An adult stories – The Squire of Pixham Estate by Egregious,Egregious The Squire of Pixham Estate and the reunion of two long-lost families.
Definition: Originally a squire served as a medieval knight’s attendant. As the title spread, the village publican was often called ‘squire’. Later, the owner of a manor house came to be known as “The Squire”. More recently, the term became used to describe country gentlemen.
Editor: Tod assisted me by checking spelling and grammar. All other errors are mine.
Disclaimer: All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 or older. Copyright and a work of fiction.
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Prologue:
In 1670 King Charles II of England, Scotland, and Ireland awarded the deceased Earl of Northumberland estates to his illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. England’s James II succeeded his brother Charles as King, in 1685. Royalist forces crushed a rebellion army led by Monmouth at the battle of Sedgemoor in 1685. General Charles Pickering commanded the 1st Duke of Grafton forces at the battle. Pickering was cited in dispatches to the King and was Knighted for services to the realm. Sir Charles was married to the Duke’s only daughter, Lady Priscilla. Like his brother, James II gave out lands to his favourite subjects, especially those who followed the Roman Catholic religion. So in 1686, James bequeathed the Duke of Monmouth estate to Sir Charles Pickering. However, the Countess of Northumberland and sole heiress successfully sued for her estates to be returned. Pickering was handsomely remunerated for his loss. Charles and his wife, Priscilla, purchased the forty-acre Pixham Estate containing a twelve-room manor house east of the township of Dorking, much closer to London. Unfortunately, King James II was deposed in 1688, angered by his Roman Catholic favouritism and for disregarding Parliament as the ruling power of England.
***
Some three hundred years later, on the other side of the globe, in the new colony of New South Wales, Australia. The crossing of the Blue Mountains (1815) stimulated an exodus of explorers, and soon to follow over the next decades were settlers claiming farmlands on the western slopes. In 1886 one such family was the Mackenzie clan, wife and two sons making their way over the still rough mountain pass on a bullock-drawn wagon. A month before, Stewart Mackenzie was allocated 500 acres of land by the Lands Department ten miles south of the recently named settlement of Parkes. Stewart was the son of an Estate manager and held the promise of replacing his father in time. However, Stewart wanted to be independent and become Laird of his own property, thus their trip to Australia.
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I am Henry Pickering, thirty-five, the tenth generation of the family and Squire of the Pixham Estate. I am sitting at the 300-year-old desk in the study room, preparing for the next morning’s court case at the Central Criminal Court or, as we call it, ‘The Old Bailey’.
There was a knock on the door, “come in,” I called out.
Oscar entered, holding an express parcel post.
“A package for you, Squire.”
“Thanks,” I replied, taking hold of the parcel.
Oscar was my chauffeur and sometimes butler. He and his wife, Mary, the house cook, lived on the Estate, along with my daughter, Jenny. Oh, I mustn’t forget our Groundskeeper, Ducan and his family.
My wife, Sibyl Bowles (her maiden name), is a barrister who lives in our Chelsea, London flat. She only visits the Estate on weekends. But not this last weekend, her excuse, a prior engagement with old school chums. Things between Sibyl and I had gone from bad to worse since Jenny, our daughter, and I moved back to the Estate.
I had been expecting this terrible news since the weekend. The package contained many photos and a USB drive. I was looking at the spread of photos of my wife and her lover (Sean Smith) in sexual congress while on a dirty weekend in the Canary Islands. I had become aware of the one-year affair six months ago as rumours filtered and then hired the services of Sam, a detective and business acquaintance of our law firm. But did I dare look at the video on the USB drive?
Sam said he couldn’t get into the room until they went to dinner. There was no sex that night – they were too tired, they claimed. However, the following morning they did, in Sam’s words, “rutting like animals.”
I found the morning scene. I assumed the camera was mounted in the smoke detector in the middle of the room from the view I got. Sibyl awoke, and after a brief look of confusion on her face, realised where she was. She ducked under the covers and appeared to take Smith in her mouth.
Before long, a grin showed on Smith’s face, and he started to egg her on, “suck that cock bitch.” Sibyl replied with a moan of encouragement and continued on her task.
Her moaning prompted Smith to offer more inducement, “Get it all down your gullet, bitch.” More moaning from Sibyl. Smith then pulls the cover off their naked bodies to view Sibyl’s work.
Sibyl carried on for the next five or so minutes. Her jaw must be getting tired by now. I was surprised at Smith’s staying ability. All the while, I could see Smith’s finger toying between her legs; Sibyl responded by stretching them further apart and constantly moving her bottom in an opposite rhythm to his fingers.
Suddenly Smith pulled her head off his dick, spun her around onto her hands and knees, then moved behind her. She lifted her ass and wiggled it wantonly. Crying out, “Put that dick in me, baby… I need your big cock in me now… hurry you bastard.”
Turned on by her words, Smith slapped her bottom with an open hand, which only caused Sibyl to moan louder. She really was a bitch in heat. Smith obeyed and, in one thrust, sank until their bodies met with a smack.
There was no romance here, strictly porn. Maybe because I knew the female star, I surprisingly didn’t get an immediate erection, only a bad taste in my mouth. It went just plain rooting for the next ten minutes. Twice I saw Sibyl quiver and assumed she had mild orgasms. I could see by Smith’s rhythm he was building up to a finale. Taking one hand from her hip, he grabs her hair, pulling her head back to its full extent, which produces loud snorting noises, like a mare being bred. It was finally over with Smith’s last thrust – he emptied his balls into Sibyl. Then he let go of her hips and hair. She dropped like a stone onto the bed, not moving. Smith fell beside her.
