‘Time for breakfast, chaps. Never wise to go to the gallows on an empty stomach.’
Despite Lord Harvey’s advice, the three of them didn’t eat a great deal as they considered the day ahead. Lord Harvey tried out a few key phrases, while Harry and Giles made some last-minute suggestions to be added or taken away from his script.
‘I wish I could tell their lordships how much of a contribution both of you have made,’ said the old man, once he’d added a couple of sentences to his peroration. ‘Right, chaps, time to fix bayonets and go over the top.’
Both of them were nervous.
‘I was hoping you might be able to help me,’ said Emma, unable to look him in the eye.
‘I will if I can, miss,’ he said.
Emma looked up at a man who, although he was cleanshaven and his shoes must have been polished that morning, wore a shirt with a frayed collar, and the trousers of his well-worn suit were baggy.
‘When my father died –’ Emma could never bring herself to say ‘was killed’ – ‘the police found a baby girl in his office. Do you have any idea what happened to her?’
‘No,’ said the man, ‘but as the police weren’t able to contact her next of kin, she would have been placed in a church mission and put up for adoption.’
‘Do you have any idea which orphanage she ended up in?’ asked Emma.
‘No, but I could always make some enquiries if. . .’
‘How much did my father owe you?’
‘Thirty-seven pounds and eleven shillings,’ said the private detective, who took out a wad of bills from an inside pocket.
Emma waved a hand, opened her purse and extracted two crisp five-pound notes. ‘I’ll settle the balance when we meet again.’
‘Thank you, Miss Barrington,’ Mitchell said as he rose from his place, assuming the meeting was now over. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I have news.’
‘Just one more question,’ said Emma, looking up at him. ‘Do you know the little girl’s name?’
‘Jessica Smith,’ he replied.
‘Why Smith?’
‘That’s the name they always give a child nobody wants.’
Lord Harvey locked himself in his office on the third floor of the Queen’s Tower for the rest of the morning. He didn’t leave his room even to join Harry, Giles and Emma for lunch, preferring a sandwich and a stiff whisky, while he went over his speech once again.
Giles and Harry sat on the green benches in the central lobby of the House of Commons and chatted amiably as they waited for Emma to join them. Harry hoped that anyone who saw them, peers, commoners and press alike, would be left in no doubt that they were the closest of friends.
Harry kept checking his watch as he knew they had to be seated in the visitors’ gallery of the House of Lords before the Lord Chancellor took his place on the Woolsack at two o’clock.
Harry allowed himself a smile when he saw Emma come rushing into the central lobby just before one. Giles gave his sister a wave, as both men rose to greet her.
‘What have you been up to?’ asked Harry, even before he’d bent down to kiss her.
‘I’ll tell you over lunch,’ promised Emma as she linked arms with both of them. ‘But first I want to be brought up to date on your news.’
‘Too close to call, seems to be the general consensus,’ said Giles as he guided his guests towards the visitors’ dining room. ‘But it won’t be long now before we all learn our fates,’ he added morbidly.
The House of Lords was full long before Big Ben struck twice, and by the time the Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain entered the chamber, there wasn’t a place to be found on the packed benches. In fact, several members were left standing at the bar of the House. Lord Harvey glanced across to the other side of the chamber to see Reg Preston smiling at him like a lion who had just spotted his lunch.
Their lordships rose as one when the Lord Chancellor took his place on the Woolsack. He bowed to the assembled gathering, and they returned the compliment before resuming their seats.
The Lord Chancellor opened his gold-tasselled red leather folder.
‘My lords, we are gathered to give judgment as to whether Mr Giles Barrington or Mr Harry Clifton is entitled to inherit the title, estate and accoutrements of the late Sir Hugo Barrington, Baronet, defender of the peace.’
Lord Harvey looked up to see Harry, Emma and Giles seated in the front row of the visitors’ gallery. He was greeted with a warm smile from his granddaughter and could lip-read her words, ‘Good luck, Gramps!’
