Lord Claremont

By Philip Kirby

An Epic Tale Of Romance, Adventure, Intrigue And Deceit
Young and immensely wealthy, Jack Austin, Lord Claremont, shunned the glitz and glamour of London for the rich soil and fresh air of Sierra Leone on the West Coast of the Dark Continent. In his absence, forces moved in the background to steal his fortune, his title and his life.
From a casual sexual relationship with a native girl to a complicated romance with a second cousin, a jewel more precious than the Hope Diamond is coveted by both women. Jack's alfa male adventures create an action packed thriller ripe with espionage and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543924435

Philip Kirby

Philip Kirby earned his Masters in Education from Cedarville University. He lives in Ohio where he teaches science and enjoys spending time outdoors with his wife and children. He is especially talented at doing character voices when reading children's books. He is a self-proclaimed bacon connoisseur.

Book preview

The rain beat the roof as if it were trying to tear its way through. The noise inside the house was so deafening that if Jack could have heard the rolling thunder and the sharp cracks of lightening outside, his mind would have flashed back to childhood and his father’s words of warning of the inhospitable nature of the jungle.

Never leave the house unarmed, his father would growl, bar the door and windows at night and stay inside.

Even during the day Jack learned to always stay alert, listen for anything out of the ordinary, the snap of a twig, a rustle of foliage, watch for movement, stay focused to survive. None of that knowledge was going to mean much in this chaotic atmosphere.

The heavy leather boots, clod hoppers they called them, stomped on the wood floor of the great room and created such a racket that the curses and other violent language could not be heard above it.

Red faced, sweaty, young men, eight in total, played a game with no name. A game they had made up over the years combining soccer, rugby and Australian football to gain relieve from the loneliness of their isolated existence, the stress of farming life and the constant pursuit of diamonds.

The goal at one end was a large fireplace guarded by Fritz Kaiser, a short, fat man with receding blond hair and at the other goal was Jack Austin, Lord Claremont. In knee high boots, jodhpurs, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and at the ready, he stood in front of the open French doors. The scrum advanced toward Jack, they pushed and shoved each other, elbows to the ribs, suddenly Duncan MacGregor broke free and fired a shot on goal. Jack deftly moved to his left and snagged the ball in midair. Duncan, fists clenched at his side, head tilted back, roared in disappointment. Jack grinned and fired the ball straight back at him. The combatants moved to the center of the room, Duncan placed the ball in the center of the tight circle of men and the scrum began again. Angus Dawson, the oldest of the group at thirty two, grabbed the ball free after a fierce struggle and advanced on Fritz. Angus kicked a rifle shot so hard and fast that Fritz had no time to react as the ball zoomed past him into the fire place for a goal while producing a huge cloud of ash. Angus ripped off his shirt and ran around the room swinging it over his head. The losers, bent over, their hand on their knees trying to catch their breath laughed at Angus and congratulated the other members of his team.

Four men grabbed a large wooden table that had been placed against the wall for the game, moved it back to the center of the room while the rest set the chairs around it. With steins in hand, a large cask of beer was attacked with more good natured pushing and shoving. Sprawled in their seats, some still catching their breath, the kibitzing started.

Fritz, you’re the shits, said Thomas Bailey, a member of the losing team. This was followed by the beating of pewter mugs on the table.

Don’t be hard on Fritz, lads, said Angus, it was all do to my excellent athletic ability that did him in. Hoots and more mug banging ensued. Duncan MacGregor let out another roar.

Must be your second beer, MacGregor, said Thomas.

You’re taking the game mighty hard tonight, Duncan, said Angus.

It’s not the game, said Thomas, it’s the beer. Two beer MacGregor. Thomas started rhyming MacGregor with beer so it came out MacGregeer. Two beer MacGregeer, two beer MacGregeer.

MacGregor stood abruptly, drained his beer and slammed his mug on the table. To hell with you, Thomas Bailey, and your sing songs, and that goes for the rest of you as well. With that he stormed out of the room.

Come back, Duncan, the lads meant no harm, shouted Angus as the door was slammed shut with force.

The men all looked to Jack but all they received in reply was a shrug.

He’s still upset about his wife running off, said Fritz.

Not her leaving so much as running off with all those diamonds. And speaking of leaving, I’d better do the same before mine runs off, said Thomas.

Mary Bailey is the finest woman to ever walk this Earth, so behave yourself when you get home. You’ve got half a football team already, said Angus.

Aye, said Thomas, and fine strapping lads they’ll be some day. Well, good night gents.

