Date: Tue, 29 Nov 2016 21:48:40 +0000
From: Henry Hilliard <h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 2 Chapter 28 (Revised)

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),
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Noblesse Oblige
by Henry H.Hilliard
with Pete Bruno
Book 2
An Indian Summer
Chapter 28
The Fourth Marquess

"Yes I understand perfectly well, Dr Alexander.  No, I'm all right Derby;
I've been preparing myself for this moment and I'm determined to face it
sensibly.  William will want me to and he has forewarned us often enough.
Come on, let's go in," he said, taking Stephen's hand all the same.

Dr Alexander had just told them that William was gravely ill.  The course
of Neosalvarsan, which had halted the spread of the disease, was no longer
effective and William's fits had grown distressingly worse and his organs
had begun to fail.  Now pneumonia had set in and, as Dr Alexander put it,
`It was only a matter of time'.

Martin had only been back at school a week when he'd been summoned to
William's bedside, the telephone having again proved its worth and Stephen
had hurried down from London to join him.

They found William in bed with his eyes closed.  Martin had thought for a
moment he was already dead, but then he noticed the rise and fall of his
chest.  His breathing was laboured as Martin had expected it to be due the
pneumonia.  He turned to look at Stephen.  Stephen had a frightened look in
his eyes so Martin squeezed his hand, glad for once, that he could be of
comfort.

Martin called his brother's name.  William opened his eyes and gave a
little smile. "Thank you for coming, Martin.  Are you all right?" he said
quietly and with difficulty.

"Yes, I'm fine, William.  How are you?"

"Not too good as you can see.  This is it, I'm afraid.  Is Stephen with
you?"

"Here I am, William," said Stephen, stepping out from behind Martin.  "I
wouldn't let him come to see you without me."

William made a movement with his hand and Stephen took it and a look from
William suggested that he'd like to hold Martin's hand as well.

"I don't think we'll need the screen in front of the doors today," he said
with difficulty and gave a little smile.  Stephen thought he'd break down
in tears, but managed to stifle them.

"Are you in pain, William?" asked Martin.

William gave a little shake to his head.  "Morphine."

Martin began the recitation of all those who sent their love.  William
closed his eyes and may have been listening, but it was hard to tell."

"Job?"

"Job's fine William.  He caught a rabbit the other day."

"I'm not afraid," William whispered. "There's nothing out there; it's just
the end.  Don't mind that...want it."

Martin felt disturbed and William must have sensed this for he tightened
his grip on the boys' hands.

"Don't worry, my dear fellow.  Everything's in order when I go," said
William turning to him with a look that suggested that he desperately
needed Martin to understand this.  "I've fixed everything. You and
Stephen...safe."

"We know, William. We are very grateful. You've been wonderful."

William gave their hands a little shake.  "For my boys," he almost
chuckled.  He sighed a little and then gulped for air.  "Tell...me... about
the school."  He released their hands and Stephen arranged chairs while
William put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Martin launched into the latest news, glad of something to say. "...and
they will start the building in May as soon as the plans are finalised and
I will be looking over them with Stephen before that Tatchell can butcher
them.  You know he's swanking about in a big new Rolls Royce.  I had to
name the school after him, but I'll be damned if I'll let him open it.
You'll never guess who I'm getting to lay the foundation stone, William."

"Not me," William managed to say. "Sorry old chap."

Martin suddenly realised that William would never get to see it.  Life will
go on remorselessly without him.  This was an awful feeling.  Cruel.

"The Prince of Wales, William.  It will only be his second public duty and
he will come to Croome on his way to Cornwall, if all goes well.  That will
be one in the eye for Tatchell," enthused Martin.

He looked at William who appeared to be asleep.  "William?"

"Still with you boys.  What day is it Stephen?"

"Monday."

"Is it?  Has the gardener's boy been?"  He managed a smile.  "Go for some
lunch, if it's that hour, I won't die until you get back," he said quietly,
"I will just close my eyes for a bit."

