Worlds Apart: Men of Our Times, #2

By James Farner

"They were no longer worlds apart. They shared the same world."

Fawcett Manor explodes into nothingness as John Williams puts the finishing touches on the expansion of the Imperial Longford shipyard.

But little does he know this seemingly innocuous act would open up lawsuits, an attempted takeover of his shipyard, and a man who wants to murder him.

John struggles to cope as Sir Albert Blackwood turns against him and he grows further and further away from the people who made him who he is. With his blooming romance with Lady Adelaide, the daughter of the Duke of Cramlington, he has a path to choose.

Is it love or will he have to trade everything to make it to the top?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Farner
• Release date: Jul 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386068228

Book preview

Chapter One

The former home of some earl or another stood in ruins. The cavernous halls lay empty, with only the memories of the long forgotten balls and parties swirling in the dust. John Williams had never visited this house, nor would he. Fawcett Manor, named after its master, had died with the last male heir to the family fortune; apparently killed in a riding accident fifty years before.

John adjusted his pearl cufflinks on the hill overlooking Fawcett Manor, some distance away. Bernard Morgan, a squat man crowned with a bald head and a few scraggly hairs on the side, checked his silver pocket watch.

How much time? asked John.

The top of the hour. Bernard swung the watch smartly back into his pocket. Another five minutes before it’s meant to happen.

John nodded. Fawcett Manor rested closer to the Imperial Longford Shipyard, which John now owned, than most people remembered. The thriving shipyard had expanded under the previous owners. With no aristocrat to get in the yard’s way, the business had spread like a grey disease.

Are you absolutely sure this is the right decision? Bernard turned to him. You know that this land is protected by the National Trust. These homes are supposed to be preserved.

Aye, that they are. But trusts don’t have any pull in this country and you know it.

Bernard bowed his head in acknowledgement. They don’t have any pull, as you put it, but the trust has a lot of wealthy backers. We have to be careful or we could find ourselves in deep trouble.

John clenched his jaw. And what trouble could that be?

They had discussed the plan for weeks and Bernard had constantly objected, even if he understood the business methodology behind it. After all, Imperial Longford had to expand and only the limestone cliffs of Motbridge stood on the other side. They had nowhere to go.

They might try to take legal action against the company, Bernard explained. We have the money to fight them, but if this goes to court you could be outed as one of the owners of this company. You already told us that you wanted to remain anonymous.

John sighed. It was true that Silver Empire Investments was a body setup by the three of them to hide John’s ownership of the company. Bernard and Graham had no problems being public owners, but John expected it would only cause him more hassle if everyone knew he owned a shipyard. He had too many friends in Motbridge and he didn’t want his good fortune to change anything.

Aye, well, it’s a risk we’ll have to take. One day someone will have to find out. I’d just rather keep it quiet for a bit longer.

Bernard nodded. He understood the reasons behind it. Bernard had never been poor, but he sympathised with the downtrodden. He still supported the labour movement, even though he had money. A rarity in the Britain of 1904.

Check your watch again. It’s bloody freezing up here.

Bernard moved his hand towards his pocket again when an enormous blast almost knocked them both off their feet. John’s ears rang and he could hear the pulse pounding against his eardrums, like the beginning of the drums of war. John gazed out at Fawcett Manor to find a sky filled with dust. Only a single outer wall managed to stand against the explosion that had ripped the manor to pieces.

My word. Bernard wiped his hand across his forehead. That rather took me by surprise. How much dynamite did you use?

Too much, John said quickly. That would have woke up a few too many people this early.

John watched the crows circling in the sky, cawing at their rude awakening.  The smoke and dust had already begun to settle in the distance, clearing away like the end of an early morning fog. He took a step towards the house when Bernard tapped him on the shoulder.

You sure this is the right time to be going down there?

Aye. Got to make sure the lad’s alright. It’s a fair job going in those tunnels and setting the charges. He wouldn’t have had a right lot of time to get out of there when he set off the blast.

What I mean is if people want to investigate they’re going to ask questions if they see you.

John’s brow furrowed. I’ll be alright. But thanks for the concern. He paused. Tell you what, Bernard, you get back to the yard and make sure everyone’s still in line and I’ll be back a bit later. Got to buy the lad a drink.

Bernard could only shrug as John began to walk down the hill and across the dead fields. Farmers hadn’t tilled this land for many years, leaving the ground rock solid and overgrown with weeds. The dandelions hadn’t yet come out, leaving nothing but a dull green colour. John’s boots stamped them into the dried mud as he entered a small copse of trees.

