The Disreputable Duke

"This is BBC Radio 4 and here is the news read by Chris Aldridge."

"The artist son of The Duke of Shettleham, Jasper Neyve, and The Marquis Prybourn was photographed early this morning rescuing a runaway horse at the gates of Hyde Park. It seemed that the rescue happened on the spur of the moment as Marquis Prybourn was naked except for a pair of women's red silk and lace pants. He ran across the road and jumped on the back of the horse to stop it running into traffic. When the Marquis asked about his attire said that he jumped out of bed and his girlfriend's knickers were the first thing he picked up. He said the safety of the horse and keeping it away from the traffic was paramount.

The Prime Minister flew to Brussels last night..."

It was a slow news day.

Edwin Neyve closed his eyes in fury and despair. He forced his breathing to be even and slow, his bone white knuckles as he clenched his fists were the only sign of his rage. God help him if the nurse caught sight of his anger, she would fuss and faff around him as if he was drawing his last breath. Edwin knew that moment was not too far away, but it wouldn't be today.

For his son however, if he could get hold of him, drawing his last breath might come sooner than he ever thought it would. Once again Jasper had disgraced their name. Edwin was sick of seeing his only son in the Daily Mail 'column of shame'. In fact that wasn't the only tabloid newspaper Jasper was in this morning, his charming features and irrepressible grin also graced The Sun, The Daily Mirror, and The Daily Express. Edwin refused point blank to look in The Daily Star. Worst of all he was even on the front page of The Daily Telegraph.

He was seething. What the hell did Jasper think he was playing at? It wasn't the fact that he was tearing around Hyde Park on the back of a horse, but the fact that he was naked except for a pair of red lacy knickers which probably belonged to one of the two topless floozies hanging out of his bedroom window cheering him on!

Did he have no respect for his heritage, for his title, and the name he bore? How could he trust him to take care of the house and land after he'd died? His behaviour was appalling! It was just not good enough, not by a very long shot!

He took a deep calming breath, and soothed his anxiety by looking around his ancient study, it was, he thought, the very best part of Shettleham Manor. Just sitting at his desk watching the early morning sunlight refracting rainbows through the mullioned windows, brought a sense of peace and continuity somewhat dispelling the feeling of anger and irritation caused by his son. The light bounced off the glass fronted shelves housing his leather volumes depicting the history of his home and ancestors. The house had been standing here since 1346 AD, a reward for knightly and valiant service at the battle of Crecy by Edward III.

There had been numerous alterations over the seven hundred years that a Neyve had been living here and this wonderful room was added in during the reign of Henry VIII.

They had fought for the monarch, upheld the law, tended the land, and looked after the tenants. The past Dukes of Shettleham had been warriors, and landowners. There had of course been the odd rogue in their ancestry, the fifth Duke, Thomas, had upset king Henry VIII, which, according to history, was not a very bright thing to do at the best of times, but after spending several months in the Tower of London Henry forgave him. Edwin could only imagine that he had been a real charmer. Just like his son. In fact the Holbein painting of Thomas in the great hall was the spitting image of Jasper.

He moved the mouse to click the X, banishing The Daily Mail's picture of his grinning son from the computer screen. He had to do something to rein Jasper in. Time was short for him, the cancer was eating at his body despite the chemo, but he had made peace with God, he wasn't afraid of dying. He'd had seventy five years of life, and it was a good life. Twenty years older than his dear wife Rosslyn, she had put up with him all these years, loving him even though he had been a lousy and unfaithful husband. He hoped that once he was gone she would find someone to love her, someone to comfort her.

Now though, it was his errant son whom he needed to control. For a moment his mind drifted to another boy, some eighteen months younger than Jasper. He still felt the stomach churning shame after all these years that just six weeks after she had given birth, he had cheated on his wife. He had been incredibly selfish, not to mention stupid, in enticing and seducing one of the stable girls. Rosslyn had been exhausted after a prolonged and difficult birth, and although Jasper was looked after by Nanny Grisham his wife was too tired to see to him and his needs, so he went elsewhere.

Over the years he had repeatedly blocked the whole episode from his mind, especially when Jasper went away to Eton and he didn't seem him for weeks at a time. However, occasionally, it was blasted to the forefront of his consciousness, causing him to lose his thoughts and to endure the shame again and again. The boy and his mother were far away in Bedfordshire, and perhaps still living in the house he had secretly bought for the girl. He hoped that she had used the lump sum of twenty thousand pounds to live well, she had been an intelligent girl, mostly, and promised him that she would make use of the money to the best of her ability. Now, in the twilight of his life, he wondered about the boy and if he had made a success of his life, was he married, did he have children of his own, was he happy? What did that girl call him? Grant? Yes that was it, Grant Dawkins.

'Braxton, the butler, had driven her to the train station with her luggage, not that she had much. He had forbidden her to tell Braxton why, had threatened her with the loss of the house and money if she told a soul. Of course this was all done under Rosslyn's nose, although she was too worn out to bother much about anything except baby Jasper.

