Heir to a Title Chapter 24

Michael stood there whilst the silence became almost unbearable. He felt his upper lip threatening to quiver but just managed prevent his fear turning to terror while even yet holding his mother's stunned gaze. Eventually, whether through fear or anger, he knew not; he found his voice.

“Well mother? Have you nothing to say, no brutal put-down, no vicious stab with that rapier tongue of yours, no wail of remorse? Emotional blackmail?”

The dame sensed that Michael's mother was about to break long before Michael did and she intervened tactfully.

“Michael, I think you'd best return to the house-master's room, I think Callie might be there as well. I wish to speak to your mother.”

Michael found himself almost rooted to the spot with uncertainty and anger for he had not read what the dame had read in his mother's eyes. The dame repeated her suggestion slightly more forcefully.

“Go on Michael. What I have to say to your mother will be important.”

Michael's eyes glittered with frustration and suspicion but he had no more words left. Angrily he span on his heel and paused briefly at the door.

“You're damned right it will be important!” he almost snarled.

“Michael!!” His mother almost shrieked. “Don't you dare speak to a lady like that!”

Her words were lost as Michael swung the door and slammed it behind him as the dame gently touched Mrs Fosters wrist.

“Leave it Mrs Foster. Let him go. He's just done the most monumental act of bravery in his life. Give him the dignity of ascending into adulthood by his own endeavours.”

Finally the tears broke and the dame helped Michael's mother to a seat before explaining.

“We only have them on loan Mrs Foster. Eventually all our children must make their breaks with their parents and grow to adulthood alone. The less lies and deceptions they have to make to those parents, the easier the road – for everybody.

“What we heard Michael just tell us removes one huge lie that Michael will no longer have to live. Try and see his ...” here the dame hesitated as she decided on the word “... confession - as a burden lifted from his shoulders and therefore yours as well. Oh, and I should add that my choice of the word confession is perhaps a poor one. It implies some sort of sin or wrongdoing on Michael's behalf and I for one do not see it as such.”

Mrs Foster sat quietly as tears continued to force their way so the dame decided to make a cup of tea mainly to give the mother time to find, compose and possibly express, her feelings.

She turned to deliver the cup when she met Michael's mother unexpectedly in the doorway. Being forced to pause, she proffered the cup and motioned with her head towards the high kitchen chairs by the pier. Once seated, they each faced other as Mrs Foster took a kitchen tissue to remove her tears. The dame smiled.

“You'll need to repair your make-up.”

“That's no matter,” the mother sighed, “it's Michael; I just wish he'd told me before.”

The dame was in a quandary for she could not be certain of the exact family circumstances. Michael had several times previously almost broached his issues with the dame but on each occasion he had failed to openly admit it despite the dame having made it obvious that she suspected the truth and was sympathetic. The blockage was seemingly with Michael's father; so large a dam had grown between father and son that had it had taken a veritable explosion of emotion to trigger Michael's dam-burst.

At a loss with going forward without hurting Mrs Fosters feelings further, the dame changed tack. There would be nothing gained by being censorious or judgemental. Mrs Foster needed support and sympathy if the tiny spark of maternal compassion was to be ignited into a bonfire of support and protection for the child in the face of the father's oppression.

“Has Michael ever tried to mention it to you before?”

“No - well I don't think so.” She hesitated before finishing. “Well truthfully I don't know. His father was so anti-gay you understand. In truth, he's still very anti-gay. Michael's always been afraid of him.”

The dame nodded and continued.

“Does Michael or rather, did Michael ever argue with his father about gays or anything to do with LGBT?”

“Not that I noticed. His father's got such strong feelings about it that I suspect Michael was too afraid to even go there. Though, I suspect things might be coming to a head – as far as Michael handles it I mean. Previously he just avoided any dispute. I'm afraid that might change and that worries me.”

“Well at least his father cannot withhold funding for Michael if he wishes to continue here. He's a Kings Scholar and as such has both tuition and boarding rights here at the college.”

There was a pause as Mrs Foster turned things over in her mind. Finally she spoke.

“Can I speak to Michael now?”

“Of course, you're his mother, we are certainly not social services.”

