Chapter 11
Post Partem
Boston – Early March, 2014
Elspeth decided to take a leave of absence from the CIA. After all, she could now certainly afford it, and she reasoned to herself that she had earned it. Besides, she had accomplished something – no, more than that – she had actually fulfilled the accomplishment of a lifetime. Recalling all those years ago, she still felt the pang of misery deep within her soul, when she had heard the news that her parents had perished. She had sworn she would never rest until they were avenged. And now, as impossible as it seemed, they were. Elspeth needed time to let the realization sink in.
And so it was that she decided one morning to revisit the manuscript, My Father the God, her grandmother’s last testament to her. They were all gone now, all except for Connor, her lone remaining relative. A vast feeling of loneliness creeping into her very soul, she hoped that somehow the manuscript would restore her sense of purpose.
Clutching a cup of coffee, she scrunched down within her favorite chair beside the fireplace. It was now or never, and so, turning to the first page, she began rereading from the very start.
Much later, nearing both midnight and the end, Elspeth was in a state of torment and desperation. Suddenly lurching forward from the sofa, she spat, “My God! If this is all true, then…Oh…My…God!” And then, pacing the floor in agitation, she blurted, “Oh my God! It’s all starting to make sense! Oh, my…” Shortly thereafter, having completed the manuscript, Elspeth lurched exhausted into bed and fell into a deep and fitful sleep.
It took several days, but Elspeth eventually realized that, having accomplished far more than she’d ever dreamed, she would need a new challenge, something equally difficult. Two days later Elspeth mailed a Fed Ex package to London.
Four Days Later
Elspeth sat alone within the Nob Hill Coffee Shop, distractedly contemplating all those years ago, back when it had all started. It was a cold winter day outside, thereby frosting up the windows so that one couldn’t make out the passing traffic. Such a day, she thought to herself, was the very perfect day to wrap one’s hands around a steaming cup of coffee.
Her mind far away, focusing intently on some distant memory, she failed to spot the most recent entry within the crowd so that, when he approached her table, her green eyes met his pale blue eyes in a singular moment of entirely unanticipated astonishment.
Uncertain as to the meaning behind her reaction, he began somewhat tentatively, “Hello, Elspeth. I thought I’d find you here.”
“Connor! You surprised me,” she blurted in annoyance.
“Oh, come now Elspeth,” he rejoined, “You knew I’d come.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured, “Perhaps you are right, but not so hastily. And besides, I figured you’d call, or at least e-mail me first.”
“Well, truth be told, I considered both, but neither seemed good enough under the circumstances…” and, gesturing to the seat opposite her, he inquired, “May I?”
“Of course,” she responded noncommittally over the rim of her cup, but then she asked inanely, “So what brings you all the way across the water, Connor?”
“Oh, nothing much,” he responded, “Only you, Elspeth.”
“Me? Why ever for?”
“Don’t play with me, Elspeth. I’ve come a long way to see you. Surely you know why!”
“Well, supposing I do, it would nonetheless be nice for you to spell it out.”
At this he leaned forward and murmured, “It’s not for me to say, I’m afraid…”
“Oh?” she responded vacuously.
He eyed her for a moment and then suggested, “Suppose I get a cup of coffee, and while I am at it, we can both undertake to gather our thoughts.”
“Okay,” she responded, at which he arose and wandered over to the barista bar.
On his return, he queried pointedly, “Well?”
“Well, what?” she prevaricated.
“Well, have you thought over what you have to say?” he proffered bluntly.
“Yes,” she murmured evasively, “I have something for you.”
Eyeing her doubtfully, he responded, “And what might that be?”
Handing him a piece of paper, she blurted, “See for yourself.”
Staring at the piece of paper, he glanced guardedly at her and stammered, “What the…I don’t understand, Elspeth. What the heck is this?”
“It’s a letter of apology,” She responded, “You’ve been given a full pardon, and you have been readmitted to Harvard.”
“Why ever for?”
“I just couldn’t let things lie, Connor. When I realized how wrong I had been about you, I interceded with the Registrar’s Office at Harvard. They were able to confirm that Farhan had forged changes of grades for himself, thereby leading to his dismissal from the university in 1993. Unfortunately, they never made the connection between his dismissal and yours, so that when I showed up, it was a simple matter to compare the handwriting on the change of grade slips in your two files. Your change of grade was forged by Farhan, just as you had suspected. You see, Farhan had to get you out of the way in order to get at me.”