There was no need for anyone else to know, the boy wouldn't be entering the family. By-blows were swept under the carpet. He knew that wasn't a very modern way of looking at it, but he was old fashioned enough, and maybe shameful of the fact that he had cheated on his wife over and over again. His wife who loved and adored him. However, it might be prudent to have his lawyer, Henry, do a discreet search and find out just where he was. Especially if his first born didn't pull himself together.

Maybe telling Jasper that Grant might be taking over the dukedom if he didn't alter his ways would shock him into behaving himself. For God's sake the man was thirty three years of age, he should be married with a couple of children by now. Father to a son who would take the reins eventually of this house and land. But then, that brought another problem.

The girls that Jasper associated with were ghastly! They had absolutely no class whatsoever! Showing everything they had in those ridiculously short frocks, had they never heard that imagination is everything as far as a man is concerned? He had no doubt that the parties these young people went to were on a par with a Roman orgy full of drugs and sex. Well he had some influence on who Jasper married, even if he was dead and buried. He would phone Henry and he would change his will. He would put a stop to Jasper's shameful ways, he would teach that boy a lesson.

Jasper watched through the rear view mirror as the Police Constable got out of his vehicle and took his time strolling down the motorway's hard shoulder to the now parked up Ducati Multistrada. Puffs of vapour rose into the freezing air as the rider muttered several obscenities. He removed his helmet, shoving a hand through his thick dark hair in frustration.

"Morning, Sir, in a bit of a hurry, are you?" the constable asked. His thumbs were tucked casually into his jacket pocket like some John Wayne cowboy character all he needed was a piece of hay sticking out of his mouth.

Jasper Neyve gave a sigh of resignation if only he could have got in front of the Eddie Stobart truck he would've been home by now.

"Good morning, constable. Yes, I am in a great hurry," he said, looking up at the policeman hoping that he would recognise him.

Unfortunately for him, there was no recognition whatsoever.

"And where might you be going?" The sergeant said, getting his pen ready.

"I'm going to Shettleham Manor, and I need to get there very soon, or I will be late and cause everyone huge problems."

"Oh going to the manor are you. What are you, one of the serving staff, big funeral up there today? Late for your shift, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Jasper gave a half-hearted laugh, "But I will be late for the funeral if we stand here much longer."

The policeman chuckled. "License please, I hope you're insured for this death trap?"

"Yes, of course, I am. What do you take me for?" Jasper asked, sounding aggrieved and reaching into his inside pocket for his wallet.

"I take you for what you are, Sir. A speeding motorist."

The policeman carried on writing in his notebook and then took the breathalyser machine out.

"Have you been drinking Sir?"

Jasper's heart dropped, he'd been drinking last night, in fact, and it was the early hours of the morning when he'd gone to bed. No doubt the alcohol was still in his system.

"Last night I had a drink."

"Blow into this please Sir, keep blowing until I tell you to stop."

Jasper breathed in and blew into the machine, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would turn the light red.

The radio crackled on the sergeant's shoulder. All Jasper heard was the name of the person who owned the bike, and it wasn't his.

Eddie looked at the license.

"So you are not the owner of this motorbike Sir?"

"No constable I'm not, it belongs to a good friend mine, and I borrowed it because I thought it would get me to my father's funeral on time."

"Your father's funeral?"

"Yes, my father, the 10th Duke of Shettleham."

"So you are...?" Eddie looked at the license again.

"I am..." Jasper stopped, and hitched a breath, he'd never actually voiced his new title to anyone yet, it just seemed to be an odd thing to say out loud, and it brought home the godawful fact that his father had indeed died and that his life was now full of enormous responsibilities.

"Yes, I am the 11th Duke of Shettleham, and I really need to get home to comfort my mother and see to my guests, who I might add, includes your boss the Chief Constable. Would you like to phone him?" Jasper held his phone out with the chief constable's private number showing on the screen.

"No Sir, I don't think that will be necessary. Do you have a lock for the bike?"

Jasper nodded and pulled the pillion seat up to retrieve the heavy bike lock and secured it to the railing on the hard shoulder.

It wasn't far to the manor, less than ten minutes in fact, and Constable Eddie Edwards had put his blue light on while they were on the motorway. Sitting in the back of the police car, Jasper was feeling very awkward. He had been arrested and handcuffed. The constable had been apologetic about the cuffs, but he said rules were rules.

"Constable, would you mind releasing the cuffs before my mother sees them, the fact that I am arriving in a police car will be bad enough."

However, it was not Jasper's lucky day. His pale and stressed out mother was standing in front of the house.

The chief constable and the Lord Lieutenant of the county standing with her.

"Jasper!" his mother gasped, seeing the police car. "Oh my god, what's happened to him?"

"It's alright, my dear, he's in the back of the car. Samuel Chichester, the chief constable, assured her. He gently put his arm around her to comfort her as they watched the driver unlock the handcuffs and help Jasper out of the car.

Rosslyn shrugged the CC's arm off her and waited for her son.

"Oh Jasper," she said breathing in the stale alcohol that he was breathing out, and shaking her head in disappointment, and not giving him time to blurt out his sorry excuse, she turned and stalked back into the manor.

"You have five minutes to get changed and meet me in the hall ready to take on your duties and bury your father," she called over her shoulder.

