As the Crow Flies (41 page)

Fothergill
resumed to Mrs. Trentham and asked “Five thousand pounds, madam?” Her eyes
quickly searched round the room, but it became obvious for all to see that she
couldn’t work out where the last bid had come from. Murmurs started to turn
into chatter as everyone in the auction house began the game of searching for
the bidder. Only Becky, safely in her back row seat, didn’t move a muscle.

“Quiet,
please,” said the auctioneer. “I have a bid of four thousand, five hundred
pounds. Do I see five thousand anywhere in the room?” His gaze resumed to Mrs.
Trentham. She raised her hand slowly, but as she did so swung quickly round to
see if she could spot who was bidding against her. But no one had moved when
the auctioneer said, “Five thousand, five hundred. I now have a bid of five
thousand, five hundred.” Mr. Fothergill surveyed his audience. “Are there any
more bids?” He looked in Mrs. Trentham’s direction but she in turn looked
baffled, her hands motionless in her lap.

“Then
it’s five thousand, five hundred for the first time,” said Mr. Fothergill. “Five
thousand, five hundred for a second time” Becky pursed her lips to stop herself
from breaking into a large grin “and for a third and final time,” he said,
raising his gavel.

“Six
thousand,” said Mrs. Trentham clearly, while at the same time waving her hand.
A gasp went up around the room: Becky removed her glasses with a sigh,
realizing that her carefully worked-out ploy had failed even though Mrs.
Trentham had been made to pay triple the price any shop in the Terrace had
fetched in the past.

The
auctioneer’s eyes resumed to the back of the room but the glasses were now
clasped firmly in Becky’s hand, so he transferred his gaze back to Mrs.
Trentham, who sat bolt upright, a smile of satisfaction on her face.

“At
six thousand for the first time,” said the auctioneer, his eyes searching the
room. “Six thousand for the second time then, if there are no more bids, it’s
six thousand for the last time...” Once again the gavel was raised.

“Seven
thousand pounds,” said a voice from the back of the room. Everyone turnd to see
that Charlie had resumed and was now standing in the aisle, his right hand high
in the air.

The
colonel looked round, and when he saw who the new bidder was he began to
perspire, something he didn’t like to do in public. He removed a handkerchief
from his top pocket and mopped his brow.

“I
have a bid of seven thousand pounds,” said a surprised Mr. Fothergill.

“Eight
thousand,” said Mrs. Trentham, staring straight at Charlie bellinerendy.

“Nine
thousand,” barked back Charlie.

The
chatter in the room quickly turnd into a babble. Becky wanted to jump up and
push her husband back out into the street.

“Quiet,
please,” said Mr. Fothergill. “Quiet!” he pleaded, almost shouting. The colonel
was still mopping his brow, Mr. Crowther’s mouth was open wide enough to have
caught any passing fly and Mr. Hadlow’s head was fimmly buried in his hands.

“Ten
thousand,” said Mrs. Trentham who, Becky could see, was, like Charlie, now totally
out of control.

The
auctioneer asked, “Do I see eleven Thousand?”

Charlie
had a worried look on his face but he simply wrinkled his brow, shook his head
and placed his hands back in his pocket.

Becky
sighed with relief and, unclasping her hands, nervously put her glasses back
on.

“Eleven
thousand,” said Mr. Fothergill, looking towards Becky, while pandemonium broke
out once again as she rose to protest, having quickly removed her glasses.
Charlie looked totally bemused.

Mrs.
Trentham’s eyes had now come to rest on Becky, whom she had finally located.
With a smile of satisfaction Mrs. Trentham declared, “Twelve thousand pounds.”

The
auctioneer looked back towards Becky, who had placed her glasses in her bag and
closed the catch with a snap. He glanced towards Charlie, whose hands remained
fimmly in his pockets.

“The
bid is at the front of the room at twelve thousand pounds. Is anyone else
bidding?” asked the auctioneer. Once again his eyes darted from Becky to
Charlie before resuming to Mrs. Trentham. “Then at twelve thousand for the
first time” he looked around once more “for the second time, for the third and
final time...” His gavel came down with a thud. “I declare the property sold
for twelve thousand pounds to Mrs. Gerald Trentham.”

Becky
ran towards the door, but Charlie was already out on the pavement.

“What
were you playing at, Charlie?” she demanded even before she caught up with him.

“I
knew she would bid up to ten thousand pounds,” said Charlie, “because that’s the
amount she still has on deposit at her bank.”

“But
how could you possibly know that?”

“Mrs.
Trentham’s second footman passed on the information to me this morning. He
will, by the way, be joining us as our butler.”

At
that moment the chairman walked out onto the pavement. “I must say, Rebecca,
your plan was brilliant. Had me completely fooled.”

“Me
too,” said Charlie.

“You
took an awful risk, Charlie Trumper,” said Becky, not letting her husband off
the hook.

“Perhaps,
but at least I knew what her limit was. I had no idea what you were playing at.”

“I
made a genuine mistake,” said Becky. “When I put my glasses back on... What are
you laughing at, Charlie Trumper?”

“Thank
God for genuine amateurs.”

“What
do you mean?”

“Mrs.
Trentham thought you really were bidding, and she had been tricked, so she went
one bid too far. In fact, she wasn’t the only one who was carried away by the
occasion. I even begin to feel sorry for... “

“For
Mrs. Trentham?”

“Certainly
not,” said Charlie. “For Mr. Fothergill. He’s about to spend ninety days in
heaven before he comes down to earth with an almighty thump.”

I
don’t believe
anyone could describe me as a snob. However, I do believe that the maxim “There’s
a place for everything, and everything in its place” applies equally well to
human beings.

I
was born in Yorkshire at the height of the Victorian empire and I think I can
safely say that during that period in our island’s history my family played a
considerable role.