“And did he, Elspeth?”
“You know he didn’t! Although he did try. I shudder to think what might have happened had he not been expelled.”
At this revelation Connor glared at her a moment and then suggested, “Thank you for restoring my good name, Elspeth, but this is not why I came all this way. Surely you know that!”
“Uhm…”
“Oh, come now, Elspeth, you sent me the manuscript. And yes, I read it, straight through from cover to cover within twelve hours of its arrival. And within an hour of completing it I was on my way to Heathrow.”
“Ok-kay…” she mumbled, “Yes, I see…”
“But do you? Do you really see, Elspeth? If so, then tell me.”
“Alright, since you put it so bluntly - James Moorehead was a terrorist, a terrorist of the worst sort. He in fact conspired to destroy Western Civilization.”
“Oh, come now, Elspeth, we both already knew that my father did all these things. And also, that Anna and Farhan were my half-siblings, both of whom he enlisted to partake in his heinous crimes.”
“Yes…” she whispered hesitantly.
“Yes! And?” he queried bluntly.
“Uhm…and you were never a part of his crimes, in any way.”
“Right!” he spat with palpable indignity, “I can’t believe that you ever even considered me a willing participant in my father’s insane schemes.”
“I’m so sorry, Connor.”
“And?”
At this she gazed studiously at one fingernail, fear suddenly overtaking her but, seeing no alternative, she spluttered, “Uhm…and he wasn’t my father!”
Arching one eyebrow in victory, he exclaimed, “That’s right, Elspeth. I should think that the manuscript makes that entirely clear.”
“You’re right, Connor,” she whispered miserably, “You’re absolutely right. I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. Although it remains incomprehensible to me, Sloan Stewart fathered Robert Moorehead by James Moorehead’s future wife Isolde Channing, and later he fathered Elise Stewart by his own wife Sabrina, my recently departed grandmother. Robert Moorehead and Elise Stewart married one another in 1968, and I, their sole offspring, was born in 1973. It is thus true that my parents, Robert and Elise Moorehead, unbeknownst to them, were half-siblings. They were parented on both sides by my sole grandfather Sloan Stewart, unbeknownst even to himself until many years had passed.
“All these years I was actually hurt by the knowledge that my own grandfather wanted to kill me. As the years passed, I asked myself over and over again -what form of disagreement between my two grandfathers could have been so profound as to make one of them want to murder his own granddaughter? I confess – it never occurred to me that James Moorehead might not even BE my grandfather! But o
f course – he always knew that he wasn’t my grandfather, that my other grandfather had actually impregnated his future wife Isolde. Now, knowing what really transpired between the two of them, it all makes sense. James Moorhead wasn’t set on murdering his own granddaughter – his quarry was his worst nightmare – his adversary’s granddaughter!”
At this revelation Connor raised one eyebrow and queried succinctly, “And?”
Elspeth eyed him momentarily and then added, “And so, to all appearances that vile creature Abdullah Al-Khoury, nee James Moorehead, was my grandfather. However, as he was in fact NOT my grandfather, you and I are not related in any way.”
Staring at the man before her, her eyes now glistening in an indescribable mixture of shock, remorse, and somehow even sympathy, Elspeth blurted morosely, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have turned you down all those years ago, Connor. I’m so terribly sorry…can you ever forgive me?”
Frowning sternly at her, he expounded matter-of-factly, “No, I cannot forgive you, Elspeth.”
His words piercing her like daggers, she responded miserably, “I understand. I hurt you terribly. You can’t forgive me for doing that to you. I understand completely, Connor,” and rising from her chair, she muttered, “I think I should go now. Thank you for giving me the opportunity, after all these years, to apologize.”
“Please sit down, Elspeth,” he commanded patiently, “That’s not why I came at all.”
Sliding slowly back into her seat, she queried hopefully, “Oh, well then, exactly why DID you come.”
“I came to give you the opportunity to answer a question.”
“Oh,” she responded in confusion, “Uhm…what might that be.”
“Think, dear Elspeth, think hard, for the rest of your life depends on it. I shall forgive you, but only if you say now what you should have said all those years ago. A single word will do it…”
Staring at him through tears welling up, she suddenly understood, the all-consuming love she felt deep within her soul he might indeed still feel as well, and if so, there just might still be hope…and then she whispered the word, “Yes!”
