lessened the shock. I confess, I never expected this day to arrive.’
Clearly shaken, Lord Armstrong took another draught of brandy before picking up the business card which the butler had delivered. ‘Christopher. So those worthy people retained the name. It was my father’s, God rest him.’ He stared down at the business card again. ‘“Land Surveyor, Mineral and Ore Specialist”,’ he read. ‘You followed Fordyce’s vocation. I trust he is well?’
‘Not particularly. He died two weeks ago.’
‘Ah. My sincere condolences.’ Lord Armstrong mopped his brow. ‘And Mrs Fordyce?’
‘Passed away twelve years ago.’
‘I am sorry to hear that. They were good people. Your business, sir, does it prosper?’
‘I did not come here to exchange pleasantries, but instead to demand some answers from you.’
Lord Armstrong’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Demand?’
‘You heard me correctly,’ Christopher said, pleased to note that his steady and calm tone did not betray his emotions. ‘For a start, will you confirm that you recognise this document? Is it written in your own hand?’
Christopher pushed the thick parchment across the blotter. The aristocrat’s face tightened momentarily before, with an almost imperceptible exhalation of breath, he snatched it up, tugging at the knot on the faded red ribbon which bound it. Lord Armstrong perused the document, his mouth set, his pale complexion turning slowly ashen. When he finally replaced it on the desk, his hands were shaking.
‘There seems little point in indulging in obfuscation. I did indeed write it, under instruction from a trusted legal adviser, now long dead. May I ask how long you have been aware of its existence?’
‘I found it in my—among Mr Fordyce’s private papers while going through his personal effects after the funeral.’
Lord Armstrong imbibed another snifter of brandy. ‘You must excuse me. It has been so long, nearly thirty years. A lifetime ago. But those eyes.’ His smile was grisly. ‘I am afraid there is no denying the provenance of your eyes.’
Revolted, Christopher would have given anything to be able to contradict him but it was inescapably true that his own distinctive blue-grey eyes were an exact match with his lordship’s. That was one unspoken question answered. He forced himself to raise the next sensitive topic. ‘No mention is made in that document of my...’ He cleared his throat. ‘My mother.’
‘No, for one very pertinent reason.’ Lord Armstrong mopped his face again. ‘She died giving birth to you,’ he said heavily. ‘A rather tragic complication.’
‘Tragic for her, and an added complication for you, since it left you saddled with me,’ Christopher said bitterly. ‘Which must have been most inconvenient.’
‘Inconvenient for your mother’s parents, had she lived, since they would have been saddled with you, to use your own terminology.’ His lordship frowned. ‘There was no question of her keeping you, even if she had wanted to—though I can’t imagine why she would have willingly destroyed her marriage prospects. She’d have had no future worthy of the name. However,’ he continued brusquely, ‘it is a moot point—it simply wasn’t an option. You couldn’t have imagined that—no, no, stupid question, of course not, it’s a preposterous notion.’
The truth was that Christopher had indeed clung to that erroneous assumption. Confirmation that he had been summarily rejected by both his parents was a body blow. This man—yes, he had no difficulty in understanding his instinctive rejection, but his mother—had she lived, would she really have been so compliant? Every feeling rebelled. If he had a child, he’d have moved heaven and earth to keep it.
Lord Armstrong however, took his silence for tacit acceptance. ‘So, as you’ll have surmised, there were plans in place long before your birth for your—for your...’
‘Disposal is the word you’re fumbling for,’ Christopher interjected icily. Though he knew in his heart the answer to the next question, he steeled himself to ask it. ‘You did not offer to do the honourable thing and marry her then?’
Lord Armstrong’s look of astonishment was answer enough. To betrayal and rejection he must now add the shame of his bastard blood. ‘You need not answer that,’ Christopher said.
But Lord Armstrong igrnored him. ‘You wish to know the circumstances?’ he asked haughtily. ‘Why not, it is a common enough tale, I fear. I was very young, and barely had my foot on the bottom rung of the ladder at the Foreign Office. Your mother was no servant girl. If she had been, her condition would have been of much less consequence, but even as a callow youth, my tastes were refined. She was well born, and a great beauty.’
‘And no doubt an innocent, until you got your grubby hands on her.’
His lordship permitted himself a slightly lascivious smile, which Christopher found utterly repellent. ‘A catch, no doubt about it. Marriage would have been no hardship, but she was destined for greater things. And no wonder. I’ll be the first to admit, I simply wasn’t in her league back then and so...’
He made a helpless gesture. ‘Damage limitation. The merest whiff of scandal would have put paid to her family’s ambitions for her, and indeed to my own ambitions too. It was imperative that the matter be hushed up. She was closeted away in the country for the duration of her—her—for the duration. Had things gone to plan, I would not even have been party to the arrangements. Scarlet fever, they told the world it was, which saw her off. As I said, it was a very tragic inconvenience for all concerned. When I learned she had given birth to a son, I personally stepped into the breach, as it were. Quite a responsibility for a young man, but I think you’ll agree I did well by you.’
Lord Armstrong looked expectantly at him. The man had the audacity to expect praise for his callous and self-serving behaviour! The room was spinning. Christopher gripped the arms of the wooden chair so tightly that his knuckles showed white. This was not some nightmare from which he would awake. His mother was not his mother. His father was not his father. His life, his whole life, had been built on sand. He had no idea who he was.
‘You stepped into the breach?’ Christopher said, struggling to assimilate what he was hearing.
‘Indeed I did. I believe your mother’s family intended to place you in the hands of some wet nurse. Such women cannot be relied upon to give a child the best of care.’ Lord Armstrong gave a short, breathy laugh. ‘Indeed, that is their very attraction in some extreme cases. Fair enough for a daughter, but a son—well, that is a different matter, even if he is from the wrong side of the—that is—aye, well, what I’m trying to say is that I could not acknowledge you, but you are my progeny after all. And so I secured the services of the Fordyces, a steady, childless couple of good reputation, he with a reliable occupation, I thought—’
‘Your thoughts are made very clear in that document,’ Christopher said harshly. ‘The transaction, the terms of payment, the conditions under which ownership of the goods were transferred’
‘You make it sound as if you were a piece of ornamental furniture, my dear boy.’
The term of affection made Christopher grit his teeth. ‘If you consult your bill of sale, you will find that is exactly how you did view me,’ he said. ‘It is also very clear that you considered the matter firmly closed, your duty fully discharged.’
His lordship’s cheeks turned a florid puce. He was clearly not accustomed to having his actions questioned. Christopher snatched up his glass and poured him another brandy. ‘Here, drink this. I have not done with you yet, an apoplexy would be extremely inconvenient at this juncture.’
Lord Armstrong drew him a furious look, but did as he was bid.
‘You said you were young at the time. How young, precisely?’ Christopher demanded.
‘I was barely twenty years old, had not even reached my majority.’
‘Still