John emerged from the other side and saw the entrance to the tunnel of the old mine. A mine had existed here for hundreds of years. The coal seams had gone dry many years before, but nobody had bothered to seal the tunnel. Even now the slick tracks for the carts reflected the glare of the cloudy day.

Bob? John called out. You alright, lad?

A young man who couldn’t have been more than seventeen emerged from the mine covered in mud. His face was lined with dirty streaks. But his chocolate brown eyes pierced his, like he had just seen something terrible in those tunnels.

John smiled at the young man. No problems? It came down like a wedding cake.

Bob Willow bowed his head and finally smiled, acknowledging the compliment from his mentor. Ta. Was easy enough. Didn’t have to go too far in. We marked it out right yesterday.

John clapped the dirty man on the shoulder. You’ve done a good job. I’ll get Bernard to send you the money. Just make sure you get to the post before anyone else does. Wouldn’t want them to see what’s inside. John winked.

John hadn’t discussed with Bob what he would get for doing the job. The lad didn’t have room to bargain because John was the only person who would give him any work. No other boss would let someone with a criminal record anywhere near their business. John was different. He believed in second chances, especially given how young Bob was. Absolute poverty had given Bob a bad start in life.

Ta, John. What do you want us to do now, eh?

John looked past him into the beckoning darkness of the mine. They had both come here yesterday to mark out the exact place they would trigger the explosion. He questioned whether they should remove any traces of their presence.

Nobody’s going to know who done it. They’ll never find out, said Bob.

Aye. Aye you’re right. Not like we’ve got our names on the tools here. Would save us a job. Won’t be long before someone comes sticking their noses round here. He cleared his throat. You get off then. I’ll see you down the pub.

Yes, John.

Bob scurried away, no doubt happy to leave his project behind. John, on the other hand, took a little step into the mine and saw where the roof of the tunnel had collapsed. One wrong move and Bob could have killed himself. He admired the bravery of someone so young, knowing he would have never wanted to do it himself.

Still, as long as Fawcett Manor lay in ruins, it didn’t really matter what the means were.

Chapter Two

Imperial Longford had a high office building, where the board could overlook the work far below them. Up here, the hundreds of workers hammering away on yet another ship for the Royal Navy looked like ants. The new destroyer had already begun to take shape, its great steel skeleton alluding to the terrifying weapon of war it would eventually become after a few more rivets.

John stood at the window watching. He held a glass of brandy in one hand, his hand cupped underneath the bowl. He reflected on how far he had come. Once upon a time he had worked down there with the rest of them, in a land of sweat and grease. Now he towered above them, well beyond their reach and their comprehension.

Mr. Williams, you have someone to see you, said his red-haired secretary Miss Cox.

Enough, said a booming voice. I will not wait a moment longer for the high and mighty John Williams to give me an audience. Sir Albert Blackwood bustled past a bewildered Miss Cox and removed his top hat.

Sir Albert glared and tilted his nose at John. His deep wrinkles added a depth to his look that gave him the ultimate deadpan face. Only today, John could tell that he wasn’t here on a social call. Albert hadn’t seen John since they parted in acrimony at Blackwood Manor months ago.

John nodded at Miss Cox to let it go and she closed the door behind her.

Sir Albert threw his top hat and long coat on the coat rack next to the door.

He switched on the upper class manner of speaking he had learned from his deceased father. So, this is an unexpected pleasure, Sir Albert. Would you care for a brandy?

Sir Albert put his hand out. No. I would not. I came here to talk business not to discuss the comings and goings of the world. To tell you the truth, John, I was rather hoping we would not encounter each other for some time.

And yet here we are.

The cold stare of Sir Albert made John stiffen up. Sir Albert really did have business to talk to him about. He had never been a humorous man, but he usually possessed a level of wit and sarcasm that made for a terrific bout of verbal sparring.

Sir Albert took a turn around John’s office. The polished oak floor and pristine desk shone against the white blaze of the electric light above their heads. The office had an abundance of gold or silver trim, a testament to how far John had come.

You seem to be taking an interest in my office, said John.

It is a rather nice office. I rather expected it to be mine at one time.

John couldn’t respond to that, not without being crass.

And perhaps one day it will be. Do bear in mind that I still own a significant portion of this company, even if it is neither a controlling share nor enough to appoint the board members I would like. Still, there is always time.

John cocked an eyebrow. As long as Silver Empire Investments existed, Sir Albert would never gain a controlling share in Imperial Longford. The trust was set up to lock him out and John and his partners had used it to take control of Imperial Longford.

What business do you have with me, Sir Albert?

Sir Albert sniffed. Fawcett Manor.

John maintained a steady look.

