Date: Tue, 28 Feb 2017 20:04:37 +0000
From: h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 4 (Revision) Chapter 7

From Henry Hilliard and Pete Bruno h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com  This work
fully protected under The United States Copyright Laws 17 USC 101, 102(a),
302(a). All Rights Reserved. The author retains all rights. No
reproductions are allowed without the Author's consent. (See full statement
at the beginning of Chapter One.)

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you're enjoying the story and please keep writing to us and watch for
further chapters.

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Noblesse Oblige

by Henry H. Hilliard
with Pete Bruno

Book 4
The Hall of Mirrors

Chapter 7
Decree Nisi


The stench was overpowering.  Stephen wanted to lower the window but he
forbore, thinking that Hélias would be wounded, for, as far as he
was concerned, the more scent and the more cloying it was, the better.
Provence was, after all, the home of perfume and lavender grew wild on the
rocky hillsides where women like Hélias' mother harvested it for the
perfume factory.

Hélias checked again that he still had his new passport in his
inside pocket.  He was wearing his good suit-- the one that he had been
married in.  It was dreadful and too tight, but Hélias thought he
looked splendid and was sure that all the ladies were admiring him.  Indeed
some of them were giving him sideways glances as they stepped around each
other in the narrow corridor and perhaps even then were considering that
the bit of rough under that dreadful checked cap might be all right, after
all, in the privacy of a wagon lit compartment.  Even Hélias' limp
spoke of un héros de guerre.  But surely, unless they were suffering
from colds in the nose, they could not countenance intimacy with someone
who smelled of attar of roses?  Stephen did not want to spoil his adventure
so he left the window up and watched him bounce up and down on the
well-upholstered seat in the first class compartment.

"Have you been to Paris before, Hélias?" he asked at last.

"Oui, but of course," he replied as if horrified at the prospect that a
Frenchman should not have seen the City of Light.  "During the War we were
in Paris."  Then after a pause he asked: "Is London as big as Paris?"
Stephen told him it was much bigger and Hélias was thoughtful. "But
surely not more beautiful?"

Stephen said: "Peut-être pas."

Hélias went on to talk about a girl he had had in Paris.  "Joni had
a boy; I had the boy too."  He looked at Stephen with a triumphant grin on
his face--his white teeth on display.  We are not so different, thought
Stephen.

Then he suddenly said: "We will be staying with Martin in London?"  Stephen
nodded.  "And you will be staying there too?"

"Naturellement."  Hélias nodded in understanding.  "We will also
live in the country when your leg is mended."

"Dans la campagne? "

"Oui, dans un château."  Hélias processed this for a while as
the train sped on.

They went down to dinner and Hélias did not disgrace himself when it
came to ordering food.  Stephen told him to order what he wanted and
Stephen was impressed that he did not select the most expensive wine, but
chose one carefully that he thought would go best with their food.

"Can I ask that mother and daughter to have a drink with us, Etienne?" he
said quietly, indicating a haughty pair, obviously English, sitting
together not far away.  "I could have the mother and you could have the
daughter.  She is a virgin I am sure."

Stephen pretended to consider this carefully before replying that he judged
the scandal would be too great.  Hélias nodded but was disappointed
and did not even offer the further suggestion that they might swap.  He did
however pull such ludicrous faces in her direction that the frosty girl at
last smiled at him until her mother said something sharp.  They left the
car and a scandal was thus avoided.

In their compartment Stephen read for a while.  Hélias fidgeted and
kept interrupting.  It was then time for bed.  The attendant had made up
the beds and Hélias selected the top one for its novelty.  He opened
his suitcase and showed Stephen a pair of gaudy silk pyjamas that he
explained was a present from his wife.  He was saving them for the
hospital.  "For you, Etienne, dans le nu!"

Hélias really did look much better without his clothes.  He was
olive-skinned with short dark hair on his legs and chest.  For his size he
had a large cock that he stretched and fondled as Stephen watched from the
lower berth.  "Are you enjoying yourself?" asked Stephen.  He refrained
from reminding Hélias of his wife and daughter.  Hélias
assured him that this was the happiest day of his life.  It might just have
been.  Stephen reached out and pulled him close and took his cock in his
mouth.  He pleasured Hélias while he masturbated himself under the
sheet.  He popped a finger between Hélias' cheeks and that caused
him to spill in Stephen's mouth.  He pulled Hélias down that he
might taste it.  Stephen then threw back the sheet and finished himself
off, arching his back. A shot hit the call button, but not hard enough to
summon the attendant.  Hélias wiped the wall with something
handy--Stephen's shirt.  Stephen then motioned Hélias to climb up to
his own berth.  Hélias considered this course then decided that his
leg was too bad for such a perilous assent.  Stephen sighed and lifted the
sheet.  Hélias squeezed in--there really was no room--and what sleep
Stephen could find was bathed in the warm scent of attar of roses.