The dame phoned the house-master.

“Hello Bob, is Michael still with you?”

“Yes, we've had a chat and he's on the computer with Callie at present.”

“His mother wants to talk to him. Can you put him on?”

Michael's voice came through the phone and spoke to the dame.

“Hello Ma'am.”

Mrs Foster heard her son's voice on the phone and breathed a sigh of relief when he replied positively to the dame's request for him to return to her apartments and speak to his mother.

“Is she still angry?” Michael asked.

“No Michael, your mum's more upset than angry. I think it's okay to talk. Can you come back?”

“Okay. Give me a minute please.”

The dame turned to Mrs Foster, smiled and nodded.

“He's agreed.”

“Yes. I heard. Thank God!”

The two women sat sipping tea and chatting then Mrs Foster proposed a suggestion to the dame.

“Do you think it would work if just Michael and I knew about his being – you know – gay?”

She hesitated for the effort to say 'gay' had emotionally drained her; then she explained further.

“You understand me, just Michael and me whilst we don't tell his father just yet?”

“It could work Mrs Foster but I think a lot depends upon Michael and your determination not to mention anything to his father.”

“It wouldn't be anything dishonest, we could just not mention anything. If nothing's said then no lies are told.”

“That could work, let's see what your son has to say.”

At that a knock announce Michael's return. He entered and looked uncertainly at his mother. The dame bridged the impasse.

“I believe your mother might have a solution to your problem Michael.”

He turned to his mother and asked monosyllablically: “What?”

His mother recoiled slightly at the truculent venom in Michael's voice but she hid her feelings and persevered. She explained her intended subterfuge and Michael finally replied.

He spoke slowly: “Aa-aalright mummy. I'll have to trust you but I want to know your feelings about me.”

She gave a wan smile as yet another tear betrayed her feelings.

“I just don't want to lose you.”

Michael frowned.

“That's hardly likely to happen is it, especially as you decide if I stay at Eton or not. What I want to know is how you feel about my being gay. Dad's made it abundantly obvious he hates gays but do you hate me? Does it disgust you? Does it demean me in your eyes? What don't you like?”

“It's not about being gay for me darling, I – I was thinking about grand children.”

Michael gave a short ironic laugh.

“Ha! It's that hoary old chestnut is it. Why are you so worried about children?”

“I just had expectations of being a grandmother one day.”

“Well I wouldn't worry about it. There's plenty of girls out there who would accept a sperm donation from me on the grounds of inherited intelligence. I'm a King's Scholar.”

“It's not like a stud farm Michael. I'd like to be able to see my grandchildren, have input into their upbringing and nurture.”

“That's not impossible either. There are children out there with two lesbian mothers and a gay father who de-facto have six grandparents. Being gay doesn't stop me fathering children or sharing in their care.”

“But you can't guarantee that.”

“That's not a fair argument; I cross the road every day between School House and the college yard. I can't guarantee that I'll not be knocked down by a bus tomorrow so why should I make any promises I cannot guarantee to keep. I could have been straight and never have given you grandchildren.”

“But would you try to give me grandchildren?”

“Only if all the circumstances were right and the mother or mothers were prepared to let me have input into the children's well being. That's what parenting – and grand-parenting – is about, not just the biology. As you said, it's not a stud farm.”

His mother sighed with some small relief. Her son had shown that he had considered the issue and that pleased her. Michael sensed this intuitively and took it as an opportunity to show that his friendship with Callum could become acceptable.

“Do you realise mummy, that my best friend has sorted the sperm donation problem already. She's even got a girl who's prepared to be the mother.”

“Would that be that transexual boy?”

Michael corrected her.

“Transgendered girl mother; Callie's a transgendered girl. And the girl who is prepared to be the mother is her girlfriend. If Callie can get it sorted, so can I. The college has shown tremendous good will towards Callie and supported her all the way.”

“So you want to stay here?” she asked naively.

“Of course I do. It's the best place I've ever been to. Look at how they treat Callie or Callum as he's known for official purposes. He's allowed to express his femininity and now I'm out, I'll be accepted for what I am. There are several gays in the college not withstanding Callum's transgenderism.”

