Giles Pt. 01: Down Among the Dead Men

Apologies in advance to anyone looking for a quick and easy thrill. Veterans of my other work will know that I am a hopeless romantic who thinks the story comes first.

Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental and constructive criticism is very welcome of course

Players

Dearborn

Anastacia Stanforth - Master of Dearborn

Anna Stanforth (née Mollica) - Charles Stanforth's wife

Byron Stanforth -Anastacia's twin

Charles Stanforth - Anastacia's eldest brother

Edna Took - Head cook

Eleanor Price - Deputy estate manager and Perry's partner

Garry Shields - Assistant kitchen gardener to Mike Harper

Giles Stanforth - Younger brother to Charles

Judy Finch - Anastacia's partner

Kimberley (Kim) Wallace - Valerie and Wayne's partner

Mary Russell - Assistant cook

Mike Harper - Kitchen gardener

Naomi Jeffries - A half-sister to the Stanforths

Nigel Ferrars - Steve Lawrence's second

Perry Mason - Estate manager

Rosemary Piper - Shareholder in the Estate and Chairman to the winery project

Steve Lawrence - Farm manager

Suravi (Ravi) Bannerji - Assistant cook

Valerie Cane - Housekeeper and partner to Wayne and Kim

Wayne Thompson - Vinery project lead and Valerie and Kim's partner

Edinburgh

Roger Gascoigne - adoptive father to Matthew

Ellen Gascoigne - adoptive mother to Matthew

Matthew (Matt) Gascoigne - Lawyer

Prologue

Ideally you should read 'All of Us Fit in Our Places' (and 'Piper Plus' before that) to understand this story but for those of you without the patience, this is what happened before the events in this tale.

At the end of Piper Plus, Rosemary Desai entered into a group marriage with David and Jennifer Piper and Marjorie (Em) Barrett. At the reception, Jennifer's sister, Anna met Charles Stanforth, David's work colleague and eldest son of the Stanforth family, and they fell in love.

The Stanforth's family seat is Dearborn, a modest estate in the south of England. When Anna visited Dearborn, she discovered a dysfunctional family (is there any other sort?) in which Charles' younger brother, Giles, an arrogant and unpleasant young man, was lined up to take control of the estate.

Between them, Anna and Rosemary outmanoeuvred Giles and persuaded his mother to transfer control of the estate to his younger sister, Anastacia. They did this by showing the Stanforth matriarch that Dearborn could earn a livelihood by making sparkling wine.

At Charles and Anna's wedding reception, Giles discovered the new state of affairs and confronted the plotters. In the subsequent kerfuffle, Rosemary knocked him out and this is where our story begins...

***

Down Among the Dead Men

June

He came to slowly. He was lying on his back on something soft, above him was the canvas ceiling of the marquee. There was the hubbub of a large gathering nearby. He was still at his brother's wedding reception then, but how and why he came to be lying down eluded him. Had he been asleep? Passed out?

Mike Harper was sitting by the improvised bed. The big man glanced at him.

"You're conscious, then. Shame."

Giles stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Then the pain hit him. He gasped and put his hands to his head.

The other man chuckled. "It was a good punch by all accounts. You went down like a sack of spuds."

"What punch? Who hit me?"

Mike frowned. "Let's see if I can work it out. She's the wife of the sister of your brother's new missus." He tapped his fingers in turn on the palm of his other hand as he recited the list

Giles tried to sit and winced as a fresh wave of agony surged through his head. He lay down again.

"The Bitch hit me? Why?"

Mike laughed again. "You don't remember? Shame. Maybe it'll come back to you."

"Why are you being so unpleasant?"

The big man simply stared at him, his calloused hands resting on his knees. Giles got the distinct impression that Mike would take great pleasure in adding to his injuries. He tried to piece events together. He recalled seeing his sister and the Bitch talking together and then gasped as the memory of that conversation returned to him.

"Coming back to you, is it?"

"Mother gave Dearborn to Stacia!"

"Yep."

"She can't do that!"