With the exception of Jack and Angus, the rest of the men stood, said their good nights and filed out.

What’s the matter, asked Angus, you haven’t said much tonight?

I couldn’t get into the game tonight. I need a break from all of this. Jack swept his arm around the room.

How do you take a break from doing nothing? Both men laughed.

I need some action.

You can get plenty of that in Freetown, just don’t come back itching and scratching like Fritz does every couple of months.

Now I’ll hear the I need a wife lecture again. Jack stood and paced.

I’ve given up on that subject with you, said Angus standing, besides, who’d marry an ugly bastard like you anyway?

Jack wasn’t ugly at all, far from it, there just weren’t any eligible women around. Some of the men sent for their wives after scratching out a decent living, others advertised for a wife and their children were all too young. Older men left either by striking it rich or just quit trying and sold out. Jack pondered this along with Angus’ words as they passed through the foyer and out onto the veranda.

See you next week, said Angus over his shoulder as he went down the steps.

Jack leaned against a roof support and watched Angus trudge through the mud to retrieve his horse from the barn. The men waved goodbye, Jack watched his friend trot out of sight then took a seat on the veranda and propped his feet on the railing.

This is what it’s all about living here Jack thought. The rain had cooled the air and the sun was starting to set. Angus should be home safely before dark, it’s dangerous anytime riding alone without adding darkness in the mix. But the beauty and peacefulness is the trade off any time or any place. Any place, Jack wondered? Better than London? Yes, he’d made the right choice. Every fall his parents would ship him off to a private school on the outskirts of London and he’d count the days until he could return. His biggest loss was leaving his best buddy, Mooge, real name Mugambi, behind. For years his lament to his parents was, How come I have to go and Mooge doesn’t? Eventually he got the answer and the answer made no sense at all to the young Jack. Running around the palatial Claremont Manor was fun at first but nothing could beat the jungle. He and Mooge knew every square foot of it for miles; the best swimming holes, the best fishing spots and where the girls from the surrounding villages bathed. They knew the boys were watching and just laughed at their bashfulness. All the laughter did was to encourage the boys and soon Jack and Mooge joined them swimming in the cold river water then lying out on the huge, warm slabs of granite to shake the chills and chat the days away. His first kiss, his first erection, the younger girls giggled, the older ones smiled, later girls at the back door with swollen bellies or crying babies, some not as dark complected as would be normally expected, eliminating a large sector of the population as to who was the father. Emma would shoo them away as if they were annoying insects then not make eye contact with him for days. The English girls were different; pale, over dressed and either shy or aloof, Jack never did figure that out. From the girls point of view it was he that was different. From across the room he blended in with his peers in dress and demeanor, it was the way he moved, he moved like the athlete he was but there was a component of aggressiveness that the girls both feared and adored at the same time, only held back by their Victorian guidelines. A secret fan based existed among the school girls that gathered at the sporting events held on campus and their hearts would flutter watching Jack excel at every endeavor. He was physically more mature than the competition he faced and shirtless, the girls would swoon from the bleachers. It’s good he didn’t know. More big bellies and screaming babies would not have gone over quite as casually in Jolly ol’ England. Angus and I will go to London, he thought. That old tight fisted Scotsman will go nuts at the prices. We’ll stay at Claremont Manor and go to town in one of a choice of cars. A short stay right after the next harvest would be a perfect break for us both.

Something brought him back to the present. He heard nothing and saw no movement; his night vision had become very keen from simply needing to be. But there was something there. Caught in silhouette by the moonlight, she came panther like across the veranda with silent feet and swaying hips. She was close enough now for him to pick up her sent. The sense of smell has a long and powerful memory and a rush of emotion came from deep down and thoughts of the touch of warm flesh filled his mind.

Mistah Jack? she whispered.

Studies were the last thing on Charles Wilson’s mind as he stepped from class at Trinity College onto the cobblestone walkway that took him across the Great Court and out the gate. He had plotted for years and he was so close now the thought gave him a spring to his step as he inhaled the crisp fall air. His new red roadster was parked just up the block and it gave him the image and attention he craved. He’d have it all very soon now.

A familiar voice called to him from across the street. He waved and joined his fiancée on the side walk. Sara Austin, Lady Claremont, was the most beautiful woman Charles had ever known and he had met more than a few beautiful women but her being rich was too irresistible for him. He was very charming having honed his skills on a doting aunt; this conquest was much easier than could ever have been expected.

I took a chance that I might catch you coming from class, said Sara after a hug and brief kiss.

What a great surprise, I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow night, answered Charles.