Know of it? Sir Albert smirked.

Yes, I did hear that someone demolished the house yesterday. You can hardly miss it from my window.

Ah, yes, and Imperial Longford owns the land the house is built on. I believe that it was you who purchased that land.

John already knew where Sir Albert wanted to go with this. He sipped at his brandy with the intention of letting him finish his speech.

And that land is a prime piece of land to own. It adjoins perfectly with the yard and for all practical purposes, would allow the yard to expand in the only direction it can. Only Fawcett Manor is, or was, a protected building. Meaning that it was impossible to demolish it, except under certain circumstances; none of which were met, I believe. Imperial Longford stands to make a lot of money from this, does it not?

You should know. You’ve got enough shares in the company.

Sir Albert laughed at that. Oh yes. I am sure the board will be paying quite a dividend this year. But you know perfectly well that this is about more than money. This is about the deception you committed against me. You promised to support my bid to take a controlling share in this company and you betrayed me.

I like to call it good business.

I did teach you very well.

So, Fawcett Manor? John took another sip of brandy and leaned on his desk. You were talking about why this is a problem.

You blew it up with dynamite, did you not?

John nodded.

I thought so. You should know the police have already commenced investigating the incident and some members of the National Trust are furious. They are rich people and you should think twice about tangling with them.

It’ll blow over. Eugene will be quite happy, I’m sure. It’s not too far from his colliery.

Sir Albert sent him a knowing look. Eugene Turnberry owned the Salters Colliery and considered them both friends. John had also managed to obtain a small share of his colliery by stopping a strike the previous year when Eugene needed it most. This time he had offered him the mining rights to the land, if Eugene didn’t make a fuss about blowing up Fawcett Manor.

You have thought this through. However, it will be interesting to see if you can weather the storm. If you fail to, I will be waiting to snap up this company for a fraction of its value. Mark my words. My stockbroker already has the order to buy whenever shares become available.

The two men locked their gazes, both knowing that they would soon be battling each other again.

Are you a member of the National Trust, Sir Albert?

Sir Albert had already begun throwing his coat back over his bony shoulders.

Naturally, any respectable member of the community always believes in preserving the history of our country, particularly when industrialists like yourself want to wipe it all away in the pursuit of money.

John roared with laughter at that. Sir Albert also cast a half friendly smile back at John as he departed. The duplicity of Sir Albert amazed him sometimes.

Miss Cox crept back through the door. Mr. Williams, I’m sorry I let him in. I didn’t expect him to come through the door like that.

John dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. Don’t you worry about it. Sir Albert Blackwood is a character. If he comes back, make sure you let him in. He’s always an interesting man.

Yes, Mr. Williams. Is there anything else you need?

Aye, there is. I’d like you to send a message to Eugene Turnberry at the Salters Colliery. Just tell him that Sir Albert Blackwood is on the warpath. Nothing else.

Chapter Three

The carriage rumbled around the corner, almost throwing John against the door. He tapped on the front window for the driver to take better care on the road. John missed using Sir Albert’s driver to take him to Cramlington House. That driver knew how to handle the rough roads without his passengers realising a thing. His new driver, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care.

They reached the crest of the hill and John sighed as he thought about Adelaide, the daughter of the Duke of Cramlington. He loved her and she loved him, yet they could never say it in the presence of others. She had the blue blood of an aristocrat running through her veins and John had come from the rough part of Motbridge. Nobody would accept it, no matter how much her father liked him.

Cramlington House acted as the focal point of a vast estate stretching from horizon to horizon. Every window of Cramlington House looked upon the lands of the Duke. The forest green hedgerows neatly divided the lush green fields. It was too early for the flowers to come out, leaving the land sadly without colour. For John, though, Addy was the only colour he needed.

Would you like me to wait or will you be staying the night? asked his driver Sam Philips from the front.

Wait. I don’t think I’ll have the chance to spend the night.

They pushed through the wrought iron gates of the main road going up to the main house. The Georgian mansion would rival any royal palace in size. John knew he had never managed to see every part of Cramlington House. Long columns held up a front arch above the main double doors. Unlike most country homes, they were no façade.

One of the Duke’s staff pulled open the carriage door and John stepped down onto the gravelled entrance way. His feet made a clattering sound as he kicked the little stones out of the way. These days he had become a regular visitor at Cramlington House, although the staff still watched him and he knew they gossiped when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

John didn’t knock on the main doors. He simply moved around to the other side of the house towards the stables. A couple of horses were already outside. A smile broke its way through his normal countenance. Addy had a passion for riding like nobody he had ever met.

He approached the stable and knocked on the wooden door. The