Stephen and Martin left the room just as the nurse came in with more
morphine.  Dr Alexander stopped them in the hall.  "We're keeping him as
comfortable as we can your lordship.  He's not fighting the pneumonia.  He
has been a fighter for so long, but I think that he may just slip away in
the next few hours; I think he's ready for it now, if I may say so, your
lordship, but you can't always predict these things.  He has been anxiously
waiting for you to come."

"Thank you, Dr Alexander.  And thank you for being frank.  My brother
despises cant. But please don't let him suffer."

"I promise that, your lordship.  Are you going out on the front?

"Yes, just for a bit; maybe along the pier--although it's cold.

"I'll send someone after you, sir...if there's anything..."

Martin and Stephen walked slowly along the promenade and stopped for tea
but didn't drink it.  They made their way back and, true to his word,
William was still alive, however he said very little and closed his eyes
for most of the time and catching his breath was now a great effort.

At one point he said something about their father.  Martin couldn't make
out what it was-- possibly it was his agony over what had happened to bring
him here.  Then he started to say something about their line, something
involved about the first Marquess's father--or grandfather, perhaps-- the
words coming in unintelligible, urgent gasps and he tried to rise from the
pillow.  Martin pretended he understood and nodded, holding his hand and
urged him to stay calm.  He then reflected suddenly that he would be the
fourth Marquess and possibly the last if the line died out, the title
becoming extinct.  He didn't like to think about that.

It was dark now and Martin had no idea of the time.  William did not speak
again.  It must have been about 11 o'clock when his breathing became
tremendously noisy and at the same time William became agitated in the bed.
Martin and Stephen tried to calm him and rubbed his hands and shoulders.
Martin wiped his forehead with a damp cloth.  At Martin's insistence,
Stephen fetched Dr Alexander.

"Please help him, Dr Alexander, he's in distress."

"I can't give him any more morphine, your lordship, he's had the maximum
dose."

"Oh please.  Look how agitated he is.  I don't want this.  You said you
would..."

Dr Alexander prepared a syringe and administered it.  Shortly afterward
William seemed calmer, but every breath was now noisy and barely human.
Stephen and Martin now stood on either side of the bed.  They were there
for a long time, listening and thinking.  Then, in the small hours, the
breathing stopped.  William was gone.

Dr Alexander was summoned and, in his dressing gown, he confirmed the
obvious. Stephen thanked him on behalf of them both and he shepherded
Martin out of the room, Martin turning one last time to see his brother's
face, now in cold repose.



It was grey and bleak in the morning and Stephen thought it matched their
mood.  A hotel servant brought a large envelope to the boys' room.  It was
from Dr Alexander. Inside was a series of letters from William.  Some were
in his own handwriting and some had obviously been dictated to
another--possibly Dr Alexander himself--and only signed by the shaky hand
of the late Lord Branksome.

William had left instructions about his funeral and how he did not want
great mourning or mourning clothes to be worn.  "What will people think if
we do not wear black, Stephen?  They would surely think we lacked respect."

He had written letters to both Martin and Stephen.  There was one for Uncle
Alfred and one for Chilvers to read to the servants.  There was a number
for other people as well.  The boys read their respective letters in
silence, hot tears rolling down their cheeks.

"Stephen, I want to go back to school now.  I have important work to
do--there are exams soon.  I think the routine of school will help me cope.
Will you be alright?" Stephen nodded.  "I will come back to Croome for the
funeral.  Do you think it could be in a week's time?  It will give people
time to organize things, but I want someone else to do it all.  I must
concentrate on my schoolwork.  Is that selfish?"

"No, Mala, you're being sensible.  William has let us know his wishes; that
is remarkable on his part, don't you think?  There will be others who will
do it all and I can spend a couple of days at Croome before I also must go
back to University.  Sir Danvers can read the will after the funeral.  Will
that be satisfactory, Mala?"

Martin nodded, wiping his eyes.

"You're the Marquess of Branksome, Martin; Croome is yours."

