The Last Days of Yesteryear: Chapter 16

For a fiancé to invite another woman to dinner is, by definition, scandalous.

High-society is full of these mine-fields: events or behaviors that are inherently scandalous, yet also occasionally necessary. It is for just these situations that the Listed Proprieties of High Society, vol 3 was written.

When inviting a guest of suitable age and prospects to a meal, (says Chapter 7: the intricacies of pre-wedding society) a series of letters, invitations, and announcements must be used to ensure preparation and propriety from all involved. These include: a letter of formal invitation to dine; a notation of marital status; a letter of affirmation, sent to the fiancé’s partner; a request of permission to the guest’s relatives, if any such letter is required (see footnote on page 324); a signed agreement from the guest; an announcement sent to any and all servants of the guest; an announcement sent to any and all servants of the host; and a written and signed declaration affirming any and all behaviors that will be deemed impermissible by all present, to be notarized no later than the week after said engagement. This is in addition to any and all letters, invitations, and announcements that must be used for a regular meal, such as a notification of the menu, and outline of acceptable dress.

Of course, such intricate social mores are difficult to follow when the invitation and meal occur on the same day, but propriety is not for the faint of heart or slow of signature. As such, it was but the work of a few minutes at the base of Haggard Hill, where Edmund and Lady Brocklehurst exchanged contracts, which were read, signed, and then handed to their servants to handle. Letters were written, slipped into envelopes, stamped, and then handed off to be opened; after all, the post office could be an unnecessary middleman in emergencies.

Dinner was, as Edmund had guessed, soup.

Lord Brocklehurst sat like a general, straight-backed and spread-kneed. For all the world, he looked ready to jump out of the chair at a moment’s notice, had his glazed eyes not betrayed a deep and abiding sense of apathy to the world around him. Esmerildina Brocklehurst’s dress covered her thin chair entirely, and she appeared incapable of moving her arms from the wide embracing pose they had struck. Rather, she craned her head to the left and right, alternately sipping delicately from her spoon in one hand and fanning herself with her fan in the other.

“I must thank you again, Patron Moulde, for allowing us to grace your magnificent Hall with our humble persons. It really is a wondrous building. I wonder if you might be willing to give Nausica a tour after dinner? I must say I couldn’t imagine what wondrous things you have hidden away behind all the doors!”

“Hm.” Lord Brocklehurst sniffed. “Wouldn’t mind seeing the game room. Been on safari, have you?”

“No,” Edmund admitted, after taking a sip of thin and watery wine.

“Nothing better than a good safari.”

Nausica grinned. “I’m afraid father is rather enamored with the southern continent. He travels there every year for a few months. I sometimes wonder if he prefers the desert to Britannia.”

“I imagine the sky must be much clearer,” Edmund offered.

“Dashed clean,” Lord Brocklehurst nodded. “Not a speck of soot in the sky.” He looked up from his soup. “Terribly uncivilized.”

“Oh, let’s not talk about such unpleasant things,” Esmerildina crooned from her seat. “Dear Patron, I must ask you, have you had the opportunity to see The Rites of the Modern Age? We commissioned a performance in North Dunkin. Quite a masterful production, don’t you think?”

“Remarkable,” Edmund said, carefully. “Was the production well received in North Dunkin?”

“Oh!” Lady Brocklehurst’s fan snapped shut. “It was perfectly divine! The performance was…cut short, unfortunately, but what can one expect when people don’t know how to behave in the theatre?”

“It went over quite well in the box-seats,” Lord Brocklehurst rumbled.

“I heard there was quite a reaction from the ground seats,” Edmund pried. I need more details!

“Yes…well…” Lord Brocklehurst gave a cough. “It’s a very…subtle ballet. The commoners, they simply don’t have the wherewithal to understand it, do they?”

“It simply unnerves them; agitates them,” Esmerildina sighed. “That’s why they…well…no matter. Nothing to be done about it now but wait for a while for their blood to cool, and get back to the way things were.”

“Commoners.” Tickets were twenty pounds apiece. “Was it the machine dancers that inflamed their passions?”

Nausica smiled. “It is a new age, I’m afraid. I sometimes wonder if the world changes, is it possible the people don’t?”

Impossible, Edmund thought. If that were true, everything I’ve worked for would be meaningless.

“Oh!” Esmerildina laughed. “So young, child! People never change, my dear. Indeed, every social and cultural mistake in the past century has occurred only because someone got it into their heads that things hadn’t changed, and wanted the world to catch up to their own feavered imaginings about how things should be.”

