The Scilly Isles/Millbank Manor
March-April 1740
I was in Paris when word reached me of the death of Duke William, my father. It was the spring of 1740, and the blossom was just coming out on the cherry trees along the Champs Élysées. I had risen late after an evening of gambling and general merriment at the Hotel de Ville, and was sitting in the breakfast room in a dressing gown and my nightshirt, downing my first coffee of the day to chase away the mental cobwebs from the previous night, when Martin, the butler of my Paris apartment, knocked politely on the door.
"Monsieur le Marquis, forgive the intrusion at such an early hour..." he began, with suitable deference. I smiled at that, as even I couldn't call eleven in the morning early, albeit that I hadn't got home until the wrong side of three in the morning.
"...but there is a visitor for you."
On the silver salver which he presented to me, was the calling card of Henry Barrett, of the Inner Temple, London: the de Lacy family solicitor.
"Is he alone?"
"There is a sorcerer with him, who I believe brought him here from London. I have put him in the drawing room and given him refreshments while you speak with Monsieur Barrett, who stressed that this was a private matter."
"Merci, Martin. Please, send M Barrett in."
Moments later the solicitor entered the room. Normally, when I had had dealings with him in the past, Barrett had prided himself on his appearance, and always gave the impression of boundless energy and efficiency. This morning, however, he was looking tired and travel worn, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
"Coffee?" I asked, but he shook his head.
"I am afraid this isn't a social call...Your Grace."
"I'd rather guessed that ..." I began, and was about to renew my offer of coffee, when what he had said sunk in. "Your Grace" was the title reserved for the Duke of Worcester: as Marquis of Tewkesbury I rated a mere "My Lord".
"What's happened, Henry?" I asked, gently putting my cup down onto its saucer as the feeling of impending bad news hit me. His words confirmed my worst fears.
"It is with great sorrow that I must tell you this," he began, "one of the ships which the Duchy maintains for trade with the New World...the Alexandria. She was travelling back from Boston, fully laden, when she was hit by a storm off the Scilly Isles and floundered. She went down with all hands, and I regret to inform you that your father was aboard."
My father and I had been much closer when I was younger: the discovery that I was Talented had led to a cooling between us, as he saw less of himself in me and more of my mother, who even after forty years he seemed to hate with a passion, although I had no idea why. Even Brand, father's old friend and my (as I thought) honorary uncle, had been more supportive as I'd gone through mage college, although at least I hadn't been banned from attending Kings. Elizabeth's death and Andrew's birth had led to a temporary thaw between us, but even then it had been Aunt Sand as much as father who had helped me through that difficult period. As I had attended and since graduated from Cambridge, and Andrew had gone to boarding school, father's interests and mine had continued to diverge, until I had more common ground with my Aunt and Brand than I had with my father.
He had concentrated more on the family finances and considering the future: even a Duchy as rich as Worcester was looking to the New World to boost its fortunes, hence Nicholas Smythe, our man of business, and his agents had suggested investments in a number of enterprises, including half a dozen trading ships. For my part, I was happy to leave him to it. Having had to grow up very quickly and take responsibility for my life after Andrew was born, once my son had gone to boarding school I had started indulging myself once again, with very impractical activities like alchemy, painting and drawing, possibly making up for lost time in reaction to the earlier forced curtailment of my youth. So while I could understand why he thought improving the finances of the Duchy was so necessary, I had absolutely no interest in the process. I don't think my father was amused.
In the last few years, he had also begun travelling extensively in Germanic Europe, especially Prussia, Bavaria and the Hapsburg Empire, which took him away from England for extended periods of time, while in contrast my foreign interests had only taken me to France. During those travels, however - slightly worryingly to a trained mage like myself - he had developed what was probably an unhealthy interest in the occult. My guess was that perhaps this was in reaction to the fact that I was now a licensed sorcerer (albeit one who didn't practise particularly seriously, except when I was obliged to), which was something he could never be. Of course, he never shared his reasons with me, and I never dared ask. Still, the combination of his occult interests and his increasingly right-wing politics had led to a number of spirited arguments between us on those rare occasions we were both at Millbank, and felt like talking, and our relationship had become somewhat strained.