Dare I say it, Smith’s stamina was something to behold; no wonder he was known for his skill as a lover. But the thought remained – it was only two people mating. There was no sign of love or devotion, just animals, mating forced by nature. Nothing more!
I had seen enough. Now I could better understand why Sibyl and I didn’t have a connection. We were two very different people on separate planes of existence.
Ours was a rocky marriage from the start. Our legal team had just won a murder case. The Barrister, Sibyl and myself, articled clerks at the time, were celebrating well into the night after three long months of twelve-hour days of legal work. Unfortunately, Sibyl and I woke to find ourselves naked in a hotel bedroom with little memory of the previous night’s doings. As work colleagues, we were not that attracted to each other. Embarrassed, we quickly showered – separately, with a promise not to mention our night’s escapades never again, then departed to our respective abodes.
Not two months later, Sibyl approached me in Chambers and said, “I’m late.” Sure enough, Sibyl was pregnant. I did the right thing and offered marriage, realising it was the honourable thing to do if bringing a child into this world. To my relief, she said, “Yes.”
We had a small wedding on my father’s Estate. I had only one year of my articled clerkship and final University exams to become a Lawyer. So Sibyl became a mother and moved into my two-bedroom flat (I say my flat, but my father owned it) with our daughter. We settled in as a family, and Sibyl put her whole energies into being a mother and wife and raising our daughter, Jenny. When she reached the age of five, Jenny started school, and Sibyl continued her university studies now full-time to become a Lawyer, supported by me.
By now, I had a large clientele and was making good money, with the prospect of becoming a Barrister. Sibyl graduated two years later and found a position with an opposition legal Chambers. Before long, she was well on her way to becoming a force to be reckoned with in the London legal world.
Then suddenly, my father, James, died, some thirty-one years after my mother, Ruth, had died at my birth. They had married in their early thirties, and I was born when Ruth turned thirty-five. My father had a successful career as a stockbroker. When he turned fifty-two, he semi-retired and stood for election as the local member of Parliament for the Dorking electorate. He held the post for the last fifteen years and in opposition for the past five. All the while managing the Estate and associated farms. During his time as the Squire of the Estate, my Dad expanded its area by purchasing three surrounding farms, all commercially viable concerns. My father had many lady friends over the proceeding years but never found a worthy replacement for my mother.
Now I was the heir to the Pixham Estate and all the responsibilities that came with it. Ducan quickly slipped into the position of Estate manager and attended to the day-to-day running of the farms and Estate with an appropriate increase in remuneration.
In the meantime, Jenny and I moved to the Pixham Estate. As Jenny got older and more independent, she and her mother often came to verbal clashes, and I had to intervene frequently. So it didn’t surprise me when Jenny agreed to return to the Pixham Estate to live. It helped that we had horses to ride, her favourite pastime. She even put up with the early rising and long commute catching the 7.30 am train from Dorking to London, an hours ride each day. I had a permanent compartment booked on the carriage for Jenny and myself while she attended The Westminster school.
A year after my father’s death, I was approached and asked if I wished to stand for election as the Dorking local member of Parliament, but I declined. I had too much on my plate, having just become a Barrister at law at the ripe-old age of thirty-two.
Over the next four years, Sibyl and I had become more like brother and sister than husband and wife! While Sibyl preferred to remain in our London flat. I was unsure if Sibyl had discreet affairs, and her desire to stay in London implied that was the case.
Throughout my career as both a lawyer and now a Barrister, I have chosen to take on cases for the underdog, sometimes even petty criminals. The higher profile cases paid for the latter. Much to Sibyl’s vexation, who was always in the newspapers representing actors, singers and the like in high-profile cases, saying, “That’s where the money is.”
So it was inevitable Sibyl would find a full-time lover. By now, she was a very high-profile Barrister. But what galled me was that all she ever had to do was ask for a divorce, and we would have gone our separate ways. So divorce it was.
I decided to get a bit of my own back; the latest report on Smith detailed that while he is a highly paid, well-respected wildlife photographer always in demand, he is also a consummate seducer of married women, Sibyl being his latest. It appears he is well-endowed and an excellent lover. The report I had indicated MI5 had been keeping an eye on Smith for some time as a potential spy or security risk. Over the past five years, there have been four wives before Sibyl, one now divorced, and three are still married to unsuspecting husbands and are still having affairs with other men and the occasional dalliance with Sean when he’s back in England. I’m unsure how Sam got this report, and I wasn’t going to ask.
I decide to balance the scales and anonymously send emails with pictures to the gullible husbands regarding their wives’ affairs with Smith. Which quickly causes three more divorces.
Sibyl didn’t put up much of a defence as she had no claim on the Estate by a prior legal arrangement. I offered the Chelsea flat as a divorce settlement, which she accepted. The divorce will be final in twelve months. Jenny, now fifteen, elected to live with me on the Estate.
Upon returning from a three-month assignment in Iceland and hearing of the divorce, Smith drops Sibyl like a hot potato. The challenge is gone; time for a new female conquest. Smith, who had several irate husbands after him, left with his tail between his legs, sets sail for the Antarctic for a photo shoot for six months.
Sibyl called me devastated at Smith’s apparent rejection expecting me to commiserate with her! I nearly laughed down the phone and then realised we were definitely – like brother and sister. Smith’s rejection hit her vanity hard, and for the first time, she lost her next court case. But the bitch I knew returned quickly, and there was a flurry of wins over the next year.
My mature daughter visits her mother one weekend a month. Sunday evening over dinner, she told me, “Mother came in at 2 am Saturday, drunk as a skunk. She woke me up and proceeded to boast about her myriad of lovers and sexual liaisons. But, you know what, Dad, I think she is lonely, not that she would admit it.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I thought.