“There have been quite a few significant advances in technology over the centuries,” Edmund suggested.

“Now, Patron.” Esmerildina waved her spoon. “I’m afraid you are quite purposefully misunderstanding me. Of course I am talking about societies, not fads, like electricity. The truth of the world is that old things are pushed aside for the new only when things can’t stay as they are. Even the Royal Family has changed several times in the past century.”

Edmund’s spoon froze on the way to his lips.

Esmerildina did not appear to notice. “After all, King Willhelm is a Zohenholler, isn’t he? A good German line, don’t get me wrong, and I’m sure King Siegesmund has done some marvelous things for the country, but is it really proper to have both countries ruled from the same family?”

Edmund lowered his spoon. “I’m sure I couldn’t comment.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Esmerildina smiled. “Forgive me for even mentioning it. You’re still young, after all, I’m sure you don’t remember what things were like when a Saxonburg was on the throne.”

After a bit of mental arithmetic, Edmund confirmed that yes, Lady Brocklehurst couldn’t have been older than six when the last of the Saxonburg line, Queen Margreet died and King Varner was crowned. “In fact,” he said, “I believe it was Lord Anglebird that married Lady Neele…some ten years his junior?”

“Oh?” Esmerildina blinked. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely up on my history.”

“I only mean to say,” Edmund took another sip, “that if one were to follow our good King Willhelm’s lineage, it seems to me that there is more Saxonburg on his grandmother’s side than Zohenholler on his grandfather’s. By any measure, I find myself wondering if our current king isn’t more English than German, regardless of his name.”

“Ha!”

At Lord Brocklehurst’s laugh, Edmund turned his attention to the other side of the table. “You disagree?”

“Blood will out!” Lord Brocklehurst slurped. “Why hasn’t he rebuffed the German Kriegsmarine, eh? What about those German pirates?”

“Piracy is a concern from every country, I think, papa,” Nausica smoothly interjected.

Why was that? Perhaps that is something worth exploring, some day?¹

“Perhaps,” Esmerildina sighed, reaching for her glass of watery wine. “But when push comes to shove, which family is he really a part of? We all know that the Zohenhollers are a shrewd bunch of Germans, aren’t they? The Saxonburgs know propriety. They understand the importance of keeping things on an even kneel, while still moving the country forward. Even if it looks like its moving backward. Forgive my impertinence, Patron, but you simply must agree, mustn’t you?”

Edmund set down his spoon. “May I ask, Lady Brocklehurst, how long you are planning on staying in Brackenburg?”

“Please, Patron, I must insist you call me Esmerildina. And I must thank you again for inviting us to this…this delicious dinner of —”

Edmund silenced her with an upraised hand. “It was no trouble. As to my question?”

“Well,” Esmerildina collected herself, “We were planning on staying only two days, but since you offer, I had a simply marvelous idea about our daughter. I hate to impose after such a…a memorable dinner, but I wonder if you’ve had the time to meet with Nausica properly. Why don’t you and her go out west for a week, and visit our villa in East Downswick? There is a marvelous lake for fishing and nice walks. I think you two could have such a charming time together.”

“May I ask,” Edmund slowly closed the trap, “why you and your husband decided to visit in Brackenburg for the season? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one of the gentry visiting during the early summer.”

“Yes, it is rather unconventional, isn’t it?” Lady Brocklehurst grinned, showing a bit too many teeth and fluttering her fan a bit too energetically. “I’m afraid the mood simply…took me! And my husband. Both of us, really. Quite unexpected, isn’t that right, dear?”

“Perfectly correct, darling.”

Edmund stood up.

Immediately the entire room changed. The Brocklehursts, in a flurry of movement, joined him in standing. Enga, who had been absent from view, suddenly stood next to Edmund as attentive and sturdy as a statue.

“Enga,” Edmund said, “would you please show Lord and Nausica Brocklehurst the grounds? I believe Lord Brocklehurst expressed an interest in seeing the game-room. The eastern second-floor game-room I think will suit him the best.”

“Of course, Patron.”

When a bemused Nausica and Lord Brocklehurst had left the room, Edmund turned to Esmerildina. Sitting once more, he clasped his hands in front of his mouth in thought. He needed to say this the right way…“You know,” he began, “that I am building a factory in South Dunkin.”

