Chapter 1
Sebastian was washing up from detailing Madam Barrington’s gleaming, sparkling, 1954 Buick Roadmaster when there was a knock at her massive door. She wouldn’t let him put any money into a ceramic coating for “that old thing”, but what Aunt B didn’t know, didn’t hurt her. After all they had been through, he figured she deserved something nice, and witches had their ways, he smirked to himself as he reached for the bronze door knob.
Standing on the immaculately swept porch were two men that looked like they walked right off the set for “Rumpole of the Baily”.From their Homburg style hats, to their black, razor sharp creased suits that Sebastian swore he could shaved with, to the grey striped waistcoat with a bow tie on the shorter of the two. At least neither of them had a pocket watch … oops, missed it!
“Can I help you gentlemen,” he asked politely, if a bit loudly, a warning to the three ladies inside just sitting down to tea?
With a cultured English accent that stood out as garishly as their attire in the warm October sun setting west of Atlanta, the older of the two spoke, “Perhaps. We are looking for Dame Altsheler nee Barrington. Are you her chauffeur?”
Recent events had made Sebastian very cautious and leery of strangers, no matter how well dressed they were! Thinking fast, he stalled for time, acting a bit of the fool knowing Mallory was now taking up a discrete, overlook position where she could respond to danger in an instant, “Dame? Huh. I ain’t never heard anyone call the ol’ broad ‘dame’ before. Nor there be any Altsheler’s ’round here. Are you sure you have the right address? ‘Lanta can be mighty confusin’ to foreigners and Yankees,” he said, laying on the Southern drawl heavily for their benefit.
They responded affirmatively with the shorter one saying, “We checked with your local police and the automobile club for correct directions. We are sure we have the right address. Please show us in, we have weighty matters to disclose to your … master isn’t the proper word in Georgia anymore, is it?”
Stifling a laugh, the tall, lanky young man drolly deadpanned, “Not since 1865,” with an eye roll they didn’t see.
He showed them into the library where his betrothed, Miss Lily Singer was serving tea on Madam B’s ‘family’ tea set, there was at least ONE chipped cup. He announced so all could hear, “These two … gentlemen are looking for a ‘Dame Altsheler’, Aunt B,” clearing up THAT misunderstanding before it went too far.
Sir Edgar Allan Kipling, Lily’s cat and Sebastian’s co-conspirator when torturing her, majestically sauntered around the gentlemen and deposited, even for him, an excessive amount of cat fur on their pants. Then he yawned and walked off to a heater vent and made himself into a cat loaf to bake while supervising his minio … humans.
The stately, elderly lady looked slightly startled and stammered out, “Altsheler? I haven’t heard that name in … years. And I am no Dame, I am known around here as Madam Barrington.
What can I do for you two … barristers or solicitors?” She added with such disdain that Sebastian looked to see if their skin had burned off.
Her tone wasn’t missed by the Englishmen either, and Mr. Pocket Watch responded hastily, “Solicitors, I assure you Dame Altsheler, from The College of Arms!”
“Harrumph! What does the College of Arms want with me, and what is with this “Dame” nonsense?” She demanded while her face began resembling the grill of her ’54 Buick more and more.
The two men looked at each other, obviously gob smacked. The solicitor who apparently was in charge stammered out, “You don’t know, Dame Altsheler?”
With some obvious exasperation Madam B snapped, “Know what?”
Again, the two men looked at each other and then nodded, coming to an agreement. The taller one, who Sebastian thought was the junior, spoke up. “You recall the Somme in the winter of ’17 when your Volunteer Aid Detachment came under heavy artillery fire, suffering several casualties? One of the people you helped guide out of that hellscape was …”
“Yes. I know very well who he was. If I knew now what I knew then …” she stopped when she noticed the discrete letters over Sir Kipling spelling out, “You would have done the same thing! Marrying for love is not a crime, Mrs. Altsheler.” Madam B hung her head before finishing lamely, “I still would have helped Edward VIII.”
“Err, yes.” said the obviously confused solicitor. “It wasn’t just shepherding him to the rear, or patching him up. It was what you did for Nicolas and the entire Romanov family, plus Belgium and …”
“Alright!” Madam Barrington firmly said shutting down the conversation. “We don’t need a lesson in ancient history,” glancing at Lily and Sebastian so the solicitors would get the hint.