The speed of travel in this modern age left no time for carefully gathered
impressions and the slow unfolding of differing landscapes.  It was only a
few hours before they were in Paris and heading for the Calais train.
Hélias looked a little bewildered and never let Stephen out of his
sight.  He also expressed constant anxiety for their bags and his papers.

At Calais they were on the ferry.  Hélias was at home on the sea,
but this was different; this was a foreign ferry and he was now immersed in
a world of English.  Stephen tried to amuse him with the story of his first
leaving England to come to France with Martin.  Hélias tried to find
the parallel but was so anxious that he derived little consolation from it.

At Dover there was the further anxiety of customs.  Hélias' passport
was barely looked at.  He visibly relaxed.  Next there was the strangeness
of English trains.  However these too were compelled to travel along the
chemin de fer and soon they were at Victoria.  It was raining.  "Welcome to
London, mon ami!" said Stephen.

Hélias smiled weakly and practically held on to Stephen's coat tails
until they and their suitcases were safely into a taxi, which pulled out
into the grey world.  Hélias looked at the traffic and the people.
These were not Frenchmen.  The vehicles passed on the wrong side.  It was
cold.  The buildings were magnificent, but they too were cold too-- not
like French buildings.  "Ce n'est-pas la Provence," he said in weary
understatement.  Stephen just smiled and squeezed his hand.

With a squeak of brakes the taxi pulled up at Branksome House and the
driver lifted down their sopping cases.  Stephen strode up to the door.
Hélias hung back for a moment then clattered up behind him and he
peered around his body.  Stephen did not have his latchkey so he rang.
Glass came to the door and greeted Stephen warmly.  Hélias thrust
out his hand when he heard his name mentioned, but Glass diplomatically
refused it and gave a very handsome bow instead.  "Soyez le bienvenu,
monsieur" he said.  Stephen raised his eyebrow to Glass whom remained
impassive and simply took their bags.

Hélias stood dripping in the middle of the marble floor and did not
dare to raise his eyes to the glass ceiling forty feet above them.  He
glanced in a circle, comprehending the magnificent staircase, the
portraits, the heavy doors with their shiny brass fittings, the statue of
Apollo, the palm tree and Stephen's grinning visage.  "Sacré bleu!"
he murmured.

Stephen grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, laughing until
Hélias was laughing too.  "Martin!" he shouted.

"I'll tell his lordship you are here," said Glass, but before he could
leave Martin appeared on the landing and called down a greeting.
Hélias smiled and waved and Martin came galloping down the stairs.
There were embraces all around and English handshakes and French baisers.

"I think we ought show Hélias his room, Mala.  We are all rather
tired," said Stephen.  They climbed the stairs, Hélias casting an
anxious look back to where his suitcase had been but was now not.

He was wide-eyed when he saw his room.  "Pour moi?"  They told him it was
and showed him the connecting bathroom.

They took him across the corridor and through the double door to their
room.  Martin put his arm around Stephen and pointed to their bed.
Hélias grinned and even went as far as to sit on the bed and then
bounce on it.  They walked down the corridor.  Two maids walked past and
bobbed.  Hélias turned to Martin and bobbed --Martin was being
teased; Hélias was relaxing.  "Who sleeps here?" he asked waving his
hand down a corridor.

"Mon oncle here," said Martin.  "And here and here," he said pointing
further along, "Ma cousine... et sa mère".

"Where are they, Mala?" asked Stephen.

"I'll tell you later, Derbs.  Things have been happening.  Let's settle
this one first."

Carlo appeared and it was explained that he would be his servant.
Hélias looked shocked and looked to Stephen who told him not to be
concerned and that Carlo was very nice.  Carlo did his best at that moment
to look very nice and mimed the unpacking of Hélias' suitcase.  The
boys stood back while the contents were hung in the wardrobe.  There was
another suit-- worse than the one he now wore-- and some underclothes.
Hélias looked guiltily at Stephen and by the look on Carlo's face he
worked out Carlo also knew Stephen's rules about drawers.  The silk pyjamas
were reverently placed on a shelf, Hélias again explaining they were
for the hospital.  Carlo thought they might actually induce illness, but
remained impassive.  Lastly there was the checked cap.