“What about your sister Samantha? What if she refuses to accept it?”

“I'll speak to Sam about it. We share lots of secrets. I think she suspects anyway.”

“She's only twelve Michael, what would she know?”

“I don't know mummy but I think it's down to me to tell her, not you. She's just as afraid of Dad's temper as I am. If you told her, she'd always be wondering if dad knows or when will he find out. I don't want her drawn into any rows. Besides, she's hoping to go to Roedean isn't she? She'll be out of your hair by August if she gets accepted.”

“It might be Roedean or maybe Cheltenham. She's trying for a scholarship to either.”

“She'll get one mum. She's just as clever as me, though God knows where we get it from. Anyway let's get back to my issue. Do you promise here and now, not to tell dad?”

“I've already said yes.”

“Then there's nothing more to discuss. I'll see you tomorrow morning before you return home. I've got a free hour after Maths and up until lunch, eleven till noon. Can you make it?”

“Yes, and thank you Michael.”

“It's me that should be thanking you; thanks for not telling Dad.”

To the dame's relief, both mother and son were now talking again like a mother and son. She was further relieved when parent and child hugged then parted. As both parties separated and left, she phoned her colleague the house-master.

“Job done Bob. His mother seems reconciled to his being gay and they've parted on seemingly amicable terms. Oh! He's staying on at the college.”

“Well done Janet. It would have been a shame to lose such a good student. D' you want to come over and celebrate with a little drink?”

She smiled to herself before replying.

“I think I could manage that before I do the rounds.”

Michael continued to attend Eton.

~~oo000oo~~

At the end of that Spring term, Callie and Michael shared the train journey home as far as York where Callie alighted while Michael continued to his home in Durham.

Callie took the local train to her home in the Dales and was delighted to see Maggie waiting with both their mums on the platform. She was also pleased to see a row of newly commissioned railway wagons sitting patiently in the new sidings as evidence of progress with the quarry.

As they walked along the platform Callie turned towards the wagons.

“I didn't think they had started already.”

“They haven't darling. There's a couple of hundred yards of track and points to finish at the quarry head and they expect to test the line next week. We've been invited to attend the opening once the line's certified.”

Callie was eager to see the new track and arranged to meet Maggie up on the moor at the meeting stone early the following morning.

Dawn found Callie and her beloved stallion Sandie galloping along the bridle-path in eager anticipation of the arranged rendezvous with Maggie. She had hoped to enjoy the vista that the seat by the stone offered but the morning mist had denied her that. Indeed, the damp chill of the cold spring morning forced her to remain in her saddle whilst unpacking her heavy riding slicker and buttoning it up so as to cover her whole upper body and Sandie's powerful croup. This caused Sandie's body heat to rise inside the gabardine slicker and keep her warm. She settled easily into the saddle while Sandie grazed on a small patch of lush spring grass until the sound of hooves pre-announced Maggie's arrival through the same mist.

They met and hugged before trotting gently down through the forest and into the valley that took the new railway up the dale to the quarry. Because of the mist they could hear the gangers before they saw them but eventually they arrived at the ridge above the gorge where the track spilled out into what was to be the marshalling yard. A small locomotive and track-laying crane was busy lifting the metals off the flatbed wagon to complete the bypass loops that would enable the arriving locomotive to detach from it's empty train then pass back down the middle loop and attach itself to a loaded train that would be awaiting despatch.

The gang foreman knew Callie from a previous visit when she had joined the survey team one afternoon to watch the surveyor lay out the rail road. He recognised her instantly and waved her up to the perimeter fence where he explained the rules.

“No need to dismount young lady. You can't come on site without hi-vis PPE.”

Callie acknowledged his advice and the foreman joined them at the fence.

“So, I presume you're back home for the holidays,” he observed.

Callie nodded and smiled before observing.

“You were quick. It was just grass and rock before Christmas.”

“Aye. Well the Victorians did the hard work, all we had to do was bull-doze some trees and remove a few wagonloads of rocks and rubbish. It's only a score of miles of track bed to the mainline.”