“You do not, but your … nephew and this young lady …” as they turned to Lily and Sebastian they watched Sebastian’s mouth open and close several times like a fish out of water, while Lily was looking at Madam B, trying to figure out what was being said.
Sebastian put it together fist. “You were S.I.S.,” he exclaimed!
Lily was confused and said, “Sissss? What is Sissss?”
For once Sebastian didn’t have his patented, Devil may care smile on, he factually told Lily, “Not Sisss, S.I.S. Secret Intelligence Service; MI-6, James Bond; the real McCoy stuff. Aunt B was a spy!”
“What? Like Nathan Hale? ‘I regret that I have but one life to give’ spy,” She asked, clearly confused by the implications?
“No. Better! A Cato type spy!” At her confused look, he elaborated, “Cato, a slave in 1776, saved George Washington’s life at least twice and spied for Washington until the British evacuated New York in ’83. The townspeople thought he and his former “master”, Hercules Mulligan were Tories and were about to invite them to a neck tying party, when Washington visited Hercules’ shop in November after the Revolution for breakfast and bought a suit from him, demonstrating to the townspeople that Mulligan and Cato were the good guys and thus protecting them,” Sebastian informed the room, with dawning and somewhat grudging respect for the old lady.
“Thank you for that clarification, nephew,” was Madam B’s frosty response to his brilliance.
“Dame Altsheler, your exploits from the Great War have been in the public domain for years. Honestly, the Crown thought you had passed years ago. It only came to our knowledge when C informed the King that in fact you were still quite alive and living in the colonies,” explained Mr. Pocket Watch.
A startled Madam B asked, “And why was I being discussed by the King and C? I left His Majesty’s service under honourable conditions before his mother ascended to the Throne.”
“C” Lily asked, “Who is C?I thought the head of MI6 was called M?”
“M is the invention of Ian Fleming.The head of MI6 has always been called C.I don’t know why. Back to why you were being discussed; you see Dame Altsheler, after the war King George wasn’t happy with the way women had been treated; the whole suffragette movement and all that. When his oldest son told him what you did, coupled with a letter received from your late father, the King decided to take action, as was his wont.”
Lily interrupted her and offered the men some tea and sconces. Madam B shook her head as if coming out of a nightmare saying, “Gentlemen, I beg your pardons! Please! Have a seat and enjoy some tea. We were just sitting down when you arrived! Please excuse my poor manners.”
They readily accepted and Lily, with Sebastian’s help served tea.
Once everyone was settled with a cup of tea, including Sebastian, the shorter solicitor continued.
“King George V was incensed by your father’s letter from what C reports. So his Majesty decided to drive his point home very firmly. He returned the letter saying the Viscount was out of line, and with it, for him to give to you, was your insignia as a Knight Commander of the Order of Victoria”
“So that’s what this Dame nonsense is all about,” mussed Ethel.
“Dame Altsheler.”
“Please, call me Barrington at least, it is the name I have used for … a bit,” she added wryly.
“Ok, Dame Barrington, you are, and have been, a Knight Commander of the Order of Victoria for years. Didn’t any family member tell you?”
“Was it gazetted in the Times? Due to the nature of my work, I imagine not. So my mother and sister wouldn’t have known about it. And my father, he died suddenly just before Christmas 1919 … shortly after getting the King’s package,” she realized!
“Ahhh … that would explain it. Your father’s belongings were packed away for the new Viscount. A third cousin I believe?”
Madam B mussed a bit, “I believe so. Anyway, you didn’t travel from London, working for the College of Arms to tell me about a bauble I never knew about.”
“So why are you here in Atlanta,” a shadow asked, detaching itself from the wall? The solicitor was startled enough to spill his tea on his pants.
“Peace, Mallory, not everyone is out to kill us,” Dame Barrington explained to the human, coiled spring, who was now pouring herself some water.
Regaining his composer, the solicitor continued looking at Dame Barrington, “Your cousin’s line went extinct over the summer. There were some claims to the title and Abby property being discussed at the College when C was in hearing distance. He was intrigued by the whole thing, and most probably recalled reading about your service. He decided to review the original, hand written grant by Queen Mary.”