That he was dead, though...our differences aside, he was still my father and there were so many things we should have said to each other that now we never would.
"When did this happen?" I asked, finally, "did they recover his body?"
"The ship was lost three days ago," Barrett replied, "and the wreckage is still being washed ashore. I made my way to the Scilly Isles when I heard, to see if there was anything I could do, but when I left this morning, his body had not been recovered."
"Is there any chance he might have survived?" I said, quietly.
"I am not hopeful," he replied, solemnly, "those bodies which have been recovered obviously suffered significant injuries. However, I have a mage standing by ready to take us to the islands if you wish to inspect the site yourself."
"Of course," I said, with a nod, "let me pack a bag, and I will accompany you. In the meantime please, help yourself to breakfast."
I downed my coffee and headed to my quarters, calling for Martin to look after my guests' needs while I was absent. I quickly bathed, cast an anti-hangover spell, then threw on some travelling clothes, packed a case with some of my more staid outfits - the ones better suited to walking on beaches in the Scillies than adorning the salons of Paris - and placed my bag by the front door about twenty minutes later. As I walked back into the breakfast room, I could see Barrett hurriedly finishing a croissant and a cup of coffee.
He wiped his lips and then stood and looked at me.
"Perhaps we should go, Your Grace."
"Please...don't call me that until we can be sure," I answered, denial obviously having taken hold.
"Of course, My Lord," he replied, smartly, and I gave a slight nod.
I called for Martin, and asked that the mage who had accompanied my guest be brought in. He was introduced to me as George Penderyn, and I half recognised him as having been a couple of years below me at Kings, although by then I wasn't particularly in the mood for social niceties.
"We will need to step outside," I commented, "wards, you understand."
"Of course, My Lord Marquis," he answered, and we stepped into the hall. I picked up my case and Martin let us out.
Penderyn concentrated for a while, and we transferred from balmy spring Paris to arrive on a roadway looking down at a windswept, sandy beach with rocks to the north. I was immediately hit by a cold wind which, given our location, had to be blowing in from the wild Atlantic. Another time, I would probably have described the bay as having a wild beauty, and my artist's eye would have been enchanted by it, wishing to commit it to canvas or paper. However, I was feeling far from lyrical that day.
"This is the Island of Bryher," Barrett explained, "the wreckage started coming ashore here in Hell Bay yesterday morning."
Hell Bay. Why did that seem somehow appropriate?
The bay itself didn't look overly threatening, but it faced straight out into open ocean, and in spring, storms could easily destroy even the sturdiest of ships. Penderyn bade us goodbye, informing us that he could be reached through the Hell Bay Hotel when we wished to return to London. Storing my luggage seemed like a very good idea at that point, and Barrett led me to the self-same hotel, where he already had rooms for himself, and had provisionally booked accommodation for me, correctly anticipating that I would accompany him back from Paris.
We were back on the beach half an hour later, and I found myself walking between the smashed beams of what had once been the Alexandria, and the torn and broken packages which had been her cargo. Every so often, I saw bodies broken among the wreckage, many of them having suffered terrible injuries. Of course, back then I hadn't begun my specialisation into medicine, having only covered more general healing magic at college, and I was far from used to seeing corpses. The only dead body I had seen up until that point had been Elizabeth's, Alexander Vallencourt's funeral having been closed casket, and so the sight of those ruins of men made me feel sick to the stomach.
How much had been stolen by locals drawn by the potential plunder I don't know - and neither, just then, did I particularly care. As soon as Barrett had learned of the tragedy and come to inspect it, he had hired half a dozen men to chase off any other intruders, for their cut of the salvage of course. Still, while his actions were completely practical, and in keeping with his task of protecting the de Lacy family interests, the loss of the cargo was secondary in my mind. I needed to know what had happened to my father.
"Lord Robert, are you alright?" Barrett asked, falling into step beside me.
"No, not really, but let's get this over with," I replied, and we continued our inspection of the beach, but by nightfall, there was still no sign of my father and we adjourned to the hotel.
After a night's rather broken sleep, we returned to the bay the following morning and watched as others continued the search. However, the waiting and uncertainty were getting to me, and eventually I had an idea. Perhaps I could draw on the fact that he was my father and locate him magically? Even though I wasn't a forensics specialist, I was a qualified investigative mage, so perhaps it would be possible to use a variant of the similarity analysis I had learned at college to draw on myself to try to reach him.