‘I call upon Lord Harvey to open the debate,’ said the Lord High Chancellor, before taking his seat on the Woolsack.
Lord Harvey rose from his place on the front bench and gripped the sides of the dispatch box to help steady his nerves, while his colleagues on the benches behind him greeted their noble and gallant friend with cries of ‘Hear, hear!’ He looked around the House, aware that he was about to deliver the most important speech of his life.
‘My lords,’ he began, ‘I stand before you today representing my kinsman, Mr Giles Barrington, a member of the other place, in his lawful claim to the Barrington title and all the possessions of that lineage. My lords, allow me to acquaint you with the circumstances that have brought this case to your lordships’ attention. In 1877, Joshua Barrington was created a baronet by Queen Victoria, for services to the shipping industry, which included the Barrington Line, a fleet of ocean-going vessels that are, to this day, still based in the port of Bristol.
‘Joshua was the fifth child in a family of nine, and left school at the age of seven, unable to read or write, before he began life as an apprentice at the Coldwater Shipping Company, where it soon became clear to all those around him that this was no ordinary child.
‘By the age of thirty, he had gained his master’s certificate, and at forty-two he was invited to join the board of Coldwater’s, which was experiencing difficult times. During the next ten years, he rescued the company virtually single-handed, and for the next twenty-two years, served as its chairman.
‘But, my lords, you need to know a little more about Sir Joshua the man, to understand why we are gathered here today, because it certainly would not have been at his bidding. Above all, Sir Joshua was a God-fearing man, who considered his word was his bond. A handshake was enough for Sir Joshua to accept that a contract had been signed. Where are such men today, my lords?’
‘Hear, hear’ echoed around the chamber.
‘But like so many successful men, my lords, Sir Joshua took a little longer than the rest of us to accept his own mortality.’ A ripple of laughter greeted this statement. ‘So when the time came for him to make his first and only will, he had already fulfilled the maker’s contract of three score years and ten. That did not stop him approaching the task with his usual vigour and vision. To that end, he invited Sir Isaiah Waldegrave, the leading QC in the land, to represent him, an advocate who, like you, my lord,’ he said, turning to face the Woolsack, ‘ended his judicial days as Lord High Chancellor. I mention this, my lords, to emphasize that Sir Joshua’s testament bears a legal weight and authority that does not allow it to be questioned by his successors.
‘In that will, he left everything to his first born and next of kin, Walter Barrington, my oldest and dearest friend. That included the title, the shipping company, the estates and, I quote the exact words of the will, “all that therein is”. This debate, my lords, is not about the validity of Sir Joshua’s last will and testament, but only about who can rightfully claim to be his heir. At this point, my lords, I would like you to take something into consideration that would never have crossed Sir Joshua’s God-fearing mind; the possibility that an heir of his could ever father an illegitimate son.
‘Hugo Barrington became next in line when his elder brother Nicholas was killed fighting for his country at Ypres in 1918. Hugo succeeded to the title in 1942 on the death of his father, Sir Walter. When the House divides, my lords, you will be called upon to decide between my grands
on, Mr Giles Barrington, who is the legitimate son of a union between the late Sir Hugo Barrington and my only daughter, Elizabeth Harvey, and Mr Harry Clifton, who, I would suggest, is the legitimate son of Mrs Maisie Clifton and the late Arthur Clifton.
‘May I at this point, my lords, seek your indulgence and speak for a moment a little about my grandson, Giles Barrington. He was educated at Bristol Grammar School, from where he went on to win a place at Brasenose College, Oxford. However, he did not complete his degree, rather he decided to abandon the life of an undergraduate to join the Wessex Regiment soon after the outbreak of war. While serving in Tobruk as a young lieutenant, he won the Military Cross defending that place against Rommel’s Afrika Korps. He was later captured and taken to Weinsberg prisoner of war camp in Germany, from where he escaped to return to England and rejoin his regiment for the remainder of the hostilities. In the general election he stood for, and indeed won, a seat in another place as the honourable member for Bristol Docklands.’
