By Nina Stanger.
Here is an extract from Nina Stanger’s Falcon (Romaunce Books, 2023)
Through Radcliffe, his father’s personal private secretary, Guy had made an appointment with the Duke at eleven thirty on Tuesday morning. As he walked towards his father’s study, he found Rupert nervously hanging around in the Long Gallery.
“Papa’s in a belligerent mood,” Rupert warned. “It’s nothing to do with you, but I fear that he will take it out on you. It is to do with the death of John Adams, a drunken carrier, and the family of the carrier are threatening to sue him for permitting the man to drink at work, and thereby contributing to his death.”
“Wasn’t there that business of the epitaph on the tombstone, mocking at him?”
“Yes,” laughed Rupert, “but you are responsible for that. I don’t know if Papa knows about that. For all kinds of reasons, it would be just as well not to supplicate him today, I don’t think he’s in the giving vein.”
“I’m not a supplicant, I’m not asking him to give me anything. I just want his consent to my engagement. Then it can be announced in The Times. Then all the moths hovering around her can buzz off.”
“I don’t think moths buzz, but Papa is about to roar. He’s in the cantankerous and irascible mode this morning, I advise postponing this interview.”
“I can’t, I’ve waited a whole week to get it, I don’t know when he’ll be available again.”
He tapped politely on the study door, and waited. After a silent wait of a full two minutes, an irritable voice inside called out, “Oh do come in, will you?”
Guy crept quietly inside.
His father sat at his desk, frenziedly wrestling with pieces of paper. The furious face glowed red, the dark coal-fire eyes glowered. “Oh, it’s you,” he said irritably. “What do you want? I’m very busy. I’m not increasing your allowance, don’t even bother to ask.”
“I wasn’t going to ask for anything like that. I just wanted to ask for your consent so that I could get engaged and make an announcement in The Times.”
“Engaged to do what? What is this?”
“Engaged to be married.”
“Where? With whom? Why? When?” His father looked startled. “Not that bloody Gloria, is it? I’ve already seen her off. Bloody little gold-digger, she is, but artful, hmm, and not bad looking. I can see what you saw in her.”
It was Guy’s turn to look startled. He had not heard of any of this, but he thought it was a can of worms he would rather not open. “No, it’s with Clelia, you met her when she came here for various weekends.”
The Duke groped about in the recesses of his memory. There had been so many girls, it wasn’t easy to fit a face to a name. “That very beautiful blonde, who amazed us by coming down to dinner in a red basque? She looked as if she had forgotten to put her dress on.” He reflected appreciatively. “She had forgotten to put her dress on. I remember how you thoughtfully placed those beautiful, almost naked bosoms next to me.” He floated off into a reverie.
“So it had worked,” thought Guy. “Now it will all be plain sailing.”
“Wait a minute!” The old Duke jerked awake. “Isn’t she the daughter of that wretched minister who’s trying to bring down the government? You know who I mean, that dreadful Foreign Minister of ill-repute, whose scandals are daily reported in the newspapers.” He looked hard and furiously at Guy. “You know who I mean, you know.” He gestured wildly with his hands, frenziedly raiding the old lumber room of his mind, and throwing out old bits and bobs along the way. “To cap it all, he’s a ruddy foreigner, who’s come here and brought with him all his filthy foreign habits, you know who I mean!”
“Sister, not daughter.”
“Yes, that’s it, I’m right! Though she seemed perfectly English, and very well-educated, told me she was going to Oxford. I’ve never met him, thank God!”
“But, Papa!”
“Don’t you Papa me, young fellow! I’ve already got you out of one scrape with bloody Gloria, getting her pregnant, or so she said. I’ll be damned if I let you leap immediately into another scrape with another disreputable young woman from an impoverished background who’s only after you for your title and money. That’s all these bloody foreigners come to England for, twerps like you!”
“Papa, you can’t blame her for something her brother has done, she is in no way involved.”
“Oh yes she is, she’s his daughter. Like father like daughter. No, thank you very much, none of them, please. And didn’t I see you on the television the other day with the same disreputable minister going to the races?”
Guy was amazed. “I did go to Ascot. It was with the Queen Mother. I didn’t know it was on television.”
“And that you didn’t!” sneered his father, “There’s a lot a naïve young rake like you doesn’t know! The Queen Mother can’t be blamed for being in the company of one so disreputable, how can she know, God bless her! As for you, you knew damned well what he was up to, probably went along for a bit of the same yourself! Well, I won’t put up with it, so there! I won’t have you seen in public with someone so disgusting, and I certainly shan’t allow him to marry his offspring into our family!”
Guy was so astonished at this outburst that he was unable to move.
The beady eye of his father remained fixed upon him. It was almost as if his father suddenly realised who he was. “You!” he shouted.
Guy leaped to his feet.
“I’ve been hearing some very bad reports about you! Maybe you’ve got your ideas from this fellow Crespi, that’s his name! Debauchery, that’s what it is! Where’s your mother, she has to be here for this!” He reached behind the desk for the bell-rope and tugged upon it violently, all the while screaming, “Your mother! Your mother!”
The butler hurried into the room looking very alarmed.
“The Duchess! The Duchess!” he shouted.
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the butler, and hurried away.
Guy gazed on him in silent alarm. “Is it a heart attack or a fit?” he wondered.