On Smith’s return from the Antarctic, he found his family home burnt to the ground. I read a small news item in the Times, ‘Police suspect arson, but have no leads yet.’ Smith stated, “he lost all his equipment and photos of the last ten years, all of which cannot be replaced.”
Still enamoured with Smith, Sibyl offered him a roof over his head and a place to sleep whenever he was in England.
However, Smith was beaten outside a well-known gentlemen’s club a month later. Another Times newspaper report, “Assault on well-known nature wildlife photographer, Sean Smith. Who was admitted to hospital for treatment of four broken fingers.” It would seem someone has declared war on Sean Smith!
Jenny had just got off the phone with her mother and reported, “Smith is recuperating at her mother’s flat. So I can’t stay there anymore.”
Looking at my daughter, I suggest, “How about we buy a two-bedroom flat as you will be off to University in a couple of years.”
The joyous look on my daughter’s face was all the encouragement needed, and I proposed, “How about I leave it your responsibility to find one.”
***
As my divorce proceeded, Susan, my paralegal, took maternity leave, and Elizabeth was allocated to me. She is a twenty-eight single mother of a six-year-old daughter (Rita). Her husband was killed five years ago on a UN peacekeeping mission in Bosnia. Elizabeth was a well-regarded paralegal before her marriage, and now her daughter is in school and has returned to the workforce.
Over the next year, a strong friendship between Elizabeth and myself emerged, and by the time my divorce was final, we had become an item, dating regularly.
In Elizabeth, I found a woman with much empathy and warmth I had never felt from Sibyl. Much to our relief Jenny and Rita get along surprisingly well, considering their age difference. Rita treats Jenny like a bigger, older sister. And they both love horse riding around the Estate.
After eighteen months, the romance between myself and Elizabeth had reached a point where I asked for her hand in marriage. I offered Elizabeth an engagement ring last worn by my great-great-grandmother, Matilda. She was the sixth generation of the family. The Ring contained a large central diamond and six smaller ones around it.
It is affectionately known as the Pixham Engagement Ring and dates back to the first Lady Pickering. Originally it only had the larger central diamond, and the smaller diamonds were added. Over the years, another diamond was added as the Ring was used. However, now there is no more room for another.
A month before our wedding, I took Elizabeth to *Royal & Sons Jewellers, where we chose our wedding rings, and Elizabeth’s engagement ring was professionally cleaned.
The wedding took place on the Pixham Estate, at the local Church of England chapel. Elizabeth’s parents attend, and her father gives her away again. Jenny was Elizabeth’s bridesmaid, and Rita was the flower girl. My best man was an old chum from my University days. The staff of Pixham Estate put on the reception. Cook did a splendid job.
The family honeymooned on the island of Jamaica for two weeks. We took along both our daughters, who had their suite with a connecting door.
Our first time together, Elizabeth insisted we wait – I was apprehensive. After, Elizabeth retired to the bathroom to freshen up. I stripped off my clothes and jumped into bed naked, waiting expectantly for her exit.
The door opened, and I saw a vision of beauty, but not quite what I expected. Instead of a tiny, short see-through teddy, Liz wore a modest, long, flowing salmon-coloured nightdress reaching her ankles; the stringed lace top enclosed her breasts to display their fullness. I felt myself becoming erect immediately and looking forward to exploring her body.
I threw back the bed covers, undercovering myself and inviting her to join me. She sauntered with a sexual sway of her hips. As she reached the bed with one swift motion, the gown dropped to the floor, and there stood a thing of beauty.
Liz told me, “Lay back down.” Then, picking up a small bottle, she rubbed scented oil into my chest, arms and legs; she paid particular attention to my rampant erection. Now she had finished, it was my turn to anoint her body.
I marvel at the firmness of her breasts, cupping my hands and working the oil into the soft skin. I tweaked the erect nipples, with my thumb and forefingers, with an extra drop of oil. Massaging her inner thighs, paying special attention to her clitoris, bringing it out of its hiding spot. Soon she was releasing copious amounts of her fragrance and nectar. Now I had Liz constantly moaning. I spread her legs further and brought my tongue into play. I was encouraged by her grabbing a handful of my hair and mushing my face into her vulva. I continued to massage her clit with my tongue until she climaxed, bringing her leg together and writhing out her orgasm.
She pulled me off her groin, drawing me toward her face; we kissed passionately for what felt like a full minute. Signalling her acceptance, she opened her legs wide, vocally urging me on, “I need you inside of me now…pleaseee.” I succumbed to her request and sank into her furnace to my fullest extent.
Knowing I wouldn’t last long, I bit my lip in an attempt to forestall my inevitable cumming. Small, “oh…oh…oh,” encouraged me to continue at full pace. Then I felt Liz starting to quiver, and she cried out, “Oh God,” and grasped me firmly. I proceeded to pump all I had into her channel, grunting as I did.
We lay quietly, heavily breathing, me on top, supported by my elbows, lightly kissing until Liz’s legs became uncomfortable, and I turned onto my side. Liz snuggled into my shoulder, her arm across my chest and my arm around her shoulders; we fell asleep for a time. Later needing a pee and cleaning up, we returned to our prior position and slept till the early morning Jamaica sun and tropical breeze woke us.
***
Only a month back from our honeymoon, Oscar had picked Rita and me up from the train station. We arrived home to be met at the door by an excited Elizabeth. She blurted out, ” I’m pregnant, darling!”