“Yes,” Esmerildina sat again, her face a mask of uncertain concern. “Yes, of course I have. It sounds particularly fascinating, and I am certain it will provide you with quite a lot to do.”

“I am certain it will, but I find myself concerned. It is a sizable investment, you understand. I was forced to go into substantial debt to build it.”

“Oh?” Edmund watched as the color slowly drained from Esmerildina’s face.

“Quite substantial. So I must ask you…are you in fact going to stay in Brackenburg for only two days?”

“Ah, no,” Lady Brocklehurst’s face fell. “We are considering…staying a bit longer, in fact. For a longer visit.”

I knew that as soon as I saw there was more than two days worth of luggage in your car. “May I ask why?”

“It is a…a difficult subject,” Lady Brocklehurst began.

“Please try. I have heard there have been…riots?”

It was an easy guess, given what Edmund knew, so he was not surprised to see Esmerildina’s eyes widen followed by a choking gasp. “How did you…Yes. if you insist, it’s true. Riots have broken out all across South Dunkin! We dared not leave the mansion for two whole days before we managed to escape!”

“What kind of riots?”

Esmerildina blinked. “What do you mean what kind? Are there different kinds of riots?”

Of course there are! Edmund felt his frustration start to build. There are all kinds! It depends on where the spark lands, and how the anger burns. It depends if they’re frustrated, or angry, or frightened, or in pain. It depends if they’re erupting like a volcano, or exploding like a bomb. If these riots are the wrong kind…

Edmund took a breath. “Please, describe what you saw.”

“Oh, Patron,” Esmerildina pressed her open fan to her chest in a perfect display of reluctance. “I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Please don’t ask me to repeat any of it. There were rampaging mad-folk were everywhere! Wandering the streets, looking for unsuspecting innocent bystanders to…do unspeakable things to…why, I heard from Lady Bosswell that they accosted Lord Brammal in the street. He was just walking home when they…when they performed theatre at him…” She bit her lip at the memory.

Edmund licked his lips. “That doesn’t sound particularly terrible, Esmerildina…”

“Oh, but it wasn’t proper theatre!” she leaned closer, horror in her tone. “It wasn’t in a music hall, or on a stage…it was in the streets! They addressed the audience! they broke convention! Oh, it was horrible to hear her say it! They weren’t even wearing make-up! It was…/alienating!/ Oh!” Lady Brocklehurst gasped, “please, do you have a brandy?”

Edmund rang for Enga to bring one. Once she had downed the small glass in a single gulp, she closed her fan, more calm than she had been before.

“I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind. I tell you, you cannot know how horrible it was, those two days in our mansion. It’s not just theatre, you understand…it’s everything. We saw artists painting without perspective! We heard music with arrhythmic harmonies. Poems with nonsense words…or words that were chosen for how they sounded, rather than what they meant… Oh! They were everywhere! They were rejecting form and function. Aesthetics, reason, all of it…and they were proud of it! We could hear —”

She cut herself off, clasping her gloved hand to her mouth as tears welled behind her eyes. Finally, she managed to choke out: “In the night…we could hear…/Jazz music./”

“Please,” Edmund patted her other hand in as consoling a manner as he knew how, “try to calm down. You are safe here.”

She gripped his hand with inhuman strength. “No-one is safe, Patron! Everything our society has ever built, everything we have striven for, proper standards of art, behavior, and society, are under threat! Where did they get these ideas?” she gasped, frantically trying to control her sobs. “All of those absurdities! I was so terrified…They weren’t celebrating Britannia, or spreading culture, they were…asking questions!”

Edmund couldn’t help himself. “Some people believe that is the point of art.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Brocklehurst’s eyes flashed. She drew herself up, her sobs vanishing behind pure aristocratic steel. “Culture is about education. Answering the right questions. Art is supposed to ask ‘why?’ We know the answers to that question. They were asking…oh!…they were asking why not!”

“An important question.”

“Not for the common-folk!” Esmerildina’s eyes flashed. “We know why not! We’ve been told time and again why not! It always ends in revolution, that’s why! Artists are supposed to ask why, and then be told! That’s how society works. That’s how Britannia works! Oh…another brandy, please?”

The problem was, she was right. That was how society worked. The problem that followed was, when society didn’t work anymore you had to break it before you built a new one. The final problem was, that meant cross-fire. War always meant casualties.

And his factory was right in the middle of it.

