary Swann, the first women with a dowry whose family would accept him.

  He stayed with Lady Mary only until she was with child. When that child was born, and was a son, his first thoughts were not that his wife was safely delivered of a child and that that child was healthy, but that William had been disinherited.

  He never pretended to care for Lady Mary, he had never wanted anyone as his wife but Josephine. He had watched her as she had grown from a girl to a woman and had many times imagined taking possession of her. It had been Josephine in his arms as he played with the whores of Oxford; her mouth he had forced kisses on; her breasts he had bruised by his rough kneading. But that had been only in his imagination. She belonged to William and the knowledge hurt him as it had always done.

  *

  “I have an Uncle Lacey?”

  “My God Augustus, you are as sentimental as your mother. She would always be on at me to take her to visit her wretched brother who she insisted on calling ‘the Colonel’. You are what you are in life. Family ties are just that, ties. You are best off without them.”

  “But I have family on the Lacey side?”

  “You have not,” Sir Henry lied. “I had a brother but he died.”

  “What was his name? I would like to know more.”

  Reluctantly Henry was drawn to answer. “His name was William.”

  “Mother has only one brother and I have only one cousin, Lucille. I would love to know what it is to have a wider family.”

  “Well you have none.” Henry regretted that he had not read the letter; he would have destroyed it had he known its contents. He would certainly not have passed it on to his son.

  “There must be something to tell of the Lacey family. It was difficult when fellows at school and at Oxford asked me about my family and I was unable to give them answers. Where did we come from? I mean, before London?”

  “What makes you think I was not born and bred in London?

  “You weren’t, were you sir?”

  If Henry were to answer the direct question he would be forced to lie. He quickly decided he should tell his son nothing that he could use to find Oakridge Court, and with it The Lodge. He had rarely told the truth about himself since he had arrived in London thirty-five years earlier and he had no intention of starting now.

  “Yorkshire, the Laceys came from Yorkshire.”

  “Are my grandparents still in Yorkshire?”

  “Your grandparents are dead.”

  “I am sorry for that, sir.”

  “Well you must do as I have done, stand on your own
feet. You are surrounded by women and that is not a good situation for a man. By the time I was your age I was independent of my mother’s apron strings.”

  “Are you well, sir? Father?”

  Henry realised he had dropped his glass and his cigar and his hands were grasped tight around the arm of his chair. Augustus was picking them up and was looking around him, concerned that there should be someone to help. He imagined his father to be having an attack.

  “Of course I am well!” Henry blustered and drained what was left of the brandy from the glass he had snatched from his son. “Sit down. You are drawing attention to yourself.” It took a few moments for him to collect himself before continuing brusquely, “You have the packet?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you must return to the bosom of your family. I care not whether you hand that letter on to your son when the time comes. I have done what I had to do and that is that.”

  Gussie remembered those words when, three months later, he was informed that his father had died. He had been in that same seat at the club and had suffered a seizure.

  *

  “You, my dear Gussie, are now Sir Augustus Lacey Baronet of Oakridge.” Lady Mary could not make any pretence that she was dismayed at her husband’s death.

  “I never knew the full title. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Not really dear. As we have had as little to do with the man as possible there has been little need to know anything about him.”

  “He told me something of his family when I saw him on my birthday.”

  “You saw him on your birthday?” She had not known.

  “He sent a note asking me to present myself at his club. I did as he asked.”

  “And what lies did he tell you?”

  “Were they lies? I have no idea. He gave me a package that his father had given him and said I was to pass it to my son on his twenty-first birthday. It was all very mysterious and probably signifies nothing.”

  “You are undoubtedly correct on that score.”

  “I have the packet and have put it with my papers. I will not think of it again until the time comes.”

  “You should destroy it. Nothing that man did or said ever had any value.”

  “He also said he had a brother, William, who died, and that his parents were both dead, and that the family came from Yorkshire.”

  “I doubt any of it is true.” Lady Mary was dismissive. She had always resented any contact her husband had with his son and she was dismayed that there had been a meeting between them of which she had not been made aware.

  “Where is Oakridge?” Augustus asked what seemed to him to be a perfectly reasonable question.

  “I do not know, my dear, somewhere in the north no doubt. I have not heard of it. Your father never mentioned it. But then he rarely mentioned anything to me.”

  “How can you have married someone about whom you knew so little, Mama?”

  To deflect the conversation the Lady Mary asked pointedly, “And how about you? Will you know everything there is to know about the wife you must now find?”

  “Time enough for that.”

  “Well don’t leave it too long, the Lacey dynasty depends on you.” She spoke with heavy irony.

  “There isn’t much of a dynasty is there? We have no history. If I am the third baronet, my father was the second, his father, Sir Bernard, the first and we know nothing of him other than his name.”

  Lady Mary did not answer. She was as fond as she needed to be of her son but she was anxious to leave London and return to her family’s home in Berkshire. At forty-two years of age she was still a young woman and she had no intention of living the life of a dowager. Berkshire society would welcome her back and she would be wooed once more, this time, she would ensure, by someone more worthy of her than Sir Henry Lacey.

  “What are you going to do with your life Gussie?”