"We might take Helias shopping.  Perhaps a suit off the peg from Austin
Reed's?  He'll scrub up quite well," said Martin in front of Hélias
who did not understand.

"Like I did?" said Stephen, but with humour, not bitterness.

"Maybe not such a diamond."

The tour of the house continued, if for no other reason than to give
Hélias his bearings.  Their trump card was in the kitchen.  There,
M. Lefaux had been given his instructions.  He welcomed Hélias in a
babble of Occitan.  "His mother was from Grasse, Derby.  He does not hold
the usual prejudices of the Parisians."  This meeting seemed to go well.
The chef introduced all the servants within hailing distance and he
promised to take Hélias out on his next free evening.

Tea was served in the Pink Drawing Room.  Hélias felt dwarfed by its
dimensions, but coped well enough.  He was not adverse to English tea.

"Now tell me about Constance, Mala" said Stephen when they had settled.
Where is she?"

"She has been at Tetbury Park--that's cousin Philip's place in
Gloucestershire-- for the last two weeks.  She should be home tomorrow.  I
can't tell you what a relief it's been."

"I gather she likes your cousin."

"More the other way around.  Philip has plenty of money, but that's all."

"He will inherit Croome?"

"I suppose he will, but I'll be dead so I won't care," said Martin
bitterly.  Then: "I'm just sorry it won't be yours, Derbs.  There's no
justice."

Stephen smiled and patted his knee. "Her mother isn't after him too?"

"No, that's the other news.  She's in Portugal...with Uncle Alfred!"

Stephen's eyebrows shot up and Hélias looked at them.  They
explained.

"Yes, she convinced him that a sea voyage and some warm weather would do
him good.  He does look quite gaunt, Derbs.  They have taken all their
history stuff with them.  Higgins has gone too and will keep an eye on
things.  He's my spy."

They ate informally in the small dining room-- just in their ordinary
clothes.  M. Lefaux, however, had prepared several of his mother's recipes
for the simple dishes of her native land and Hélias appreciated the
compliment and went down into the kitchen to say so.

In the evening they sat in Hélias' room with a couple of bottles of
wine.  M Lefaux had been down into the cellar with Hélias and he
selected what he knew to be good vintages.

When it was time for bed, Hélias saw that Stephen needed to be alone
with Martin, so he made no move to join them.  "Carlo will be in to help
you undress, Hélias," said Martin and he mischievously waited for a
reaction.  Hélias was shocked.  "He will also draw your bath in the
morning," this had to be translated.

The boys left for their own room and Hélias slid into the luxurious,
but unfamiliar bed with its linen sheets and fell asleep in dread of Carlo
and the bathtub in the morning.

Carlo woke them early and tried, as usual, to balance the bed tray on
Stephen's morning erection.  The boiling tea was very nearly spilt as
Stephen enjoyed the struggle.  In between a night of lovemaking, Stephen
told Martin about the Mission to Seamen and the obliging Norwegians
therein.  Martin was very excited and pictured Stephen spread out and being
pleasured by two mouths.  He assumed that Stephan and Hélias would
have slept together but wasn't the least bit jealous; he would have done
the same and even now was thinking of Hélias in bed just across the
corridor.

"Mala, we must get Hélias bathed and into some new clothes before he
goes off to see Sir Thomas.  Do you think he will let us buy him some?"

"I do hope so; it will be fun, won't it, Carlo?"

"It will be your lordship.  He's very nice-looking for a smaller gentleman.
Of course your French and Italians are short.  I'm considered a giant in my
family and I'm only five-foot-nine.

"He's got a nice big cock, Carlo.  You'll see it when you give him his
bath."  The boys finished their tea and their morning post and proceeded
into Hélias' room in their dressing gowns.

They jumped on Hélias, frightening the life out of him.  Then they
tickled him and climbed under the bedclothes next to his naked body.
Hélias was embarrassed that Carlo was in the room but was so
distracted he didn't see him slip away to draw the bath.  Presently the
covers were pulled off and Hélias was propelled, complaining, into
the bathroom.  He would only get in if Stephen did.  This was easily
arranged and there was a great overflow of water, which gurgled down a
drain let into the floor.  Carlo appeared with soap, a brush and shampoo.
Hélias protested, but could do little.  Stephen soaped him first and
was gentle and didn't hide his erection that emerged well above the water
level.  He directed Hélias to soap it and, thus distracted, Carlo
commenced to shampoo both heads of black hair.  Martin felt left out so he
shed his dressing gown and knelt down and took over Stephen while Carlo
finished Hélias' hair.