Returning her look of long repressed affection, he announced, “I forgive you, Elspeth.”
Wharton Manor – April, 2015
The car inching slowly along the driveway, Connor was rendered completely speechless by the enormity of it all. “I can’t believe I’m really the heir to the title and this entire estate.”
Staunching an impish grin, Elspeth responded wistfully, “All in good time, my dear. Let’s us simply enjoy the visit and see what transpires.”
“Sounds good to me…” was his almost distracted reply, but then he blurted, “My, my, would you look at that, Elspeth – they actually have a butler! Look, he’s coming out to greet us! Well, I’ll be…”
As the car came to a stop before the great entrance, the butler stepped forward and, tugging his door open, he announced, “Greetings, Master Stuart I presume.”
“Yes, of course,” he replied as he climbed from his seat.
“I am Smithers. Hello, madam. It is quite nice to see you again.”
Elspeth nodded and replied, “Ditto, Smithers, ditto.”
At this Smithers grinned and suggested, “Lord and Lady MacCauley are awaiting your arrival in the library. May I help with your luggage?”
“Yes, thank you Smithers,” Connor responded politely, “After all, we have quite a bit, what with the baby and all.”
Smithers now announced, “Now, if you will be so kind as to follow me, I shall endeavor to show you to the library.”
Clearly out of his element, Connor could do nothing but follow in silent acceptance.
As they entered the library, a pleasant-looking couple arose and came forward, sunny smiles betraying their anticipated joy at seeing their guests. “Hello, Elspeth! And you must be Connor! I am Brandt MacCauley,” And, approaching the blanketed baby in Connor’s arms, he blurted happily, “And this must be little Michael, the future Earl of Winston.”
Connor held the baby forward for Brandt to observe and offered, “He’s sleeping at the moment. That may just be a good thing!” At which everyone tittered pleasantly.
Elspeth now approached Brandt and, sweeping her into his arms, he expounded, “And here is my knight in shining armor, Mrs. Elspeth Stuart, she who saved both Wharton Manor and its Earl, not to mention his family. And here, little more than a year thereafter, she returns triumphantly as the wife of the heir to the Earldom. Will wonders never cease!”
He then turned to his wife and announced, “Of course, you know my lovely wife, Patience. And you, Connor, this is Patience.” Observing Connor’s reticence, Brandt now added somewhat surreptitiously, “Connor, please give over! You see, we two, Patience and myself, are mutts in our own rights. In point of fact, as you well know, we ourselves have only recently come to be occupiers of Wharton Manor.”
“Occupiers?” Connor blurted in shock.
“Well, let us all be honest with one another – Wharton Manor, and the titles that are attendant to it, shall outlive us all. We in this room are little more than passersby in a long line of successions made legal by the whims of royalty centuries ago. And, in the end, we are simply subjects of the Commonwealth, all of us attempting to do our duty within the societal rules lain down by our forebears.”
“Well, when you put it that way, I think I follow…” Connor mumbled in confusion.
At this Patience giggled audibly and reached forward to take Connor in a gentle hug and then, smiling pleasantly, she cajoled, “There, there, Connor, you’re speaking to a small-town girl from Nebraska. If one so unlikely as I can absorb it all, surely you can adapt to such an improbable chain of events!”
Now grinning uncontrollably, Connor blurted, “You’re right, of course you are. It’s just that, well, I somehow expected the two of you to have evolved into snobbish British royalty.”
Patience responded sagely, “Well said, sir, but as you can see for yourself, the British system of accession has played an enormous trick upon all of us here in this room. But I believe that you shall find that it is a sound system, one that – though it carries great honor, is not without responsibility. It is that responsibility that my husband and I take very seriously, and if I may be so bold, one that we are confident that the pair of you will learn to share with us, thereby carrying forward the Earldom of Winston within the Commonwealth.”
Eyeing Patience and Brandt carefully, Connor replied for the two of them, “And are you not somewhat distraught at the realization that the title may pass from yourselves to our family one day?”
At this, Brandt replied ruefully, “Not in the slightest! The fact is, there are days when I wish you could have the title straightaway, Connor. But as we only have the one daughter, we shall all adapt.”
