‘More or less how I would have relayed the same story, only far more eloquent,’ said Ratty.
‘But Saunière was becoming addicted to his high-spending lifestyle and 1914 became a pivotal year for him.’
‘I would have said critical,’ said Ratty.
‘It was pivotal,’ continued the Templar. ‘The start of the war in Europe resulted in financial panic across the world. The New York Stock Exchange was shut down for four months, right when Saunière needed to liquidate some stocks and send the funds over to France. He was broke. He had debts of thousands of Francs. His situation became serious. And that was when he made the decision that was to change everything.’
‘Blackmail,’ said Scabies.
‘Of course,’ said the Templar. ‘To this day we don’t know if he invented the story or if he genuinely found what he claimed to have discovered, but facing financial ruin and the loss of everything he had built throughout his life, he resorted to writing a letter to the new Pope, Benedict, requesting a sum of money to pay his reasonable expenses in the destruction and resealing of a tomb he had discovered in the vicinity of Rennes-le-Château which contained the remains of Mary Magdalene together with writings documenting her marriage to Jesus and their offspring. Despite the polite and elegant wording of this letter, its intent was clear. The sum of money he had requested was one million Francs. It was more than enough to last him the rest of his life, and would have funded all of the additional things he wanted to build, like the road to the village so he could buy a car, and a library tower far taller than the Tour Magdala that he had already constructed. And, most importantly, one million Francs was blatantly excessive for burning some papers and bricking up a hole. The Pope knew this was blackmail.’
‘Wish I had a few Magdalenes under Stiperstones,’ whispered Ratty. ‘Could do with that kind of ransom.’
‘So where does Charlie Chaplin come in?’ asked Ruby.
‘The Chaplin conspiracy was still some years away,’ replied the Templar. ‘The Pope called Saunière’s bluff. The money wasn’t paid. Vatican spies came to the village and started poking around for evidence to use against Saunière. Meanwhile he had re-established his trade in masses and was beginning to accumulate money once again. But he had done too much damage. He sensed a plot developing against him. The only permanent way out, he realised, was to be dead. And so he faked his death, intending to travel to America and live off his investments.’
‘And I’m guessing that never happened?’ asked Ruby.
‘When does life ever go as planned?’ asked the Templar. ‘There were many complicating factors. He was resentful against the church for driving him away. As he saw it, sending him money for masses made people feel a sense of satisfaction. It didn’t matter if he actually said them, which, of course, even with the additional years of his life that we know he had, would have been impossible given their large number.’
‘He wanted to revenge the church,’ said Ruby. ‘I knew it. That’s exactly what I said, didn’t I?’ Scabies nodded. ‘Was it Fatima? Was the Patient right?’
This time the Templar nodded. ‘He frightened them with predictions of their own demise, channelled by their own belief in miracles. A perfectly untraceable form of gentle revenge. With that little detour in Portugal out of the way, his next challenge was to find a method of laundering the profits from his American investments in such a way that they could reach him. William Gibbs McAdoo, his New York contact, came up with what seemed like the perfect opportunity. He would cash out all of Saunière’s stocks and exchange them for a share in an exciting and expanding new industry: cinema.’
‘Saunière and cinema: it doesn’t sound right together,’ said Ruby.
‘The world changes fast. Even ex-priests on the run need to keep up,’ said the Templar. ‘This is the period shortly after the war when Charlie Chaplin was getting fed up with the restrictions of working for the existing Hollywood studios. He teamed up with Douglas Fairbanks and a couple of others to form their own studio, United Artists. Each of the four artists had a twenty per cent stake in the company. The other fifth was held by the lawyer who put it all together, Mr McAdoo.’
‘Did the actors have any idea about Saunière’s financial involvement?’ asked Ruby.
