A Set of Lies

by Carolyn McCrae

  *

  In his office in Downing Street the Prime Minister had initially been overjoyed as he watched what he recognised to be the very public end to the scandalous career of Sir Arthur Lacey. The man had been a thorn in his side for years and he was glad to see him leave the public stage. He cheerfully began to make notes on how that morning’s interview could be spun to his party’s advantage and what effects it would have on the outcome of the imminent election campaign.

  His mood changed when he was informed that there had already been several calls from the aides to the French ambassador demanding an explanation from the Foreign Office and from him directly. This, he understood, would lead to arguments with France and unforeseeable implications for the renegotiations he planned to have with the rest of European community.

  His mood deteriorated still further when he received a call from the office of the Prince of Wales asking coldly why no one had had the courtesy to inform His Royal Highness of this historic scandal before it was aired on national television.

  He picked up a phone and instructed that someone go immediately to the television studios and escort Professor Witherby and Gayle Shepherd to Downing Street. He tended to agree with the Prince of Wales, someone should have kept him informed.

  *

  In a smoke-filled room in a club in St James’s five men sat in silence aware that their dreams were as good as dead.

  They had supported Sir Arthur with their fortunes in the belief that, after the coup, they would be granted a level of influence over the future of their country unavailable to any man for more than two hundred years.

  Their popular figurehead had been ridiculed and they could no longer entertain any hope of taking control of the government and placing political and military power in the hands of men who knew what was right.

  Through the course of the programme they had come to accept that there would be no insurrection, no uprising and no coup d’état.

  They had not cared that the man they had expected to install as the Lord Protector of England had been a swindler of expenses or even that he had fathered an illegitimate child, but they had been shocked beyond words when it was shown that he was not the thoroughbred Englishman he had always claimed to be.

  They could not support a man who was the descendent of the upstart Bonaparte. Nor could they support a man who was related, however distantly, to the Shepherd woman.

  And without Sir Arthur they knew their plans would come to nothing.

  The five men, who had been proud to call themselves the Cabal, sat back in their heavy armchairs, each with a cigar in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other, wordlessly accepting that it was all over.

  *

  After Gayle was whisked to another studio for an interview Carl sat with Fergal and Skye in the green room watching a recording of the programme They had been told not to leave as there were a number of people who wanted to talk to them including men from MI5, from the government and, not least, from the worldwide media.

  “I think we might have caused something of a stir,” Carl said with a degree of satisfaction.

  “But nothing we can’t handle,” Fergal agreed. “Do you think the first Sir Bernard would be pleased his diaries have been found, albeit one hundred years too late, and would Claude be happy that his clues have been unscrambled?”

  “I think they would both be very pleased that their secrets are seeing the light of day,” Carl replied.

  “Absolutely,” Skye agreed. “And they would be very proud that they have changed the course of history. I can’t believe that Sir Arthur will have any support for his revolution now.”

  “I think Bernard and Claude would be inordinately pleased that they still held such influence over the affairs of their adopted country.”

  “And do you think they would be happy that they’ve pretty much destroyed my father’s career?” Skye asked, smiling.

  “That is the most important result of all and, yes, I think they would be very proud of that. From what we have learned of them I can’t imagine they would either like or agree with the politics of that particular descendant of theirs.”

  “You mean you’re seeing them as people, now?” Skye teased.

  “You are never too old to learn.” Carl shrugged theatrically and smiled at the two young people as they sat close to each other on the settee.

  He had seen the relationship develop in those three heady weeks the previous June. He remembered the unguarded kiss Fergal had given Skye as they had left the old chapel after retrieving the diaries. He had watched their closeness grow through the more routine work of the months that had followed.

  Both were generations on from the Emperor and there was little of his blood in their veins but that inheritance existed, those genes were there in both of them. Carl had seen that, for all the distance of their relationship, they were two of a kind. Fourth cousins once removed but alike in so many ways.

  Skye put her hand to the locket she always wore around her neck and she wondered whether Audrey would be proud of what they had done.

  Her aunt had known all about the family, of that Skye had become increasingly convinced. Audrey had seen every word that had been written on the flyleaves of the family Bible, she had known all the generations and exactly who their forebears were.

  And, Skye thought, she had known exactly who had hidden the canvas bag in the chimney at The Lodge. Why, she asked silently, why did you never tell me? Why couldn’t you trust me with the truth? In the last few minutes of peace before they would have to face politicians and the media she imagined how different the past five years would have been if Audrey had told her the truth that morning after the storm. She wouldn’t have withdrawn into herself, she wouldn’t have had her fall, I would have taken my exams and gone to university, just as I’d planned. But, Skye told herself, I wouldn’t have met Fergal, the diaries would never have been found and the country would now be heading for anarchy and repression.

  “Do you remember that bit in Bernard’s diary?” she asked squeezing Fergal’s hand.

  “Which bit?”

  “Here, I kept it.” Skye found the note on her phone and read it aloud. “Some would say it was chance, that these things cannot be ordered, but that morning Fate and Providence were not random, they had conspired to do what was right.”

  Fergal and Carl smiled, each thinking they understood what she meant.