Patience, showing the opposite behavior to her given name, now inquired pointedly, “I simply cannot wait a second longer. If you will, please fill the both of us in on how this inconceivable chain of events came to pass.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Elspeth responded with an impish grin and, clearing her throat as if presenting a preamble to a lengthy expose, she commenced with, “So, after the attempted bombing we sent you the manuscript entitled My Father the God, which I presume you both already read,” and, seeing their collective nods, she continued with, “Excellent, so you are well aware that my grandfather, Sloan Stewart, and Connor’s father, James Moorehead, were both in the Chemistry Department at Harvard University. James harbored a hidden jealousy of Sloan for over a quarter of a century due to Sloan’s obviously superior intellect. Unable to quench this jealousy, James secretly perpetrated heinous acts upon Sloan, all the while moving upward within the university. Eventually, James became president of Harvard, but his misdeeds caught up with him, ultimately leading to his dismissal from Harvard in 1968.”
She paused for a moment and, observing their mutual attentiveness, she resumed he
r exposition with, “Now, this part is not in the manuscript – over the course of many years, James both embezzled from Harvard, and ran several less than reputable business operations in Boston, in the process amassing a sizable fortune. Thus, upon his dismissal from Harvard, he was in no way in a state of financial hardship. However, his grudge against Sloan was entirely unabated. Quite the opposite appears to have been the case – his grudge was amplified exponentially, thereby inducing him to set out to get even with Sloan, at least in his own mind.
“He seems to have first gone to Edinburgh in search of evidence that he could use against Sloan. Once there he snooped about and eventually wormed his way into the good graces of one Annabeth Stuart. Annabeth was of course unaware of James’ true identity and, being by then a confirmed spinster, she fell in with him and eventually became his mistress. That led to her pregnancy and the birth of Connor Stuart. Why she chose to use her maiden name for Connor remains a mystery, but we do know that by the time Connor was born James had moved on. So there may have been a falling out of some sort.
“James was by then somewhere in Egypt, most likely in Cairo. Sloan had of course determined quite correctly that James would at some point come after him. For his part Sloan had spent several summers in Egypt with his father, the world famous archeologist, Alastair Stewart, who as we know was the lifelong friend of Robert Sutherland, the thirteenth Earl of Winston. Thus, it was natural that Sloan would choose Egypt as the setting for his anticipated confrontation with James. He had therefore set out for that distant land in late 1968, and by the time James arrived there sometime in 1970, Sloan was well ensconced at Abu Simbel, where the great monolithic monument to Rameses II was nearing its reassembly.
“For his part, James apparently did not know that Sloan was way up the Nile, so that he began his search for Sloan in Cairo. During his somewhat lengthy sojourn there he apparently took on the false name of Alexander James Morton and fell in with Anna Morton’s mother, seducing her and in the process siring Anna Morton, whose mother apparently lied about her betrothal to James, thereby explaining Anna’s surname.
“Shortly after Anna was conceived, James apparently moved on yet again, this time to Asyut. Once again he took on a false identity, this time that of Alfred James Wharton. He apparently wasn’t in Asyut terribly long, but it was nevertheless somehow a lengthy enough period of time for him to sire Farhan Rahman.
“By then James seems to have discovered Sloan’s whereabouts, because he showed up at Abu Simbel a short time later. Having read the manuscript, you are both aware of what transpired at Abu Simbel. Having been well prepared for James’ eventual arrival, Sloan had previously deposited hidden canteens of water in the Western Desert. Sure enough, James forced Sloan on a death march into the desert but, unbeknownst to him, Sloan had secretly identified him on his arrival at Abu Simbel. Accordingly, on the night that James confronted him, Sloan had imbibed an extra ration of water.
“So off the pair went into the Western Desert, and as you both know, Sloan won the death march, James eventually expiring in the broiling heat, or so Sloan thought. Sloan then trudged away, found his hidden canteen, and survived the ordeal to return home to Boston a short time later. Much later, he penned the manuscript that the both of you have so recently read.” Elspeth now paused and inquired, “Any questions so far?”
Observing only shaking heads, she continued with, “So now we come to the part that Sloan did not know about. Apparently, James had also taken precautions before forcing Sloan out into the desert. Aware that there was a distinct possibility that he would not outlast Sloan, James had paid two Bedouins to follow the pair in case Sloan was somehow victorious. This of course turned out to be the case, so that James found it necessary to fake his own death. This he did sufficiently well that Sloan was taken in. Sloan thus left him for dead and headed to locate one of his concealed canteens, he himself suffering so badly by that point in time that he was apparently somewhat careless in his examination of James.
