Chapter 48
William
From the field of dead Yorkists, a hero stumbled towards me, his sword aloft. I squinted through my helmet, trying to get a clear view. I didn’t recognise the man. Who had they selected to do battle with de Valois?
“Hello, Dub-Dub,” the soldier said, ripping off his helmet.
“You have got to be kidding,” I said, removing mine too. “Horatio, what are you doing here?”
All the fun of the moment had instantly evaporated, replaced by the stink of mutual contempt. We circled each other, our swords raised.
“It was the only way I could get to speak with you.” He lifted his sword and drove it down towards me. I deflected it easily.
“And now I get to kill you. Did you think this through, Horatio?” I swung around, giving him the full weight of my sword against his—and his clattered to the ground. “Fighting Richard de Valois is meant to be an honour. How did you convince everyone to let you do it?”
“It turns out they all wanted to see me murdered as enthusiastically as you do,” he said, hand scrabbling for his hilt. “Bit crushing for the old ego, to be honest.”
“What do you want?” I drove my sword into the ground between his legs, inches from his cock. The crowd roared. He looked up at me, astonished.
“You know what I want.”
“I’m not selling the estate.” I pulled my sword free and walked away, giving him time to get to his feet. “Not to become a hotel, and especially not if it means you get your hands on the village.”
“My buyers have put their offer up again. You could walk away with at least fifty million in your pocket after you’ve paid all your father’s debts.”
“I’m not selling.”
“Don’t be stupid, Dub-Dub.”
I turned and ran towards him, sword aloft, and brought it down right above his head. Horatio barely had time to block it before I split his skull in two.
“Are you sure?” He twisted away from me.
“I’m sure.” We circled each other, swords at the ready.
“I had a reporter from The Bulletin come to speak to me the other day. He was asking some very interesting questions about you and Peter. What would all these people think if they found out you’d been lying to them?”
I swallowed—then gritted my teeth and adjusted my grip on my sword.
“You don’t get to threaten me, Horatio.”
He scowled and hunched his shoulders. “Not enough to convince you? Then what if I tell them all about Peter’s whoring instead.”
Rage erupted out of me like lava. I swung at Horatio’s feet, and he stumbled back onto the dirt. The crowd cheered.
“If you sell now, they never need to know. You can leave with your head still held relatively high.” He dug his heels into the ground and slid backwards across the grass like a crab.
“I will never sell.”
He tried to get to his feet, but I knocked him back on his arse with my foot. He hadn’t expected physical contact, and anger flared in his eyes.
“You will sell the estate, Dub-Dub. Buckford Hall is going to become a hotel. It’s what my father wants—and my father always gets what he wants in the end. You just have to decide how much humiliation you can withstand until he does.”
I swung my sword around, preparing to strike, but stopped as realisation dawned. I looked into my old school bully’s eyes, his face contorted with fury.
“How much humiliation have you had to withstand at the hands of your father, Horatio?” I asked.
A flash of recognition. For a second, the mask dropped. I’d seen him and he knew it. I thought I’d broken him. But his eyes narrowed, his teeth gritted, and he kicked his legs wildly, trying to knock me off my feet.
“At least my father’s alive!”
That was it. I’d had enough. I lifted my sword high above my head and brought it down heavily, sinking the blade into the space between Horatio’s torso and his arm.
Our battle had reached its climax, and the crowd roared their delight.
I put my foot against Horatio’s chest, extracted my sword, and pushed him back onto the dirt.
I stood over him, my shadow eclipsing his face.
“The greatest gift my father ever gave me was the knowledge he loved me unconditionally,” I said. “I hope you get to experience what that’s like some day. Before it’s too late.”
Then, to rapturous applause, I mounted Achilles and galloped across the field to where the audience had been watching. Petey was standing to the side, his camera on its tripod, trained on me. I beckoned him forward, certain in what I needed to do.
“People of Newton Bardon,” I said. “Friends.” I dismounted, and Petey stepped towards me. I put my arm around him. “I have something I need to say to you all.” The crowd hushed, and I swallowed down my jitters. “Petey and I aren’t actually engaged. We never have been.”
There was stony silence. I couldn’t read what it meant, but it scared me. So I explained about The Love Manor, the reasons for our deceit, and how the story had accidentally spread out into the real world.
“I never meant to lie to you all,” I said. “It was something that got out of control.”
