Page 67 of The Gathering Storm

The schools inspector, Frank Clarke, was slightly apologetic. His grandmother had been a maid at Morland Place, where she had received such a good grounding that she had made a good marriage, and his grandfather had been educated at St Edmund’s School, a free school founded by the Morlands, enabling him to better himself. So where he might have been stern, he treated Polly with something close to deference. It didn’t stop him pointing out, however, that universal education was not just free in England, it was compulsory.

‘Your son must go to school, ma’am,’ he said. ‘That is the law. And I’m afraid if you don’t comply there will be a court order and a serious fine.’

Polly frowned. ‘I’m not keeping him out of school – it’s just that I hadn’t thought about it. Our boys have usually been educated at home. I know my father was, and my brother.’

Clarke nodded encouragingly. ‘There is no reason that Alexander should not be, as long as proper provision is made. There must be regular hours, and a lesson plan must be approved. And there will, of course, be inspection from time to time to see that he is progressing. You will be engaging a tutor, I suppose?’

‘Um,’ said Polly. ‘Is that necessary?’ It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was that she hadn’t time. And where did you even start looking for a live-in tutor, these days?

‘The education department must be satisfied that your son is receiving as good an education as he would receive at school.’ He studied her expression, clearly trying to fathom her thoughts. ‘If you haven’t an arrangement in place, Mrs Morland, might I suggest it would be easier all round if you sent him to school? I dare say he would enjoy it, you know. Boys like to be with other boys. He would probably be happier at school than all alone in the schoolroom here and no-one to play with.’

‘Oh, very well. I expect you’re right,’ Polly said. ‘I’ll see to it.’

‘Straight away, ma’am,’ Clarke said, managing a little strictness. ‘He must be in school on Monday morning.’

Polly didn’t want to part with her boy. She would miss having him around, and she wondered how he would react to the confinement, when he was used to scrambling about the country on his pony, or going off on expeditions on foot with the dogs. But Clarke was right: he ought to have other boys his own age to play with.

At least there would be no difficulty in finding him a school – St Edmund’s was practically Morland property.

She was about to go and find Alec to break the news to him, when John Burton came in, having been out at Eastfield Farm that morning to look at a roof repair. He saw her thoughtful frown and said, ‘Is something the matter?’

‘The school inspector was here. I have to send Alec to school.’

‘Ah. Yes, of course, it is past time. You don’t want him getting behind the other boys, do you?’

‘I hope they don’t fill his mind with rubbish.’

‘It’s a very good school,’ Burton said.

‘But he needs to learn about the estate.’

‘He needs schooling too. It will make him a better Master.’

‘I don’t know about that. I went to school, and I don’t think it did me any good at all. I don’t remember a single thing I learned.’

‘It was all over in twenty minutes,’ Kit said to Emma, as they drove down the A1 for a shooting weekend in Bedfordshire. ‘She was very nervous going in, but Birkett, her lawyer, simply asked her questions to which she had to reply, “Yes,” so she couldn’t go wrong. She said the beastly judge had a head cold, and spent the whole time blowing his nose and coughing. There was one moment when he just sat and glared at Birkett without saying anything, and she was sure he was going to deny her the decree. But he was just waiting for a sneeze to arrive. Anyway, he awarded the nisi. The police and detectives bundled her out of the back door away from the press, and she drove straight back to London. She’s at Cumberland Terrace now, sorting out her goods and chattels.’ He gave a snort of laughter. ‘As well as all the stuff from Bryanston Court, HM apparently had a whole vanload of choice pieces from Buckingham Palace delivered – furniture, mirrors, a lot of very valuable silver, even some pictures. And she’d hardly got her furs off when he turned up with cold pheasant sandwiches and even colder champagne. Along with a gigantic emerald and platinum congratulations-darling-you’re-nearly-divorced ring.’

‘If she goes about sporting what looks like an engagement ring and the King’s Proctor gets to hear about it, there goes her divorce,’ said Emma.

‘Probably better all round if he did block it. I met Bob Boothby in Regent Street, and he said he’d heard that when Baldwin had his meeting with HM, he urged him to call off the divorce, and the King said he couldn’t possibly interfere in a private decision of Mrs Simpson’s, which he had nothing whatever to do with. Which apparently made Baldwin blink and ask for a whisky-and-soda.’

‘Well, nearly everyone thinks they are lovers,’ Emma said, with a shrug.

‘And then our gallant PM asked if it was absolutely necessary to marry Mrs S, and hinted delicately that certain things are customarily allowed to a monarch that are not allowed to the ordinary man.’

‘Brave indeed.’

‘And HM pretended to look shocked and said there was no question of that, that Mrs S was a lady, and he was going to marry her.’

‘Isn’t there any way to stop him? What about the Royal Marriages Act?’

‘No good. It only says that royal marriages must be approved by the monarch. But for a king to marry against the advice of his government would be unconstitutional. I was talking about that with Boothby. He said if the Cabinet told him he couldn’t marry Wally and he persisted, the entire government would resign.’

Emma shook her head. ‘But you know what he’s like – opposition just makes him more stubborn. And if the government resigned, what then?’

‘There’d be a general election, with the King’s Matter as the chief issue. That would convulse the country and damage our reputation abroad. Boothby said he’d heard that Baldwin is thinking of appealing to Wally, begging her to go abroad.’

‘But David’d cut his throat. Or follow her,’ said Emma.