The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [304]
‘He had better come by autumn, then,’ the Customs officer muttered, although his wife did not hear him.
Even if she had heard him, Mrs Grockleton could have no idea what her husband meant by this cryptic statement; nor did he wish her to know. But it was this secret consideration that caused him, now, to raise a subject that had been increasingly on his mind. ‘I wonder if it has ever occurred to you, Mrs Grockleton, that the time might come when we decide to leave Lymington.’
‘Leave Lymington?’ She turned to look at him and it seemed that her eyes took a moment or two to focus upon him. ‘Leave?’
‘It is a possibility.’
‘But Customs officers are never moved, Mr Grockleton. You are here to stay.’
It was quite true, of course. A position like his led to no possibility of advancement or transfer. You kept it until you retired. ‘True, my dear. But we might choose to move.’
‘But we shan’t, Mr Grockleton.’
‘What if,’ he proceeded very cautiously, ‘I cannot say it is likely but what if, Mrs Grockleton, we were to come into money?’
‘Money? From what source, Mr Grockleton?’
‘Have I ever spoken to you, my dear, of my cousin Balthazar?’ The question was somewhat devious, since he had only invented this relative the day before.
‘I do not think so. I am sure you have not. What an extraordinary name.’
‘Not’, he said calmly, ‘if your mother was Dutch. My cousin Balthazar made a great fortune in the East Indies and retired to the north, where he lives in utter seclusion. He has no children. Indeed, I gather that I am his only kinsman. As I hear that he has a malady from which he is unlikely to recover, I think it possible that his fortune may come to me.’
‘But Mr Grockleton, why have you never spoken of him? You should go to see him at once.’
‘I think not. He greatly disliked my father although to me, as a boy, he was always kind. A year ago I wrote to him. He wrote back, fairly warmly, but said quite plainly that he did not desire any visitors. His malady, I suspect, makes him unsightly. Should he die and remember me, as I say, our circumstances will alter and I mean to retire.’
He watched her carefully, rather pleased with himself. It was clear that she believed him; and it was important that she should. For the last part of his statement was entirely true.
It had been his interview with Puckle that had finally decided him. As he watched the fellow’s obvious fear – and he had no doubt it was well founded – he could scarcely help thinking of what the forest smugglers would do to him, too, after his great attack upon them. Perhaps they would be cowed; maybe respectful; possibly even broken. But he was not so foolish as to rely upon it. No, he had considered, as the days and weeks passed, it was far more likely, one dark night, that he would be ambushed somewhere and receive a pistol shot in his head for causing them so much inconvenience. Was he prepared to wait for that? On balance, he had concluded, he wasn’t. He was brave enough to take on the smugglers, but if he won and made a small fortune from the business, then he would do as Puckle meant to do. He’d take his winnings and leave, get out, retire. No one would blame him and, frankly, he no longer cared much if they did.
As he certainly couldn’t tell his wife the truth, since she was quite incapable of keeping such a secret, it had occurred to him to invent his cousin Balthazar and the legacy as a way of preparing her for the possible change of circumstances. He watched her face, therefore, with interest; and after she had reflected a few moments, he saw her smile.
‘But, my dear husband, should this happy event transpire and you acquire a fortune, there would be no cause to leave Lymington at all. We shall be able to live here, with only a little more money, I promise you, in the greatest style. Oh, indeed …’ It was clear that prospects of future balls, graced by Burrards, Martells, perhaps even royal visitors, were entering her mind one