Avalon (11 page)

“Great God Almighty,” croaked Cal, sitting down slowly. “So that’s the rub.”

“The sole surviving heir to the Duke’s estate,” corrected Embries, “and therefore entitled to all his worldly goods and possessions.”

James stared incredulously at his eccentric benefactor. “And just how do you figure that?”

“By reason of the fact that you are the Duke of Morven’s grandson.” He said it so matter-of-factly that the full impact did not register on James at once.

“His grandson,” James repeated dully. He felt his stomach tighten.

“The son of his only son, to be precise.”

Good Lord
, James thought, mentally taking a deep breath; he looked at Cal, who was shaking his head in astonishment.

Embries settled his long frame on the edge of the desk and regarded his visitors with sympathetic good humor. “I can understand that this is quite a lot to take in, but perhaps I can tell you a story which will explain.”

James regarded the old man suspiciously. “Go on then.”

“It starts like this,” Embries said, smoothing a wrinkle from his smart black suit. “A young nobleman — a marquess, in fact — fell in love with a beautiful young woman named Elizabeth Grant whose family were tenant farmers on his father’s estate. The Marquess’ father, the Duke, opposed the union hatefully and unreasonably. He was a man of harsh judgments and definite opinions; once he got a notion into his head, it stayed.

“For reasons known only to himself, the Duke took an intense dislike to the lass who had captured his son’s heart. I cannot think that it was anything to do with the young woman in question; she was above reproach. It is likely that the Duke nursed a private hope that his son would marry someone of his own station, thereby increasing his fortunes in the world and restoring something of the ancient luster to the family. Then again, perhaps he merely wanted to indulge a show of power.

“However it was, he forbade the marriage. In defiance, the young people eloped, marrying in secret, and then toured the continent for a few months to give the old boy time to cool off and change his mind.

“They returned from the honeymoon to find the Duke more bitter and adamant than ever. He took his son aside and gave him a simple choice: dissolve the marriage at once, or be disowned and forfeit his title, lands, and income, and any possibility of regaining his father’s affection for the rest of his life. He left the two young people alone to think about it for an hour or two.

“As it happened, the young Marquess was not at all a materialistic man. I do believe he would gladly have forfeited his inheritance to live in humbler circumstances with the woman he loved. But there was someone else to consider now: his young wife was pregnant. While the Marquess might have been willing to abase himself for the love of his life, he could not bring himself to dishonor the young lady and his unborn child.

“Forced to this dire extremity, the Marquess showed his true mettle. He devised a plan which, although involving a certain amount of sacrifice in the short term, would secure a long-term benefit for himself, his wife, and child. He hit upon the idea of a false annulment. Through a sympathetic solicitor, he fashioned a document convincing enough to fool the Duke into believing his son had finally seen the sense of putting the unacceptable marriage behind him.”

As Embries talked, a strange detachment crept over James. Even though the people in the story were intimately known to him, their lives as much a part of him as his own, he could not help blurting, “You’re not saying the Duke fell for it?”

Embries rose and began to pace slowly, one hand supporting an elbow, the other fingering his chin. “The Duke wanted to believe his son had acceded to his wishes and, in fact, he had every reason to do so. Still, the old fox was very much a belt-and-braces man. He accepted the annulment but made a further demand. He told his son that he would not be reinstated until the young woman was married off quietly to another. Only then would then young man’s future be secure.”

“Unbelievable,” muttered James.

“Well, the young people were stuck,” argued Embries. “They had not anticipated anything like this; what is more, they were quickly running out of time. With each passing day, the unborn child was growing; their secret could not be kept from the world very much longer. What could they do but agree?”

“They caved in to the old bastard,” remarked James gloomily.

“Ah, but the Marquess did not surrender without a fight,” Embries continued, moving with slow, deliberate steps. “He fought for, and won, a dispensation: the young woman should be properly cared for — in short, she and her new husband, whoever that might be, should receive a house and a position on the estate.