I needed some things for our party tomorrow night. Aren’t you excited?

Yes, very. Charles put his arm around her and guided her back to the black chauffeur driven Rolls-Royce hoping his fellow students were dying of envy.

Just think, we announce our wedding tomorrow night and then we have six weeks before you return for your final semester.

I can’t wait to graduate and start our lives together.

Do you have plans? asked Sara, I thought we could have a bite to eat somewhere.

I’d love to, but I promised Auntie I’d come straight home after class.

How is your aunt feeling? Will she be able to come tomorrow night?

I’m afraid she’s still bedridden and won’t be able to make it.

That’s a shame. And she’s the only person from your side there is. I wish I could at least meet her.

There’s plenty of time for that. She prefers not to have visitors until she’s up and about.

Yes, I know, but still…anyway, do come early tomorrow night, I’ll be a nervous wreck waiting.

Sara waved from the back seat of the limousine as Charles watched the car pull away and thought he covered his bases fairly well. He had gone only a half a block when he spotted Kurt Oster, his German contact, parked behind his roadster and realized for the first time that a red sports car draws attention that might not always be wanted. He joined Oster in the coupe taking the passenger seat.

Any new developments? asked Oster, a thin, pinched faced man with a sour expression hidden behind a pulled down black fedora. If he was trying to hide, he failed because in Charles’ opinion he looked conspicuously ridiculous.

No. The engagement party is still scheduled for tomorrow night.

Good. Our payments to you are generous; do not give yourself away with foolish purchases.

You’re obviously referring to the car. I bought it to impress Lord Claremont.

He is not a stupid man. Take no chances. We expect results. I will not warn you again. These heavily accented words in their clipped manner brought Charles’ temper rapidly to the surface then as quickly reined in for the good of his own interests.

Relax, everything is going according to plan. Sara and I get married and you get your man in the House of Lords.

My superiors in the German Government need to know what the British Government is thinking and planning once you are accepted into the House of Lords, understood?

Of course, you needn’t keep reminding me. Charles resented this bossy little bastard, as he thought of him, but the time will come when he will no longer need these rude, up and coming Nazis.

Meet me at the Hog’s Breath Pub at noon the day after tomorrow, was the last Charles heard from Oster before slamming the car door.

Conversations with Oster always left Charles depressed so he was in a foul mood when he arrived home. His aunt had requested a meeting with him for that afternoon and the subject undoubtedly will be about money or the lack there of, to be precise. She had raised him on a small amount left by his parents after their sudden death and she had budgeted as best she could. Divulging his income to her would serve no purpose and its source deadly.

A plump young girl with a thick Irish accent and sporting a maid’s uniform greeted Charles with a cheery smile as she opened the door.

Your aunt is waiting for you, Sir, said Alice.

How about you, don’t you want to see me, too? He had put his hands around her waist then slid them down and held her firmly.

Alice pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him back. I want to see you alright, I’m pregnant.

Oh, God, no. You can’t be. Are you sure? Charles held her back and glanced down.at her waist.

I’m quite sure, and no I’m not showing yet.

Oh, God, no. I need a drink.

Stop saying, ‘oh, God, no’, it’s not the end of the world. You said you loved me. You do love me, don’t you?

Charles walked slowly into the parlor and sunk down in an overstuffed arm chair. He cradled his face in his hands and mumbled, Bring me a Scotch.

Alice stood with her hands on her hips and stared down at him.

You get nothing to drink until you’ve seen your aunt. Answer my question.

Charles’ head buzzed, he couldn’t focus as he looked up at Alice with a puzzled look on his face.

Do you love me? demanded Alice.

Yes, responded Charles which came out more of a mumble.

We will have to get married very soon, with a softer tone now.

A weak nod from Charles was all she got.

I can see we need to get this straightened out, but not now, you look dazed. We’ll talk after you’ve seen your aunt.

Charles slouched out of the room and went up the stairs to his aunt’s suite of rooms, one of which she used as an office.

Alice had her plans, also. When she left that hard scrabble village, she left for good. Too many kids in the tiny cottage and too little food pushed her out the door. She lied about her experience and forged her references but she got the job she sought. Miss Wilson was easy to work for and giving herself to Charles once in a while worked both ways. The worst thing that could happen would be to come away with a baby and nothing else. That sure as hell isn’t how this little fairy tale is going to end, she thought. That car of his didn’t come cheap and his aunt crying poor mouth all the time just doesn’t add up. The four of us will live just fine in this more than adequate home.

Charles knocked at his aunt’s door and was beckoned in. the office had always seemed to Charles as a grand pretense, what was it she thought she was managing?

