The Ladies of Missalonghi by Colleen McCullough Page B

thinking they were hanging onto something valuable, so as well as never paying them a dividend, I told them the shares were worthless because they belonged by rights to Maxwell and Herbert. However, rather than make a big fuss, I merely told them they could best rectify the mistake by willing the shares to the sons of Maxwell and Herbert.”
    “Clever!” said Alicia admiringly.
    Sir William gave her one of his hot lusting glances; she was beginning to wonder privately how easy it was going to be to keep Uncle Billy at arm’s length after she married and moved into Hurlingford Lodge – but cross that bridge later.
    “We’ll have to acquire the old maids’ shares now,” said Edmund Marshall, looking very gloomy. “Though, Billy, I must be frank and admit that I don’t know how I’m going to find any ready money. I’d have to retrench drastically, which would be most disagreeable for my family – Alicia’s wedding, you know.”
    “I’m in the same boat myself, old man,” said Sir William, the words sticking in his gullet. “It’s all this flap over a big war in Europe, dammit! Rumour-mongering is all!”
    “Why buy the shares?” asked Alicia, just the smallest tinge of contempt for their stupidity in her voice. “All you have to do is go to Auntie Cornie and Auntie Julie and Auntie Octie and ask ! They’ll hand them over without a murmur!”
    “All right, we can do that with those three, and with Drusilla as well, I imagine. What on earth possessed Malcolm Hurlingford to leave shares to his daughters, I ask you? He always was soft over his girls, though thank God Maxwell and Herbert don’t take after their father in that regard.” Sir William sighed impatiently. “A pretty pickle we’re in! Even if, as Alicia says, the old biddies hand over their shares without a murmur, we’ve still got to deal with the various ne’er-do-wells and half-Hurlingfords who most certainly won’t want to part with what shares they have for nothing. Oh, we’ll manage, I have no doubt, just as long as they don’t get wind of the mystery buyer. Because we can’t match his prices.”
    “What can we sell in a hurry to raise cash?” asked Alicia crisply.
    They all turned to look at her, and Missy, as yet quite unnoticed, shifted stealthily from her spot in front of the door (against which her brown dress and person didn’t show at all) to a safer spot behind one of the potted Kentia palms Aunt Aurelia had placed everywhere inside her lovely house.
    “There’s Lady Billy’s bloody horses, for a start,” said Sir William with relish.
    “My jewels,” said Aurelia with great resolution.
    “And my jewels,” said Alicia with a nasty look at her mother for getting in first.
    “The thing is,” said Edmund, “that this mystery buyer, whoever he – or they – might be, seems to know more about who owns shares in the Byron Bottle Company than we do, and we’re the board of directors! When I consulted our list of shareholders I discovered that in a great many cases the shares had passed from the person listed as owning them into other hands, mostly sons or nephews, admittedly, but strange hands nonetheless. It never occurred to me that any Hurlingford would sign away his birthright this side of death!”
    “Times are changing,” sighed Aurelia. “When I was a girl, Hurlingford clannishness was a legend. Nowadays it seems as if some of the young Hurlingfords don’t give a tuppenny bumper about the family.”
    “They’ve been spoiled,” said Sir William. He cleared his throat, slapped his hands on his thighs, and said with great decision, “All right, I suggest we leave matters as they stand over the weekend, then on Monday we get down to raising some cold hard cash.”
    “Who is to approach the aunties?” asked Ted.
    “Alicia,” said Sir William instantly. “Only not until a bit closer to her wedding, I think. That way she can hoodwink them into thinking they’re giving her a wedding