“Shortly thereafter, James’ paid followers rescued him, but to his chagrin, they turned on him, forcing him to follow them further into the desert, apparently towards Libya. Now this part of the story is a bit sketchy, but I have been able to piece together enough circumstantial evidence to be relatively certain of its authenticity.
“Records show that a lone man wandered into the oasis town of Al Kufra, Libya in July of 1970, exactly one month after Sloan departed Abu Simbel. The striking thing about the recorded information is that the city official who reported it had not ever observed a lone person emerge from the desert. According to the records, the man had pale blue eyes, claimed to have been from Saudi Arabia, and his name was Abdullah Al-Khoury. He reported that he had been traveling with two companions, both of whom had become ill and perished in the desert. Their bodies were never found, and although I have no proof of it, we can assume that the person who arrived in Al Kufra in July of 1970 was in fact James Moorehead, and his two traveling companions were the two Bedouins he had hired in Egypt. Most likely James did away with the pair of them, although this can never be determined for certain.
“From there James, now using the name Abdullah Al-Khoury, seems to have made his way to Tripoli, and over the course of the succeeding decade, he appears to have lived a fairly quiet life, in the process both siring a son and investing his secret fortune so wisely that he became a billionaire. Armed with such incredible wealth, he was able to infiltrate the Libyan political hierarchy, so that by 1980 he had penetrated Muammar Gaddafi’s inner circle. Due to his amassed wealth, Gaddafi induced him to become active in supporting terrorist activities. And of course, he never lost his hatred of Sloan Stewart. Although Sloan passed away early in 1988, that in no way abated James’ grudge against him.
“Working behind the scenes in Libya, Al-Khoury was able to keep track of Sloan’s family. He proposed the idea to Gaddafi of the bombing of a U.S. bound aircraft, who was by then out of sorts with the U.S. government. Gaddafi therefore agreed, and his secret service police were assigned to handle the bombing. Al-Khoury, who cared nothing whatsoever about terrorism, was somehow able to control what plane was to be bombed. Of course, he knew that my parents would be aboard Pan Am flight 103 that day, and it was he who maneuvered to have the bomb-laden suitcase loaded onboard the aircraft from a connecting flight out of Malta. So you see, he wasn’t even a terrorist – he was just a common garden variety murderer.”
At this point Elspeth paused to catch her breath and, observing the still rapt audience, she continued with, “Shortly thereafter Al-Khoury moved to Saudi Arabia. Apparently Gaddafi’s antics got the better of him, so that he felt it better to find somewhere safer to perpetrate his crimes. Once in Saudi, Al-Khoury was able to conceal himself somewhat better, extreme wealth being much more common in that country. He now set out to kill the lone remaining members of the Stewart family – my grandmother Sabrina and yours truly. As a cover for his activities he chose to join the newly formed terrorist organization – Al Qaeda. In order to prove himself to Osama bin Laden, he found it necessary to be patient, in the process supporting activities that were unrelated to me. Accordingly, he financed the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center. That act was of course less than successful from Al Qaeda’s perspective, but it paved the way for what was to come.
“Subsequently setting out to murder my grandmother Sabrina Stewart, Al-Khoury financed the 1999 bombing of the Lido Hotel in Las Vegas during the strippers’ reunion, the bomb having been planted by you, Patience. We still do not know what led Al Qaeda to allow Al-Khoury to pursue that particular terrorist activity. Perhaps they were simply testing their newly implanted terrorist cell in Lincoln, Nebraska. But it seems that you, Patience, were intended to be - as they say - collateral damage. But that was not to be. You somehow outsmarted them, both by planting the bomb in a harmless location and by subsequently escaping your captors.
“Now we come to the most incredib
le part of all – the second bombing of the World Trade Center. Patience had now become Al-Khoury’s temporary target, having escaped and in the process become a potential lead connecting it all back to him. Al-Khoury therefore put all of his resources into locating you, and eventually he did so, discovering that you were working as a barista at Starbuck’s in the Twin Towers. Recalling the previous failed effort to bring down the Twin Towers, Al-Khoury proposed to bin Laden to fund a second bombing of the World Trade Center. Of course, by now convinced that Al-Khoury was a true believer, bin Laden bit.
“You all know what transpired - the September 11 attacks - killing nearly three thousand innocent people, and all because James Moorehead, alias Abdullah Al-Khoury, wanted Patience Walker and myself dead. Fortunately for you, dear Patience, Brandt hacked your credit card account two days previously, thereby inducing you to escape to Europe, where you remained successfully incognito for many years.