Lily looked a bit startled, and said without thinking, “Bloody Mary?”
“Yes, the last, thankfully, Catholic queen,” the taller solicitor said with disdain.
“Young man, do not judge what you don’t know. Mary was the product of Henry’s manipulations. She did well given all that was done to her. And while we look at things differently five hundred years later, she was trying to save her realm from Eternal Damnation. Are you any better for your obvious dislike of a religion akin to yours, than she was in her fanatical faith?”
“Yes Dame Barrington,” they replied in unison, acknowledging the rebuke by bobbing their heads, yet hardly chastised.
After an awkward pause, the talkative one continued. “C discovered that the original grant did not specify that the title of Viscount Barrington of Aylesborough Abby and lands had to go to a male! Apparently Queen Mary wasn’t above a bit of sophistry for the 1500s. The grant only says that the title and lands go to the first born of the current Viscount. So in 1919, you should have inherited the title.”
Dame Barrington looked thoughtful for a few before saying, “That’s nice, but of scant use now. Now there is another heir. If I were to accept the title, lawyers would get rich trying to sort this out. Plus, my … hmmm … longevity would raise questions that I prefer not to answer.”
The tallest solicitor turned suddenly to Sebastian, “You perhaps aren’t Sebastian Blackwell, are you, sir?”
Not knowing what to say, and with everything else that has been revealed this evening, Sebastian answered without snark, “I am. Why,” dreading the answer?
“Because you are the next in line to inherit the title after your aunt,” he announced!
Lily dropped her tea cup missing the deep carpet, landing on the hardwood floor, shattering it.
Sebastian protested, “What? No how! Wait! No, it can’t be. I’m an American. We can’t have titles according to the Constitution,” desperately looking for an escape clause.
Lily finally started to regain her composure interjected, “Article I, section 9 is often understood to mean that.However, that understanding is incorrect. The Constitution actually says that Congress shall not grant a title of nobility and that people holding an office under commission from Congress shall not accept a title OR gift from a foreign State without the Consent of Congress; since you aren’t in the military, nor a Federal employee, it doesn’t apply to you,” as she reminded her beloved that she too knew a bit of history.
To break the silence that followed, Mallory added, “And if you try and insist on being called ‘My Lord’ or ‘Sir Roses of the Liver’, I’ll gladly dump you on your head a few times; for Lily’s sake, of course. It’s what sisters do.”
The room returned to silence as they each contemplated and digested the news.
Dame Barrington was obviously back on the Somme or doing some other skull drudgery by the far off look, tinged by sadness in her eyes. Lily busied herself by cleaning up the mess she made. Mallory was content by silently threatening their guests by dancing a wicked looking sharp and pointy across her knuckles.
Sebastian kept looking at his aunt, looking away, and looking back. He had spent enough time running for his life and dodging those who wished to harm him that he had a basic understanding of what the woman who had hexed and vexed him for so long had … triumphed over. He would never know fully, no one really ever did; even fewer fathomed what dangers and how often and how close his aunt Ethel, and her ilk, had come to losing her life while working as an intelligence agent of the Crown. The CIA had a wall full of names of those who had lost their dance with death. He suspected that even after her retirement from MI6 that she never let her hair down. ‘Son of a gun!’ he thought.His parent’s murder at the hands of, of that bastard! Sending him to Ethel just put her back on someone’s ‘Public Enemy Number 1’ list! No wonder she was so stern! So unforgiving! So … so darn right! Any misstep, the slightest lapse in judgment meant her death! And there he was only thinking about himself, never once realizing all that she endured, all that she gave up; just for him! He was so ashamed of his childish behavior!
He walked over to his aunt, kneeled down in front of her and said, “Lady Barrington, please forgive me. I was a fool and you deserved better.”
Ethel was startled from her revere by his actions. Finally she spoke up. “Get up nephew. You were a child and could not have known. Your actions were born out of grief. Perhaps if I didn’t suffer from an excess of British stoicism, we could have prevented, other mishaps,” she finished sardonically.
He rose to his full height, gently lifting the elderly wizard to her feet, then he gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek and murmured for her ears only, “Thank you.”