"Yes, but it sounds funny to my ears--my father really remains Lord
Branksome in my mind.  I'm also the Earl of Holdenhurst, by the way, and
Baron Purbeck.  I'm also the Hon. Colonel of the Earl of Holdenhurst's Own
Yeomanry.  I'm entitled to fish for lampreys in the River Frome.  I'm a
member of the Fishmongers' Guild.  And when I'm 21 I can sit on the local
bench and fine you for public drunkenness or for letting your cattle stray
and I can also sit in the House of Lords wearing a coronet decorated with
pearls and strawberry leaves in scarlet robes trimmed with the nasty skins
of dead Mustela erminea.  I think I can also piss in the Strand-- but
William told me that and he may have been making it up.  And you, Stephen,
you're now a rich man."

"Yes, I suppose I am.  It's a bit numbing.  I always was a rich man, Mala,"
he said, kissing him.

"That's very lovely of you to say, Derby.  I'd swap places with you in an
instant, if I could.  I didn't sleep well last night but I feel better for
having read William's letter just now.  Do you think we could go back to
bed for a bit?  I'll get the 11 o'clock train.



*****



Back at school everyone made a fuss of Martin.  He assured them all that he
was quite alright, but it was nice anyway.  The masters were most impressed
that Martin got straight down to his work again.  "I really want to go to
Cambridge now, Plunger.  I want to read Philosophy and History so I can
talk to Mr Churchill and to cousin Friedrich.  I'll never be as smart as
you or Stephen, but I can try to improve myself."

"Are you sure you're alright, Poole?  You're coping remarkably well with
your brother's death, I must say."

"Well, I knew it was coming.  We still have the funeral to get through--you
are coming aren't you?"  The Plunger nodded.  "And I have had a bit of a
blub in the dead of night, I must confess."

"I know I'm no substitute for Stephen, but would you like me to sleep with
you tonight--just to keep you company?"

"Why Plunger, that's very sweet of you.  You're my best friend.  I'd like
that very much, but isn't it a bit risky?"

"Well, I was talking about how upset you were with Dr Mitcham," said The
Plunger, referring to their housemaster, "and he urged me to keep an eye on
you and I happened to give him a pearl tie pin that he had admired and a
shilling to Spong has purchased his vigilance..."

"That's so romantic Plunger, you've sort of seduced me like Casanova, but
you shouldn't have given away your lovely pin."  The Plunger made a gesture
of dismissal. "Perhaps we shouldn't try `Stephen' again," said Martin
indicating the gutta-percha dildo that was hidden in plain view on the
mantelpiece.  We didn't have much success last time, did we?"

"No we didn't, Martin.  I did try, but I didn't want to rupture you.  Are
you sure he's that big?"

"Yes, I saw them take the cast.  It just seems different when Stephen is on
the other end.  Perhaps I just want him more in real life, but you would be
a great comfort in bed tonight, Plunger.  I won't feel so bereft.  I
promise there'll be no blubbing.  You know, I've lost all my family now,
except for my uncle and aunt."

So The Plunger discreetly made his way to Martin's room after lights were
out and climbed into his bed.  "I'm wearing new silk pyjamas made by
Charvet of Paris, Poole, I hope you like them."

"They're lovely Plunger," said Martin who was already in bed, "But I don't
think Stephen would approve and I want to feel your skin.  That would be
more comforting."  The Plunger reluctantly removed the costly garments and
threw them into the pile of dirty clothes that seemed always to be the main
feature of Martin's room.  "That's nice Plunger.  I love your white skin.
You gingers are very masculine."

"Thank you Poole," said The Plunger, genuinely flattered.  "Let me put my
arm around you and you can go to sleep."

"But Plunger, I don't want to sleep.  I was hoping for some of your big
ginger cock."

The Plunger sat up in surprise. "You don't mean that you want...I mean
Stephen always said that it was special..."

"Stephen doesn't mind.  He wants you to.  We both love you, Plunger.  It
would be a great comfort to me if you did.  You haven't gone off me because
I'm now a peer, have you?"

"Oh no, Poole, of course not.  I still have quite a pet for you even..."

"Even though you have Tsindis?"

"Well there is that, but it's not the same and he is ten years older than
us."

"Well, come on then.  I'll get you started."



In the morning the two friends were still in curled up together when Spong
shook them. "Mr Poole, Mr Poole, wake up!"