After telling Barrett what I planned to do, I found myself a sheltered area beside a larger than average section of hull, and hunkered down beside it to get out of the ever-present wind. I put myself into a trance and began to concentrate on reaching for something, hopefully nearby, which was reminiscent of myself. It took a couple of hours, as I was making up the spell I was using as I was going along, but eventually I felt a target and tried to home in on where it might be. Relatively nearby, to the north. I tried to scan out further, and realised that what I had found was actually on a second landmass, attached to Bryher by a causeway. The aspect to the Atlantic was the same, and so it was quite possible that wreckage might have been washed ashore there as well.
"My Lord?" Barrett asked, as I came out of the trance, and I realised he'd been waiting patiently for me to finish. I felt tired and cold, and noted that someone had put a cloak around my shoulders while I'd been working, which while appreciated, failed to me from feeling frozen to the bone. Noticing that I was shivering, he handed me a hip flask and I took a pull from it - brandy, and much needed.
"Thank you," I said, pulling the cloak round me for warmth, then pointed to the north: "this way."
He fell into step beside me, and we headed up the beach. It took a little while, but eventually we reached the causeway of connecting land, and as it was low tide, it was possible to cross without the aid of a boat without getting completely soaked. We did so, then made our way over land between ourselves and our destination, eventually reaching the more northern bay. Unlike Hell Bay, this wasn't a sandy beach, just rocks and more rocks, and lying broken on them we saw more wreckage and bodies. I paused a moment, and re-established the connection to my target, confirmed that what I was seeking was now a lot closer than it had been before. Then I threw off the cloak and started clambering across the rocks in what I thought was the right direction.
The body was half submerged, but from the ruins of the fine clothes it was wearing, I realised that this wasn't just another sailor. The sandy-blond hair floating on the waves like weed seemed further evidence that I had found what - who - I sought. He was lying face down, but even in that position I could see that his neck was at an unnatural angle. There were also gouges along the body, and evidence that both legs were probably broken. I hoped to hell it had been post mortem. I knelt down beside him, not caring as the sharp rocks tore the knees of the breeches I was wearing - they'd been ruined by the salt water anyway - and tried to roll him over, but he was wedged into the rocks and strong as I was, I couldn't move him.
I looked up helplessly at Barrett, who came down to help me, and between us we managed to free him and lift him out of the waves. But even before we turned him onto his back so we could see his face, I knew it was him. As I stared into his ruined visage, I saw that what remained of his eyes were still open, so I reached out and gently closed them: from what I had learned in the healing magic classes, the fact that I could was consistent with rigor mortis have been and gone in the days since the ship had gone down. I sat back on my haunches beside the body for several minutes, lost in silent reverie about my father and the relationship between us, and mourning his passing and everything which would forever remain unspoken between us. Eventually, though I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"My Lord Duke...?" Barrett said, quietly, and this time, I didn't contradict him.
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't take him home from here?" I asked quietly.
"I don't believe so," he answered, "if I understand correctly, you can transport him from here to your estate using magic?"
"I can. Then once you have finished up anything else that needs to be dealt with here, you can join me at Millbank. I imagine there'll be papers to sign, and so on."
"Indeed, Your Grace. His Last Will and Testament is lodged in my offices in London, as are a number of other papers, and I can begin the process of transferring everything into your name. In addition, the Lord Chancellor will need to be informed, as this concerns the disposition of a senior Ducal title, so I will make the first approaches in that regard. Master Penderyn has agreed to remain at my disposal until matters have been resolved, which should make things easier, and I can send your things from the hotel on to you."
"Make sure you include the invoice for his fees in the paperwork for the estate," I said, absently. Money, though, was a long way from the forefront of my mind.
"Of course, Your Grace."
"Thank you."
And with that I nodded, placed my hand on my father's shoulder, and brought to mind the teleport spell which would take me back to his rooms in Millbank. On arrival, I laid him on the bed, and set about sending messages to the doctor, the undertaker and the priest of St James's, Millbank Parish Church. The family physician came that afternoon and confirmed that it was, indeed, Duke William, after which my father's body was laid out in its coffin in the church to await interment.