“Now we come to the final chapter in this whole sad story. Post 9/11 events suddenly deflecting attention away from Al-Khoury, he eventually found himself in a position to pursue his primary target once again - meaning me. As you are all well aware, Al-Khoury had previously implanted his three children at Harvard, using two of them to keep an eye on me. Of the three, only Farhan had an inkling that they were his offspring. Both Connor and Anna believed that they were the recipients of scholarships, whereas they had both been funded secretly by Al-Khoury. Farhan, on the other hand, had been recruited into Al Qaeda at an early age. Unfortunately, Al-Khoury’s attentions had been directed elsewhere during that period of time, so that he had been unable to put together anything sufficient to affect a direct attack on me.
“So Al-Khoury sent Farhan to Boston to get at me, and his two other children, Connor and Anna were to be used by Farhan as a means of somehow spiriting me away to the Middle East. There was the incident with the strip poker party, and that had been successful in a way, having serendipitously given Farhan control over Anna. But Connor and Farhan were subsequently kicked out of Harvard and immediately deported, and I was still at large by the time Anna and I graduated from Harvard in 1995.
“After that I became difficult to get at, as I became an employee of the DIA a year later, and eventually the CIA. Oh, and when I was captured by Al Qaeda, they didn’t realize who I was due to the fact that the CIA planted a false identity for me after my disappearance. Otherwise, Al-Khoury would have dealt with me then and there. Al Qaeda eventually found out who I was, but they were too late. So I was indeed quite fortunate to escape.
“I am quite certain you are all aware of the events of last year. Al-Khoury, having grown quite elderly and more or less infirm, realized that his chances of exterminating the Stewart line were growing short, so that he decided to risk it all in an end game, one which would require him to dispose of two and perhaps even three of his own offspring. No matter, he apparently felt so much hatred for his long dead opponent that he initiated the terrorist attack in Paris as a means of killing me, the results of which you are all aware.
“The denouement seemed to have occurred shortly thereafter, when a drone apparently blew Al-Khoury to smithereens in Yemen, thereby disposing of one of the most heinous criminals who ever walked the face of the Earth. DNA evidence seemed to confirm that Al-Khoury had died in the bombing, but Al-Khoury had yet another trick up his sleeve. Unbeknownst to any of us, he had actually sired a fourth offspring sometime after he showed up in Libya in 1970. I discovered that fact after the drone bombing, thereby throwing doubts on the DNA results.
“I was subsequently able to determine that the evidence was entirely equivocal, thereby leading to the possibility that Al-Khoury may have actually used his own son as a decoy so as to mislead the authorities into believing that he had perished. I was eventually able to verify that supposition, so that his plan worked, at least well enough for him to enter the U.K. illegally a short time later.
“As we now know, Al-Khoury had been able to determine by then that Connor was heir to the Earldom of Winston. He therefore set out to kill two birds with one stone by assassinating the current Earl, Brandt MacCauley, and serendipitously murdering his wife, the elusive Patience Walker, whom he had been attempting to catch up with for more than twenty years. Being the narcissist that he was, he imagined himself capable of also killing me at the same time, in the process both wiping out the last of the Stewarts and simultaneously ensuring that his lone remaining relative, Connor, inherited the Earldom of Winston. It was a truly audacious plot in scope, and had he succeeded, his final act in this world would have ensured his dubious place among the most heinous criminals of our time. Fortunately for all of us, his ploy failed.”
“How exactly did you get onto Al-Khoury’s final attempt?” Brandt inquired.
At this Elspeth arched on eyebrow knowingly and explained, “It kept gnawing at me, you see. Once I realized that Al-Khoury had willfully had his own son assassinated by the drone as a means of misleading the CIA, I began to wonder why Connor had never been one of his targets. After all, by then Al-Khoury had managed to get three of his four offspring killed as collateral damage in his attempts to snuff out the Stewart family. And I suppose it helped that I was desperately in love with Connor…” and at this revelation she glanced in embarrassment towards Connor, who for his part simply shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of his own serendipitous complicity.