  “After my father’s funeral I shall go to Yorkshire. Before I make any decision about my future I want to know more of what I am and where I come from.”

  “You must think of a wife. Lucille is of good breeding and not, I think, unattractive.”

  “I will marry when I am ready. I have things to do first. Remember I am still only twenty-one.”

  “When she comes out into society she will be snapped up, you know. If you want her you will have to show your hand sooner rather than later.”

  “I will not be forced, Mama, however suitable she may be.”

  “Do not leave it too long or you will lose her.”

  “Mama! I will not be forced into this. Neither will you put pressure on Luci.”

  Lady Mary decided that she had said enough and changed the subject. There was time enough to bend Gussie to her will. “What are these things that you wish to do? Am I allowed to know that?”

  “I want to discover more about my family and my heritage. If I am to marry, which you seem to be encouraging, then I wish to know what I am offering my bride.”

  “You have your title and what remains of your father’s fortune, what more can you want?”

  “Mama, this is 1878. I am not prepared to play the Regency aristocrat. That may have done for my father but it does not do for me. I wish to see something of the changes that are being made in the world. I wish to see more of the people I share this earth with, starting with the possibility of my wider family.”

  “And you expect to find this wider family in Yorkshire?”

  “My father said that was where his father came from.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I have to, I have no other clue.”

  “You are a fool, Gussie. Nothing that man ever said was the truth.”

  Sir Augustus Lacey stepped down from the train as it stopped on the wide curve of the newly opened York railway station and looked up at the vast curved glass roof, marvelling at the magnificence of the largest railway station in the world. He felt proud to be English and wonderfully lucky to be living in a world so full of change and excitement. After indicating to the porter that his luggage was to be delivered to the Royal Station Hotel he strode purposefully out of the forecourt.

  Never having stayed in a hotel before Gussie was relieved to be welcomed at the door by a formally dressed gentleman who welcomed him with a slight bow. This greeter, who Gussie soon discovered was the hotel’s Manager in Chief, escorted his guest up the stairs and along two long corridors before reaching the room that was to be Gussie’s for as long as he wished to remain in York.

  “We have the most modern facilities Sir Augustus, and I have ensured that there will be no other guests on your corridor so you will have sole use of the bathroom.”

  Gussie would have liked to be left alone but the manager continued his effusive welcome speech. “You have a magnificent view of our city walls and of the Minster. Are you here for pleasure or for business? Do be sure to let me know if there is anything that I can do for you, however large, however small, we are here only to serve your good self.”

  When finally the little man had left him on his own Gussie stood in the window and looked at the city resplendent in the sunshine.

  The next morning he set out to familiarise himself with his surroundings. As he walked he decided that he was happy and raised his hat to every person he passed on the narrow pavements, wishing each a hearty ‘good morning’.

  After an hour he found an inn close by the Minster and sat at a bare wooden table staring thoughtfully into a jug of ale. He savoured his feeling of freedom.

  He felt immediately at home in the city and was certain that this was where his family came from. How could they not when he felt so completely comfortable and everything seemed so familiar to him? He knew he was being a romantic but he imagined his grandparents, his father when young, and his unknown uncle walking the streets he had been walking and gazing on the same vistas.

  When he left the inn he crossed to the Minster where he sat in a pew listening to the sound of the choir rising through the enormo
us building, his mind filled with the image of members of his unknown family sitting in that same building, looking at the same glorious windows. As he sat in the beautifully carved and ancient pew looking about him at the glory of the Minster he knew he had to find out more about his Lacey heritage before he could make any decision about what he would do with his life.

  The next morning he followed the instructions given by the hotel porter and walked directly to Clifford Street and the City Library. He explained his line of enquiry to the man who seemed to be in charge.

  “We have a comprehensive archive of all the gentry of the county but I know of no Lacey family and no seat known as Oakridge. Are you sure of the Yorkshire connection?”

  Gussie’s first thought was that the elderly librarian seemed rather too sure that, simply on the evidence that he had not heard of it, the family could not exist. After a few moments, however, the suspicion crossed his mind that his mother had been right, and his father had lied.

  “I was told so.”

  “You could look through the journals and newspapers if you like. We have editions back to 1728.” The old man spoke proudly. “We are in process of indexing all references to people and businesses.

  “That is a formidable task.”

  “We have the County’s Civil Registration Index of Births, Marriages and Deaths. Ever since the Act of Parliament in 1837 we have had to keep them. You could look through those if you wish,” the librarian suggested enthusiastically.

  “I do wish, though I believe my father was born in 1822.”

  “We have Boyd’s Marriage Index for Yorkshire, do you know when your father’s parents were married? Presumably sometime between 1812 and 1822. Boyd’s began in 1539 so you should see some reference to your family there. And then there is the York Marriage Index, if there was a marriage solemnised in the city, but that only goes back to 1701…”

  Gussie laughed at the old man’s enthusiasm. “I really think that will be enough! I must start my search with my father and my grandfather.”

  “If you would like to sit over there, young sir, I will bring you the most likely volumes. Should you start with 1837?”

  “Let me start with Debrett’s Baronetage, as I believe it is called.”