Martin stirred and then sat up when he saw it was Spong.  "Mr Poole,
Mitcham will be along in a few minutes; get Mr Craigth back to his room.

Archie was woken and his pyjamas retrieved.  He found a shilling in his
dressing gown pocket and held it out for Spong in his fingertips.  "They're
dancing in their clogs up in Rochdale," said Spong.

"What on earth do you mean, Spong?" said The Plunger, still holding the
coin as he tried to straighten his hard cock.

"Well they'll have to put on an extra shift at father's factory at the rate
you're using the salve," he said, indicating the spent tubes lying about.
"Will I cook you a sausage Mr Poole or have you had enough for one night?"

"Cheeky monkey!" cried The Plunger as he tried to box his ears.  Spong
dodged out of the way, laughing, and snatched the shilling.



*****



The funeral was a big affair, but it was different from the funerals of
Martin's parents. Mr Destrombe had read out a letter from William to the
parishioners on the previous Sunday.  In it, along with some suitable
sentiments about the affection with which he held the people on his estate,
he made it clear that he wanted no black clothes worn on the occasion.
Some thought this an oddly disrespectful wish, some even going as far as to
say that they had black clothes especially for funerals and now they would
be wasted, but the majority were touched with the notion of the letter
addressed to them--from beyond the grave so to speak--and were pleased to
opt for their Sunday clothes which did much to lighten the occasion.

In place of the usual flowers there were autumn leaves, berries and
evergreens--winter being upon them.  Douglas and Reuben Owens would have
been able to name the great variety of hips and haws gathered from the
hedgerows of the estate.

The Plunger had been a great help to Martin.  Even before the funeral
Martin received a mountain of cards and letters from friends and officials,
such as members of parliament, the Lord Lieutenant of the county, the
commander of the Territorial Forces and there was even one from Buckingham
Palace.  Martin, after he had finished his prep, devoted two hours every
evening to answering all the letters personally.  He and the Plunger
devised a formula of words that suited most replies and The Plunger wrote
many of them himself, with Martin just appending his signature.  Spong was
kept busy with the stamps and envelopes.  The Plunger also accompanied
Martin down to Croome for the funeral.

Stephen had relied on the servants at Croome to organize the visitors and
Chilvers and Mrs Capstick opened up dozens of seldom-used bedrooms and
removed dustsheets from all the public rooms.  Lord Delvees and Uncle
Alfred had seen to the arrangements and Sir Danvers Smith KC was expected
to see to legal matters, including the will.  Conditions below stairs were
crowded too, for many of the servants from Branksome House, especially the
older ones who had known William all his life, were also anxious to pay
their respects to their late master.

A new arrival was Higgins, Lord Alfred's valet, and Carlo and Glass also
journeyed down.  In a gracious gesture, Chilvers invited Glass into his
room and they sat for nearly an hour talking as equals about the mysteries
of their craft.

Bedrooms were found for Donald Selby-Keam and Christopher Tennant.  Stephen
was overjoyed to see them--almost in tears--and they immediately quit the
house and went for a walk with Martin and Job so they could talk
undisturbed.

"We're determined to go back to Antibes in the New Year," said Martin.

"We want you all to come," completed Stephen.  "William would have wanted
it.  In one of the letters he wrote he said that Christmas must go ahead in
the traditional manner and that he regretted not being able to join us this
year."  Martin tried not to become tearful at this thought.

"Can you both get away?  The Plunger can."

The boys thought they could after various family obligations were dealt
with.



"Where is Thayer, Derbs?" asked Martin when he had a moment to collect
himself.

"He's gone back to London, Mala.  He wanted to give us some privacy and he
couldn't very well work with all this going on.  He said that he should be
just about be finished by Christmas; it's going well."

Derby, have you told your stepfather and Miss Tadrew about your change in
circumstances now that William is dead?"

"No, I haven't worked out what to tell them.  Titus did ask who was now my
guardian. I said I wasn't sure if it was you or Uncle Alfred, or if it
stopped when I was 18 or 21. I'll have to ask Sir Danvers."

"Wouldn't it be funny if you were now my adopted son, Derbs!"