My
father, Sir Raymond Hardcastle, was not only an inventor and industrialist of
great imagination and skill, but he also built up one of the nation’s most
successful companies. At the same time he always treated his workers as if they
were all part of the family, and indeed it was this example that he set,
whenever he dealt with those less fortunate than himself, that has been the
benchmark by which I have attempted to conduct my own life.

I
have no brothers and just one elder sister, Amy.

Although
there were only a couple of years between us I cannot pretend that we were ever
particularly close, perhaps because I was an outgoing, even vivacious child,
while she was shy and reserved, to the point of being retiring, particularly
whenever it came to contact with members of the opposite sex. Father and I
tried to help her find an appropriate spouse, but it was to prove an impossible
task, and even he gave up once Amy had passed her fortieth birthday. Instead
she has usefully occupied her time since my mother’s untimely death taking care
of my beloved father in his old age an arrangement, I might add, that has
suited them both admirably.

I,
on the other hand, had no problem in finding myself a husband. If I remember
correctly, Gerald was the fourth or perhaps even the fifth suitor who went down
on bended knee to ask for my hand in marriage. Gerald and I first met when I
had been a houseguest at Lord and Lady Fanshaw’s country home in Norfolk. The
Fanshaws were old friends of my father, and I had been seeing their younger son
Anthony for some considerable time. As it turned out, I was warned that he was
not going to inherit his father’s land or title, so it seemed to me there was
little purpose in letting the young man entertain any hopes of a lasting
relationship. If I remember correctly, Father was not overwhelmed with my
conduct and may even have chastised me at the time, but as I tried to explain
to him, at length, although Gerald may not have been the most dashing of my
paramours, he did have the distinct advantage of coming from a family that
farmed land in three counties, not to mention an estate in Aberdeen.

We
were married at St. Mary’s, Great Ashton, in July 1895 and our first son, Guy,
was conceived a year later; one does like a proper period of time to elapse
before one’s firstborn takes his place in the world, thus giving no one cause
for idle chatter.

My
father always treated both my sister and me as equals, although I was often
given to believe that I was his favorite. Had it not been for his sense of fair
play he would surely have left everything to me, because he simply doted on
Guy, whereas in fact Amy will, on my father’s demise, inherit half his vast
fortune. Heaven knows what possible use she could make of such wealth, her only
interests in life being gardening, crochet work and the occasional visit to the
Scarborough festival.

But
to return to Guy, everyone who came into contact with the boy during those
formative years invariably commented on what a handsome child he was, and
although I never allowed him to become spoiled, I did consider it nothing less
than my duty to ensure that he was given the sort of start in life that would
prepare him for the role I felt confident he was bound eventually to play. With
that in mind, even before he’d been christened, he was registered with Asgarth
Preparatory School, and then Harrow, from where I assumed he would enter the
Royal Military Academy. His grandfather spared no expense when it came to his
education, and indeed, in the case of his eldest grandson, was generous to a
fault.

Five
years later I gave birth to a second son, Nigel, who arrived somewhat
prematurely, which may account for why he took rather longer to progress than
his elder brother. Guy, meanwhile, was going through several private tutors,
one or two of whom found him perhaps a little too boisterous. After all, what
child doesn’t at some time put toads in your bathwater or cut shoelaces in
half?

At
the age of nine Guy duly proceeded to Asgarth, and from there on to Harrow. The
Reverend Prebendary Anthony Wood was his headmaster at the time and I reminded
him that Guy was the seventh generation of Trenthams to have attended that
school.

While
at Harrow Guy excelled both in the combined cadet force becoming a company
sergeant major in his final year and in the boxing ring, where he beat every
one of his opponents with the notable exception of the match against Radley,
where he came up against a Nigerian, who I later learned was in his
mid-twenties.

It
saddened me that during his last term at school Guy was not made a prefect. I
understood that he had become involved in so many other activities that it was
not considered to be in his own best interests. Although I might have hoped
that his exam results would have been a little more satisfactory, I have always
considered that he was one of those children who can be described as innately
intelligent rather than academically clever. Despite a rather biased housemaster’s
report that suggested some of the marks Guy had been awarded in his final exams
came as a surprise to him, my son still managed to secure his place at
Sandhurst.

At
the academy Guy proved to be a first-class cadet and also found time to continue
with his boxing, becoming the cadet middleweight champion. Two years later, in
July 1916, he passed out in the top half of the roll of honor before going on
to join his father’s old regiment.

Gerald,
I should point out, had left the Fusiliers on the death of his father in order
that he might return to Berkshire and take over the running of the family
estates. He had been a brevet colonel at the time of his forced retirement, and
many considered that he was the natural successor to be the Commanding Officer
of the Regiment. As it turned out, he was passed over for someone who wasn’t
even in the first battalion, a certain Danvers Hamilton. Although I had never
met the gentleman in question, several brother officers expressed the view that
his appointment had been a travesty of justice. However, I had every confidence
that Guy would redeem the family honor and in time go on to command the
regiment himself.

Although
Gerald was not directly involved in the Great War he did nevertheless serve his
country during those arduous years by allowing his name to be put forward as a
parliamentary candidate for Berkshire West, a constituency that in the middle
of the last century his grandfather had represented for the Liberals under
Palmerston. He was returned unopposed in three elections and worked for his
party diligently from the back benches, having made it clear to all concerned
that he had no desire to hold office.

After
Guy had received the King’s commission, he was despatched to Aldershot as a
second lieutenant, where he continued with his training in preparation for
joining the regiment on the Western Front. On being awarded his second pip in
less than a year he was transferred to Edinburgh and seconded to the fifth
battalion a few weeks before they were ordered to sail for France.