Have a seat, Charles, said Auntie, pointing to a straight back chair in front of her desk. We need to have a little chat, are you all right? You look so pale.

End of term stress.

Yes, well, I hope you can handle a little more stress, as you call it. We’ve had this conversation before, but it won’t hurt to have it once again. She hadn’t bothered to sit when Charles did, preferring to pace back and forth behind her desk. The money bequeathed me from your parents’ estate is almost gone.

Don’t perceive me as being rude for interrupting, Auntie, but I’m well aware of my debt to you for raising me.

It was never a burden, Charles, because I love you dearly, it’s just that all these bills have me so concerned.

I’m working on something right now that should very shortly relieve you of those concerns.

That’s wonderful, Charles, I know you’re a good boy and will do the right thing.

Thank you for saying that, you won’t be disappointed. Will you be going down to dinner now?

No, I’ll finish up here and ring Alice to bring me something later.

Please tell her I won’t be down either, I’m worn out.

Depression had its grip on Charles now like never before. His mood swing from walking out of class till now could not have been greater. He’s a mean drunk yet it’s what he turns to in times like this and a bottle of Scotch immediately appeared in his hand. He took a swig from the bottle then found a glass and moved to and easy chair. He needed to fall asleep before the migraines came or get up when they did and blow his brains out.

Limousines pulled in front of the palatial manor, chandeliers ablaze, as footmen ushered guests through the massive front door. The foyer walls were covered with ancestral paintings and Greco Roman statues stood competing with the stiff appearance of the ruling class. Sara’s father, William Austin, Lord Claremont as most referred to him, greeted his guests upon their arrival as Sara, with Charles in tow, dressed in formal attire, flitted through the crowd also dressed in black tie and ball gowns. The invited were a mix bag of old friends, social climbers, business associates and general hangers-on but it was the ruggedly handsome Edward Foster that caught all the attention as he strode toward William. He was a cut above, a renowned adventurer and an accomplished African big game hunter.

Edward, I’m glad you could make it, said Sara’s father shaking his friend’s hand warmly.

It’s nice to be here again, Sir, after such a long time, replied Edward.

Did you recognize Sara?

Not at first. Your daughter certainly has blossomed into a beautiful woman. Her mother would have been very proud.

Thank you, said William just as Sara approached the two gentlemen.

Mr. Foster, it’s so nice to see you again, said Sara.

The pleasure is all mine, Sara, and it’s Edward now that you’re all grown up.

Allow me to introduce my, fiancé, Mr. Charles Wilson.

William remained stiff and unsmiling as the introduction was made and that bit of drama did not go unnoticed by Edward.

Dinner was announced and the guests moved into the banquet hall with its beautifully appointed table setting of candelabra and floral arrangements placed on an Irish linen cloth with crystal glass and sterling silverware. The table comfortably sat thirty and William stood at the head and when all were seated he raised his glass toward his daughter on his left, smiled and began -

May God be with you and bless you.

May you see your children’s children.

May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings.

May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.

The blessing received polite yet warm applause from the guests, all but one that is, Charles, who couldn’t hide his disdain for the man soon to be his father-in-law. The feeling was mutual as William strained not to glare back. The highlight to this otherwise miserable night for Charles was that he considered himself somewhat a gourmand and he knew that whatever was to be served that night it would be extravagant. He had a large frame and felt hungry most of the time. His aunt ate meagerly therefore he did, also. But on occasions like this he gorged. Although thin, he was flabby, no muscle tone at all. He looked good in his bespoken clothing, his tailor working the magic but his long, pale, non-callused hands told of what lay beneath the suit. He preferred to leave manual labor to Manuel and dodged all exertion of any type. Lifting a wine glass was more his style.

The first course was a choice of one or all of chicken liver pate with toast and grape chutney or moules mariner with lemon garlic and tarragon or bresaola of beef with marinated fennel and lemon dressing or goujons of plaice with tartar sauce or smoked salmon with egg parsley and capers. Turning down the choice of excellent French white wines for a Pinot Noir and getting a tight- jawed disdained response from the sommelier, Charles dined and imbibed oblivious to others.

Edward Foster was seated to William’s right with Sara on his left and Charles to Sara’s left so William, when he spoke to Sara, could observe Charles whether he wanted to or not so his choice was to turn to Edward.

How was your latest trip to Africa, Edward? asked William.

"One thing of interest did occur. On our return trip from Momaligi to Freetown, the sea was rougher than usual. Since we had a cargo of elephant tusks, quite heavy don’t