Hélias liked the brush playing on his nipples and other parts of his
body.  This was good as it allowed Carlo to scrub all parts of the
Frenchman.  He stood up so that even his most intimate recesses could be
soaped by Stephen and Martin and scrubbed gently by the valet.

"This is the best part," said Stephen at last, giving a big grin in the
direction of Hélias who was at the other end of the tub.  Both boys
worked on Hélias' erection while Carlo kept up work with the teasing
brush.  With a cry Hélias spilled and his seed floated in the
bathwater like ectoplasm.  "Do me, boys!" said Stephen lying back and they
pleasured him in the same way.  When Stephen orgasmed, a long stream shot
across the bath and plastered Hélias's hair.  It trickled down his
forehead where it stung his eye.  Carlo was handy with a towel. "Sorry,
Hélias," said Stephen, grinning.  Hélias gasped but it
quickly transformed into a grin too.  Carlo washed Hélias' hair
again and then the two emerged from the bath.

"I think I'll get in," said Martin.

"But it's all dirty," Mala.  "We've spent in it and I think Hélias
has relieved himself."

Hélias understood this slander and punched Stephen playfully in the
ribs.  They were both laughing.  Nevertheless, Martin climbed in and
enjoyed the unusual pleasure.  Hélias watched Carlo dry Stephen and
made no objection to having the same done to him.  Stephen rubbed his own
chin.  "Regarde cela, Hélias!"

Stephen sat in the chair while Carlo commenced to shave him.  Hélias
looked on, as did Martin from the bath.  The razor scraped over Stephen's
young whiskers, ploughing a path through the lather.  The bulge in Carlo's
black trousers became larger and larger.  Hélias saw this and his
mouth was wide.  Stephen smiled.  "Get it out, Carlo, I want to feel it."

"No sir, I might nick you."

"I want to feel that Italian cock, Carlo."

"I was born in Birkenhead, Mr Stephen," he replied, but opened the fly
buttons all the same and his cock sprang out.  Hélias saw that he
too wore no undergarments.  "What I have to do for £80 a year!" moaned
Carlo.

"Do I pay you that much, Carlo?" called Martin from the bath.

"You do, sir.  Would you like me to go and work for Sir Philip Rous-Poole?"

"You could spend the rest of your life pressing tweeds and sponging blood
off Norfolk jackets."

"Indeed sir.  May I button up now?  It's going down."

Hélias was most bewildered by all this and didn't understand their
teasing humour, but he allowed Carlo to shave him and trim his newly washed
hair.  "Would you trim him down below, Carlo," said Stephen who was
standing next to the chair naked with his half-hard cock dripping.

Hélias became alarmed and thought Carlo was going to shave him bald.
He asked in terror how he would explain it to his wife.  Stephen calmed him
and invited him to run his fingers through his own bush, which was trimmed
to about a quarter of an inch in length.  Hélias relented and was
soon admiring himself in the mirror.  "A l'anglaise!" he said, smiling and
turning from side to side.

Later that morning Hélias was taken shopping.  Not surprisingly he
had a great liking for clothes and at home looked at the French fashion
plates.  He selected a dark blue three-piece suit with pin stripes--the
waistcoat was double-breasted with lapels.  He brought three shirts with
soft collars and a crimson tie with cream pin dots.  He was dissuaded from
selecting a pocket-handkerchief and half-hose to match.  Shoes and a hat
came next.  He very much wanted an umbrella so one was found he liked.  It
was useful when the rain returned with fury and it helped him walk when it
was not.  For the hospital, a silk dressing gown with dragons on it caught
his eye.

"Gants?" said Hélias looking down at his knuckles.  This became
apparent as a request for gloves; he had seen men of fashion in Paris
wearing gloves.

Martin had a spare pair of cufflinks and these along with his father's
silver cigarette case, which must have been worth more than Hélias
would have earned in a year, were given a new owner.

Rarely had Martin enjoyed himself so much.  Hélias was appreciative,
of course, but more than that, Martin felt that it somehow gave him back a
little of that old self-confidence that had been sapped by his crippled
leg.  He also saw that Stephen was seeing something of himself on his first
trip to London, to where he had naively come with Martin in 1909.

That afternoon Hélias went to Sir Thomas' rooms.  Stephen went with
him, as did M. Lefaux to translate.  Martin sat at home reading the latest
letter from his uncle.  The party returned and Martin looked into their
faces.  They seemed neutral and Stephen said that Sir Thomas had taken
x-rays and examined Hélias closely, watching how he moved and
feeling his leg.  "He was very thorough and has made another appointment
for the end of the week.  He won't commit himself to a diagnosis yet."