"Going to have to work for change, boy. At least your sister knows how the farm works, which is more than you do."

Giles started to protest but Mike cut him off.

"Know how to hook up the cultivator, do you? Drain the sump on the tractor? Your sister does. And your brothers. Master Charles-."

"Do not call him that," gritted Giles, despite the pain.

"Master Charles might dress and talk like an aristo, but he knows how to get his hands dirty. His new missus an' all. Almost the first thing she did when she came here was help me and the lad in the kitchen garden. After a bit of dancing." The big man smiled at the memory.

"What are you talking about?" said Giles, baffled.

"Nice people," said Mike. His lip curled as he looked sideways at Giles.

Giles shook his head and then thought better of it.

Mike got to his feet. "You look like you're okay. I'd go back to the house if I were you. There's more than a few in the tent that'd take a pop at you, now they know it's open season."

***

The reception was still in full swing and all around there was the dull roar of a celebration. As he exited the marquee, he could hear the sound of splashing from the lake. Guests, still in their full evening wear, were horsing around in the shallows, and shrieking with laughter. He stared at them, his mind still not working quite right.

He stumbled back to the house on wobbly legs, recoiling from the looks he got from the staff. The events immediately before him being knocked out were still frustratingly vague but he clung on to the realisation that he had been side-lined in favour of his sister. His sister, for Chrissakes!

***

The next morning Giles awoke to a profound feeling of wrongness. It started with the hangover pummelling his neurons and continued smoothly to the ache in his jaw where the Bitch had stuck one on him. Punched him so hard it had knocked him out! He rubbed his chin and thought ruefully that she was harder than she looked. What was that saying? Poison comes in small bottles.

His bedroom looked out over the lake, and he could see small mobs of people on the far side dismantling the marquee and clearing up after the night before. His stomach panged and he realised he'd not had that much to eat before having to retire. Easily fixed. He rang for the kitchen.

The ringing tone went on for some time and then he looked at the handset in bafflement. They might be clearing up, but someone would be on kitchen duty. Grabbing a dressing gown he left his room and made for the stairs.

Opening the kitchen door he found Mrs Took and Elaine Tomlinson at work.

"Didn't you hear me ring?" he asked.

Mrs Took spared him a glance and went on with her work.

"I'm asking you a question!" he said more loudly, starting to lose his temper.

"We don't answer to you anymore," Elaine said without looking round.

Giles shook his head, unable to process what he was hearing, the insolence! He strode forwards only for the cook to bar his way.

"You behave now, Giles."

"Master Giles to you," he retorted.

Edna inspected him with her arms folded. "Not no more. Anastacia's Master now. We take orders from her. Now, if you don't mind, we've got work to do - unless you're planning to help?"

Elaine cast a look of disbelief in his direction. Giles spluttered but lacked the nerve to tackle Mrs Took, so he turned on his heel and exited the room. Part-way down the corridor he remembered that he still didn't have anything to eat. A door further along opened, and his sister emerged from his father's study. What on earth would she be doing in there?

Stacia caught sight of him. "Good, you're up. We need to talk about what you're going to do from now on."

He stared at her. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"We're not going to carry you, Giles. Come along."

She opened the door to the study and went inside without waiting to see if he would follow. With a sinking feeling he entered the room to find his sister and their father standing beside the big partners' desk. There were two sets of documents lying on the green leather writing surface.

"What's all this?" he asked.

"You have two choices," Stacia said briskly. "You can stay and work for the new company or you can take a one-off payment of one hundred thousand pounds and sever all ties with the estate."

"Leave?" he said, dumbly. "Leave Dearborn?"

"I'm afraid you're simply too divisive a figure, my boy," his father remarked.

"But Dad!"

"No point in appealing to me, Giles. It's been agreed with your mother."

His sister had a sort of stonily dispassionate expression on her face. He was familiar with it from childhood. In this mood she would not be moved.