“The Duke — as yet unaware that Elizabeth was with child — reluctantly accepted these terms, whereupon the Marquess played his last desperate card in this whole miserable game. He recruited a long-time friend to pretend to marry the girl.”

“John Stuart,” James murmured as the final piece of the puzzle dropped into place.

“Yes. The man you knew as your father entered the scene. Now, I do not know if money changed hands, or whether there was some other inducement, but — knowing the people involved — I rather think Stuart acted out of genuine friendship for the Marquess and a sincere regard for Elizabeth.

“These arrangements were swiftly carried out, and soon after the Duke suffered a minor stroke. This encouraged the young people mightily. No one expected the situation to be anything but a short-lived ruse which would be abandoned upon the imminent death of the old tyrant.

“After all, once the Duke was safely in his grave, the Marquess, having inherited his birthright, could do as he wished. His friend John would step aside so he could resume his life with his beloved Elizabeth, and raise his child in a manner appropriate to his station. This was the gist of it. A foolish, fantastic plan beginning to end, but they were young and they were desperate. They had been made aware of the consequences for their child, and willingly accepted the risks. And yet, in spite of all its flaws — in spite of everything — it might have worked.

“The only trouble was that the Duke did not die quickly. He had two more strokes in swift succession; and though each one laid him low, the iron Duke recovered, sending his son into the depths of black despair and depression. You can imagine the Marquess’ agony: here, the woman he loves is living with his best friend under the roof that he himself has provided. He can see her, talk to her, adore her from a distance, but he cannot touch her, hold her, make love to her as a husband ought. In due course, Elizabeth gives birth to a son —
his
son — and he can do no more for the lad than is fitting for a laird to offer the child of a tenant. Because the Duke is watching, watching, watching all the time.”

James swallowed hard. “Are you saying that my mother — that she became the wife of John Stuart while still married to the Marquess? What’s that — bigamy? It’s outrageous!”

“Easy, Jimmy,” urged Cal. “Hear him out.”

Embries shook his head placidly. “Just as there was no real annulment, there was no true marriage, either.”

“Adultery, then!”

“No, not adultery. And here we see the beauty of the sacrifice Jack and Elizabeth made. It is, in some ways, the most extraordinary part,” Embries said, his voice taking on a note of respect, almost reverence. “In choosing John Stuart, the Marquess chose a true and loyal friend. John lived with his lovely Elizabeth in a completely celibate relationship. He was — and you know this as well as anyone — a deeply religious man, and not to be swayed from any path he believed was right. He was a man who placed a high price on his beliefs and did not sell them cheaply.”

James nodded. That was the man he knew.

“Also, you must remember, they all expected the Duke to die any day, and this hope gave them tremendous patience.” Embries shook his head sadly. “But life is stranger than we can ever know, and far more unpredictable. What we expect to happen and what actually happens very often bear as much resemblance to each other as bright flame to damp ashes.”

“What happened?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Ah, can you no’ guess what happened, James? Can you no’ remember?” cried Cal. “Even
I
remember!”

Instantly, James’ memory flitted back to early childhood. He had a hazy remembrance of the Marquess — talking to his father outside in the yard with three or four dogs running around him. He also remembered the Duke — the formidable dictator with the brass-topped walking stick who seemed determined to make everyone as miserable as himself. Holding the picture in his mind, he recalled what had happened to spoil the plan. “The Marquess died,” he intoned softly.

Cal leaned back in his chair, nodding with approval.

“Exactly,” confirmed Embries. “The Marquess was injured in an accident — near Glen Shee pass one black winter night his car went off the road — and he died two days later, leaving his father the Duke alive, and his wife and young child in the care of his friend.” Embries paused, gazing inwardly at the unhappy scene.

After a moment, he said, “Now then, any of several things might have happened. I know both your mother and John Stuart were all for coming clean and facing the consequences. I counseled against this —”

“You,” breathed James aloud. In his mind’s eyes, he saw the photo he’d found in the hunting diary. “You knew about this from the beginning?”