Samuel Chichester and Gerry Mortimer glared at Jasper as he came towards them.

"Now look here Jasper this is not..."

Jasper stopped in front of Samuel Chichester, and looked him up and down, he'd never liked the man, and now that he had put his arm around his mother, he liked him even less.

"You seem to have forgotten how to address me in the appropriate manner," he said with a voice that could cut glass. He looked down at the now blustering man. "In case you need reminding Chief Constable the correct term when addressing a Duke of the realm is 'Your Grace'."

Jasper shouldered him aside and vanished through the massive oak door of the manor kicking it hard with his foot, so it slammed shut, blocking out the red-faced Samuel Chichester and his blustering about his sheer audacity.

Francis Braxton, his butler, was waiting for him inside, he followed him up the grand staircase collecting the clothes that Jasper was taking off and dropping as he made his way to his bedroom.

"Get in the shower, you stink like a brewery." Francis barked, knowing that he was the one person who Jasper would never turn on.

Jasper ran for the bathroom; his hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

Inside, the whitewashed church of St James was cold, and the glare of the sun against the walls was excruciating for Jasper, who had forgotten to bring dark glasses. As funerals go, it was going well enough. Jasper slumped in the family pew of the village church, breathing slowly and trying to keep nausea at bay. He spent most of the service with his eyes closed until his mother elbowed him in the ribs to tell him that it was his turn to do the reading.

Jasper stood up, and staggering slightly because the sun shining through the stained glass window hit him straight in the eye, he walked towards the simple and ancient pulpit. He was so tired his eyes were half-closed, which is why he half tripped up the steps to the pulpit. The silence shattered by coughs which spread across the church.

There were muffled giggles from the back of the church.

Righting himself, Jasper's eyes narrowed sharply, and he glared towards the sound of the giggles. He rested his hands on the front of the pulpit, more to keep himself standing than anything else. Jasper looked directly at his mother, and in a soft and gentle voice said directly to her;

"Let your heart not be troubled."

He knew that she was quietly distraught over the death of his father. He had always been amazed that she had loved him through all his infidelities. Most of the women he knew would have walked out years ago. He knew it wasn't just her position and title of duchess that kept her at the manor, she genuinely loved him.

Of course, he hadn't helped, god knows how she had put up with him when he was younger. He had been a bit wild at Cambridge but still managed to get a first and then he did his stint in the Army which included two tours in Helmand. That was the only thing his father was pleased with, not that he had bothered to say so to him. He'd got that little nugget from Henry Conway, the family lawyer.

Jasper glanced at the coffin, supported by trestles and covered with white roses and lilies. Just looking at it made him angry. Angry for the way his mother had been treated. Incandescent, because father was a bastard to her. Sad, his father never got on with him. Always criticising everything he had done, not even a handshake when he was mentioned in Despatches, not that he expected one from anyone else he was just doing his job, but couldn't his dad have even said well done?

His mother had protected him from lots of arguments with his father, she had stood up for him many times. He was sorry for being late this morning, the last thing he wanted was to upset her even more. Last night he'd cried, not for the father who died, but for the father he could have been.

There were a few more coughs across the church.

"You believe in God; believe also in me."

Jasper's voice rang out over the bowed heads and solemn faces. There was a 'Humph' from the middle of the congregation, and the coughing ceased immediately and heads slowly dipped. Jasper looked around, the chief constable glared back at him, his face pale with anger. He'd made an enemy there, but Samuel Chichester's cohort Gerry Mortimer the Lord Lieutenant of the county would soothe the way, especially if he wanted to continue doing business with his mother's stud.

Marsha Reed, the chairwoman of the parish council, had bagged the seat in between them, her large black hat, more suitable for a wedding, A forty-something widow of several years, Marsha, was a committee junkie. She knew everyone in the village and most of their business too, whether they wanted her to or not. Jasper had attended the last parish council meeting on behalf of his father, and Marsha Reed had done a perfect imitation of an octopus, her hands had been everywhere, touching his knee, his arm, his thigh. He'd had to move seats away from her, sighting a riding injury. All that was missing had been the black ink when the ravishing Lucy Calverley, who ran the coffee shop, had expressed her sympathy over his father. He might have to visit the coffee shop more often.

His mother cleared her throat, urging him to carry on with the reading.

"In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so,

Would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?"

Standing at the back of the church were members of the village, including that long streak of crap, Roper Albright, the chair of the county council. Rumour had it that he wanted to put a bypass on Jasper's land. He'd be kicked up the bypass if he tried anything like that.

He was just about to carry on with the reading when the main door opened and someone edged through the crowd at the back.

Jasper watched him as he pushed his way through. He had no idea who the man was, even though he looked familiar. He leaned against the wall, or rather, against the tombstone of Sir Henry Applewick, who if he had still been alive would have probably spit the shaven-headed thug on his trusty sword.

Jasper finished his reading and slumped comfortably back into the pew he closed his eyes not wanting to look at the coffin, and still breathing slowly to assuage nausea, which was barely helped by the scent of the lilies, he was soothed by The Reverend Quentin Peabody who had a voice that would lull a complete insomniac into a comforting doze.