"Not funny at all; you'd be a very naughty old man."



The funeral came and went. William was laid to rest in a plot alongside his
parents in the churchyard.  A marble tablet was already in place in the
west transept.  There was a luncheon and many of the mourners departed
while others remained until the following day.  Stephen wanted Christopher
to sleep with him, but he didn't ask and Christopher remained in his own
room and left by an early train.

It was a much smaller gathering that heard the will read in the Red Drawing
Room. The first part concerned William's personal fortune. There was a
handsome sum for cousins Antony and Sophia, held in trust until their
majority.  Sophia was pleased that it was not tied to her marrying.  There
were sums for Tsindis and two other men whose names Martin did not
recognise.  He exchanged glances with Stephen.  There were some legacies
for servants and hospital staff.  The main item concerned the bulk of
William's private fortune that was to pass to his adopted son, Stephen
Knight-Poole, and it was to be held in trust by his guardians, Uncle Alfred
and Sir Danvers, until he was 21.  There were no comments from anyone.

The next part concerned the estate of Croome with its farms, villages,
tenants, woods and broad acres as well as Branksome House in Piccadilly and
all the accumulated capital.  Uncle Alfred's allowance from the estate was
to continue, but all the rest--including the investments that Daniel Sachs
was so carefully managing--passed automatically by the law of primogeniture
to Martin, the new Marquess of Branksome, Earl of Holdenhurst, Baron
Purbeck, and 17 year-old captain of the lacrosse team.

The listeners departed, except for Stephen and Martin.  Sir Danvers was
busily packing up his papers when Stephen asked, "Sir Danvers, could you
tell me roughly what sum my legacy from William amounts to?"

"Oh, Mr Knight-Poole, I'd say about a quarter of a million pounds."

Stephen went pale and rushed to the window.  He opened it and vomited into
the garden bed.

Martin spoke for him.  "Sir Danvers we were expecting about ten thousand or
so.  Can it really be that much?"

"Yes, your lordship.  He was left two thirds of that sum when your father
died-- it was largely your mother's money originally--and he invested
wisely and, unfortunately, didn't get to spend a great deal."  He produced
a handkerchief and gave it to Stephen who was shaking and had broken out
into a cold sweat.  "He was so happy anticipating this moment, Stephen.  I
hope he's looking down."  With that, the reserved and correct jurist shook
Stephen's hand and then, surprisingly, embraced him in a fatherly hug.
After a pause he said, "He had Sachs manage his affairs over the last two
years.  It will be up to you if you continue with him, of course.  I do
hope that I can be of service to you in the future.  I'm very fond of
you--of both of you."

In bed that night there was much to talk over.  At one point Martin said,
"It's no more than you deserve, Derbs."

Stephen almost turned on him in anger, but then, at the last moment
softened his approach.  "Yes, it is more than I deserve, Mala, outrageously
so.  I'm not going to hand it back, but I don't deserve it.  Why should I
have so much money when a dozen other boys from the village--or millions
across England--who have done nothing wrong don't have it--don't even have
enough to get by?"

"Well, William wanted you to have it, Derby," said Martin a bit shocked by
his vehemence.

"Yes he did.  Now I have it.  I will do my best with it, but please don't
ever say I deserve it."

"I take your point Derby.  I'm sorry."

"No, that's alright, Mala.  You love me and you wanted me to feel happy so
you said it for my benefit.  Thank you.  I'm far from ungrateful."

"I don't know why some people are born rich while others are poor, Derbs.
I don't know why some are born smart and beautiful and other are not.  I
suppose I'm a Tory, but I don't believe in the divine right of kings, but
it is the way things are."

"Yes, I understand that.  As long as they don't have to stay that way
forever and there is a difference between being poor and being stupid; one
can be remedied," said Stephen kindly, now with arm around Martin.  They
were silent for a few minutes, hoping that their money would not cast a
pall over their love.

"Derby, will you fuck me or can I fuck you?  I have learnt a new trick from
The Plunger I'm anxious to share."

"Perhaps we can do both, Mala, we won't be seeing each other until
Christmas, and I'm feeling particularly randy."


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.