“From the beginning? No.” He shook his head. “But I knew about it long before it reached this point. I advised against revealing the Marquess’ plan for several reasons — the most pertinent and important was that telling the Duke would almost certainly have destroyed the one thing they valued above all else, and for which all three of them had sacrificed so much.”

“And that was?”

“Your future.”

“
My
future!” James shot up out of the chair. “This is crazy! Fake annulments… phony marriages… plots and counterplots — it’s a soap opera you’re selling, and it has nothing to do with the people
I
knew in real life. You make it sound smutty and low. These were my parents, and it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“For a fact, Mr. Embries,” Cal put in, “James’ mum and da’ were the finest people I knew. Like second parents to me, and it’s an insult to us both if you say a word against them.”

Embries stood slowly and looked James up and down. He did not say anything for a moment. He neither defended his story, nor attempted to disperse his listeners’ indignation. He merely gazed at James with his pale eyes, and waited until the heat flash of fury had abated.

“You can prove all this, I suppose.”

“We would not be here otherwise.”

“Show me.”

“What do you want to see?”

“Something. Anything. Everything.” James gestured towards the stack of papers on the desk. “There must be something in there you can show me to make me believe your story.”

“I can show you any number of things,” Embries replied quietly. “Proof is easy to come by. Belief is difficult — that is a matter of personal conscience and volition. What could I show you that you would believe? A birth certificate? A will? Documents can be forged, they can be changed. Belief is not here” — he placed his hand on the pile of papers — “it is here” — he tapped his temple with a fingertip — “and here” — he tapped his chest.

“I still want to see it.”

“I thought you would,” replied Embries. To Cal, he said, “Drag your chair around here so you can see.” He drew the stack of documents to him. “Now sit, both of you. We have a long day ahead of us.”

Slowly, inexorably, the evidence mounted with every scrap of paper Embries produced. Most of it pertained to the property and the hopelessly tangled settlement of the Duke’s estate. James had learned enough about the legal ins and outs of the matter in the last few months to know that what he was being offered was genuine. From time to time, James showed one of the papers to Cal, who leaned over to inspect the document without comment. The clincher came in the form of a wedding certificate. Embries produced this in its turn, and any last resistance James had maintained to this point crumbled away.

Despite what Embries had said about documents being forged and changed, James had merely to glance at the single piece of badly photocopied paper to know it was the genuine article: John James Stuart and Elizabeth Anne Moray, nee Grant, had been married in a magistrate’s office in Aberdeen. He stared long at the date. He would have been six years old at the time.

Finally, James had seen enough. Shoving the photocopy across the desk for Cal to see, he pushed back his chair, stood up, and moved quickly to the door.

Embries took a step after him. “James?”

“I have to get out of here. I’m sorry.”

Cal stood up quickly. “Where are you going?”

James pulled open the door. “I don’t know.”

“Here, I’ll come with you.” Cal started after him.

“No,” James told him without looking back. “Stay here.”

Cal stepped to the doorway, intent on following. “James, wait —”

Embries called him back. “Let him go, Calum. He will be better off on his own for a while.”

Cal hesitated, then returned to the desk. “I guess he got a little overwhelmed by all this” — he frowned at the untidy pile of papers — “all this stuff you’re telling him.”

“It’s a great deal to take in,” suggested Embries.

“I’ll say,” replied Cal. “He’s just gone from being a homeless bastard to being a bloody rich bastard — and I use the term in the technical sense.”

“An unacknowledged son,” corrected Embries. “There is a difference. Still, there may be a few more shocks and surprises to come. He’ll need a friend, Calum.” Embries grew suddenly serious. “Are you the man to stand beside him?”

Embries allowed the question to hang in the air between them. Cal looked away, gazing out the door through which James had just passed.

“I need to know, Cal,” said Embries. “How far are you willing to go?”

Cal swallowed and, dropping back into his chair, began to speak. “James and I used to cut school sometimes,” he said, his voice low. “Once we took a couple of ponies without permission, and two rifles. We were, maybe, thirteen — and we were playing the big, brave hunters, setting out to bag the mighty monarch o’ the glen.