***

Having refused the ridiculous notion of working for a living, he discovered the threat of eviction was very real and was duly given a week to make his arrangements. As the days went by, he became aware of a palpable air of dislike. No one greeted him or exchanged pleasantries, and everyone conspicuously ignored his requests. The staff wore expressions that ranged from studied neutrality to hostility. But the worst thing by some margin was how readily they pivoted to the new regime. Initially it outraged and infuriated him in equal measure, but as time went on and he realised that no one cared, his anger congealed into a black mood that settled heavily on his shoulders.

The morning of his departure was humiliating. He was loading his things into the Jag when Anastacia came and retrieved the keys from the ignition.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"The car is the property of the estate, Giles. You'll have to make other arrangements."

He stared at her. "Can't I at least have a car?"

"You've got a hundred grand, Giles. Of course, you can have a car. I'll sell you this one for ten."

"Ten grand! For that?" he spluttered incredulously.

"You liked it well enough when you were going to drive off in it." Anastacia replied, tartly.

Giles didn't like this new assertive woman his sister had become.

Judy Finch appeared by her side. "Isn't he gone yet?"

"You watch your mouth!" Giles snarled.

"Or what?" she said, sweetly.

Stacia glanced sideways at her partner and wagged a finger, mock seriously. "That is called kicking a man when he's down and is generally bad form, darling, but under the circumstances I think we'll allow it."

"You're so good to me!" Judy bounced in place and kissed Anastacia on the cheek.

Giles looked furiously from one to the other. From his sister standing with her arms folded, to the upstart housekeeper with her arm round Stacia's waist.

"You wait-" he started.

"We've all been waiting, Giles," said Stacia patiently, "what do you think we've been doing? Either for you to grow up or go away. You've signed the agreement so it's time for you to bugger off and for us to get on with our lives. Use the phone in the snug to get a taxi. Or give me ten grand for the Jag."

He fulminated impotently for several moments and then emptied the boot of the car on to the gravel before storming into the snug.

It turned out that he owned very little in his own right. Even his clothes had been paid for by the estate and only the fact that they wouldn't fit anyone else meant that he could take them with him. An unpleasant voice in his head observed that anything of his would be disdained by anyone else.

Then after the taxi arrived, Anastacia had refused to hand over the cheque until he gave her his house keys. Red faced with fury and embarrassment; he'd emerged at the front of the house to discover the staff lined up to watch his departure.

Catching sight of his half-sister Naomi at an upstairs window he paused. He used to charm and terrorise her for his own enjoyment. She still looked apprehensive but now there was a more determined set to her features. Naomi wasn't going to shed any tears at his removal.

There were more faces at other windows. Some of them weren't even staff or family. All making sure that he was gone, the bastards. His lip quivered, and clamping down on his feelings, he instructed the driver to get going.

***

Giles booked into the small family run hotel in the village. Up in his room, he flopped on to the bed and wondered what to do next. Some ancient habit from his days at boarding school prompted him to empty out his cases.

Minutes later he stared at the shredded fabrics. Someone had taken the time to find his luggage and destroy the contents. Like a scene from Murder on the Orient Express, quickly and silently wielding their knives. The only intact garments he owned were the ones he was wearing. Giles sat on the bed and looked at the pile of unusable clothes. He started to gain an inkling of how much bad currency he had accumulated.

In the bar, he nursed a large Scotch and alternated between molten rage and a black depression. One moment he wanted to storm Dearborn with a shotgun, and the next... other thoughts pushed themselves roughly into his head. Giles shied away from them.

He'd taken the hundred grand, there was no way he was going to be bossed around by Stacia. He downed the scotch, relishing the burn on the back of his throat. Time to get lawyered up and overturn the whole ridiculous scheme.

He'd show them.

***

A couple of days later he realised the legal route was out. Only a couple of firms had even remotely thought of taking the matter up on his behalf and once he'd heard their rates he'd reconsidered. Yes, he could afford it but if he lost, he'd literally have nothing. He didn't like the size of the bet.

An ambulance chaser had initially shown some interest but on discovering Rosemary's involvement had quickly backed off. It seemed that the Bitch had quite a reputation and a very dangerous relative.

