Clifton Chronicles 02 - The Sins of the Father (42 page)

The sign on the counter read ‘Miss Penhaligon’.

‘This is most irregular, Sir Harry,’ said the woman standing behind the name. ‘Most irregular.’

Harry was glad that he’d brought Emma along with him. ‘But it could prove incredibly important for both of us,’ he said, taking Emma’s hand.

‘I don’t doubt that, Sir Harry, but it’s still most irregular. I can’t imagine what my supervisor will make of it.’

Harry couldn’t imagine Miss Penhaligon having a supervisor. She turned her back on them and began to study a neat row of box files on a shelf dust was not allowed to settle on. She finally pulled out one marked 1943 and placed it on the counter. She opened it, and had to turn several pages before she came across what she was looking for.

‘No one seemed to want the brown felt hat,’ she announced. ‘In fact, my records show that we still have it in store. The overcoat was allocated to a Mr Stephenson, the suit to someone who goes by the name of Old Joey, and the brown brogues to a Mr Watson.’

‘Do you have any idea where we might find any of those gentlemen?’ asked Emma.

‘They are rarely to be found apart,’ said Miss Penhaligon. ‘In the summer, they never stray far from the municipal park, while in the winter we accommodate them in our hostel. I feel confident that at this time of year you’ll find them in the park.’

‘Thank you, Miss Penhaligon,’ said Harry, giving her a warm smile. ‘You couldn’t have been more helpful.’

Miss Penhaligon beamed. ‘My pleasure, Sir Harry.’

‘I could get used to being addressed as Sir Harry,’ he said to Emma as they walked out of the building.

‘Not if you’re still hoping to marry me,’ she said, ‘because I have no desire to be Lady Barrington.’

Harry spotted him lying on a park bench with his back to them. He was wrapped up in a grey overcoat.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Stephenson,’ said Harry, touching him gently on the shoulder, ‘but we need your help.’

A grimy hand shot out, but he didn’t turn over. Harry placed a half crown in the outstretched palm. Mr Stephenson bit the coin, before cocking his head to take a closer look at Harry. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘We’re looking for Old Joey,’ said Emma softly.

‘The corporal’s got bench number one, on account of his age and seniority. This is bench number two, and I’ll take over bench number one when Old Joey dies, which shouldn’t be long now. Mr Watson’s got bench number three, so he’ll get bench number two when I get bench number one. But I’ve already warned him he’s going to have to wait a long time.’

‘And do you, by any chance, know if Old Joey is still in possession of a green tweed suit?’ asked Harry.

‘Never takes it off,’ said Mr Stephenson. ‘Grown attached to it, you might say,’ he added with a slight chuckle. ‘He got the suit, I got the overcoat and Mr Watson got the shoes. He says they’re a bit tight, but he doesn’t complain. None of us wanted the hat.’

‘So where will we find bench number one?’ asked Emma.

‘Where it’s always been, in the bandstand, under cover. Joey calls it his palace. But he’s a bit soft in the head on account of the fact he still suffers from shellshock.’ Mr Stephenson turned his back on them, on account of the fact that he felt he’d earned his half crown.

It wasn’t difficult for Harry and Emma to find the bandstand, or Old Joey, who turned out to be its only occupant. He was sitting bolt upright in the middle of bench number one as if he were seated on a throne. Emma didn’t need to see the faded brown stains to recognize her father’s old tweed suit, but how would they ever get him to part with it, she wondered.

‘What do you want?’ said Old Joey suspiciously as they walked up the steps and into his kingdom. ‘If it’s my bench you’re after, you can forget it, because possession is nine-tenths of the law, as I keep reminding Mr Stephenson.’

‘No,’ said Emma gently, ‘we don’t want your bench, Old Joey, but we wondered if you’d like a new suit.’

‘No thank you, miss, very happy with the one I got. It keeps me warm, so I don’t need no other one.’

‘But we’d give you a new suit that would be just as warm,’ said Harry.

‘Old Joey’s done nothing wrong,’ he said, turning to face him.

Harry stared at the row of medals on his chest: the Mons Star, the long service medal and the Victory Medal, and a single stripe that had been sewn on to his sleeve. ‘I need your help, corporal,’ he said.

Old Joey sprang to attention, saluted and said, ‘Bayonet fixed, sir, just give the order and the lads are ready to go over the top.’