Dropping my briefcase, I took her in my arms, and we kissed. Then, we hear, “Ewe…enough of that,” said Rita, but both Jenny and Rita congratulated her and hugged.
I got an unexpected phone call from Sibyl in a tiz. “Henry, I got the most terrible news today…I’m pregnant! That blood Sean has knocked. Just like you did, you’re a pair of bastards.” I didn’t get a chance to reply; she hung up.
So at the age of thirty-eight, she has just found out she is pregnant.
Jenny asked, “What was that all about?”
“Your mother is pregnant.” She immediately calls her mother and commiserates.
Jenny tells me later, “Smith refuses to believe he is the child’s father and refutes all claims of parenthood. He has disappeared from public view and is uncontactable. You know mother is a Roman Catholic, so abortion is out of the question.”
She said, “I’ll have the bloody kid, but it won’t change my lifestyle.”
Sibyl, true to her word, continued working throughout her pregnancy. Only stopping to bear a son, naming him Connor Smith. Sibyl hires a nanny to tend to him.
A month later, our son was born, and we named him Richard. He will be the eleventh generation of the Pickering family and heir to the Pixham Estate. I celebrated with Duncan sharing cigars and Scotch.
No sooner do we get a new family member when we lose another? Jenny, now eighteen, has started University. Much to her mother’s disgust, she is studying to be a veterinarian.
My old paralegal came off maternity leave, so Elizabeth could retire and become a full-time mother to Richard. So while Rita and I continue to train, we travel for work and school.
Usually, it was Oscar who picked us up at the Dorking railway station. But Oscar had become unwell. Elizabeth met us one Wednesday evening. She disliked driving the old Jaguar Mark VII. The next day I went to the Jaguar dealership and purchased a
Jaguar SUV for Elizabeth’s personal use.
I phoned Elizabeth later that day to say, “Don’t pick us up at the station; we will find our way home.” She tried to question me, but I refused to say anything other than, “It’s a surprise.”
That evening, Rita and I drove into the Estate in the new Jag. To say she was amazed would be an understatement. She was happy with the Jag’s safety features and loved the alpine white paintwork and leather seats, especially the automatic transmission.
One weekend Jenny came by to ride her horse. At lunch, she said, having recently visited her mother, “Mum rarely sees or holds her son; he is an adorable baby. I don’t know what her problem is?”
I reply, “Just like Sibyl, the Barrister and socialite. But, in my opinion, she has low empathy. In fact…I think you got all she had.”
I noticed a story on page five of the Times newspaper. The report details the death of Sean Smith, a noted British wildlife photographer on assignment and touring the USA. After getting into a scuffle with another male, he was shoved off Mather Point, Grand Canyon lookout. The unidentified Caucasian male was arrested at the scene. Unconfirmed reports from bystanders told of rumours about Smith being caught in bed with another man’s wife the night before while staying at a Flagstaff, Arizona, motel.
Rita is now sixteen; we travel to London daily in our reserved compartment on the train, now accompanied by an eight-year-old Richard. We exit at St. James’s Park station; I walked the children to the Westminster school gate and then continued to the law office where I am now Head of Chambers.
After school, the children return to St. James’s Park station and take the train home to be picked up by Elizabeth in her Jag at Dorking train station. On their hour journey, they do their homework or not? I usually arrive two to three hours later to be picked up by Oscar, our chauffeur.
One evening in bed, I asked, “Why do you pick up the children from the railway instead of Oscar doing it?”
She replied, “Because the kids are so happy to see me and full of news from the day.”
Some evenings, I can travel home on the train with the children. During this particular trip, Richard was talking animatedly about another boy at school named Connor.
Dad, “He’s new to the school this year and is in my class. We have become good friends. I want to invite Connor over for a weekend?”
“Richard, I’m happy for him to visit, talk it over with your mother. She will make the necessary arrangements.”
A delegation of local businessmen arrived one Saturday afternoon, having made an appointment the previous week. The local member of Parliament is retiring, and the group asked me to stand at the next election, Father’s old constituency. After two hours of chatter, I told them I would discuss it with Elizabeth and get back to them in a week. Elizabeth and I went into the pros and cons, and I was surprised when she suggested I stand. So be it.
Friday evening at dinner, Elizabeth mentioned, “Richard’s friend Connor is coming tomorrow for the weekend; his mother will drop him off in the morning.”
A sleek BMW two-door coupe pulled into the driveway on Saturday morning around ten. Richard had been waiting at the front door for their arrival and rushed out to greet Connor.
You could have knocked me over with a feather when Sibyl exited the driver’s side. Elizabeth smirked at me as she made her way to greet Sibyl and insisted she stays for lunch.
When I entered, the ladies were chatting at the dining room table and suddenly stopped. I felt a cold atmosphere and decided lunch was not for me. So I asked, “Where are the boys?”
Elizabeth replied, “Cook made them a sandwich in the kitchen, and they left, off to adventure.”
I replied, “I think I’ll do the same,” and left. So ensuring I was busy doing the Estate accounts in my study for the rest of the day.
Connor started catching the train with Richard on Fridays and spent more and more weekends on the Estate. Richard insisted they share a room, and Connor had a collection of clothes, so he didn’t have to bring any.
When the summer holidays commence, Richard, with his mother’s consent, invites Connor for the duration at the Estate. Connor happily agrees as long as his mother will go along. Elizabeth phoned Sibyl for permission, only to be greeted with relief from Sibyl at not having to hire a babysitter for the holiday break.
Duncan rebuilt my old treehouse in the big oak, which had fallen into disrepair. I understood that the boys helped. While having afternoon tea on the terrace, we often heard the boys playing pirates in the distance. It brought back fond memories of my youth. However, I didn’t have a playmate and had to do with imaginary friends.
