Harish Hope and the Earls of Wishanger Hall , livre ebook

Troubador Publishing Ltd - K. Karla A.

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126 pages

English

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The merry-go-round of life continues, but a decision to change one's attitude can change everything...After a lifetime of stories about his ancestors in England, Wishanger Hall, and the lost title that goes with it, Harish Hope Jnr finally confronts his usurper, with Delilah his closest friend by his side. Meera Gupta has dreams of her own, as does her brother Manju, shaken by a chance encounter that could alter his life forever. Newcomer, Mo Meghani, enters the world of the hardware store with consequences beyond his wildest dreams, and Chandu strikes out on a new path after the loss of his wife Babita.In India, Fathers Ryan and Malachy take time to reflect, as does Rani Kapur after a shocking revelation comes to light. Meanwhile the fortune teller continues to sit in the marketplace, sharing his wisdom with those who need to hear itOTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES:MR GUPTA'S HARDWARE STORETHE HOUSE OF RANI KAPURTO FOLLOW:THE FORTUNE TELLER OF DELHITHE LAST LITHUANIAN

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	28 juin 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781803139968
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A. K. Karla is a pseudonym of B. A. Cibulskas . Harish Hope and the Earls of Wishanger Hall is the third novel in her world fiction series, and her sixth novel overall. Born in England to refugee and economic migrants, she studied at the University of Bristol where she was awarded a doctorate in Narrative and Life Story Research. Her working life is split between writing and as a clinical psychotherapist in the mental health sector.

She also writes European fiction under her own name and psychological fiction under the pseudonym Jack Duval .

Other books by the author

In this series…

Mr Gupta’s Hardware Store

The House of Rani Kapur

The Man from Carcassonne

(Jack Duval)

The Interloper

(B. A. Cibulskas)

Copyright © 2022 A. K. Karla
The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

Matador
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ISBN 978 1803139 968

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Tom…

A. K. Karla has an obsession with difference, the meaning of belonging, and the incessant, often unconscious search for a homeland that can no longer be found. Through richly woven ‘world’ stories A. K. continues to journey, guiding the reader and writing with words that are never far from the heart.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep…

Robert Frost

Contents
prologue
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
author’s note

prologue
Delhi, India
1974-5

Harish had been asked by his mother to take Delilah, her friend’s niece, on a tour of the garden, whilst the pair talked about matters that the younger people were not supposed to hear. The tour ended quickly, and they now sat opposite each other in the pergola, legs crossed, and piles of brightly coloured cushions scattered around them. A vivid blue sky could be seen through gaps in the roof, and here and there the sunshine filtered through to fill the shady space with random strips of bright light.
In this position, the direct gaze of each was able to take in aspects of the other that so far had remained unseen, and seemingly happy with what they saw, both smiled. They had never met before, in fact knew nothing of each other’s existence at all until that afternoon, yet within minutes were engaged in deep conversation, both eager to share the intimacies and important details of their young and hopeful lives.
‘I am going to be an archaeologist,’ Delilah stated firmly, in answer to Harish’s question. ‘It is all I have ever wanted to be. My mother thinks I will change my mind and marry instead, but she is mistaken.’
‘I believe that she is,’ Harish replied, hearing the determination in her voice that her mother did not. ‘I’m not quite sure what I want to do yet. I’ve a few other things to sort out first, so there’s no hurry to decide, but most likely I’ll take a degree in history here.’ He spoke in perfect English, far more used to this language when he was growing up than his native Hindi, although of course spoke that too.
‘What are the things you must sort out?’ she asked, noting a lilt to his accent that she had never heard before. ‘Please tell me.’
Harish became animated, his unusual silver eyes twinkling with excitement as he explained about his English grandfather and Indian grandmother, and the title that had been denied both them and their son, Harish’s father, Harish Snr, all now dead. Neither had found the courage to take up the inevitable fight that would have ensued, laced with racism and disapproval, which tainted the possibility further.
This left Harish Jnr to pick up the reins, or not… It was up to him to decide, and decide he did, the very first time he was told the story at the age of four about his forebears and the manor in England that was his by right. He certainly had the courage to stake his claim, and when the time was right, intended to do just that!
A desire for justice coursed through his veins, as did the responsibility he felt to appease the two men he had never met. His father had died before even knowing of his son’s existence, and his grandfather, some years before that. The stories continued throughout his childhood, told mostly by his father’s partner, George, and then Father Ryan, a close family friend, whose considerable research both added to and enhanced his young listener’s sense of duty, as well as his accent and the Irish lilt that Delilah had heard.
‘I’ll go there and talk to them first, and if they don’t see sense and do what’s right, then it might have to go to court. Father Ryan has been looking into things for me. They don’t have a leg to stand on as far as I can tell, because everything is above board and properly documented. Who knows? Maybe when they see that this time they will have a fight on their hands, and with the public exposure that would come with it, they might give in?’
‘Hmmm, this is very interesting. I would like to see their faces when you arrive at the door. My father should hear this story. He is with this Father Ryan now. He too has many contacts in England.’ Delilah was intrigued and decided she would tell him about it on the way home. Maybe she could go to London with Harish when he was ready? She would be older then, and no one could stop her if she chose to do so. She sighed.
‘A big sigh. Why?’ Harish asked. He had immediately taken to the attractive girl beside him, and although she was a few years younger, just fifteen to his seventeen, was more mature than many of his own age, and spoke with genuine frankness which he admired.
‘Oh, because I feel there are so many things that I wish to do, and I am held back.’
‘Not for long, Delilah. Be patient. You’ll go far, in every sense of the word. I just know it!’
‘Thank you, Harish Hope. This is my intention, and you will become the English lord that your father wished you to be. I just know it!’
They looked at each other and smiled, both self-assured by their youth and the endless opportunities that lay ahead.
‘I like you, Harish Hope. I am glad my aunt brought me here.’
‘I like you too,’ he replied. ‘I’m glad that she did!’
***
A year had passed, and Harish and Delilah were sitting in the library, papers and documents spread across the polished wooden floor. Behind them stood a gilt statue of Ganesh the Hindu elephant god on a tall mahogany stand, bought by Harish’s grandfather more than sixty years earlier. His emerald eyes glinted as he surveyed the scene before him, of two excited teenagers full of hope, their futures bright and stretching out before them, seemingly without end.
‘Father Ryan got quite a bit of this information for me through a friend of his. I’ve been putting together the various certificates of birth and marriage, and things like that. This is where the house is. Look.’ Harish picked up the large map in front of him, and between them they spread it out carefully, getting onto their knees to examine it more closely.
‘It’s really old and was built on the site of an even older abbey. I’ll show you the photo in the sitting room later. A cousin took the title that should have gone to my father.’
‘That is a terrible thing to do!’ responded Delilah, indignantly. ‘Auntie Meera should be sent to see him. Soon he would be crying like a child and would hand over what he stole from your family.’
Harish laughed. ‘I must remember that if I get into trouble.’
‘Please tell me again… Why did your father not go to claim what was his?’
Harish shook his head. ‘My mother says he just couldn’t do it. He wanted me to do it for him, and I will. I won’t let him down, or her. The title is hers too. By rights, she should be Lady Rani Hope.’
They were quiet for a moment, both drifting across the ocean to the house deep in the English countryside that they had only seen in films and books, or in the classroom at school. The air was fresh and cool, and the cows in the fields around the house tugged at the sparkling, dew-covered grass, then stood and watched whilst the day slowly began. Here and there the windows of the old house slowly opened, and smoke curled upwards from the tall chimney pots. The lord and master of everything that the eye could see, galloped across the landscape on a fine black stallion who tossed his head proudly, then ran