Loud ‘Hear, hear’s came from the benches opposite.
‘On the death of his father, he inherited the title, without dispute, as it had been widely reported that Harry Clifton had been buried at sea, not long after the declaration of war. It is one of the ironies of life, my lords, that my granddaughter, Emma, through her diligence and determination, was the person who discovered that Harry was still alive, and she unwittingly set in motion the train of events that has brought your lordships to this House today.’ Lord Harvey looked into the gallery, and gave his granddaughter a warm smile.
‘There is, my lords, no dispute that Harry Clifton was born before Giles Barrington. However, there is, I would submit, no definite or conclusive proof that Harry Clifton is the result of a liaison between Sir Hugo Barrington and Miss Maisie Tancock, later to become Mrs Arthur Clifton.
‘Mrs Clifton does not deny that she had sexual intercourse with Hugo Barrington on one occasion in 1919, and one occasion only. However, a few weeks later she married Mr Arthur Clifton, and a child was later born whose name was entered on the birth certificate as Harry Arthur Clifton.
‘You therefore have, my lords, on the one hand, Giles Barrington, the legitimate offspring of Sir Hugo Barrington. On the other, you have Harry Clifton, who, perchance, could possibly be the progeny of Sir Hugo, while there can be no doubt that Giles Barrington is. And is that a risk you are willing to take, my lords? If it is, allow me to add just one more factor that might help your lordships decide which lobby they should enter at the conclusion of this debate. Harry Clifton, who is seated in the visitors’ gallery this afternoon, has made his own position clear again and again. He has no interest in being burdened – I use his own word – with the title, but would far rather it was inherited by his close friend, Giles Barrington.’
Several peers looked up into the gallery to see Giles and Emma Barrington seated on either side of Harry Clifton, who was nodding. Lord Harvey did not continue until he had regained the attention of the whole House.
‘And so, my lords, when you cast your votes later tonight, I urge you to take into consideration the wishes of Harry Clifton, and the intentions of Sir Joshua Barrington, and give the benefit of the doubt to my grandson Giles Barrington. I am grateful to the House for its indulgence.’
Lord Harvey lowered himself on to the bench, to be greeted with loud cheers and the waving of order papers. Harry felt confident that he had won the day.
When the House had regained its composure, the Lord Chancellor rose from his place, and said, ‘I call upon Lord Preston to respond.’
Harry looked down from the gallery and watched as a man he’d never seen before rose slowly from the opposition benches. Lord Preston could not have been an inch above five foot, and his squat, muscular body and furnace-lined face would have left no one in any doubt that he had been a labourer all his working life, while his pugnacious expression suggested that he feared no man.
Reg Preston spent a moment surveying the benches opposite, like a private soldier who puts his head above the parapet to take a closer look at the enemy.
‘My lords, I would like to open my remarks by congratulating Lord Harvey on a brilliant and moving speech. However, I would suggest that its very brilliance was its weakness, and bears the seeds of its downfall. The noble lord’s contribution was indeed moving, but as it progressed, he sounded more and more like an advocate who’s only too aware that he’s defending a weak case.’ Preston had created a silence in the chamber that Lord Harvey had not managed.
‘Let us, my lords, consider some of the facts so conveniently papered over by the noble and gallant Lord Harvey. No one disputes that the young Hugo Barrington had sexual relations with Maisie Tancock some six weeks before she married Arthur Clifton. Or that nine months later, almost to the day, she gave birth to a son whose name was conveniently entered on the birth certificate as Harry Arthur Clifton. Well, that’s sorted out that little problem, hasn’t it, my lords? Except for the inconvenient fact that if Mrs Clifton conceived that child on the day she married, he was born seven months and twelve days later.
‘Now, my lords, I’d be the first to accept that’s a possibility, but as a betting man, if I was given the choice between nine months and seven months and twelve days, I know where I’d place my wager, and I don’t think the bookies would offer me very long odds.’
A little laughter broke out on the Labour benches.