“Please forgive me,” Edmund stood up once more, “I have an important letter to write. At once. Please wait for me in the sitting room, and have as much brandy as you like.”

No sooner had he stepped outside the dining room, then Edmund ran to one of the myriad studies and set about writing what is now considered one of the most important letters in Edmund’s life.

Dear Cousin Kolb, he began.
I write to you with two-fold purpose. I wish to apologize, and I wish to ask for a favor.
First, I spoke to you harshly when last we spoke, and I have come to regret those words. Not so much for their message, but for the manner in which they were spoken. I insulted you by drawing attention to your heritage, and disowned you from the family. This was done improperly, and I wish to rectify my behavior at the next available opportunity.

Edmund paused. Was that too heavy-handed? He continued;

But as to my second purpose. I have received word of no small amount of social upheaval in South Dunkin. I will not reprimand you for failing to communicate this to me, as my poorly chosen words may have conveyed to you that I no longer required your help.
I do not need to tell you, I believe, the dangers that may arise to the Moulde Family if an association is made between this upheaval, and my nearly-completed factory. These riots are dangerous enough, but if the Mouldes are seen to be associated in any way, the scandal could be calamitous.
I need you to go to my factory and do everything in your power to protect it from association with this new avant-guarde movement. I regret I cannot send you Mr. Shobbinton to help, as he has been discharged from my service and is seeking other employment. Nevertheless, I urge you to find a suitable lawyer to protect both the Moulde Family’s legal liabilities, our good name, and the building itself. I hope to move my equipment into the building before the end of the month.
Sincerely, Patron Edmund Moulde.

Edmund stared at the letter for a moment. Would it be enough? He hoped so; Kolb was in a precarious position right now. If he did what Edmund asked, and did it well, the Moulde Family could weather out the riots in South Dunkin. The Moulde Family would have an aluminium smelting factory in what could be the new manufacturing center of all England in a generation.

If not, Edmund could lose everything.

He considered writing a second draft, but opted for expedience over certainty. Folding the letter and sealing it with black wax, Edmund rang for Enga.

“Please send this to South Dunkin,” Edmund said after she arrived. “In a telegram.” It would be expensive, of course, but it was urgent.

Enga nodded, and took the letter from Edmund’s hand. When the door closed behind her, Edmund paused for only a moment to stare into the glow of the gas-light before returning to the dining room.

---

That night, after a long and ineffective effort to fall asleep, Edmund heard shouting from deep in Moulde Hall.

In a sudden panic, Edmund grabbed his ever-wound watch, and checked the date. He breathed a sigh of relief. No. Not yet. He still had time.

Dressing quickly in a gentleman’s robe, Edmund left his room and followed the sound of argumentative rumbling through the hallways of Moulde Hall, until at last reaching the eastern sitting room. When he opened the door, the arguing crescendoed into a wall of disagreement that crashed into Edmund’s ears. At least twenty men were shouting at each other, waving fingers, papers, and arms around the room.

It only took a moment for one of the men to notice Edmund and clear his throat. The arguing subsided almost instantly, and the army of twenty well-dressed men and women in bower hats turned to face Edmund.

The closest, after a sharp tug on their jacket, stepped forward. “Patron Edmund Moulde, you are hereby given legal notice of seventeen counts of willful negligence on the part of the Moulde Family, in regards to the holdings of the Rotledge Family, to wit; one Haggard Hill and the minerals contained therein.”

“I beg your pardon?” Edmund blinked at the suddenly unified front of legality that stood in front of him.

“Do you deny,” another one of the solicitors said, pulling a piece of paper out of nowhere, “that on no less than seventeen occasions, you neglected to inform Wislydale Rotledge, who you legally gave legal ownership of the minerals under Haggard Hill, of import, the mineral known colloquially as bauxite, that said mineral contained a portion of material known colloquially as aluminium?”

“Under the Legal Ore Powers Act of 1775,” another solicitor spoke up, “you are expected to inform any individual about the material value of any object or substance of which you have entered into contract to exchange.”

“Under the Just and Legal Obligation Act of 1812,” a third shouted from the rear of the room, “you are legally enjoined to convey any information gleaned about another person’s property when you undertake a study of said property to ascertain its proper market value.”

“Under the Right Proper Mineral Agreement of 1661,” a fourth waved a paper over her head, “You are required, required I say, to give full and complete notice to any party you have entered into a contact with, relating to minerals or materials that are composed of nothing but themselves; i.e. pure metals and their ores, if you note impurities or aberrations which may result in a reevaluation of the value of said pure metals and minerals!”

