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The Conrad Press - Edwin Balchin

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248 pages

English

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'Empire', the first of The Faringdons trilogy, brilliantly merges various episodes of history between the summer of 1929 and the end of 1932, alters their course, and weaves into them the story of the fictional Faringdons. The reader is plunged into this most engaging period of British history. Extensive research, meticulous attention to detail, enchanting characters, and a heroic storyline offer continual entertainment and excitement.The central character, the Marquess of Marden, is concerned that Britain is again headed for war. In his search for innovative ways of ensuring that Britain is ready, he gathers about him the brightest in the land.

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Historical fiction

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Publié par	The Conrad Press
Date de parution	18 juin 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781839780721
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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The Faringdons
Empire
Edwin Balchin

The Faringdons - Empire
Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2020
Tel: +44(0)1227 472 874 www.theconradpress.com   info@theconradpress.com
ISBN 978-1-839780-72-1
Copyright © Edwin Balchin, 2020
The moral right of Edwin Balchin to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk
The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.

For Gladys Jennie Balchin

1
Saturday, 20 th July, 1929
I n spite of the discomfort caused by the tang of burnt cinders, the restricted vision that the steam and smoke caused, and the shafts of sunlight penetrating to the platforms, any casual observer at Ulm railway station that afternoon could not have failed to observe the two men standing head and shoulders over most of the crowd.
They were the subject of many admiring glances from the women thronging the platform, and not few jealous glances from men. Quite apart from their height, they appeared the very embodiment of German manhood. Both were tall and well-built; both had blond hair and bright blue eyes; and both were good looking (although not handsome).
There the similarities ended, for the taller of the two by a little more than an inch was not German. The Marquess of Marden was the eldest son of the Duke of Cirencester. He measured himself at six feet four inches. His companion, Rolf Holzer, was a German. Despite the general perceptions of the characteristics of the two peoples, an observer would have seen in Marden’s gaze an intensity that was not matched by his German companion, in whom an observer would note a quality of humour on his countenance. Furthermore, Marden, conditioned by many years of Rugby football, boxing and rowing at school and university, was the more physically imposing. Holzer, out of university for a decade and leading a rather indolent lifestyle, had lost much of the vigour of youth.
Marden’s father had decided that the time was right for his son to continue the family tradition and, having given him a year’s tutelage in business affairs, sent him out to learn the ways in which Europeans conducted their business.
Unfortunately, the distractions were such that the only period when Marden had been able to concentrate, albeit only marginally, on the purpose of his journeys was between Paris (where he first met his German companion, Rolf Holzer) and Ulm (where the two men were reunited).
Now Holzer wanted his sister to join them, and Marden was not looking forward to being saddled with the girl. Notwithstanding his boyish good looks, Holzer had a pudgy face and his sister was certain to bear more than a passing resemblance, and the stories Holzer had shared spoke for her being spoiled. The thought of traipsing around with the girl in tow for a few days had put an end to his good humour, particularly as he was anxious to move on. But his friend’s wish had prevailed, and she was joining them.
As her train slowed in a shower of steam, Holzer set off along the platform with his long strides, a porter struggling to keep up. He hesitated partway along the platform, looking this way and that, then, seeing his sister, he set off once again.
The train was almost full, with doors opening in most carriages, the passengers disgorging in their scores. As the steam settled, Marden was surprised by the beautiful and statuesque blonde reaching up to hug Holzer. As she supervised the removal of her luggage, Holzer spoke to her and pointed in Marden’s direction.
She scanned the area of platform indicated, her eyes soon trapping Marden, who doffed his hat and watched as she turned to her brother to say something; Holzer nodding in confirmation and she set off, leaving Holzer to pay off the porter and to arrange passage for the luggage to the hotel.
‘Anna, may I introduce the Marquess of Marden,’ said Holzer as he caught up. ‘Marden, my sister, Anna Holzer.’
Not liking the diminutive that was her brother’s custom, she glared at him, but this was not the occasion for sibling quarrels, so she kept her tongue. As she turned to Marden and reached out her hand, the brief glower was transformed into a wry smile; her speedwell-blue eyes alight with whatever thoughts amused her. Marden noticed that the siblings’ eyes were an exact match, unlike their hair; his the colour of straw, hers almost white. Styled in “Marcel waves”, she looked, Marden thought, every inch a film star.
