There was one other outcome from the successful publication of The Three Keys. As required by the terms of Samuel Longden’s will, I’d sent one of the first copies off the press to Mr Elsworth. Publication was within the deadline, so I’d met all the requirements for the legacy.
The solicitor’s response was prompt, and came in the form of a covering note and a second envelope from Great-Uncle Samuel. Inside the envelope was a letter — and a key.
Dear Christopher,
The fact that you’ve received this letter means you’ve completed the task I presented you with. You should now know almost everything there is to know about your family. You should know what I did, and about Mary, and about your grandfather. I make no excuses. It’s far too late for that.
I hope you also know about the Parkers. In this respect, I believe I did my best, but it wasn’t good enough. I thought I might find there was some justification for the hatred the Parkers had for us. But I found none, Christopher. Perhaps I wasn’t objective enough. Perhaps you’ll find some cause where I could not. The solution is in your hands. It is in your power to stop it.
Of course, it all goes back to William Buckley. William was as close to me as my grandfather is to you. I can tell you my memories of my grandfather. And my grandfather could have told me his memories of William Buckley. If only William hadn’t died too soon.
When I began to explore the history of our family, the fact that one of my ancestors was the resident engineer for the Ogley and Huddlesford Canal seemed to complete a remarkable circle. But then I found more, and yet more.
William died because he exposed the dishonesty of Francis Parker. Josiah died after a dispute over contracts with a rival carrying company, run by a branch of the Parker family. Alfred, your great-grandfather, was a hard man. How could he be anything else after fighting through the Somme and Ypres? He had no sympathy with the malcontents and agitators who sabotaged trains and buses during the General Strike. One man who lost his job after the strike thanks to Alfred was Ralph Parker, Mary’s uncle. So a Parker found himself having to go on the Parish and be means tested for charity handouts. Did this justify what Mary did?
George thought he’d ended the feud when he married Mary, but he was wrong. And I was the one who made him wrong. I prolonged the feud myself by breaking them up.
I know that your father Arthur was made bitter and cruel. For this, I apologise, as for everything else. And so it passed on to you, Christopher. And to how many more generations that follow? It has to be stopped. Once my own son was dead, it was already too late for me. But the Buckley name can’t be allowed to die.
There is only you left, Christopher. Don’t leave me to take the blame for destroying the Buckleys altogether. I’m giving you the power to stop it.
While I sat and stared at the letter, Rachel had carefully cleaned and oiled the third key. She also dripped some oil into the empty keyhole of the canal owners’ box and insisted on waiting for it to work.
‘So this is the third key,’ she said.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘It’s the first.’
‘What?’
‘Remember Samuel’s will? He said he’d left me the second key and “the third was in the lock”. It didn’t make any sense at the time.’
‘But it does now?’
‘Of course. This is the first key. It’s William Buckley’s key.’
I was fidgeting with impatience, despite the fact that I’d waited so long already. I told myself there wouldn’t be anything in the box anyway. But I didn’t quite believe it.
Finally, Rachel allowed me to turn the key. It moved stiffly, but it moved, until it clicked into position with its two companions. Slowly I lifted the lid, marvelling at the smoothness of the action, the craftsmanship that had produced this object. I hardly dared to look in the box when it was open.
It was almost as empty as I’d feared — but not quite. In the bottom lay a sheet of what my mother would have called greaseproof paper, faded like parchment. And just showing through was something I recognised. A red blob of wax, with the image of a pit-head and a stylised beam-engine. The Ogley and Huddlesford Canal Company’s seal.
‘What can it be?’ asked Rachel.
We unfolded the paper and pulled out the documents that nestled inside. The contents made me sit back on my heels before I’d even begun to take in the details. They were recent, and devastating. There were letters, a contract full of mind-boggling figures and copies of certificates listing the directors of companies. I’d never heard of the companies, but some of the directors’ names were familiar, as were the signatures on the letters.
‘Well, that’s it. It looks as though we’ve got the complete evidence on the Parkers.’
‘And Lindley Simpson,’ said Rachel. ‘It doesn’t come as a surprise any more that MPs should be tied up in shady financial dealings.’
‘When the new link road goes through, they both stand to make a great deal of money.’
‘But Simpson is in the Ministry of Agriculture, isn’t he? Could he have any influence on the road scheme?’
‘I don’t know. But that’s probably beside the point. In the present climate, the mere fact that he’s in the government would be enough to create a scandal. He’d be hounded into resigning if this became public knowledge. It was what Andrew Hadfield was concealing. Leo Parker can hardly deny being involved. So Andrew had three people to protect — his uncle, his mother, and his future stepfather. No doubt he was deep into it himself somehow — there’s enough money in the pot to make them all millionaires.’
‘It was about money after all,’ said Rachel. ‘Not family.’
‘They must have found out that Samuel had this information, and they thought he was going to publish it. Parker and Simpson needed to stop the book to make sure their scheme went through.’
I realised Great-Uncle Samuel must have gone to great lengths to get hold of the material he’d hidden in the box. Probably he’d poured much of his resources into employing private investigators. Maybe he’d paid bribes to obtain some of the confidential documents. But they’d been important to him. They were what this was all about — obtaining the power to destroy the Parkers. He’d dedicated the last years of his life to it. And finally he’d laid his plans to pass the information on to me.
Rachel looked at me, and at the papers I held. ‘So what are you going to do, Chris? Send them to the newspapers? That would complete your revenge.’
‘Yes, it would.’
I thought about it for a long while, clutching in my hands the means to hit back at the Parkers. I pictured Leo Parker’s face, his impotent rage when it all came out, the disgrace of Lindley Simpson, the sensational stories in all the papers. And I felt a physical glow of satisfaction, the thrill of knowing that I’d brought retribution on behalf of my family. I smiled at the thought. It would be the culmination of everything Samuel had worked for, a justification for everything I’d gone through. Revenge. It was a sweet concept.
But then I met Rachel’s eyes, and the vision vanished abruptly. What was the point? What would I achieve by perpetuating the feud? I would ruin the final years of a sick old woman, and store up more animosity and bitterness for future generations to deal with. Presuming, of course, that there were going to be future generations of the Buckleys. Events had focused my mind on this issue like never before. When you lose your parents, you’re suddenly in the front line.