Callie nodded, introduced Maggie then they made their excuses. She could see it was only a couple of days work before the rail-spur was complete. He bid them good-day and returned to the work. The pair set off for the road that had previously been the bridle-path. Fresh new tarmac already showed muddy tracks where heavy trucks had hauled in the crushing and sorting plant for assembly. Maggie studied the muddy clomps of clay.

“Just imagine that being brought in by road trucks every day. The place would be a quagmire in days.”

“Vive le chemin de fer,” Callie replied.

“Yeah, but they could have shipped in the crushing plant on a train.”

“I suppose they wanted to get on. Once the lane was tarmac'd they couldn't wait.”

Maggie nodded and the two turned off the road to resume riding along the escarpment that would eventually disappear with the quarrying.

“Just think, this whole ridge will be just a precipitous cliff in a few decades as they peel the limestone off.”

“It'll soon return to nature though, after the quarrying moves along the ridge. It will be even more spectacular with a precipitous cliff and it will attract rock climbers as well,” Callie observed before adding: “That'll attract more visitors to the dale and more business for the village.”

Maggie frowned.

“My God girl, you don't miss a buck do you.”

“I'm thinking of the local people Mags; a two mile long cliff nearly six hundred feet high, that's an awful lot of rock climbing and only accessible by our private road. That's an awful lot of tourist bucks.”

“And an ugly pink rash.” Maggie snorted.

“We're all part of the ugly pink rash Mags, whether we arrived a thousand years ago with the Vikings or five years ago.”

Maggie nodded ruefully.

“And to think, mum and dad moved here to enjoy the peace of the countryside.”

Callie grinned then shrugged and they trotted along the road until the came to the gate of Maggie's farm. Here they separated after arranging to meet after lunch and Callie continued along the road to take the easier round-about route home. Sandie was moving at an easy trot as they entered a section where the road had cut through a small hill and was bordered by high grassy banks topped with a dense hedge on both sides. It was only wide enough for a single truck to pick its way carefully between the high banks and Callie could see several muddy patches on the new tarmac where the trucks hauling the crushing plant had scraped against and loosened clods of earth from both sides of the road.

About half way into the high banking Callie realised that a vehicle was approaching from behind and she would meet with it at the worst possible location where the lane twisted for a couple of hundred yards and the banking was at it's highest. The sound of the racing engine eventually identified the vehicle as a car travelling fast and therefore dangerously. Sandie had also sensed the danger and Callie felt him tense nervously. It seemed that he also knew the lane was too narrow with little room for a horse and car to squeeze past.

“Damn it!” she cursed as she searched in vain for a refuge while the car swept around the corner to terrify Sandie by it's sudden appearance and screeching tyres.

“You stupid bastard!” Callie screamed as the car scraped past horse and rider causing Sandie to rear up as his hooves struck the wing of the powerful Mercedes. In her fright, Callie had no time to anticipate Sandie's actions and she was thrown violently onto the rear of the car before sliding into the road unconscious. The car didn't stop but just raced on down the lane leaving Callie unconscious on the tarmac while Sandie screamed in pain and went limping painfully down the lane bound for the safest place he knew; Denton Hall stables.

The first anybody else knew of the incident was when Sandie arrived in the stable yard riderless and still bleeding. After calling the emergency services, Molly Denton phoned Jane Arnold.

“Maggie's here Molly. She came back about half an hour ago. I'll go and get her.”

Molly tapped her finger impatiently until Maggie came to the phone and described where and when they had parted. Several search parties were quickly organised and eventually Jane Arnold found Callie lying at the edge of the road. Having located her the Police soon arrived, followed by the ambulance and soon Callie was on her way to casualty.

At first the traffic Sergeant thought that it had simply been a riding accident until the vet who had been called to attend to Sandie reported his convictions on his mobile to the traffic Sergeant at the scene. They knew each other as many rural people living in a small town often did.

“Are your sure of that Mr Lloyd?”

“Absolutely Sergeant. There was a nasty gash on the animal's rear left leg with some blue paint and broken glass embedded in the wound. It looks as though the horse was hit by a wing mirror. Please have your lads check the site for any mirror parts, there must be some glass on the road. I've saved the bits from the wound for your forensic lads to check out. When we looked at the left forefoot there was the same blue paint embedded in the metal shoe. I had the farrier remove it and the nails for your guys to look at.”