They dined at home but then took Hélias out to a music hall.  He
wore his new suit and was very happy.  He might not have understood the
comedy acts, but he cheered and clapped at the pretty girls in the chorus.
Afterwards they tried to find a `typical' English pub.  Hélias was
polite, but he clearly preferred the cafes of his own land and failed to
see the attraction of the British public house.

There was less trouble getting Hélias into the bath the next
day--indeed he wanted to bathe twice a day and insisted Stephen or Martin
must join him.  Because he was lame, Martin thought it might be good to
take him sightseeing by motorcar.  Martin chauffeured the Rolls Royce while
Stephen and Hélias sat in the back seat where Stephen pointed out
Buckingham Palace, the Horse Guards, Tower Bridge and the like, while
Hélias could ask him questions.  He was an easier visitor than
Constance Polk-Stewart, Martin swiftly concluded.

Martin's next bright idea was to take Hélias up in the lift in the
tower of Westminster Cathedral.  Here they saw the panorama of the great
metropolis laid out at their feet, with St Paul's and the City on one side
and Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament on the other.  But it
was not Paris all three had to sadly conclude.

Stephen then took Hélias to visit Sgt Swaine in South London.  He
hoped that, as returned soldiers, they would find common ground, aided by
beer.  They did and Hélias managed to charm Mrs Swaine into the
bargain.  Martin remained at home and was in the drawing room when
Constance swept in.

"Hello, Constance," said Martin looking up from his novel.  "How was
Tetbury Park?"

Constance went into her act. "Oh it was lovely.  The countryside in the
Cotsberries is lovely-- all those cute cottages."

"Cotswolds, I think."

"Yes, that's them, well they sure are swell.  Everyone says so."

"Did you ride and shoot?"

"Yes, I did as a matter of fact.  That's all we did."  She gave a tight
smile.  "I'm a country girl, Martin.  I can ride a horse and shoot a rifle
already, it's just you do it all so different here--so very formal about
everything."

"Philip does like country life," said Martin trying not to smile.

"He certainly does that, Martin," she said with a trace of asperity, not
looking at him.  "Will you take me to a party tomorrow night?  Jean invited
me."

"I'm sorry, Constance, but I have a prior engagement."  She looked angry
and Martin wondered if she had a temper if she let herself go.  "You see,
we have a visitor-- a Frenchman and I'm taking him to the theatre," he
lied.

"A Frenchman?" she said, suddenly interested.

"Yes, a carpenter.  He was a soldier wounded in the War.  Stephen and I
brought him up from Provence for an operation on his leg."

"Oh," she said, realising that he would be another of their lame ducks.
"Well, perhaps Stephen would like to go to the party."

"You should ask him; he loves parties."

The next morning when Hélias and Stephen returned from the Swaines
with sore heads, Hélias was introduced to Constance.  She was
distinctly chilly and Hélias caught it.  He was not used to being
rebuffed by females and was wounded.

"Stephen," began Constance, "I need you to take me to a party tonight.
Martin can't because he says he is taking him out."

Stephen kept his temper and said that he'd love to.

"It will be a swell affair, Jean says.  There will be a scavenger hunt."



Much later that night, Stephen found himself in his dinner jacket with
Constance who was wearing a black and silver evening dress.  It was heavily
beaded and the waist was dropped to her slender hips.  It finished unevenly
just above her pretty ankles.  There was also a sort of cape made of tulle
edged with more beads.  This was a nuisance all evening and kept getting
caught in things such as the bushes in Kensington Gardens.

"Oh it's snagged again!" cried Constance.

"It's a beautiful dress, Constance," said Stephen on his hands and knees
unhooking it.

"It was made by Patou of Paris, France," she said proudly.  "Momma bought
it for me.  I'm glad you like it."

They were waiting for the policeman to stroll past, which at last he did,
hands clasped behind his back.  Stephen then dashed out with a screwdriver
and used it to unfasten the metal sign pointing the way to the Serpentine.
He ran back to the bush with his prize and then they walked sedately to
Jean's motorcar with the sign hidden beneath his jacket.

Jean had the list.  "We have the acorn, the gold nail scissors, the
moustache cup, a copy of The Sphere, a tabby kitten..."  This she pointed
out in a wicker basket.  "I got it from my cook's sister," she explained.
"And now we have the Serpentine sign.  All we need now is a milkman's hat
and a piece of railing.  I think I know where there is a fence that was
knocked down by a lorry.  You might be able to pull out a picket, Stephen."

