Virginia didn’t take the sleeper, a misnomer in her opinion, because she could never manage more than an hour’s sleep while the carriage rattled over the points. Instead, she opted to travel up to Scotland during the day, which would give her more than enough time to go over her plan, and prepare for any awkward questions her brother might come up with. After all, when she’d rung him to say she wanted his advice and needed to see him urgently, she knew he would assume that ‘advice’ was another misnomer, although she accepted that he might consider £185,000 a bit steep, unless he was willing to support her claim that...
Archie sent the car, if you could call a clapped-out 1975 Vauxhall estate a car, to pick her up when she arrived at Edinburgh Waverley. Her ladyship was driven to Fenwick Hall accompanied only by the smell of Labradors and spent cartridges, without once addressing the chauffeur.
As the butler accompanied Lady Virginia to the guest bedroom, he informed her that his lordship was out shooting but was expected back in time for dinner. Virginia took her time unpacking, something that would have been done by a lady’s maid in her father’s day, followed by a soak in a warm bath that she’d had to run herself. After dressing for dinner, she sharpened her nails in preparation for the encounter.
Dinner passed smoothly enough, but then they didn’t discuss anything consequential until after coffee had been served and the servants had retired.
‘I’m pretty sure you didn’t come all this way simply to find out how the family are, Virginia,’ said Archie after pouring himself a brandy. ‘So tell me, what’s the real reason for your visit?’
Virginia put down her coffee cup, took a deep breath, and said, ‘I’m giving serious consideration to challenging father’s will.’ After she had delivered her well-prepared opening salvo, it was clear from the expression on her brother’s face that he wasn’t surprised.
‘On what grounds?’ he asked calmly.
‘On the grounds that father had promised to leave the Glen Fenwick Distillery to me, along with its annual profits of around £100,000 a year, which would have allowed me to live comfortably for the rest of my days.’
‘But as you well know, Virginia, in his will Father left the distillery to Freddie, whom you abandoned several years ago, leaving me with the responsibility of bringing your son up.’
‘He isn’t my son, as you well know. He’s no more than the offspring of my former butler and his wife. So he has absolutely no claim on father’s estate.’
Virginia eyed her brother, waiting to see how he would react to this bombshell, but once again, not a flicker of surprise furrowed his brow.
Archie bent down and stroked Wellington, who was sleeping by his side. ‘Not only am I well aware that Freddie isn’t your son, but it was confirmed beyond doubt following a visit from Mrs Ellie May Grant, who told me in great detail about the charade you set up when her fiancé was staying at the Ritz some years ago, and your subsequent claim that you were pregnant and that Cyrus was Freddie’s father.’
‘Why did that woman want to see you?’ demanded Virginia, somewhat thrown off course.
‘To find out if I was willing to pay back any of the money you’d fraudulently claimed from her husband over the past decade.’
‘You could have offered her the income from the distillery until the debt was cleared, which would have solved all my problems.’
‘As you are well aware, Virginia, it isn’t mine to offer. Father left the distillery to Freddie and stipulated that it should be managed by me until the boy reaches his twenty-fifth birthday, when it will automatically become his.’
‘But now you know Freddie isn’t my son, surely you’ll support my claim that in an earlier will, which both of us saw, Father left the distillery to me.’
‘But he later changed his mind. And it wasn’t until Mrs Grant told me what her husband’s favourite whisky was that I realized the significance of father only leaving you a bottle of Maker’s Mark in his will, which rather suggests that he also knew Freddie wasn’t your son.’
‘I’ve received a tax bill for £185,000,’ blurted out Virginia, ‘that I can’t afford to pay.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Archie. ‘But from my experience, the taxman doesn’t send out demands for £185,000 unless the person concerned has made a capital gain of —’ he hesitated for a moment — ‘around half a million.’
‘I’ve spent every penny I made settling Cyrus’s claim, and now there’s nothing left.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t have that kind of money at my disposal, Virginia, even if I was willing to help you. Every penny I earn is ploughed back into the estate, which incidentally just about broke even last year, and as you can see, we’re not exactly living high on the hog. In fact, if I’m forced to make any more cutbacks, the next one will have to be your monthly allowance. The irony is that Freddie did better out of Father’s will than any of us.’
‘But all that would change if only I could get my hands on the distillery.’ Virginia leant forward and looked hopefully at her brother. ‘If you back me, Archie, I’d be willing to split fifty-fifty.’
‘Not a chance, Virginia. Those were clearly Father’s wishes, and in that same will, he instructed me to see that they were carried out. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.’
‘But surely blood comes before—’
‘Keeping your word? No, it doesn’t, Virginia, and I must warn you that if you were reckless enough to challenge Father’s will and the matter were to come to court, I wouldn’t hesitate to back Freddie’s claim, because that is no more than Father would have expected of me.’
On her return journey to London, Virginia concluded that once again, she would have to get in touch with her distant cousin in Argentina — and fairly urgently.
The following morning Virginia received a final reminder from HM Inspector of Taxes, which she screwed up and dropped into the nearest waste-paper basket. By the afternoon, she was reluctantly considering booking an economy class ticket to Buenos Aires, and had even started to pack, while thinking about the things she would miss if she were exiled, including Annabel’s, her friend Priscilla, Bofie and even the Daily Mail. She somehow doubted that the Buenos Aires Herald would have quite the same appeal.
She turned to Nigel Dempster to find out what her friends were up to. A photograph of a woman she didn’t care for dominated his column, although the news of her death didn’t cause Virginia’s heart to miss a beat.
It is with great sadness, Dempster reported, that I learned of the death of Lavinia, Duchess of Hertford, who was so admired for her beauty, charm and wit. That wasn’t how you described her when she was alive, thought Virginia. She will be sadly missed by her many friends — who could all have joined her for tea in a telephone box. But because she was so rich and powerful, everyone had always bowed and scraped to her. The funeral will be held at St Albans Abbey, and will be attended by Princess Margaret, one of the Duchess’s oldest friends. The Duchess leaves behind a son, Lord Clarence, two daughters, Lady Alice and Lady Camilla, and her devoted husband, the thirteenth Duke of Hertford. The funeral will take place on...
Virginia opened her diary, pencilled in the date and unpacked again.
22
Virginia may have been penniless but no one who saw her walk into St Albans Abbey that morning would have believed it. She was wearing a black silk dress with a pearl brooch her grandmother had left her, and carried a black Hermès handbag she still hadn’t paid for.