“Thank you Mr Lloyd, is the animal badly hurt?”

“He'll survive but it will leave a scar. Happily no bones were broken and she doesn't show him but he's a fine animal and I know several people have bred foals off him with excellent results in the jumping ring. I don't think the wound should affect his mobility after it's healed. Was Callie hurt?”

“She was unconscious when they found her and she's in casualty now. They suspect she's got a broken collar-bone and possible skull damage. I'll have forensics attend the scene immediately.”

The traffic officer returned to the scene and immediately spotted some broken glass shards and bits of plastic almost completely buried in the mud at the side of the road. It was obvious that somebody had scuffed the pieces towards the side with their foot to hide them in the mud. The Sergeant called it in and immediately started photographing the scene before his partner and Jane Arnold carefully set about collecting the bits. Soon they had hard evidence of a vehicle / animal collision and that pointed to a hit-and-run. Jane Arnold even found some blood and animal hair on the largest piece of broken plastic.

She told the Sergeant:“That's definitely Sandie's hair. The sandy colour exactly describes Sandie's name. Your forensic team will confirm it.”

The Sergeant nodded and went to help his patrol partner isolate the scene. By mid afternoon, they had all the evidence they wanted and after interviewing the track gang at the quarry they had a pretty certain idea of the driver of the car.

Small rural communities have one small advantage when the police need to solve a local crime. Everybody knows everybody else and a fair bit of each other's business as well. Some people may not appreciate that invasiveness but at times it is invaluable.It's hard for newcomers to hide, especially when they drive around aggressively in large expensive cars. Although the 'local bobby' is an evanescent creature in British policing, many police officers choose to live in small rural communities to get away from the pressures of 'big-city' policing. One such officer was the patrol Sergeant who was also something of a car 'geek' when it came to cars. The foreman ganger soon confirmed that Mr James Denton had a dark blue Mercedes and the sergeant had recognised the mirror shards colour as Mercedes model, Capri Blue Metallic.

A visit to Billerton Post Office soon confirmed that James Denton had stopped briefly at the post office to buy some stamps then driven off towards Harrogate. He returned to the patrol car and spoke to his WPC partner.

“Bit of detective work for you Betty. You live near Harrogate don't you.”

“Yes Sarge.”

“The main Merc' dealer, d' you know it?”

She nodded then added. “And several paint shops that do contract work for them.”

He nodded and smiled at the W.P.C.'s perspicacity.

“Perhaps you're ahead of me. Blues and twos girl. Lets get there before they close.”

The woman police constable's knowledge proved spot on and before five they had located the Merc' under a canvas cover in one of the contracting paint shops. A quick check confirmed the ownership and the damage more or less confirmed the car's part in the collision. A broken mirror, a large dent with scratches to the right-hand front wing and mud spatters to match the mud in the lane. They called it in and by seven p.m., the car was in the Harrogate Police compound. James Denton was apprehended the following day at Manchester Airport.

Later investigation the following day matched Sandie's steel shoe to the dent in the wing while the broken wing mirror had traces of Sandie's blood and horse hair. James Denton was caught bang-to-rights.

Callie had suffered a fractured clavicle, mandible and zygomatic bone but fortunately her riding helmet had saved her from further head trauma or brain injury. For the remainder of the Easter holidays she had to endure pins in her cheek, jaw and collar bone but fortunately there was no permanent deformity or scarring. She was lucky, James Denton was not.

The Police had elected to take the case to the crown court and a jury trial. He got a five year prison sentence for dangerous driving and attempting to pervert the course of justice, plus a ten year driving ban to follow his discharge from prison. He was also banned from going within five miles of Denton Hall. Naturally, he lost his position as managing director of the company that operated the quarry. As a convicted criminal he was not allowed to hold a Directorship in the UK.

For the remainder of the Easter holidays and several weeks into the summer term, Callie had pins in her jaw and shoulder thus she was excused sports. This irked her slightly for although she was developing more as a female she still enjoyed her rowing and running.

~~oo000oo~~