Three months before the next general election, I start campaigning in the electorate. It takes up a considerable amount of my time at public meetings, shopping centres and the like. I started missing my family time and made Sundays sacrosanct, only attending morning church. The rest of the day is politically free and devoted to family.
By some quirk of fate, the general election was a landslide for our party, and I now find myself a junior Parliament member.
Over the coming year, the two boys spend every weekend together adventuring on the Estate, even going as far as helping Ducan with farm work during summer holidays to earn pocket money. As a result, they are soon driving tractors, herding cattle and rounding up sheep.
Elizabeth first notices they have become brothers and act like fraternal twins doing everything together. Richard secretly tells his mother they are now blood brothers. It was only a matter of time before Richard asked if Connor could live on the Estate full-time. Connor, for his part, pestered his mother to move to the Pixham Estate to live with his blood brother, Richard.
We held a combined birthday party on the Estate, as Richard and Connor’s tenth birthdays were only weeks apart. Attractions were a jumping castle, a water slide and a small Ferris wheel. All their school chums are invited for a weekend stay at the Estate. While there, Sibyl and Elizabeth discuss the pros and cons of Connor moving full-time to the Estate manor house. During the conversation, it appeared that Sibyl was dating the Australian Ambassador to England, George Mackenzie. Connor moving to live at Estate would be very agreeable with her. So it is done, and on Sunday evening, after all the guests have left, Sibyl takes Connor aside and tells him the good news.
Not hesitating to take advantage of her good mood, Connor asks his mother, “If he can change his surname from Smith to Pickering?”
Sibyl’s good mood disappeared quickly, and she curtly replied, “Don’t push your luck, young man.”
Undaunted, Connor replies, “You know I dislike the name, SMITH.”
Much to my delight, Rita has decided to move into our flat with Jenny, starting her University education as a lawyer. She is happy to work for free in my chambers during the summer holidays to get experience.
One Sunday, I got an unexpected phone call from Jenny. I knew she had been dating a fellow named Rupert from University.
“Daddy, Rupert has asked for my hand in marriage, and I have said YES.”
“Congratulations Jenny; I would happily give you away to the man you choose.”
“Thanks, Dad; you do know he is the son of the Earl of Ipswich?”
“No, I didn’t; you are a lucky Lady. Will you still practise as a vet?” I asked.
“Definitely,” she replied, “The marriage is set for six months ahead in summer.”
I had to ask, “Have you advised your mother of events?”
“She was next on her list of calls.” Jenny’s last words, “There will be an official engagement party on the Earl’s Estate soon, and you and Elizabeth will be invited.”
I thought it didn’t hurt that now I had ‘MP’ after my name.
My career as a Barrister and a Member of Parliament kept me very busy. I tended to take legal cases in the Dorking area, which kept me in touch with local events. Elizabeth took to being an MP wife with relish and was on many committees in the area.
Elizabeth and I discussed my retiring from the London chambers and joining a small practice in Dorking as a Barrister. We put it on hold until the boys were off to University. Now only six years away.
I stopped to think how quickly the years had passed by. It seemed like only yesterday I was an article clerk, now head of Chambers. I was starting to feel old. The children were about to begin their working lives, and I was walking toward the end of mine.
Jenny’s and Rupert’s wedding went without a hitch, and Elizabeth and I spent a pleasant weekend as guests at the Earl’s Estate. Elizabeth and I gave the Bride and groom tickets for a two-week honeymoon on the Island of Jamaica. Which we both knew Jenny would enjoy, going back to after so many years.
Both boys are now twelve, with Connor now living full-time with our family making them virtually inseparable. Soon, they were playing soccer for the school team and represented the school at many away match competitions, winning their share of trophies to show for it.
Late one Saturday afternoon, there was a knock on the study door; I called out, “Come in.”
The door opened, and Connor entered. While still holding the doorknob, he said, “Sir, can I have a word?”
Moving the accounting papers to a slide, I said, “Certainly, Connor, have a seat.”
“Sir, I don’t have a Dad; sure, I gave a father but not a Dad. I have lived with your family for two years, and you’re much more than my host. You treat me like a son, dispensing advice when you see fit. With your permission, can I call you DAD?”
I thought momentarily, ‘What would Sibyl think if Connor did, she would probably blow her top and take him away; none of us wanted that’. So I replied, “How about you call me ‘Squire’?”
A smile appeared across his face, “Thank you, Squire.” Put out his hand, and we shook on it.
That night in bed, I told Elizabeth of Connor and my talk and its outcome. She agreed it was the best choice even though she felt he was like another son to us.”
It wasn’t long before Richard started calling me ‘Squire’ generally but ‘Dad’ when it was personal, and before long, so did Connor.
Sibyl is now officially engaged to Robert Mackenzie, the current Australian Ambassador to England.
Elizabeth invited them for dinner on Saturday night to celebrate their union.
Over dinner, Sibyl informs us they plan to marry in three months. Robert, now fifty-six, has only six more months in office. They have decided to move to Canberra, Australia, where he has a two-bedroom apartment.
She proudly told us, “Robert has wrangled a spot for me on the High Court of Australia for three years, with a possible extension for another three.”
I thought it would be “the crowning achievement of her career.”
After dinner, the ladies chatted. Robert and I retired to the study for a glass of Scotch. Robert informed me he had been a widower for some tens of years. He was never able to have children because of his childhood mumps. Robert’s family owns a large sheep and cropping farm near Parkes in New South Wales.