‘As far as they were aware, the lawyer was their other partner. They knew nothing of Saunière’s existence, so they couldn’t know that McAdoo’s shares were his in name only, held on behalf of the priest. Meanwhile Saunière settled in Paris, living off regular dividend cheques from McAdoo, preparing for his eventual journey across the Atlantic. And that would have gone as planned were it not for the arrival of an unexpected visitor at his hotel.’
‘Papa!’ came a voice from the hallway. Aurelia sprinted into the kitchen, followed by Charlie and Rocco. The Templar creakily raised himself up and Aurelia hugged her father with a passion that caused him to wince. The expression in his eyes betrayed the rarity of such contact.
‘My daughter, Aurelia,’ said the Templar, almost apologetically.
‘These men tracked me to my apartment and followed me here,’ she said, pointing at Charlie and Rocco. ‘You said they were involved in that crash?’
‘It is all right,’ said the Templar, disentangling himself from his daughter. ‘If our new guests would like to take a seat. We are almost all here. I will ask the American women in to join us.’
He limped to the corridor. While Aurelia, Rocco and Charlie shuffled into the kitchen chairs, Scabies slipped silently out into the barn for an overdue smoke. The Templar returned with Justina and Winnifred. The kitchen now felt crowded. There were not enough seats for everyone, so the American women sat on the tiled counters at the side of the room and the Templar stood against the wall. Scabies’ absence went unremarked.
‘Perhaps you could wait in the library, Aurelia?’ The Templar said. The girl stood up and seemed about to say something to her father. Then, as she stepped towards the exit she glanced back at the group of people in the kitchen and formed the shape of a word with her lips, but then seemed to think better of it and walked to the library in silence. The Templar shut the door behind her and helped himself to the vacated seat.
‘Well, I have to admit this has been easier than I was expecting,’ he announced. ‘All of you together. There is bound to be some sacred symmetry there. Now, where was I?’
‘You were about reveal to us the identity of Saunière’s unexpected guest chappy in Paris,’ prompted Ratty.
‘You really want to know?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ said Ratty. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say that satiation of our curiosity is a not unreasonable expectation.’
The Templar seemed to roll his eyes before answering. ‘The visitor’s name was Lord Ballashiels,’ said the Templar.
‘My great-great-goodness-knows?’
‘And his arrival marked the worst day of Saunière’s life. Which brings us to today. The work is almost complete at Stiperstones.’
‘What work?’ asked Ratty. ‘I didn’t hire any builders. Can’t afford to unless I find Saunière’s stash, which now seems less likely than ever.’
‘It is not Saunière’s stash that we seek,’ said the Templar. ‘But Saunière himself.’
‘Surely the old rogue is pushing up the dandelions by now?’
‘His body,’ sighed the Templar. ‘We seek his remains.’
‘I knew it. Well you sure won’t find them in Rennes,’ said Winnifred. ‘I can vouch for that.’
‘So you can confirm my family history after all?’ pipped Justina, suddenly animated and excited. You’ve got my DNA sample. When will you compare it with Saunière? Or have you already done it?’
‘I will come to that in due course. When Lord Ballashiels called on Saunière in Paris in 1920, he was in no mood for socialising. He threatened the priest. Tore up a letter he had received from Saunière. This letter contained the news that, many years previously, Emma Calvé had borne a son.’
‘Precisely. Accurate paternity tests did not exist in those days. Saunière had reached out to Lord Ballashiels, wishing to establish contact with the young man. Ballashiels was livid at the mere suggestion that he was born of doubtful paternity. Refused even to entertain the possibility that the priest might have been his close relation. Forbade Saunière from entering his life in any way.’
‘You mean Saunière might have been Lord Ballashiels’ father?’ asked Rocco.
‘Well, technically,’ said Ratty, ‘there is only ever one Lord at a time. The boy would have been an Honourable, not an Earl.’
‘He is right,’ said the Templar.
‘Cool,’ said Charlie, who hadn’t really been following any of this.