Antony Vane-Gillingham came running up brandishing a white peaked
cap. "Hurry up and drive, old thing.  He'd have got me except for the horse
shying."

Jean drove her car in the direction of Eton Place.  Stephen and Constance
sat in the back seat among the treasures.  Stephen placed the basket on his
knees and stroked the sleeping kitten with a single finger.

"You were born in the village," said Constance turning to look at him.

"I was brought up there.  My mother was widowed--I never knew my father.
She died too and Titus Knight brought me up."

"He was a poacher or something."

"No, poaching is a crime," said Stephen laughing, "like rustling; he worked
on the estate for Lord Branksome-- Martin's father."

"You were poor?"

Stephen shrugged.  "We weren't `dooks' neither."

"That's a great pity because you're handy with a screwdriver and rather
good-looking."  She leaned across and kissed him on the lips.  The kitten
awoke and mewed.

"I thought perhaps you were fond of Philip Rous-Poole."

She sighed.  "He says he's in love with me.  I expect him to propose."

"Will you accept?"

"What do you think wise-guy?"  She kissed him again and slid her slim hand
under the basket to feel a basket of a different kind.

"Yes, it surely is a pity," she sighed.


*****


A week later saw Hélias in Guy's Hospital and Constance returned to
Tetbury Park.  Hélias had undergone an operation-- a second may be
required-- and his leg was splinted before it was put into plaster.  They
were watching for signs of infection and Stephen and Martin did their best
to take his mind off the possibility.

Martin and Stephen took it in turns to make visits to Croome where there
was always estate business to attend to.  Martin found that he was snowed
under with paperwork.  There were also his files on the Croome Trust for
the East End of London, the Trust for Antibes, the Omnibus Company, the
horse stud where he was in partnership with O'Brien and several similar
undertakings.  There were also his investments, which Daniel Sachs handled.
Here was a letter asking if he would sit on the local bench as a JP as his
father had done.  There was a pile of invitations and letters that required
an answer.  "I need a secretary!" he said out aloud.  Then he wondered if
Private Myles would consider this as a job.  He did know that Stephen would
surely end up sleeping with him.  Would that be a problem?  He weighed it
up in his mind.  He then looked back at the mare's nest of papers before
him and sighed.

A telegram was delivered to Branksome House announcing that Uncle Alfred
and Mrs Polk-Stewart would be returning the next day.  They had journeyed
from Lisbon by train across Spain and France.  This welcome news had been
sent on to Croome and so Martin returned to London and anxiously waited
with Stephen.

Martin heard the taxi stop even before Glass came into the room.  He called
to Stephen and walked quickly down the stairs.  There were voices as the
street door was opened and then the travellers bustled into the hall.
Martin smiled but then it faded.  He was shocked at how ill his uncle
looked.  He put on a brave front and welcomed them back.  Uncle Alfred said
nothing but Mrs Polk-Stewart talked non-stop.  Clearly she had enjoyed the
trip.  Martin looked at Higgins who slowly shook his head.  This Martin
interpreted to be a comment on his uncle's health rather than his marriage
state.

"We will talk at dinner, Martin.  I'm looking forward to my English bed
right now.  I have had a marvellous time, but excuse me."

Martin left Stephen to say a few words to Mrs Polk-Stewart and climbed to
his own room.  Stephen came in shortly afterwards and found him lying face
down on the bed.  He said nothing, but laid down next to him and put his
arm around him.  When he lifted his head sometime later, Stephen could see
his eyes were red.

"Mrs Polk-Stewart said that she had happy tidings from Tetbury Park, Mala."
Martin said nothing to this.

"Did she mention my uncle?"

"No, she talked of everything else.  Apparently they did a lot of work in
record offices and churches.  I couldn't think of anything more boring."

There was a good English dinner with roast beef and a pudding.  Uncle
Alfred and Mrs Polk-Stewart took turns in relating their adventures,
including the curious ways and surprising helpfulness of foreigners and the
vagaries of Continental hotels.

"This Sir Gregory Withers was a most helpful old gentleman at Cintra," said
Mrs Polk Stewart.  "He is the British consul there and showed us records
going back to the time of Napoleon.  Then there was the archivist at the
Royal Palace in Lisbon; he was swell too.  The librarian was a bit
difficult, wasn't he, Alfred?"

"He was, but you charmed him, my dear."