* * * * *
As I learned more about who and what we were, I could look back and see how father had staged his demise: he could have found a body in Shadow to substitute for his own, killed it and placed it where it would be found - possibly even specifically where I would find it, if he knew that Barrett would come to get me - so that none would wonder if he had really died and he could make a clean break with Terra Magica. In the innocence of my younger days, however, I was convinced that he was dead, and mourned accordingly.
The funeral was arranged for four days later, 3rd April, to allow me to inform any family and friends who might wish to attend. Guests started arriving on the 1st and were put up either at Millbank itself, or nearby with friends or in hotels, although it was far from easy to be sociable with my visitors over those couple of days, knowing why everyone was gathering. I fetched Andrew back from Eton the night before the funeral, and ended up hosting a rather sombre dinner: while I normally enjoyed playing host, on that occasion I'd much rather have been alone, but to insist on that would have offended the likes of Albert and Cassie McCauley (my parents in law, who still treated me like family, even though Elizabeth had been dead for nearly seventeen years), and Sand and Brand. After dinner, a small group of us went out to the church to pay our respects, before returning to the house to get what in my case was a night of rather broken sleep.
The following morning, young Father Coulthard, who had only been the priest for a few months and probably hadn't expected to take a Ducal funeral so soon into his tenure, took a dignified and moving ceremony in front of a packed church, and father's body was laid to rest in the crypt of our ancestors, underneath the nave. After the ceremony, we adjourned back to Millbank for the wake. Many people offered Andrew and myself their condolences, but all the good wishes seemed to blur in the emotion of that afternoon. My father had been Duke for over forty years, and was well-respected in the local community. Stepping into his shoes was going to be far from easy, and I knew I wasn't ready to do so.
Once everyone had dispersed, Henry Barrett - who I'd noticed in the congregation earlier, but hadn't had a chance to speak to - found me and suggested that my we adjourn to father's office to go over his Will, so Andrew and I accompanied him. As we entered the office, I looked around at all the papers. Eventually, I was going to have to sort through them, but that was for another day, and would probably need the assistance of both Barrett and a good accountant. I sat behind the desk, with Andrew and the solicitor in front of it, and then Barrett rested his briefcase on his knees, opened it and withdrew a sheaf of papers.
"Your Grace, your father's Will was drawn up about three months ago and is, for the most part, reasonably straightforward..."
The phrase 'reasonably straightforward' piqued my curiosity, and I was interested that the document had been drawn up so recently. What had caused him to remake it. Could he have had some pre-sentiment of his death? Or was he merely being efficient? I kept my thoughts to myself and gave Barrett my full attention.
"...The bulk of the estate passes to yourself, and there are also a number of bequests to servants and friends, as is only to be expected. More unusual are a number of large legacies to bodies on the continent which, if I may say so, seem a little odd, although all of them appear to be perfectly above board."
"In what way odd?" I asked.
"Well, for example, one of the larger bequests is to an institute in Munich which is interested in ancient Germanic history. Another is to a publishing house in Augsberg, Ultima Gesellschaft. All are legitimate organisations or concerns but, if you'll forgive me saying so, they are not the obvious beneficiaries of legacies from an English Duke."
"Just how much money has he left to these people?" Andrew asked. I could feel his youthful outrage at the feeling that he was being deprived of something, and it must be said, I shared his trepidation.
"Probably equivalent to about 15% of the value of the estate, all told," he answered, and a whistle escaped my lips.
"Does he give any indication how those particular bequests are to be funded?" I asked, somewhat startled at the sheer size of the amount Barrett was implying. Even in 1740, that was a heck of a lot of money.
"He has left the details of a number of highly profitable enterprises and properties located here and on the continent which are to be sold for that specific purpose, most of them in Bavaria or Prussia."
"His interests there must have been more extensive than I had realised," I commented, "although it sounds as if, to large degree, they have been kept separate from the core Duchy of Worcester estate."