Robert and his older brother William are half-owners. William being the fourth generation, Mackenzie manages the property. Their grandfather had doubled their holdings in the good times. Unfortunately, William’s son and heir died in a farm accident on a Quad bike. Their daughter wants no part of the property, preferring to live in Sydney. Whereas William stayed on the farm, his brother Robert decided to become a solicitor and later a member of the Federal Parliament.
Sibyl and Robert plan to marry in Australia on their Mackenzie farm this summer, our winter. So the boys, now twelve, travel with us to Parkes, Australia, for a Christmas family holiday and a wedding. William and his wife welcome us to their family home. We are surprised by the summer heat but adjust quickly. Elizabeth notices the boys don’t mind the heat and have too much adventuring to do. The boys were taken with the outback, as they call it, especially after meeting the twin daughters of the adjacent farm.
Much to Sibyl’s dismay, she is surprised at how well Robert and I get along. We have a lot in common other than Sibyl. Both lawyers and now I’m a member of Parliament as well. Robert and Sibyl are married on New Year’s Eve, putting on a private fireworks display. The boys and twins disappear to the hayloft sometime during the display.
***
No sooner are we back at the Estate than another general election is on? Again, I spent time campaigning for my party over the following months. Again the political win and stay in Parliament. Now in my second term in Parliament, I’m offered the Lord Chancellor of England position. I would be responsible for the efficient functioning and independence of the United Kingdom’s court systems – a big job.
The boys keep in touch with the twins over the next year and a half via email and phone calls. They tell them they are welcome anytime. The twins promise they will come and visit. I suggest they come in the following English summer.
The following Australian winter school holidays, Robert and Sibyl, accompanied by the twins, travel to the Pixham Estate for two weeks of English summer. Again, the boys get to show them around. Robert takes the twins and boys for a tour all around the southern part of England. Then on a visit to the city of London, they all spent three days exploring the city – some of which the boys had never seen.
It was Sunday afternoon before their return to Australia; Robert and I were chatting in the study. Robert mentioned his four times great grandfather by the name of Stewart Mackenzie, who settled the farm in Parkes. He claimed he was the son of an Estate Gilly who worked in southern England, not far from London. Suddenly the name Mackenzie tweaked a distant memory. I got up and retrieved a dusty book from the bookshelves. It was a living book on the history of the Pixham Estate going back to its purchase in 1687.
Asking Robert, “In what year did your three-times great-grandfathers immigrate to Australia?” He thought for a moment and responded, “I think 1886.”
Scrolling back pages through the book, low and behold, there-it-was in black and white, written in the handwriting of the then-current Squire of Pixham Estate. “Stewart Mackenzie, an only son of Bruce Mackenzie, current Gilly, along with his family, left for the colony of Australia in 1863.”
We looked at each other in stark amazement at the turn of events that had brought us together on this day. I got up and poured a couple of glasses of Scotch, and we drank to the discovery of lost families. We announced our find at the dinner table that evening, much to the surprise of all – especially the boys.
We saw them off at Heathrow the following afternoon for their long flight home to Australia, the boys promising to come down under soon.
I haven’t forgotten Rita. Having passed her solicitors exams with distinction, she was now an integral part of my chambers. I had decided it was time to retire as Head of Chambers. My new political position was taking up much more of my time, especially now I hold the position of Lord Chancellor. And a possible conflict of interest, and I could not, in all honesty, do both to the best of my ability. Elizabeth and I had discussed the matter and decided to join a small consultancy practice in Dorking as its Barrister.
Both boys decided after working on the Pixham Estates farms and visiting the Mackenzie farm in Australia that they wanted to study Agriculture. Now they were about to begin 6th Form at The Westminster school they chose subjects to suit their choice of career. Halfway through their final year, the boys had enrolled at the University of Reading for a BSc in Agriculture. They include minors in business and accountancy. Thankfully Reading was only an hour away by car. And they would be able to visit us at the Estate on weekends.
Robert and Sibyl flew in with the twins, who were a year younger than the boys. All were staying the two weeks at the Estate. They came to attend Connor and Richard’s graduation from Westminster. The twins were the boys’ dates at the 6th form graduation ball. Afterwards, Robert and Sibyl spent much of their time in London. Now with their car licences, the boys used the old Jag. Elizabeth and I hardly ever saw them except for meals, as the boys kept the twins on a steady stream of outings.
The boys reciprocated and flew to Australia to attend the Twins’ graduation. They stayed for a week before returning to England to continue their studies. The twins had decided on a teaching career and chose a Bachelor of Education at the nearby Bathurst University.
Quietly Rita announced she was engaged to a fellow solicitor from opposing chambers. They met each other via various petty court cases as opposing counsel and fought like cats and dogs during a case at the Bar. However, they found love for each other outside their Chambers.
We had met Tim when Elizabeth and I had hosted a celebrity dinner in a top-class London restaurant for Rita turning twenty-one. She hadn’t gone into their history at the time.
“Dad, would it be inconvenient to have the wedding on Pixham Estate?” Rita requested. Who was I to disagree?
We gave them the flat as a wedding present. After all, they had been living together there for the past year anyway. All the Estate staff pitched in, and we had a memorable Autumn wedding on the Estate. Cook outdid herself and put on a great feast for the occasion. We combined with his parents for a Jamaica honeymoon. Knowing how much Rita enjoyed her first Jamaica visit.
Both Richard and Connor decide to celebrate a combined 21st birthday. They invited the Twins and their parents to fly over for the occasion. Robert and Sibyl arrived two weeks before the event to help with preparations.