"Tell us about Lord Thomas," asked Stephen.

Mrs Polk-Stewart delighted in giving details of his debts and extravagances
that had been recorded by his contemporaries.  It was even hinted that he
had many mistresses, but no names were mentioned, save that of Miss
Cavendish-Bentnick whom he eventually married in 1808.

Uncle Alfred was clearly delighted. "I found the engraving of
Desideria-Luiza Molsomo and also a small portrait of her painted when she
was the wife of Thomas.  Glass!"  The butler came to him.  "Will you ask
Higgins to bring the photographs; he will know which ones."

Higgins entered the dining room with a large envelope, which he passed to
Lord Alfred.  "Here is what I am after."  He pulled out two photographs,
one of the engraving and one of the oil painting.

"She was certainly a beautiful women," said Martin when they were passed
his way.  Stephen and Constance agreed and said that the Empire fashions of
the era would not look out of place today.

A third photo showed a watercolour of two infants sitting in a carved chair
with a sleeping dog at their feet.  "We think these two are the daughters
of Desideria-Luiza Molsomo and Lord Thomas Poole," said Mrs Polk-Stewart.

"Their names were Djanira and Olivinha," added Lord Alfred.

"Cintra is a beautiful old town," he continued and began to describe it as
he handed around some more photographs. " Higgins took these.  He's quite
good with the camera."

The pudding was served and Uncle Alfred began a history of Britain's close
relationship with Portugal-- "our oldest ally"--until he saw Constance
yawn.  He cut the lesson short and asked, instead, about their French
visitor who was out with M. Lefaux.

After dinner Uncle Alfred went up to rest.  The other four played contract
bridge in the drawing room.  Mrs Polk-Stewart was very good and won
two-and-six.  The boys went up to their room and lay awake in bed
discussing how ill Uncle Alfred looked and wondering if the trip, which he
so clearly enjoyed, had been `too much' for him.

There was a knock at the door and Higgins entered.  "I'm sorry for the
intrusion, your lordship.  Pardon me, Mr Stephen.  But I thought I should
tell you about his lordship."  Martin told him to come in and didn't heed
his being in bed with Stephen.

"'e's is very poorly, your lordship.  There's hain't nothing of him when I
gives him his bath and he's suffering some 'orrrible pain--especially in
his stomach.  He has an h'appointment with Sir Thomas next Wednesday..."

"And Mrs Polk-Stewart?"

"She seemed to brighten 'im up, I must say, sir.  I don't think there was
no romantic stuff, if you get my drift."

"Thank you, Higgins.  I didn't like to make you spy.  It's only because I
love him and well..."

"And because Mrs P-S ain't all she seems?"  Martin nodded.  "Lord Alfred
asked if he might come and see you both now."

Martin was surprised at the request but said yes.  Stephen slid out of bed
and went to his dressing room and returned wearing the lemon silk pyjama
bottoms.  A few minutes later there was a knock and Uncle Alfred entered in
his dressing gown.  Higgins had been correct; he was skin and bone.
Nevertheless he smiled and sat himself on the edge of bed and invited
Stephen, who was hovering near the door, to sit down too.

"I'm sorry I'm not brighter company, boys, but I'm not too good.  However,
I did have a wonderful trip."

"Portugal must be beautiful, Uncle," said Martin.  "I can see why father
and mother loved Cintra."

"Yes, Martin.  It's about Cintra that I wanted to talk to you--and to you,
Stephen." Martin looked puzzled.  "When we went up there--it's not far from
Lisbon--we were made welcome by Sir Gregory Withers--he's the British
Resident there.  Mildred and I got to know him well and he showed us about
the town.  He also became interested in our research.  They have quite a
lot of material there from the time of Napoleon and he also put us on to a
fellow who is even now doing research for us in Rio de Janeiro.  It was to
that city in Brazil that the whole Braganza court transferred in 1807."

"And Desideria-Luiza went there with her Queen, didn't she?  Lord Thomas
packed her off with the two little girls while he awaited his divorce from
Parliament, isn't that right?" asked Martin.

"That's exactly right.  Chaps, she was so beautiful in those portraits my
heart went out to her.  The photographs don't do the portraits of her
justice.  I came to hate my great grandfather for what he did to her.  I
mean divorce in those days meant ruin for a Roman Catholic girl, even from
a good family.  He treated her very poorly and I can't imagine what she
thought when she learned in Rio that her husband had divorced her.  I don't
know how she supported herself.  Did her family or the mad Queen come to
her aid?  I'm hoping De Souza, our researcher, will find out."

