"I have a bid of seven thousand pounds," said a surprised Mr. Fothergill.
"Eight thousand," said Mrs. Trentham, staring straight at Charlie belligerently.
"Nine thousand," barked back Charlie.
The chatter in the room quickly turned into a babble. Becky wanted to jump up and push her husband back out into the street.
"Quiet, please," said Mr. Fothergill. "Quiet!" he pleaded, almost shouting. The colonel was still mopping his brow, Mr. Crowther's mouth was open wide enough to have caught any passing fly and Mr. Hadlow's head was firmly buried in his hands.
"Ten thousand," said Mrs. Trentham who, Becky could see, was, like Charlie, now totally out of control.
The auctioneer asked, "Do I see eleven thousand?"
Charlie had a worried look on his face but he simply wrinkled his brow, shook his head and placed his hands back in his pocket.
Becky sighed with relief and, unclasping her hands, nervously put her glasses back on.
"Eleven thousand," said Mr. Fothergill, looking towards Becky, while pandemonium broke out once again as she rose to protest, having quickly removed her glasses. Charlie looked totally bemused.
Mrs. Trentham's eyes had now come to rest on Becky, whom she had finally located. With a smile of satisfaction Mrs. Trentham declared, "Twelve thousand pounds."
The auctioneer looked back towards Becky, who had placed her glasses in her bag and closed the catch with a snap. He glanced towards Charlie, whose hands remained firmly in his pockets.
"The bid is at the front of the room at twelve thousand pounds. Is anyone else bidding?" asked the auctioneer. Once again his eyes darted from Becky to Charlie before resuming to Mrs. Trentham. "Then at twelve thousand for the first time"—he looked around once more—"for the second time, for the third and final time." His gavel came down with a thud. "I declare the property sold for twelve thousand pounds to Mrs. Gerald Trentham."
Becky ran towards the door, but Charlie was already out on the pavement.
"What were you playing at, Charlie?" she demanded even before she caught up with him.
"I knew she would bid up to ten thousand pounds," said Charlie, "because that's the amount she still has on deposit at her bank."
"But how could you possibly know that?"
"Mrs. Trentham's second footman passed on the information to me this morning. He will, by the way, be joining us as our butler."
At that moment the chairman walked out onto the pavement. "I must say, Rebecca, your plan was brilliant. Had me completely fooled."
"Me too," said Charlie.
"You took an awful risk, Charlie Trumper," said Becky, not letting her husband off the hook.
"Perhaps, but at least I knew what her limit was. I had no idea what you were playing at."
"I made a genuine mistake," said Becky. "When I put my glasses back on.. . . What are you laughing at, Charlie Trumper?"
"Thank God for genuine amateurs."
"What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Trentham thought you really were bidding, and she had been tricked, so she went one bid too far. In fact, she wasn't the only one who was carried away by the occasion. I even begin to feel sorry for—"
"For Mrs. Trentham?"
"Certainly not," said Charlie. "For Mr. Fothergill. He's about to spend ninety days in heaven before he comes down to earth with an almighty thump."
Mrs. Trentham
1919–1927
Chapter 22
I don't believe anyone could describe me as a snob. However, I do believe that the maxim "There's a place for everything, and everything in its place" applies equally well to human beings.
I was born in Yorkshire at the height of the Victorian empire and I think I can safely say that during that period in our island's history my family played a considerable role.
My father, Sir Raymond Hardcastle, was not only an inventor and industrialist of great imagination and skill, but he also built up one of the nation's most successful companies. At the same time he always treated his workers as if they were all part of the family, and indeed it was this example that he set, whenever he dealt with those less fortunate than himself, that has been the benchmark by which I have attempted to conduct my own life.
I have no brothers and just one elder sister, Amy.
Although there were only a couple of years between us I cannot pretend that we were ever particularly close, perhaps because I was an outgoing, even vivacious child, while she was shy and reserved, to the point of being retiring, particularly whenever it came to contact with members of the opposite sex. Father and I tried to help her find an appropriate spouse, but it was to prove an impossible task, and even he gave up once Amy had passed her fortieth birthday. Instead she has usefully occupied her time since my mother's untimely death taking care of my beloved father in his old age—an arrangement, I might add, that has suited them both admirably.
I, on the other hand, had no problem in finding myself a husband. If I remember correctly, Gerald was the fourth or perhaps even the fifth suitor who went down on bended knee to ask for my hand in marriage. Gerald and I first met when I had been a houseguest at Lord and Lady Fanshaw's country home in Norfolk. The Fanshaws were old friends of my father, and I had been seeing their younger son Anthony for some considerable time. As it turned out, I was warned that he was not going to inherit his father's land or title, so it seemed to me there was little purpose in letting the young man entertain any hopes of a lasting relationship. If I remember correctly, Father was not overwhelmed with my conduct and may even have chastised me at the time, but as I tried to explain to him, at length, although Gerald may not have been the most dashing of my paramours, he did have the distinct advantage of coming from a family that farmed land in three counties, not to mention an estate in Aberdeen.
We were married at St. Mary's, Great Ashton, in July 1895 and our first son, Guy, was conceived a year later; one does like a proper period of time to elapse before one's firstborn takes his place in the world, thus giving no one cause for idle chatter.
My father always treated both my sister and me as equals, although I was often given to believe that I was his favorite. Had it not been for his sense of fair play he would surely have left everything to me, because he simply doted on Guy, whereas in fact Amy will, on my father's demise, inherit half his vast fortune. Heaven knows what possible use she could make of such wealth, her only interests in life being gardening, crochet work and the occasional visit to the Scarborough festival.
But to return to Guy, everyone who came into contact with the boy during those formative years invariably commented on what a handsome child he was, and although I never allowed him to become spoiled, I did consider it nothing less than my duty to ensure that he was given the sort of start in life that would prepare him for the role I felt confident he was bound eventually to play. With that in mind, even before he'd been christened, he was registered with Asgarth Preparatory School, and then Harrow, from where I assumed he would enter the Royal Military Academy. His grandfather spared no expense when it came to his education, and indeed, in the case of his eldest grandson, was generous to a fault.
Five years later I gave birth to a second son, Nigel, who arrived somewhat prematurely, which may account for why he took rather longer to progress than his elder brother. Guy, meanwhile, was going through several private tutors, one or two of whom found him perhaps a little too boisterous. After all, what child doesn't at some time put toads in your bathwater or cut shoelaces in half?
At the age of nine Guy duly proceeded to Asgarth, and from there on to Harrow. The Reverend Prebendary Anthony Wood was his headmaster at the time and I reminded him that Guy was the seventh generation of Trenthams to have attended that school.