Harry felt ashamed.

Emma and Harry returned the next day with a herringbone overcoat, a new tweed suit and a pair of shoes for Old Joey. Mr Stephenson paraded around the park in his new blazer and grey flannels, while Mr Watson, bench number three, was delighted with his double-breasted sports jacket and cavalry twills, but as he didn’t need another pair of shoes, he asked Emma to give them to Mr Stephenson. She handed the rest of Sir Hugo’s wardrobe to a grateful Miss Penhaligon.

Harry left the park with Sir Hugo Barrington’s bloodstained lovat-green tweed suit.

Professor Inchcape studied the blood stains under a microscope for some time before he offered an opinion.

‘I’ll need to carry out several more tests before I make a final assessment, but on a preliminary inspection, I’m fairly confident that I’ll be able to tell you which blood group these samples came from.’

‘That’s a relief,’ said Harry. ‘But how long will it be before you know the results?’

‘A couple of days would be my guess,’ said the professor, ‘three at the most. I’ll give you a call as soon as I find out, Sir Harry.’

‘Let’s hope you have to make the call to Mr Clifton.’

‘I’ve phoned the Lord Chancellor’s office,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘and let them know that blood tests are being carried out on Hugo’s clothes. If the blood group is Rhesus positive, I’m sure he’ll ask the Law Lords to reconsider their verdict in light of the fresh evidence.’

‘But if we don’t get the result we’re hoping for,’ said Harry, ‘then what?’

‘The Lord Chancellor will schedule a debate in the parliamentary calendar soon after the House is reconvened after the general election. But let’s hope Professor Inchcape’s findings make that unnecessary. By the way, does Giles know what you’re up to?’

‘No, sir, but as I’m spending the afternoon with him, I’ll be able to bring him up to date.’

‘Don’t tell me he’s talked you into doing a stint of canvassing?’

‘I’m afraid so, although he’s well aware I’ll be voting Tory at the election. But I have assured him that my mother and Uncle Stan will both be supporting him.’

‘Don’t let the press find out that you won’t be voting for him, because they’ll be looking for any opportunity to drive a stake between the two of you. Bosom pals is not on their agenda.’

‘All the more reason to hope that the professor comes up with the right result and we’re all put out of our misery.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Lord Harvey.

William Warwick was just about to solve the crime when the phone rang. Harry still had the gun in his hand as he walked across the library and picked up the receiver.

‘It’s Professor Inchcape. Can I have a word with Sir Harry?’

Fiction was replaced by fact in a cruel moment. Harry didn’t need to be told the results of the blood tests. ‘Speaking,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid my news isn’t what you were hoping for,’ said the professor. ‘Sir Hugo’s blood type turns out to be Rhesus negative, so the possibility of him being your father can’t be eliminated on those grounds.’

Harry telephoned Ashcombe Hall.

‘Harvey here,’ said the voice he knew so well.

‘It’s Harry, sir. I’m afraid you’re going to have to phone the Lord Chancellor and tell him the debate will be going ahead.’

45

G
ILES HAD BECOME
so preoccupied with getting elected to the House of Commons as the Member of Parliament for Bristol Docklands, and Harry was so involved with the publication of
William Warwick and the Case of the Blind Witness
, that when they received an invitation to join Lord Harvey at his country home for Sunday lunch, they both assumed it would be a family gathering. But when they turned up at Ashcombe Hall, there was no sign of any other member of the family.

Lawson did not escort them to the drawing room, or even the dining room, but to his lordship’s study, where they found Lord Harvey seated behind his desk with two empty leather chairs facing him. He didn’t waste any time on small talk.

‘I’ve been informed by the Lord Chancellor’s office that Thursday September 6th has been reserved in the parliamentary calendar for a debate that will determine which of you will inherit the family title. We have two months to prepare. I will be opening the debate from the front bench,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘and I expect to be opposed by Lord Preston.’

‘What’s he hoping to achieve?’ asked Harry.

‘He wants to undermine the hereditary system, and to do him justice, he doesn’t make any bones about it.’

‘Perhaps if I could get an appointment to see him,’ said Harry, ‘and let him know my views . . .’

‘He’s not interested in you or your views,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘He’s simply using the debate as a platform to air his well-known opinions on the hereditary principle.’