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so he d been informed by Sir Edward, who d made a particular point of mentioning it. Yes, Dr.
Coppersmith was expected, the butler had been instructed to show him into the study should he turn up at
the door making his enquiries into the Patterson family history. Yes, Sir Edward would be down presently.
The butler left to fetch his master while Orlando scanned the study for possible clues.
I m not sure what you could expect to find, after all this time. Jonty contented himself with
admiring some fine hunting prints on the wall by the fireplace.
Something which rings a bell, I suppose. Any further answer was forestalled by the arrival of Sir
Edward himself, a well-built, avuncular gentleman, sandy hair running to grey but still with a hint of flame
to it. Sir Edward, thank you for seeing us. Orlando held out his hand to be shaken, as did Jonty.
My pleasure, Dr. Coppersmith. And this is& ah, could this be Dr. Stewart? Sir Edward beamed. I
read the Times, you know.
The articles about their sleuthing had proved useful on occasions but today they felt like a blessed
nuisance. I am, indeed. Although I d beg you not to think this is in connection with a professional matter.
We re not on a case at present. Well, we are, but this isn t it.
Orlando was pleased when Jonty shut up. It hardly presented the right image, his blethering on. Sir
Edward, I m making enquiries on a rather delicate matter. The grandmother of one of the scholars at
Cranmer College, Oxford might have been a Patterson but there seems to have been a rift between the lady
concerned and her father, who bore the family title. An irrevocable rift which led to their continued
estrangement. She died recently and it s fallen to me to try and establish her true provenance. We know her
father was titled, and that she left his house in disgrace.
Sir Edward nodded. When would this have been?
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Lessons in Trust
She would have been born around 1830 and was, if you ll excuse my bluntness, disowned some
seventeen or eighteen years later. Orlando left the rest unsaid. It would be fairly obvious to anyone with
the power of reasoning to work out why she d been thrown out.
I may be mistaken, but I think you re looking in the wrong place. Come and see this. Sir Edward
led them to a desk in a corner of the room, where a large leather-bound book, lovingly preserved, took
pride of place. The family Bible, as you ll have guessed. All the generations of our family, and its closest
branches, can be found here. He carefully opened the cover to reveal on the frontispiece a beautifully
worked family tree, different handwriting down the generations recording the births and deaths, names and
dates inscribed with care down the page and onto the back of the cover itself. We can look together, make
a double and triple check, but I believe there are no female births within five or so years of the right time.
There weren t. The nearest was 1825, an Emma Patterson, although her subsequent history was full
marriage, births and death all laid out in lines, numbers and letters. And no signs of erasures or
amendments to hide a poor girl who d been obliterated from memory.
I m sorry you ve had a wild goose chase. Sir Edward seemed genuinely apologetic.
The silent arrival of the butler with coffee and biscuits did little to lighten Orlando s disappointment.
I appreciate your help. At least we can eliminate this line of enquiry.
Sir Edward closed the Bible. This lady might still have been Patterson, another branch of our family,
although her father s title would go by the board then. What name did she actually use, may I ask?
Orlando stared into his cup, steadying shaking hands. Coppersmith. He could hardly say the word.
Ah. Sir Edward spoke kindly. Take a seat, please, gentlemen. And, if it wouldn t be an intrusion,
I d be honoured to hear your story.
Orlando looked down into the little river, the one which ran through the Patterson estate and emerged
the other side sparkling with life, running and tinkling between stones and under the bridge. An idyllic
sight, or it would have been if his heart had been up to appreciating it. Jonty s hands were just within the
periphery of his gaze strong, reliable hands, indicative of a strong reliable personality. No matter what the
rest of the world seemed to do, Jonty Stewart wouldn t let you down.
Penny for those thoughts of yours? It was a strong, steady voice, too.
I was just thinking that I m glad you came along with me. If not, I might have been tempted to jump
in here. The river looked enticing, the seductive coolness of the water on a day which was becoming
increasingly sultry and sticky. Such a disappointment.
I know. Jonty briefly laid his hand on his lover s arm. Still, he was a true gentleman about it. He
didn t throw us off his property because we d come along casting aspersions about the reputation of his
family.
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Charlie Cochrane
It would have been an honour to be related to him. Orlando considered thumping the stone parapet
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