‘But how would Saunière have fathered a Ballashiels?’ asked Ruby. ‘Oh, I remember! Your mother mentioned something about your great-great-grandfather having an affair with Emma Calvé. If Calvé had been seeing both men at once she would have had no clue as to the father of the baby.’
‘The then Lord Ballashiels claimed the child as his own and took it to England,’ the Templar continued. ‘He was able to offer a more stable family upbringing than Saunière, who couldn’t ever have admitted to being a father – well, not that kind of father, of course. Anyway, Lord Ballashiels had thought Stiperstones was an environment that would have a greater chance of allowing the baby to grow into a well-rounded young man.’
‘Fiddle faddle with knobs on,’ said Ratty. ‘Utter twiddle twaddle. My great-grandfather was born in 1894. I knew that his father had dallied with a certain Parisian opera star, but there has never been any question in the family archives that this baby was mixed race.’
‘Mixed race?’ asked Ruby.
‘British and French,’ he replied. ‘Nothing more mixed up than that.’
The Templar ignored the insult. ‘Aurelia has organised the destruction of Stiperstones Manor, but don’t worry, Lord Ballashiels. It is for a good reason.’
‘That young filly is knocking down my home? Is this true? Does she work for Shropshire County Council?’
Aurelia returned to the kitchen.
‘I asked you to wait in the library,’ said the Templar.
‘It’s all right, Papa, I can take care of myself. And I can take care of you. I didn’t think I should leave you alone with these people.’
‘Thank you, Aurelia, but I am just fine.’
‘And I think we should tell that weird-looking English man why his home must be demolished,’ she added, looking at Ratty, who looked over his shoulder. ‘It is only fair.’
The Templar nodded and began speaking. ‘Saunière spent more than a decade trying to gain access to Calvé’s son, but the young man wanted nothing to do with the priest. His future title and inheritance were at stake. The last thing he wanted to become public knowledge was the possibility that he was descended from a fling between an opera star and a priest. He used expensive and complicated legal tricks to keep Saunière away and to prevent anyone from knowing about the paternity dispute. None of the injunctions had any validity after 1917. How could they? You cannot ban a dead person from coming near you. So things inevitably escalated beyond mere letters. Even though he knew the odds were against him, Saunière travelled to England in 1932, prepared for a final showdown with Lord Ballashiels and to convince his son of what he saw as the truth.’
‘But the priest chappy was in Rennes in 1932,’ said Ratty. ‘That was when he showed his somewhat miserable face in the Chaplin film.’
‘That is correct,’ answered Aurelia. ‘He journeyed to Rennes-le-Château one last time. We don’t know if it was for sentimental reasons, or to retrieve something, or to meet his unwitting business partner Charlie Chaplin.’
‘Or to send a message,’ said Ruby. ‘Makes sense. It was his final clue. By appearing on film with Chaplin he’s announcing his connection to United Artists. He’s making a point. Anyone who followed that link would eventually learn about his twenty per cent holding in the film company. That’s his legacy. That’s his treasure.’
‘Twenty per cent of United Goddamn Artists?’ asked Winnifred. ‘That’s insane. It’s got to be worth a billion bucks.’
‘A billion dollars!’ exclaimed Justina. ‘You hear that, everyone? That’s why I’m here. That’s what all this shit has been for.’
‘Now you must understand why it was so important to find Saunière’s remains and obtain a DNA match to whoever was his true descendant,’ said the Templar. ‘Even at the expense of what I am sure is a fine English country house.’
‘Not really,’ sighed Ratty. ‘Something of a wreck, to be honest. Especially after the fire.’
‘Ah yes, the fire. Which revealed a body behind the panelling,’ said the Templar. ‘Do you know who we think that body is?’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting that my great-grandfather took down the oak panelling, stuffed poor Saunière inside the void and nailed it back up again?’
‘He is, Ratty. The pieces all fit,’ said Ruby. ‘I think he’s right. Your great-grandfather must have done it.’
‘Never!’ cried Ratty.