‘My pleasure, Miss Holzer. How do you do?’
‘Very well, thank you. And I am pleased to meet you…’
‘Marden,’ he offered before she could use his title.
‘Marden. Son of the richest man in the world.’
Marden detected a mischievousness, testimony perhaps to her having grown up with the teasing of much older brothers. His experiences had led him to caution. Some women viewed wealth as a means to an end, some were discouraged by his reputation as a rich playboy, as he was frequently photographed with society beauties – not difficult to find in the British aristocracy. He was rich, good looking, tall, sporting and titled. The press loved him, especially if he was in the company of a beautiful woman. Marden was on his guard.
‘Holzer, I fear, has been indiscreet,’ Marden said smiling back.
‘Innocent of all charges,’ protested Holzer. ‘Anna is lost without society magazines.’
She pouted at him. ‘You make me sound like a spoiled child. My brother,’ she explained to Marden, ‘is rather wealthy, but leaves poor Ernst to take care of the family business.’ Still addressing Marden, she looked at her brother. ‘If it were not for magazines, I would never know where Rolf was.’ Turning back to Marden the pout disappeared and the smile returned. ‘Are we going to stand here all day?’
She linked her arms with the two men and turned to the barrier. Marden could see Holzer’s smile out of the corner of his eye. Even at that early stage he had guessed that Annelise’s arrival was not, as Holzer had suggested, the whim of a young woman; rather the engineering of an older brother.
Annelise finished the last of her coffee.
‘So, Marden, do you like Germany?’ she asked.
‘It’s a beautiful country, Anna. And the people are very friendly.’
‘I prefer Annelise, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’m sorry, Holzer... Rolf…’
‘…calls me Anna because he knows I don’t like it.’
Holzer’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, followed by a dramatic shrug of his shoulders.
‘You didn’t say whether you liked it – Germany.’
‘Yes, I do. I find it, or this part of it, handsome in a majestic way, whereas England is beautiful in a delightful way. Germany has mountains and forests; England, hills and woods. Germany benefits from a continental climate, cleansing snows during the winter and baking temperatures during the long summers. In England it rains and is foggy, but none the less beautiful for that.’
She looked surprised. ‘It sounds as though you prefer Germany.’
‘No. I love England; I like Germany. Attitudes, by and large, are similar to ours. It’s strange to think that we are more distantly related in time to Germans than to the French, but have almost nothing in common with them beyond sharing the English Channel.’
Holzer laughed. ‘You dislike the French?’
‘I didn’t say that. I like them well enough on a personal level, and I have many friends in France, but as a nation they are very different.’
‘Difficult,’ offered Annelise. She stood up, turning to Holzer. ‘I’m going for a walk before dinner, Rolf. Coming?’
‘Marden?’ asked Holzer with a knowing smile.
‘Capital idea. The worst of the heat is over now. Lead on.’
The two men had met in Paris at the start of Marden’s tour. Until then he had been with two friends from Sherborne School, Michael Parkin and Tom Ellis. Parkin’s father was an old friend of the Holzer family and Parkin had spent holidays at their house near Hanover before the Great War.
Although Rolf was ten years his senior, and had been a man when last he saw the nine-year-old Parkin, he had recognized him in the Parisian restaurant where the three friends were dining. After Parkin and Ellis left for Nice, Marden and Holzer found that they had much in common and when Marden told Holzer of his plans to travel across Europe, Holzer had asked whether he might join him at some stage. Marden related his itinerary and thought no more of it. About to leave Karlsruhe, a telegram from Holzer arrived. Although Holzer had written nothing down, he had the right date and hotel; a remarkable feat of memory.
Marden and his companions strolled around the medieval city before changing for dinner. They emerged after dinner to find that the evening air had become less oppressive. A light wind helped, encouraging many to take an evening walk or to sit at one of the pavement cafés. After a tour of the city walls, they came back into the town at the Butcher’s Tower gate; soon finding what they were looking for on Lautengasse. Opposite the café, a small river ran alongside the road, a garden on the far bank made it as pleasant a spot as could be found in the crowded old city. They settled down and were immediately rewarded with the presence of a waiter. Holzer made the order.
‘So, Son-of-the-Richest-Man-in-the-World, you’re off to Vienna next, spending more of your father’s ill-gotten gains.’
‘Annelise, if you only knew what my allowance was.’
‘Ah! Poor little rich boy,’ she mocked. ‘Everybody knows about your family’s wealth, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know a little of your family history, but do tell, Marden.’
Holzer had alluded to the Faringdon wealth while they were at dinner, and although Marden thought it a little indelicate at the time, he would come to realise