“So you’re not getting married?” Mrs Craddoch called out across the crowd.
I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. We’re not.”
“Shame on you!” she shouted, and guilt pierced my heart, sharp as an assassin’s stiletto. I was never getting that red onion chutney recipe now. “I’ve already made my dress,” she said—and several people laughed.
“I’ve let you all believe a lie, and I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t lived up to the high standards I expect of myself, or that you should demand from me.”
“But you love him, right?” Gurpreet, the village chemist, called out.
“I do. Very much. That wasn’t a lie.”
“Then not to put too fine a point on it, William. Who gives a shit?”
Now everybody laughed.
Petey and I looked at each other. I was so confused.
“So you don’t mind?” I asked the crowd. A chorus of “no” came back.
I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. It was Andy. I spun around to find all the re-enactment crew standing behind me. Andy removed his helmet.
“Two weeks ago, William, you killed my ten-year-old son, Matthew, on the village green. It was the happiest day of his life and one of the proudest moments of mine. How many men can say that? All these people here, we know who you are. Inside.” He tapped his finger against his armoured chest. “And we all rate you, mate. You might have a fancy title and a big house, and eye-watering debt, and thighs my missus won’t shut up about, but you’re one of us.
Which is why we all gave that arsehole from the newspaper absolutely nothing when he came around last week and told us all you weren’t really engaged. ”
“You’re kidding? I’ve been sweating bullets about this for weeks.”
Andy shook his head. All the men and women in livery and armour behind him were doing the same. I looked around to see the entire crowd apparently in agreement.
“But I lied. Aren’t there any consequences?”
Andy crossed his arms. “Well, you know what we want. Sell us our homes and we’ll say no more about it. Deal?”
I glanced over my shoulder to where Horatio was sat slumped in Home Field, looking broken, defeated.
Then I looked at all the faces staring back at me—people who’d lived in these cottages for generations, who’d protected me from the press, who’d embraced Petey without question or hesitation, and who’d turned out for a mad weekend of chaos merely because I’d asked.
People who deserved to own their own homes.
“Deal,” I said, and stuck out my hand.
Andy shook it, his gauntleted grip firm, and the crowd erupted into applause.
I had no idea how I was going to replace the long-term income the estate would lose by agreeing to a fire sale of the cottages.
But if I didn’t manage to save the estate in the next hundred and thirty-three days, it wouldn’t matter—because I wouldn’t be in a position to live up to the promise I’d made.
“Well, that was easy.” Petey’s breath was warm against my ear. “Two problems crossed off the to-do list in one go.” He pointed a finger across the field to where his father was pushing his way through the crowds towards us with a face like thunder. “That one might be a bit harder.”
Great, yet another reason to feel terrible. Today was meant to be all about making Petey’s parents see how brilliant he was. What were they going to make of this ridiculous display?
“You go,” I said. “If you can find my mother, send her this way.” I sensed her witchy charms could be indispensable. She was always so good at wrangling men of a certain age.
“She’s out searching for Derek’s duck.”
“Christ. How stoned is she?”
“Lord Buckford, I’d like a word,” Sir Edward Topham called across the crowd.
“Go,” I said, pecking Petey on the cheek. He didn’t need to be asked twice. I raised a hand, acknowledging Sir Edward’s claim on my time.
“That’s it, Peter,” Sir Edward bellowed. “Run away from your responsibilities, like you always do.”
A moment later, red-faced and puffing with exertion, he stood in front of me.
“My lord.”
“Sir Edward.”
“On behalf of the whole family, please accept my sincere apologies for my son’s behaviour,” he said.
“Pardon?” He was lucky I’d left my sword on Home Field.
“What did he do to make you call it off?”
A general silence descended upon the immediate area. I suggested we walk towards the water’s edge, where we wouldn’t be overheard.
“I didn’t call it off, we were never engaged.”
“Yes, I heard you. Clearly a cock and bull story for the villagers. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? I know my son, and I know he’ll have done something to screw this up. He always does.”
Wow. “Nothing could be further from the truth, I assure you.” My sword hand was itching.
Something over my shoulder caught Edward’s eye.
“No, get away from there, you little oik!” he bellowed.
I swung around to see young Matthew, a few metres away, hand poised over the shiny navy blue paintwork of Sir Edward’s precious roadster.
“It’s not for touching with greasy little hands. Show some respect.”