At Connor’s enigmatic reaction, Elspeth grinned and continued with, “So, I decided that there must be some unknown reason why Connor had, through no fault of his own, managed to avoid the same fate as his half-siblings. Wherever I turned I hit a dead end, but eventually I hit on the idea of studying Connor’s family tree. As I’m sure you all know, family trees are easily researched on the internet these days, so that it wasn’t all that difficult for me to discover that Connor’s great grandfather Tavish Stuart had a cousin named Belinda Stuart who married one Murdoch MacCauley in 1917. To make a long story short, two generations later Brandt MacCauley was born the grandson of Murdoch and Belinda MacCauley and, there being no other living males within the MacCauley clan today, Connor is the heir to Brandt’s estate. Accordingly, should Connor outlive Brandt, he will become the 17th Earl of Winston. Otherwise, our son Michael is the next in line to inherit the Earldom, assuming of course that Brandt and Patience do not sire a son.”
At this rather ridiculous suggestion Patience injected happily, “Unlikely, as I’ve had my tubes tied!” causing twitters to erupt within the group.
The laughter having at length abated, Elspeth continued yet again, announcing, “Once I discovered that Connor was in line to inherit the Earldom, it was a quite logical jump to the realization that Al-Khoury would have surely made the self-same discovery and, his life by then drawing to a close, such a vile creature as he would most assuredly have decided that his crowning achievement could be to remove any obstacles to Connor’s ascension to the Earldom. As you are all aware, that is indeed exactly what transpired,” and at this revelation Elspeth surveyed her audience momentarily, finally concluding with, “And that, dear friends, is the end of the story.
“Oh, and there is one other small detail – Connor was named in Abdullah Al-Khoury’s will, nee James Moorehead, as the sole heir of his immense fortune. However, it is a rather ludicrous inheritance, as it is quite likely that the Saudi’s will do everything within their power to ensure that Connor never inherits. Accordingly, Connor will in the meantime be at the financial mercy of his relatively destitute wife, meaning me of course.” At this Connor grinned sheepishly, but said nothing.
There was now a lengthy silence, but then, the finality of it sinking in, Patience offered, “My dear Elspeth, you are to be congratulated. You are my hero!”
Eyeing Patience doubtfully, Elspeth responded, “But surely you must know, you are my hero as well!” And at this, the room erupted in relieved laughter, the suspense of four lives in peril now finally and forever abated.
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br /> After a yet further silence, Brandt offered, “Now, there is a small task that we four must undertake together. In point of fact, there is no time to spare, I fear.”
“Oh, and what might that be?” Elspeth inquired.
“I’m afraid that the Dowager Lady Felicité Sutherland has demanded your presence in her bedchamber right away, and I assure you - she is not one to be kept waiting. So if you will, please follow me.”
“Oh, and how is she faring?” Connor responded.
“As well as can be expected for a matron of ninety-four, but I must inform you, the doctor has warned us that she does not have long to live.”
And so saying, Brandt silently led the others up the staircase. When they came to her bed chamber, he whispered, “Now, she is frail, but her mind is clear. She is a brilliant lady, and quite a good one if I may say so myself. Oh, and one other thing, there is no need to put on airs with her, as she is in fact a mutt who, like us, came to title quite by accident,” and so saying, he led the three through the doorway.
On entering, Elspeth observed an expansive chamber with an enormous bed, occupied by the aforementioned Lady Sutherland. On seeing the five of them, she raised slightly up in bed and exclaimed, “Ah, at long last, so there you are! I’ve been so worried!”
“Worried? About what?” Elspeth blurted.
“My dear, come to me,” she commanded, “Oh, my, just as I had hoped – you are so lovely, Elspeth,” and, turning to Connor, she added, “And you, Connor, such a fine looking young man! I’m so delighted to meet the both of you! I feared that I might not live long enough to meet you.”
“There, there,” Patience put in, “You shall probably outlive us all, Lady Sutherland!”
“Sorry, but that’s not going to happen,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“What? Why ever not?” Elspeth posed.
“Because I’m ready,” she replied softly, “Because you are all here now, I am quite ready,” and then she paused and, gazing from the window she continued, “They’re all dead, you know. All of them – the memories of my life – all of them gone. God bless them, I want to go and join them all, I miss them so.” And then a single tear trickling down her cheek, she said, “It’s your world now. I’ve had my turn, and what a glorious one it has been…”
At this Elspeth, sadness overtaking her for a woman she had only just met, sniffled and murmured, “I know, Lady Sutherland, I know. You see, I went searching, for what I knew not, and in the course of my search, I uncovered it all. And what did I discover? I discovered that you, Felicité, were not only witness to, but much more so, a participant – perhaps even the most important participant of all the members of the Sutherland family – in great events of the twentieth century. You have much to be proud of!”