"Indeed, Your Grace," he answered, "he was very specific in that regard, which is the main reason why I did not query the bequests with him, although some would probably say that I should have challenged him on them. However, looking at the Duchy's accounts, all those interests were accumulated in the last few years of his life - some of them with monies from elsewhere within the estate, but the majority through what he described to me as an 'inheritance' which wasn't part of the original Duchy. So while their equivalent value is a significant proportion of overall current worth of the estate, realistically, the vast majority of what has comprised the historic Duchy for the last two centuries still remains in tact.
All the properties in England and France are to be placed into your name, Your Grace, with one exception which I will get to in a moment. Notable properties include Millbank Manor and the surrounding estate, some property in London, including a very fine townhouse near Hyde Park which he bought about five years ago, some lands in West Yorkshire and the Welsh borders - including a couple of ruined castles - and various properties in Paris, Brittany and Normandy. And of course there are bonds, stocks, gilts and other more mainstream business interests, such as the shipping line he recently established, which remain with the bulk of the estate."
"And the exception?" I asked.
"An estate in Trislaig, near Fort William, which he has placed into trust for Lord Andrew."
"For me? Why Scotland?" Andrew asked, obviously baffled, "I've never been there in my life."
"All he said when he asked me to make that provision in his will is that one day you would understand, and will appreciate your own space, My Lord," Barrett answered, "once you come of age, you can choose to do with it as you wish. However, for now I will set up the trust as instructed."
"Thank you, Henry," I said to him, "is there anything else?"
"One other matter," he replied, and shuffled through the papers on his lap until he a document hand inscribed on thick paper, and sealed with wax. He passed over to me, and I saw that the seal was that of His Majesty the King. I broke the seal and looked at the document, which was written in Latin, although as I'd studied that language in the past I could easily translate the message.
"George Augustus, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Duke of Brunswick-Lueneburg, Archtreasurer and Prince-Elector of the Holy Roman Empire.
To our faithful servant Robert, Marquis of Tewkesbury, son of William Duke of Worcester, deceased.
Greetings.
After consultation with our Lord Chancellor, it will be our pleasure to bestow upon you the title of Duke of Worcester, the title of your ancestors, and all the rights, properties and privileges thereof. In addition, it is our wish that from henceforth Andrew, son of Robert, be granted the title of Marquis of Tewkesbury, with the rights and privileges thereof accruing to him on the date of his twenty-first birthday. The aforesaid Robert, son of William, is hereby requested and required to attend the Royal Court of Saint James on the twentieth day of June, this Year of Our Lord seventeen hundred and forty. It is the Royal Intention that after suitable preparation, our Royal Person will invest Robert, son of William, with the symbols of his rank.
This document is drawn up on this second day of April, in the Year of Our Lord seventeen hundred and forty, to which we append our Royal Seal. Georgius II Rex."
I read it through twice, and than folded it and placed it on the desk.
"I guess that makes things official," I commented.
"I believe, technically, they don't become official until you have presented yourself to His Majesty, but yes, for all intents and purposes, both the title and the lands as decreed in your father's Will are now yours."
"Will I be able to go to see the King with my father?" Andrew asked, with a burst of teenage enthusiasm.
"That would be something which needs to be discussed with the Lord Chancellor's office, My Lord," Barrett answered, "although I would expect that you will be allowed to attend the investiture, as Duke Robert's next of kin and heir."
With that he stood, as did Andrew and myself.
"I think I've done all I can at this point. I will continue transferring the appropriate properties and chattels into your name, and your father's men of business, with whom I've been working very closely, will deal with the disposals required to fund your father's unusual legacies."
"Is there any way of getting more details of the organisations to which that money is going," I asked, "I'll admit they make me a little nervous, even though I appreciate they have no bearing on the old Worcester estate."
"I can certainly try, Your Grace, but I am not sure whether I will succeed," he answered.
"I understand," I replied, "Are you planning to go straight back to London? Or do you want to stay a few days?"
"Much as I'd like to, I'm afraid I need to start getting things in motion. My things have already been packed, so it just remains for me to say my goodbyes at this point."
"Thanks for everything, Henry," I said, shaking his hand, "You've been a great help."
"You're welcome, Your Grace," came his answer, "and once again, please accept my condolences on your father's death."
I nodded in thanks, and with that I walked him to the front porch, where his transport was waiting. A few minutes later, his carriage was heading down the drive, leaving me with much to think about.