“You are liable under the Multiple Crimes and Punishments Act of 1801,” a fifth said, “for multiple damages to our employer and his family, not succeeding an amount of seven thousand pounds, accounting for losses in business deals, incomplete awareness of personal holdings, etcetra, etcetra!”

“You all seem quite distressed. Can I have my servants fetch you anything?”

Politeness is a weapon seldom used in legal circles. At best it is a warning, similar to a snake’s rattle, or a badger’s hiss. As a tactic for those under legal threat, it was virtually unheard of, as opposed to the more common threats of violence, retribution, or collapsing into apologetic tears.

The room fell silent. For a moment no one moved. Finally, from the rear of the mob, Wislydale appeared, pushing his way through to the front of the room with glass in hand.

“Not in the mood, are we, old boy?” He asked, taking a sip of liquor.

“Would you excuse us, please?” Edmund asked.

The solicitors turned to Wislydale and waited for him to give them their cue. He nodded, and his entire team of solicitors filed out into the hallway. As soon as the door closed, the arguing started up again, fading down the hall as they moved towards one of the many waiting rooms of Moulde Hall, hopefully one with a fully stocked drinks cabinet.

“Well orchestrated,” Edmund said, sitting down in the closest chair.

“I thought so, what?” Wislydale took another drink. “All these bloody solicitors, arguing furiously about something or other, and then marching in unison towards your throat? By Jove, I wouldn’t want it pointed at me.”

“It was quite uncomfortable. It almost worked.”

“The announcement ball is in a month, what?”

“That’s right. I hope this assuages your concern about whether I will marry Googoltha or not?”

“By Jove, old chap, you and I both know you could announce anything at that ball. Even if you did announce Googoltha as your fiancée, I wouldn’t trust it to stick, what?”

Wislydale slowly sat down across from Edmund, setting his drink aside. Edmund recognized the posture; this was the true battlefield for the Founding Families. All of the manipulations, whispers, balls, and letters were ultimately complications; they were the practiced delicacies of centuries of civilization.

To sit down with another Founding Family member and talk; it was the upper-class equivalent of pistols at dawn.

“You bloody well lied to me, old chap.”

Opening with a strong assault. You’re not as confident as you want to be. You don’t think you hold all the cards…

“I don’t remember saying anything to you for some time,” Edmund linked his fingers together.

“A lie of omission is still a lie, even if we aren’t talking. I have twenty solicitors out there who can prove it in court. You’ve invented a method.”

Edmund carefully kept his face as placid as possible. “What makes you say that?”

“Never you mind how I know,” Wislydale waved a hand, “It’s enough that I know, what? All that bauxite under our feet is a gold-mine of aluminium, and you know how to get more of it than anyone else. I demand that you share the method, so I can fully utilize the minerals that is mine by legal right.”

Bringing your demands into it so quickly? You are either overplaying your hand, or you have a dangerous card to play from your pocket…

“Why?”

“Simple, old chap. I —”

“Patron.”

“…Patron. Quite. Let’s be reasonable about this, what? With the Waller method I’ll only get a fraction of the aluminum. Add to that the cost, and it’s hardly worth the effort, is it?”

A conciliatory tone, and you didn’t bite back when I forced you to call me Patron. You are going to offer me a deal that’s better for you than for me. “My method is cheaper, and more efficient. I understand why you want it from me.”

“No surprises, then, what? And seeing that the bauxite is mine, I rather think we can come to a deal, can’t we?”

Plying legalities…suggesting team-work…“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“By Jove, it’s obvious, what? We mine the bauxite together, and I lease your method with a fraction of the profits from the aluminium. We’ll be richer together than we’d have ever been apart.”

Edmund’s heart twisted. The sentiment had been perfect. How long had he ached to hear something even remotely similar from the lips of the Founding Families…

“No.”

Wislydale grinned as he reached for his drink. “I say, I expected you’d say that, old boy, but never thought you’d say it so quickly. We signed a contract which says the aluminium is mine. The method won’t do you any good alone, what?”

“The contract I signed was for bauxite. The bauxite under Haggard Hill is yours. Not the aluminium. I am going to mine the bauxite and extract the aluminium. If you wish, I can sell it to you at five-hundred pounds per ounce.”

“Oh, I say!” Wislydale snorted, sucking at his drink. “The market rate for an ounce of aluminium is just north of five-hundred! We’ll barely make any profit at all while you’ll make billions! Are you mad?”