"Don't tire yourself, uncle. You can tell us in the morning."

"No boys, please listen to me.  I've been carrying this with me for a
week."  Martin and Stephen were now listening intently.

"Now see if you can follow this: Desideria-Luiza Molsomo and the little
girls were packed off to Rio with the court at the end of November 1807.
They went in a British ship," said Uncle Alfred consulting a piece of paper
he drew from his dressing gown pocket. "November 29th.  That was only two
days before the French marched in.

"Lord Thomas Poole and Cavendish-Bentnick fled into Spain sometime during
those next few days.  They had been advisors to the Court and we were now
at war with France again.  Charlotte Cavendish-Bentnick--the niece--went
with them.  She was already Lord Thomas' mistress and was possibly already
carrying his child-- or if not was pregnant soon after.

"They made it to Gibraltar and there the two men joined up with Wellington.
Sometime during the next year, Charlotte joined her lover in Portugal after
the French had been defeated at Vimerio-- that was on the 21st of August
1808.  We know they were all at Cintra on the 30th August because that's
when the disastrous treaty was signed.  Did I tell you about that?"

"Yes," said Stephen. "Those old fools let the French march out with all
their weapons."

"And all their loot.  We even took them back to France in our ships!  It
was a scandal," said Uncle Alfred with emphasis.  "Lord Thomas' divorce
came through on the 12th of September 1808, but the news didn't reach
Cintra until the end of the month.  He quickly married Charlotte on the 1st
of October."

"Yes, I knew that," said Martin, "because Mother and Father saw the record
of their marriage when they went to Cintra on their own honeymoon in 1880."

"Do you still have that document, Martin?" asked Uncle Alfred.

"What document?" asked Stephen.

"My father had the Consul copy out his grandfather's marriage record from
1808.  It was signed, witnessed and sealed with red wax.  It's at Croome
somewhere.  Derby, I think I need a secretary to sort out my papers.  Do
you think Myles might like the job-- perhaps until he gets one more suited
to his talents?"

"He might, Mala.  Sorry, Lord Alfred, we interrupted you."

"Well the baby--named William--who was my grandfather and your great-
grandfather, Martin--was born soon after.  We know he was baptised--in the
Catholic Church actually-- on October the 16th.

"What we don't know is how long Thomas and Charlotte stayed in Portugal.
They were certainly back in London on the 14th of November because that was
when the inquiry into the Treaty of Cintra was held."

"Wel,l that was very interesting, Lord Alfred," said Stephen, scratching
himself absently through his silk pyjama trousers.  "I wonder what happened
to Desideria-Luiza.  I can't get her face in those portraits out of my mind
either, Lord Alfred.  She was a beauty--even by today's standards."

"Well, that is why Mildred and I have sent that fellow to Brazil.  I'm not
up to such a journey, but I'd love to know more.  This family research is
certainly addictive."

Martin said: "It was a close thing-- I mean the marriage and the baby,
Uncle Alfred.  That must have been a bit scandalous even in Regency times,
but I suppose it was out of England."

"That brings me to what I wanted to tell you," said Uncle Alfred grimly.
Martin and Stephen hadn't thought there was an ulterior reason for Uncle
Alfred's bedroom visit and they looked worried.

"Sir Gregory Withers, the consul at Cintra, as Mildred said at dinner, was
really delightful and we became quite friendly.  He took a shine to
Mildred, especially and we dined with him several times.  He was
extraordinarily helpful.  He showed us the ledger from 1808.  It is kept in
the consulate.  We found the entry for Thomas and Charlotte's marriage.  It
was all there in lovely penmanship, but when I looked closely I could see
that there had been an erasure.  It was quite clear that someone had
tampered with the date.  At first glance the date of the marriage was the
1st October 1808, but it was also apparent that a three had been rubbed
out. That means..."

"That means," said Stephen who was quick of mind, "that if they were not
married until the 31st of October, the baby baptised on the 16th was
illegitimate."  Stephen and Uncle Alfred turned to Martin, waiting to see
if the implication dawned on him.

Martin began slowly and with mounting horror: "That would mean that my
great grandfather was illegitimate and so the estate and the title should
not have passed to him...nor to my grandfather...nor to my father...and
..." he said as the colour drained from his young face, "nor to me!"  He
collapsed backwards, staring up at the ceiling of his ancestral canopied
bed.

To be continued. Thank you for reading.  If you have any comments or
questions, Pete and I would really love to hear from you.  Just send them
to h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and please put NOB Nifty in the subject line.