Staring at Patience pensively, Felicité responded, “Thank you, my dear. It is good to know that we are held in high esteem by you, our progeny. However, your kind comments notwithstanding, I confess that I have undertaken on my own to ensure that the legacy of the Sutherlands shall not be forgotten.”
“Oh? How so?” Elspeth replied in confusion.
“Why, I wrote it all down, my dear,” she answered in smug satisfaction.
“Wrote what down?” Elspeth blurted.
“My dear, I’ve written the entire story of the Sutherlands – four generations spanning the entirety of the twentieth century.”
“Oh, my…” was all that Elspeth could think of to say.
At this point Patience put in, “It was at least in part my doing. Shortly after I met Lady Sutherland two years ago, I began asking questions, questions about the Sutherland lineage. It didn’t take me long to realize that, not only have the Sutherlands lived a profound existence over the past century, but also that this lady right here before you is the last living person who could share that history with the world. So I volunteered to be her personal scribe.”
“Oh, my…” was yet again all that Elspeth could think of to say.
“And now,” Felicité interjected, “Patience has polished my memories into a four volume set detailing the four generations of Sutherlands that it has been my good fortune to know. That, together with a fifth volume written by your grandfather, Sloan Stewart, comprises five-sixths of the entire story.”
“Five-sixths?” Elspeth put in, “But what is the last volume?”
“Why, your portion, of course,” Lady Sutherland volunteered knowingly.
“What! What on earth are you talking about, Lady Sutherland?”
“Oh, come now, my dear, I’ve read the newspaper accounts of your heroics. Surely you at some point realized that you had a story to tell. All you need do is polish it a bit, and the final piece of the saga shall be complete.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” Elspeth responded in desperation.
“I’m afraid that you must, my dear,” Lady Sutherland commanded.
“I don’t understand. Why must I?”
“Because the story is not complete without your finale. I am quite certain you shall see that when you’ve finished reading the first four volumes.”
Realization coming over her, Elspeth blurted, “Surely you don’t mean to publish it all!”
“On the contrary, that is precisely what must be done,” Lady Sutherland said in an authoritative tone.
“But why?” Elspeth whispered.
“Because it is the dying wish of an old woman,” Felicité murmured. “And now, my dear, you must take my hand,” and reaching forward, she beckoned Elspeth to take it.
Seeing no means of escape, Elspeth advanced shyly and took the outstretched hand. Felicité then announced, “Now promise me, before these people who comprise the future of the Sutherland clan, promise me, Elspeth Moorehead, that you shall publish the entire Sutherland Saga, including the sixth and final volume, upon my passing.”
Held within her persistent grasp, Elspeth glanced at each pair of eyes in succession in search of escape, and perceiving none, she returned her gaze to Felicité, teared up uncontrollably, and then whispered a single phrase, “I promise.”
Epilogue
Boston – 2015
I, Elspeth Stuart, after anguished and thoughtful consideration, have acceded to the dying wish of Lady Felicité Sutherland by publishing The Sutherland Saga. In point of fact, I am the representative of the fictional author D. Allen Henry, who is in reality three different members of the Sutherland-Stewart clan. Lady Sutherland herself having written four of the six books, the fifth, My Father the God, was written by my grandfather, Sloan Stewart, sometime before his death in 1988, and the final volume, Merging Destiny, was written by yours truly.
I often think of that day in Paris, all those years ago, when my mother and I visited the Eiffel Tower together. It is perhaps my most vivid memory of my mother, and it is perhaps for that reason most of all that it all came to pass. My enduring love and adoration for my parents, persisting – no deepening – over the course of my life, ultimately drove my quest for the meaning behind my mother’s words that day, that the roots of the Eiffel Tower were exactly like the roots of our own family tree. And though it took me half a lifetime to uncover all of the disparate roots, my mother was indeed correct, perhaps more so than even she knew.
Two young men met in Edinburgh shortly before the outbreak of the Great War in 1914, and their friendship, no – their deep and abiding love for one another - lived on beyond their lifetimes. Indeed, the course of destiny, stretching back perhaps even hundreds of years, has now finally come to its rightful conclusion, with the Merging Destiny of our two clans via my marriage to Connor Stuart.
Fig. 3 The Sutherland Saga Family Tree