Richard and Connor took me into their confidence and told me they would propose to the Twins after the 21st birthday celebrations. I asked them to visit me in Whitehall the following day. When they arrived, we visited Royal & Sons Jewellery makers. After an hour of dithering, I told them, “Put the rings on my account as our engagement present. However, the wedding rings are your responsibility.” The shopping was postponed until the next day when Elizabeth went to help them to make the correct choices. I wisely stayed out of it.
A week later, the Twins arrived, without their parents, in tow. A surprise visitor was Robert’s aged brother, William, who also attended by himself. Unfortunately, his wife had passed away the year before. All families were invited to stay at the Pixham Estate manor house. Elizabeth and Sibyl lash out in celebration of the event held in the Waldorf ballroom with some one hundred guests. Later that night, we assembled at the Pixham Estate in the drawing room for coffee at 1 am. Taking this opportunity to present Richard with a parchment declaring him the 47th junior Squire of the Pixham Estate.
With no heirs in sight and not to be outdone, William Mackenzie, the current fourth-generation Laird of property called ‘The Glen’ near Parkes, offered Connor the Deed to the family farm. However, if accepted, Robert and William requested Connor change his surname to Mackenzie so he would become the fifth generation of the farming family so the tradition could be carried on. Connor was ecstatic at the offer and happy to accept the name change. As he disliked the surname of Smith and was going to change it himself, now over twenty-one, his mother could not stop him.
Richard and Connor took the Twins for a moonlight walk into the Estates gardens. Then, separating and taking their chosen partner, they both propose. Sudden screams of joy erupted, and the Twins quickly returned, proudly displaying their engagement rings for all to see.
The Boys and the Twins want to get married immediately. But level heads prevailed. Parents insisted they all graduate first. Reluctantly, they agreed, so the wedding was put on hold for two years.
I was re-elected for a third term as a member for Dorking. Again I was offered the portfolio of Lord Chancellor, which kept me busy dealing with government issues. Elizabeth was also active, spending much of her time on various committees, which she didn’t seem to mind. Time moved by quickly, and before they knew it, the boys had graduated with Bsc in Agriculture. And the twins had also graduated with their education diplomas.
A combined graduation party and weddings were proposed. After many phone conversations, it was decided to hold Robert’s marriage first here in England at the Pixham Estate, with all family members in attendance. Then the following day, fly to Australia and have a repeat wedding with Connor and his intended, at The Glen. As there were two weddings, this would be a big event and a nightmare to organise. All the families decided to use the service of a wedding planner to orchestrate both events.
The wedding planner had organised all the air flights from Australia to England and back to Australia for the second wedding on Saturday, 26th of July, mid-winter. Richard’s wedding was set for Saturday the 19th of July in high summer. All the families were booked on a Qantas flight to depart from Sydney two days before the wedding.
The waiting was nearly over – both Richard and Connor had retired to bed for the early morning drive to Heathrow using two cars to pick up the Twins, their parents, the bridesmaids and William Mackenzie. Robert and Sibyl had flown in a week earlier to visit with friends in London. My ex-wife, ever the socialite.
Because of the household activity that day and evening, I had been up very late finishing Parliament paperwork, and just before retiring to bed, I turned on the television to catch the early 2 am morning news. The top story on CNN was the shooting down by a surface-to-air missile of a commercial airliner over Ukraine. It suddenly occurred to me that the Twins and their families were expected to arrive this morning at 6 am Heathrow on a Qantas flight from Sydney. God forbid if it was their plane!
I ran around the corridors calling out, “Wake up…wake up”, bringing the whole house storming into the study. Entering the room, Richard called out, “What the hell up, Dad? I only just got to sleep.” Connor soon followed by yawning, scratching his head. Elizabeth looked distinctly annoyed.
I just pointed to the CNN news channel and the story the commentators were discussing. They repeatedly reported “the shooting down of a commercial airliner QF17 over Ukraine.”
Gasps went up immediately, and everyone realised the significance of the story.
I asked Connor what the Qantas flight number was, and he quickly retrieved our copy of the tickets, and sure enough, it was QF17. The devastated look on Connor’s face said it all.
I couldn’t believe such an event could happen with modern communications. But here we are. I dropped into my chair, and Elizabeth sat on my lap, arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, with tears streaming down her face.
Richard went into the drawing room, turning on the TV to BBC World News. A moment later, Richard called out, “The BBC is reporting the plane shot down over Ukraine was the Malaysia Airlines MH17!”
No number of phone calls this Chancellor made could get any more news details.
By now, the whole house was awake, and Cook did her thing by making cups of tea for everyone. After that, we all sat silently, each with their thoughts, waiting for confirmation of flight number details.
By 3.30 am, CNN was now reporting the plane shot down was MH17. QF17 is expected to arrive on time at Heathrow at 6 am.
While we were all much relieved, our hearts went out to all the victims of MH17 and their soon-to-be grieving relatives.
I tap my cup with the spoon and suggest, “We take a minute of silence for the innocent passengers of MH17….”
As it was now nearly 4 am, returning to bed was useless. So I suggest we refresh ourselves, meet in the breakfast room in thirty minutes, and have a light breakfast before heading off to pick up our guests.
The topic of conversation over the day was the air disaster, our near miss and who the culprits were.
All the calamity didn’t stop the wedding planner from her task, and thankfully, Richard’s wedding went off without a hitch. Oscar chauffeured the Bride and her father to the church in a sparkling racing green Jaguar, Mark VII.
Conor stood as best man and the Bride’s sister’s bridesmaid. After the reception, this time, catered in a big marquee erected on the back lawn, overseen by Cook. Speeches were made, followed by laughter, dancing, and joy.