The Duchess came hurrying along the gallery and ran into the study. “What is it? What is the matter?” she cried in alarm.
The Duke rose heavily and portentously to his feet. “This is your son!” he boomed out, “Sift him! Sift him!”
Guy and his mother turned towards each other and their mouths fell open in amazement.
“Sift him!” screamed the Duke, “Sift him! A prodigal sifted and found out in his several debaucheries! Get on with it woman, sift him! No more indulgence to our graceless son, Let’s sift him, woman, to know what he has done! Then sift on, wife, for it must be known how he has spent our money, not his own.”
Attracted to the room by the noise of his father’s shouting, Rupert stood in the doorway with mouth agape.
“This is most unmannerly, husband,” protested the Duchess. “You hardly ever see your son, you can’t be this unmannerly towards him!”
“And why is it that I hardly ever see him?” shouted the Duke. “He’s too busy in his debaucheries, he only ever visits if his gambling losses and debts require to be paid!”
“I never go gambling!” protested Guy.
“Liar!” screamed the Duke, “You just told me yourself you went to Ascot, and in the company of a notorious whoremaster and profligate!”
“John, really, do stop it!” cried the Duchess, visibly distressed. But there was no stopping the Duke when he was in full gallop.
“Inconveniences and trains of evil attending idleness, tippling, gaming and drunkenness being a short view of the present shame, future misery and final end of ungovernable youth in their drunken excess. What we must do,” he said, spitting out the words, “is pass this prodigal through the sieve. Then your bad habits will be seen by the objects that we see falling through the sieve!”
“Papa!” protested Rupert, “How can you be so cruel! Don’t sieve him, please don’t sieve him!”
The Duke, exhausted, slumped back into his plush velvet armchair. “We would see dice, tobacco, a wine glass, fancy clothes and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “a tennis racquet.”
“Thank God for that!” said Rupert sotto voce. “It could have been much worse!”
They all exchanged anxious glances, and looked towards the Duke who was lost in a reverie and gazing at the angels of dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight. The butler came and brought him his brandy, and he indicated for Guy to come and sit near him. He dismissed the others with a glance. There was a long silence.
Guy suddenly became aware that his father was speaking to him.
“The fact is, young fellow, that there is no prospect of your being permitted to marry before the age of twenty-five. That is the tradition in this family. When you do become engaged the name of the happy fiancée in question will be communicated to you by myself and your mother. At your age I once made the mistake of falling for a pretty face, and did as you have done, requested permission to become engaged to her. My father treated me to a very sound thrashing, and I did not make that mistake again. My offer to sieve you is mild by comparison with my father’s treatment of me. My father was right. Neither I then nor you now had the slightest idea as to who would make a suitable wife, to work hard, breed children and manage the household. A beautiful young thing intelligent enough to go up to Oxford will certainly not desire an occupation like this, that your wife will be destined to undertake. Think no more about marriage, and get on with your studies, otherwise I promise you, I shall take you away from Oxford, revoke your allowance, and set you to work in the farms of Rhodesia. And you won’t return to Malplaquet until I allow you!”
Guy assumed that this was finally the end of this horrible encounter, and was about to slink miserably away but his father restrained him with a gesture.
“You must understand,” he continued, “and I’m sure I’ve said it to you before, but you’re a damned casual fellow who never does listen, this ancient family has always lived with the tradition of service. Service to the family, service to the country, service to the Church, service to the Royal Family, service to the Empire. We’re not here to have a good time and enjoy ourselves. We’re here to give something to others, to serve the nation in Parliament, to help form and lead governments. The English aristocracy is the backbone of the nation. You can’t go around just thinking of yourself, you have to think of others, and when called upon, make sacrifices for others, even if it means laying down your life for those less fortunate than you. I’ve made sacrifices in my time. I’ve seen active service in war, and cared for the men under my command. On my return I married the woman my father selected for me. That’s your mother. Of course I didn’t love her, but I did my duty. You will do yours. Now you are dismissed.”
Guy dragged himself out of the room.
Rupert was waiting for him in the gallery, and helped him up to the nursery where Mrs B. comforted him.
“It’s so beastly unfair,” groaned Guy. “He’s never like this to you.”
“That’s because I’m not the eldest son,” commiserated Rupert. “He has to put you under tremendous pressure as you are the eldest son and heir. He’s determined to mould you to his will. You’re the one who has to run the estate and carry on all the antique traditions. It’s not so important in my case.”
“You’re so busy charming him he never has time to tell you off.”
“You’ve been away a bit, but I can tell you, it’s pretty bad with Cedric. He spends all his time screaming at him. I don’t think Papa would dare to beat him, he knows Cedric would kill him if he tried.”
“Thank God someone has the guts to stand up to the bully, I certainly can’t.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nina Stanger was a trailblazing civil liberties barrister and author who lived in London in the 1960s and 70s. She achieved tabloid fame for defending the downtrodden and social pariahs: political protestors, squatters, and terrorists, in cases such as the Miss World bombing and the Angry Brigade. She was known for her beauty, intelligence, and bohemian, flamboyant style. In 1987 she moved to Florence, Italy, where she surrounded herself in art history and comparative legal studies, focusing on preserving the institution of trial by jury which was up for debate in Europe at the time. She tragically died in 1999 of a pulmonary embolism, but not before completing her first novel, Falcon with a follow-up to come in 2024.