“No,” Edmund said, not quite certain if he was being honest. “I just know how to get the aluminium. I am willing to provide you an allowance. We’ll be richer together than we’d have ever been apart.”

“An allowance?” Wislydale sputtered as his eyes grew cold. “I say, If I weren’t such a generous sort, do you know what I’d do?”

“No.”

“Exactly,” Wislydale hissed. “You wouldn’t know a damn thing; you’d wake up one morning and wonder where it had all gone wrong. But, since I’m not the sort of chap who will ruin his future in-law without giving them a chance. I don’t suppose you’ve considered how much bauxite is down there?”

“Half a million tonnes. It’s in the contract.”

“By Jove, it is. And do you think you can smelt half a million tonnes here, in Moulde Hall? You’d need a factory to smelt that much bauxite.”

“I have one,” Edmund nodded. “In South Dunkin.”

Wislydale’s tipsy smirk was beginning to fade. “Not yet you don’t, and you’ll never be able to mine it all. The Church will —”

“The Church can’t stop me. I’ve already managed to mine most of the bauxite without them lifting a finger.” A bit of a fib, but close enough to the truth that Wislydale couldn’t know for sure if Edmund was lying.

Wislydale blinked. “I say…you seem to have all the answers, don’t you?”

“I learned the value of selfishness at Grimm’s,” Edmund lied. “Knowledge is power, and right now, I have all of it.”

Wislydale took a sip of his drink…

…and smiled.

“I say, do you happen to know Lord Reginald Forescythe?”

Edmund didn’t answer.

“No? He’s the Third Royal Solicitor and Adjunct Advisor to the Crown. He was the one who, during the war, advised the King to implement the Royal Claim act. There was a steel shortage, remember, and the act established that any ‘potential steel’ could be sized by the crown and re-purposed to aid the country. And do you know the rum thing, old boy? The King hasn’t rescinded it yet. There is still a steel shortage, after all, and according to the Premium Mineral convention, as Bauxite contains the element known as Iron, it is legally an iron ore, which makes it an ore of ‘potential steel.’”

“There’s more aluminium than iron in bauxite,” Edmund said. “Even with the Waller process.”

“Strange though it may seem, that doesn’t make a dashed bit of legal difference,” Wislydale grinned. “All I have to do is say the word, and Reginald here will notify the crown of this wonderful supply of potential steel and the King will take this whole bally lot of Haggard Hill out from under you. Of course, they’ll provide compensation to the injured party, which is to say, me, but the crown won’t pay nearly as much for metal it has already seized.” He took a drink. “But if it’s the only way…”

“You’d sacrifice all the bauxite just to keep me from my aluminium?”

“My aluminium!” Wislydale snapped back. “You signed a contract!”

“I’ll fight it in court,” Edmund stood up from his seat.

Wislydale crossed his legs, lack of concern leaking from his drunken smile. “You could try, of course, oh you could try, but that would take a long time to suss it all out in the courts, wouldn’t it? And the courts aren’t particularly famous for finding in favor of prosecutors against the crown.” He took another drink. “Oh, and before you go and think about smelting the aluminium with your little method, selling it, and then paying for a verdict, I might draw your attention to the Ore Purity Mandate of 1798. I happen to have a copy right here. Any process of which affects the percentage of iron in my ore, which includes raising it by extracting the aluminium, is considered an illegal subversion of my mineral rights.” Wislydale grinned, “Quite amusing really, I get you coming and going. Since I own the bauxite, you’ll be a thief. Quite charming in its simplicity, what?”

“Then I’ll challenge that in the courts. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Wislydale — I’m trying to give you a chance.”

Wislydale blinked through his whiskey. “A chance at what, old chap?”

“Patron! I am Patron Moulde, and I won’t be talked to like this. Not by you, nor anyone. I was chosen by Matron Moulde to save the Moulde Family, and I will do so, come hell or high-water. Do not try and stop me, Wislydale. Give me what I want, and it will go better for you.”

Wislydale stared at him for a moment longer before standing up and swallowing the last of his drink. “A poor offer, Patron, and one I do not accept. I will be filing the legal briefs at the beginning of next month. If you think you can win, then by all means, carry on. If, on the other hand, you decide to see reason, I await your letter with extreme interest.”

The door closed behind him.

Edmund closed his eyes, and thought of Matron.