Fate

'December at Brampton is my favourite time of year,' Eduardo mused, as he strode along by the stables.

 The mares, 'Ginger' and 'Silky' whinnied contentedly beneath the dim light of the stable lantern.

Through slits in the stable door, Eduardo could see Silky's whitish, grey mane where it flowed along her sleek neck. Eduardo lingered for a while.

'Silky's time to be delivered is near,' Eduardo murmured.

He noticed her rounded, full belly. This would be her fifth foal. Silky's foals were much sought after.

Eduardo revelled in matters equine. He treasured too, advice from his faithful equerry, James. But James was advanced in years now, eighty on his next birthday and would soon be returning to his native Norfolk to live with his son's family.

Eduardo didn't want to dwell on these thorny problems right now.

He strode along by the yew trees. Yews had stood tall and green at Brampton for nigh on a hundred years.

 'How at home these yews must feel,' Eduardo muttered to himself.

Admiring the yews at Brampton always gave rise to some soul-searching on Eduardo's part.

 He had always felt the loss of a father. His late mother, Beatrice, had tried to fill in the blanks in his life as best she could. He knew Beatrice had fled Brampton as a young woman to 'see the world,' or at least that's what the grown-ups had told Eduardo. Local lore suggested Beatrice was a beautiful young woman, wooed by aristocratic suitors, the world over. However, she'd drawn a veil over her amorous adventures. She arrived home, in Brampton, one spring day, over fifty years ago with a male infant in her arms. Eduardo was that infant. Beatrice took the name of Eduardo's father to her early grave.

Grandma Anais, Beatrice's mother, being a practising Christian woman welcomed the baby to Brampton and raised him as her own.

Whisperings and mutterings about Eduardo's paternity ebbed and flowed. With the passage of time, the mutterings eased.

In the fullness of time, Eduardo quietly wed the love of his life, Caterina. Their only son, William, became a general in the army. William longed to return to Brampton so his son, Arthur, could manage the estate. Arthur loved the outdoor life. Bureaucracy hindered his plans. Without official papers, Brampton belonged to no one.

Eduardo had tried but failed repeatedly to establish succession rights.

When Caterina, succumbed to consumption in her fortieth year, Eduardo lived alone at Brampton.

He dulled the pain of loneliness, mostly with open-air activities, especially the annual winter hunt which lasted for several weeks, when conditions were favourable.

Already this December 1941, he had received several missives from friends and acquaintances hoping to join in the cross-country canter in late December or early January.

With war raging in Europe, Eduardo did not anticipate such a large turnout.

Earl Bonneville from Normandy always paid a visit with his extended family.

This year Eduardo noticed a letter with an Italian seal. On opening it, he discovered a certain Signor Pedro, would be in attendance.

Numerous other earls would be added to the list in due course.

Eduardo was a gracious host, who loved good company and fine wine, a trait, he was told, he shared with Beatrice.

January winds sent swirls of snow in all directions as Eduardo set off with his equerry to join the hunting party. 'Ginger' was eager for off. Baying hounds could be heard in the distance. Soon bright red jackets and black hats were assembling.

Noticing an elderly man, with a neatly trimmed goatee, sitting astride his grey mare, he heard the lilting Italian accent floating on the icy air.

'Perhaps this is our Italian guest,' Eduardo remarked to James.' It is fitting I should introduce myself and make his acquaintance before setting off.'

Knowing his master's penchant for protocol, James did not disagree.

As the riders made final preparations to gallop off at the firing of the gun, James brought his mare level with his Italian guest.

'Buon Giorno,' Eduardo began, as he extended his hand in greeting.

'Buon Giorno,' the man replied in return.

'We welcome you to Brampton.'

'Grazie, grazie,' he replied.

'You wish to join us at the end of the hunt for a whisky,' Eduardo asked.

'Si,..yes, yes' the man replied. 'I bring good tidings. My name is Pedro.'

Eduardo was puzzled. The pack were now on their way and Eduardo thought the man must have been mistaken, perhaps in his use of language.

A few hours later, the pack returned to Brampton for seasonal cheer of mince pies and mulled wine.

Pedro has his horse stabled quickly.

As the crowd mingled in the morning room, Pedro pushed his way through to find Eduardo.

'Eduardo, Eduardo, may I speak with you for a moment, por favor?'

The two men made their way to Eduardo's bureau, where a coal fire burned brightly. Eduardo reached for the two brandy glasses and poured two draughts of vintage liquor.

Pedro paced the marble floor nervously.

'Eduardo,' he began, I am an old man now, eighty -six years old and I do not wish to carry this secret to my grave,'

Eduardo felt a frisson of fear at what was about to be revealed. To him it seemed like a moment out of time, a moment told in a story.

Gripping his glass tighter, Eduardo watched and listened as the elderly man with the snow-white hair unburdened himself.

'I am Pedro. I was your mother Beatrice's lover, father of her only child, your father. I am your father, Eduardo.'

Tears began to flow from the old man's eyes.

Eduardo stared in disbelief, enquiring, 'How do I know you are telling the truth?'

This was not the first time in Eduardo's fifty-five years that old men had claimed to be his father.

Slipping a wrinkled tanned hand inside his riding jacket, Pedro took out an envelope, containing one document.

Opening the envelope, he took out the document, a copy of Eduardo's birth certificate with an official stamp.

'I have heard you are a man of honour and uprightness, just like your late beautiful mother, Beatrice. I knew idle words would mean nothing to you. So I brought official documents to prove my case.'

Eduardo stared at length, at the document.

'I have visited the neighbourhood many times during your growing up years. I never married. I didn't reveal my identity. England does not take kindly to bastards.'

Eduardo struggled with this new and seismic reality in his life.

'Call me Papa, please Eduardo, when you are ready. I long to hear my son call me Papa.'

'Not yet, Pedro,' Eduardo replied. 'That will take some time.'

'Perhaps we can get better acquainted while I sojourn at Brampton.'

The two men sat side by side in silence.

Hounds bayed and horses neighed outside in the wintry afternoon sunshine.

'What was my mother like, Pedro?' Eduardo asked.

'Beatrice was a beauty. When she found she was with child, she wanted to return to England and raise our child. I was disowned by my father, at the time. A child outside of wedlock was a scandal. I had no way of supporting her. Sometimes she sent me black and white photo of you.'

Eduardo began to sob, but he dried his tears, feeling ashamed.

'You can cry, Eduardo, it is better to cry.'

The two men walked briskly out of the study and towards the west wing.

Climbing two flights of stairs, they arrived at a large oak door. Eduardo opened the door saying, 'Pedro, this is your room while you are at Brampton. If your story is true then I can finally establish ownership of Brampton to pass on to my grandson, Arthur. First I must contact my London solicitor.'

Pedro's countenance visibly relaxed.

'Can we walk the fields at Brampton, at dawn tomorrow, so I can feel the presence of Beatrice's spirit?'

Eduardo was torn between pity for the old man and fear of being duped.

Acceding to the old man's simple request, he replied,' I shall meet you here at first light tomorrow and we can canter across by the river. Wrap up well as English winters are cold and damp.'

Eduardo slept feverishly, longing to believe the old man's tale.

At first light, Eduardo ascended the stairs to Pedro's room. Pedro was nowhere to be seen. Knocking loudly on the door there was no answer.

Eduardo turned the key. Walking in, he saw a sheaf of documents on the bedside table.

Pedro lay motionless in the bed.

A cry of fear escaped Eduardo's lips, 'Pedro is dead, Pedro is dead...,'.he muttered.

'No ...no...Papa is dead.'

Eduardo sobbed inconsolably.