The happy couple spent the next couple of nights at the Waldorf Hotel. Returning to the Estate on Wednesday. Then, somewhat reluctantly, we caught our flights to Sydney. The small commuter flight to Parkes and drive to The Glen farm, left us arriving slightly worn out.
By Friday, we had gotten over our jet lag and were ready to celebrate Connor’s wedding on Saturday. A horse-drawn carriage delivered the Bride and father to the church. Richard was Connor’s best man and the Bride’s twin sister, now the matron of honour.
The reception took place in a wedding-reception centre, and went smoothly. The obligatory speeches, along with dancing well into the night. Both couples took an overnight stay in a local Parkes Hotel. The following day the entourage departed for a short flight to Sydney, then onto Hamilton Island in Whitsunday Islands off the Queensland coast for a two-week honeymoon.
***
Epilogue
Sibyl, Robert, Elizabeth and I, left the next day for Canberra and Roberts Unit in the city. We spent the next three days exploring Australia’s capital. Museums, Art Galleries. Robert and I wanted to visit the Military and Science museums. Then the girls stated they had some shopping to do. Being too early to pick up the ladies from their shopping, we stopped at the Tourist Information Centre and enjoyed good Australian coffee in their cafe.
The following day Robert drove us to Sydney, where we stayed overlooking Finger Wharf on Sydney Harbour and the many fine restaurants in the area. It was a pleasant walk via the Domain travelator through Hyde Park to the inner city of Sydney. Again we visited the highlights of the city for three days.
On the final day, while the ladies were shopping in David Jones department store, we sat sipping coffee in their cafeteria, waiting for their return.
Robert enquired, “Henry, how’s your law practice in Dorking going?”
I picked up on the tone of his enquiry and responded, “I have all but given up any law practice, as my Chancellor work is absorbing all my time. However, a young lawyer is in place to do the day-to-day lawyer stuff, and if he needs a barrister, he contacts Rita at her chambers. By the way, Rita was recently called to the Bar.”
Passing on his congratulations. Robert expresses his concern saying, “To be honest, Sibyl is missing her girlfriends and the high life of London. Her term is up in a month, and she wishes to return to England. She has a consulting position with her old chambers, so that I will be the odd man out! I’m wondering if I could take up your position in the Dorking law firm?”
“Robert, that would be a great relief to me, as John, the lawyer in place, is overloaded with work and recently complained about my absence. I’m sure he would be relieved. He has a young family and wants to make more time for them.”
Henry said,” How about you two live at the Estate for the time being, and Sibyl can travel by train to chambers, and you drive the short trip to the Dorking office?”
Robert sticks out his hand, and they shake it.
“Now, how do we make it look like it’s Sibyl’s idea?” States Henry.
The next day we met Connor, Richard and their wives at the domestic terminal returning from Queensland. They stayed with us in other rooms that night, and the following day, Connor and his spouse flew back to Parkes. We said goodbye to Robert and Sibyl, who were heading back to Canberra. Richard, his wife, Elizabeth, and I caught the bus to the International Terminal to leave later that day for England.
Back home, Richard immediately steps in and takes on the farm management under the careful eye of our estate manager Ducan -much to my relief. With Elizabeth’s local contacts, Richard’s wife quickly finds a teaching position at a local private primary school.
We are no sooner home when I get a call from Robert confirming their expected arrival in England within a month.
Rita, her husband, and their three-year-old son visit us at the Estate the following weekend. We congratulate her on becoming a Barrister. Of course, being Lord Chancellor, I already knew the offer would be made. It’s an active day with four families in attendance. John, my law partner and his family also attended for lunch. It’s the first time John and Rita have met face to face.
Later that afternoon, in the study with John, I asked, “John would you be happy to have the assistance of another lawyer? He’s from Australia?” Going to explain he’s my ex-wife’s husband!
John responded in the affirmative, saying “that any help would be better than none at this time.”
Another general election was coming up in two years, and I put in my notice to retire. Having completed five terms, three as Lord Chancellor.
Less than a month later, we picked up Sibyl and Robert at Heathrow and settled them in the manor. Robert settled into his position at the Dorking Lawyer office; I carry on my MP and constituent work. Sibyl is the happiest of all, getting paid for cushy consultancy work and able to go out with her girlfriends. Maybe a bit more than Robert would like.
Elizabeth is Elizabeth, and holds the families together. Elizabeth mentioned as we lay in bed, “It’s nice to see the manor house again in use, with three families living here. It makes dinner conversation much more robust. We need a baby to finish it off.” Hint…hint.
Eighteen months have gone by quickly, and it’s time for Richard to meet the Estates accountant. The three farms are run as a single company, which Richard must administer when he’s ready. Each farmer and family are paid company employees and get their monthly wages, sick leave and four-week holidays. They can resign with notice and move to another job like any ordinary employee.
As Squire, it’s my job to collect receipts and input all financial details into a computer program, then dump the accounting data onto a USB drive and take it to our company accountant. So today, Richard and I have a 9 am appointment at **Prescott & Wharton and Tom Bloss, who will process the accounts and then submit the returns to the tax office. Hopefully, we will have an excess.
Richard had great news at dinner that evening; somehow, both twins were pregnant simultaneously.
I’ll be sixty-six the following year and Robert sixty-eight. So to celebrate the beginning of our retirement years, we booked a surprise for Sibyl and Elizabeth – an around-the-world voyage on the Queen Victoria.
Bon Voyage.
THE END
*Royal & Sons from Don’t,…Don’t You Want Me.
**Tom Bloss of Prescott & Wharton from The Latigo and Alice, Tom & Mary.
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