‘And I should add, my lords, that the child weighed in at nine pounds four ounces. That doesn’t sound premature to me.’
The laughter was even louder.
‘Let us next consider something else that must have slipped Lord Harvey’s agile mind. Hugo Barrington, like his father and his grandfather before him, suffered from a hereditary condition known as colour-blindness, as does his son, Giles. And so does Harry Clifton. The odds are shortening, my lords.’
More laughter followed, and muttered discussion broke out on both sides of the House. Lord Harvey looked grimly on, as he waited for the next punch to land.
‘Let us shorten those odds still further, my lords. It was the great Dr Milne of St Thomas’ Hospital who discovered that if parents shared the same Rhesus negative blood type, then their children will also be Rhesus negative. Sir Hugo Barrington was Rhesus negative. Mrs Clifton is Rhesus negative. And surprise, surprise, Harry Clifton is Rhesus negative, a blood type that only twelve per cent of the British people share. I think the bookies are paying out, my lords, because the only other horse in the race didn’t reach the starting gate.’
More laughter followed, and Lord Harvey slumped even lower on the bench, angry that he hadn’t pointed out that Arthur Clifton was also Rhesus negative.
‘Now allow me to touch on one thing, my lords, on which I am whole-heartedly in agreement with Lord Harvey. No one has the right to question Sir Joshua Barrington’s will, when it has such a fine legal pedigree. Therefore, all we have to decide is what the words “first born” and “next of kin” actually mean.
‘Most of you in this House will be well aware of my strongly held views on the hereditary principle.’ Preston smiled before adding, ‘I consider it to be without principle.’
This time the laughter only came from one side of the House, while those on the benches opposite sat in stony silence.
‘My lords, should you decide to ignore legal precedent and tamper with historical tradition, simply to suit your own convenience, you will bring the hereditary concept into disrepute, and in time the whole edifice will surely come crashing down on your lordships’ heads,’ he said, pointing to the benches opposite.
‘So let us consider the two young men involved in this sad dispute, not, I might say, my lords, a dispute of their making. Harry Clifton, we are told, would prefer that his friend Giles Barrington inherit the title. How very decent of him. But then Harry Clifton is, without question, a decent man. However, my lords, should we travel down that road, every hereditary peer in the land would, in future, be able to decide which of his offspring he
would prefer to succeed him, and that, my lords, is a road with a dead-end sign.’
The House had fallen silent and Lord Preston was able to lower his voice to barely a whisper.
‘Did this decent young man, Harry Clifton, have any ulterior motive when he told the world that he wanted his friend Giles Barrington to be acknowledged as the firstborn?’
Every eye was on Lord Preston.
‘You see, my lords, the Church of England would not allow Harry Clifton to marry the woman he loved, Giles Barrington’s sister Emma Barrington, because they weren’t in much doubt that they shared the same father.’
Harry had never loathed a man more in his life.
‘I see the bishops’ benches are packed today, my lords,’ continued Preston, turning to face the churchmen. ‘I shall be fascinated to discover the ecclesiastical view on this matter, because they cannot have it both ways.’ One or two of the bishops looked uneasy. ‘And while I am on the subject of Harry Clifton’s pedigree, may I suggest that as a candidate in the lists, he is every bit the equal of Giles Barrington. Brought up in the back streets of Bristol, against all the odds he wins a place at Bristol Grammar School, and five years later an exhibition to Brasenose College, Oxford. And young Harry didn’t even wait for war to be declared before he left the university with the intention of joining up, only being prevented from doing so when his ship was torpedoed by a German U-boat, leading Lord Harvey and the rest of the Barrington family to believe that he had been buried at sea.
‘Anyone who has read Mr Clifton’s moving words in his book The Diary of a Convict, knows how he ended up serving in the US Army, where he won the Silver Star before being badly wounded by a German landmine only weeks before peace was declared. But the Germans couldn’t kill off Harry Clifton quite that easily, my lords, and neither should we.’
The Labour benches erupted as one, and Lord Preston waited until the House had fallen silent once again.