‘How do you know?’ she asked.
‘Because he would never do a thing like that.’
‘Kill a priest?’
‘No, I mean he would never faff around with the oak panelling. That would be manual labour. Never in a million wotsnames. But snuffing a sermon-spewer? Well, it’s probably not that unusual round our way.’
‘Well you might have told us,’ said Justina. ‘We spent ages trying to dig up his bones for a DNA sample and you had them in your house all along.’
‘I must profess to a modicum of surprise at this revelation,’ said Ratty.
‘But if your DNA turns out to be a match—’ began Ruby.
‘Then Lord Ballashiels is the true heir to the billion-dollar fortune over which we have been keeping watch all these years,’ said the Templar.
‘No!’ screamed Ratty. ‘That would be the most awful and rotten thing that could happen to a chap!’
‘Why?’ asked Ruby. ‘Because you might lose your title? Big deal. You’ll be a billionaire. You can buy a hundred titles.’
‘It’s too high a price to pay,’ said Ratty.
‘Need I repeat, Ratty, you will be a billionaire!’ said Ruby, very slowly.
‘But don’t you see? No amount of money can change the appalling implication of this.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ruby. ‘What’s so appalling about being descended from Saunière and Emma Calvé? If it’s true, you will be—’
‘French!’
‘Oh, Ratty,’ she groaned. ‘You’re already a xenophobic, idiotic, innumerate inbred. I can’t see that being French will lessen your worth by any measurable amount.’
‘You won’t be French, honey,’ said Justina, ‘because I am the descendant of Saunière. Calvé toured America in the 1890s. When she arrived she was already pregnant. She had the baby in the States and gave it up immediately for adoption.’
‘Calvé had two babies?’ asked Ruby.
‘Off the record, yes,’ said the Templar. ‘That is correct. Each was hushed up for the sake of her career. A scandal would have been disastrous for her.’
The phone rang. Aurelia went to answer it. Those in the kitchen strained to hear her words from the other end of the hallway.
‘That will be the police,’ said the Templar. ‘Quite convenient that they were here a short while ago. I sent them back to Quillan with Lord Ballashiels’ DNA sample. They took it straight to the lab for me. The DNA samples from the bones found at Stiperstones and from Justina Saunière are already there. My contacts in the UK have also extracted Ballashiels DNA from the family tomb. I insisted on a sample from someone born before Saunière and Calvé met. I wait for the results with as much anticipation, no doubt, as the rest of you.’
‘Is that strictly ethical?’ asked Rocco.
&
nbsp; ‘Ethics. You ask about ethics. I am surrounded by tomb robbers, murderers, escaped convicts, trespassers, and who knows what other sorts of criminals you lot are guilty of being,’ replied the Templar. ‘Does that answer your question?’
Aurelia returned and whispered in his ear. He smiled.
‘It appears we have some results.’
***
Scabies flicked the damp stump of his roll-up onto the floor and ground it into the dust with his heel. The pronouncements of the Templar had filtered through to the barn and he had listened with interest while enjoying a smoke without such enjoyment being undermined by reproachful, judgemental looks from Ruby. He put his hand to the door and was about to push it open to re-join the group when he paused.
Something wasn’t right.
All this talk of a billion dollar fortune about to be given away. It made no sense. He got the story – that added up – but no one gives away a fortune like that unless the money means nothing to them. This place wasn’t bad, as farmhouses went, but it was no palace. Certainly not the abode of anyone to whom a billion dollars was a mere trifle. The Templar was trying hard to come across as everyone’s mate, but Scabies wasn’t buying it. No one had mentioned his absence, and he resolved to remain in the barn, in earshot but out of sight, until he could be convinced that the Templar was something other than a crook of the greatest magnitude.
***
‘Well?’ demanded Justina.
Without realising, everyone was leaning forward towards the Templar, eager expectation written deep across their brows.
The Chaplin Conspiracy Page 19