"You suppose I'm going anywhere near that woman in court or out of it then you've got another think coming," she'd said as she put her papers back in her briefcase. "Don't you know who she is? She has dirt on any number of people and her cousin would break your legs just for looking at him the wrong way."

Giles also found that on discovering that he'd been disinherited, some acquaintances had simply stopped taking his calls. Other friends that he thought he could tap for a favour were too busy to make time for him 'right now'. Even his mother had been beyond cool on the one call she'd taken. Giles flushed at the memory of her snapped order to 'stop whining'.

***

It was less than a fortnight since his departure from his home and Giles had discovered that out of his normal setting, he had no idea what to do with himself. Everything seemed to loop back to Dearborn which sat like a rock in his thoughts. Bizarrely, one of the things he missed the most, was the grand piano in the drawing room which had filled a void in him that he hadn't been aware of till now.

One day, depressed by the bland uniformity of the hotel, he decided on a walk. It was mid-evening, and the sun was still above the horizon. The air was still warm, and distantly the sounds of a cricket match came to him, the occasional crack of bat on ball and a smattering of applause. His lip curled; games were a waste of time and energy.

The road came to the bridge over the river that divided the village. Cross it, or turn off on to the towpath? The river was a chalk stream, attractive, wide and clear, shallow too at this point, the easy ford being one of the principal reasons for the village being here. Giles remembered paddling this far up with Charles when they were boys and, perhaps prompted by the nostalgia, he set off down the towpath.

The air under the trees was still and heavy, redolent of the thick greenery that grew in profusion beside the path. Despite that, the path was obviously well maintained as his way was clear. After a few minutes the only sound was the occasional splash from a fish catching flies.

Giles' thoughts tended to fall between resentment at his eviction and a nagging worry about the future, the money wasn't going to last forever. The news of his circumstances had quickly spread throughout the neighbourhood. Villagers smirked at him. Estate people, whether Dearborn or otherwise, simply ignored him. A black mood was his constant companion.

Thus, it wasn't entirely unexpected that he failed to notice the two men blocking his path until he was nearly upon them. He opened his mouth to ask them to let him pass when something in their manner told him that they did not wish him well. He stopped abruptly and started to back away, only to find a hand upon his shoulder. Twisting he discovered that two others had come up behind him.

"What do you want?" he muttered, fear clamping his insides.

In reply, one of them men in front stepped forward and punched him hard in the gut.

His breath was driven out of him in an agonised grunt, and he bent double. The second put his hands on top of Giles' head and drove his knee up into Giles' face. He managed to turn enough to avoid having his nose broken but the blow made his head spin. He reeled and then they were all at him, punching and kicking until he simply curled into a ball and wondered if they were going to kill him.

At long last the blows stopped, and dazed, he was dragged to his feet. His hands were bound behind him, and a sack placed over his head. Numbly he wondered if he was being kidnapped and started to try and say that he didn't think his family would pay out much if anything for him, only to receive a hard shove in the back. He stumbled and fell to his knees, only just avoiding face planting the ground. They hauled him roughly upright and shoved him hard again. Now he realised that his feet weren't on the compacted earth of the towpath but on grass which meant that he was either being pushed into the undergrowth or towards the river.

Desperately he shrieked, "Why are you doing this?"

A hand gripped his shoulder and a voice rumbled, "This is for my daughter."

Another hissed, "This is for my sister!"

There was another hard shove and the next moment, horribly, there was nothing under his foot. His cry was curtailed by the impact of the icy water. The fabric of the sack quickly saturated, and he gulped desperately for air. His legs kicked, trying to find the bottom but without the use of his hands he couldn't keep his face out of the water. Dimly he remembered that panic was what drowned many, but he couldn't seem to tell his body.

Then, thankfully, it was gravel rather than sucking mud underfoot. Gracelessly, he got himself upright, and dazed and terrified, tried to shake the wet sacking off his mouth. The water was nearly to his waist and part of him gibbered at how close he had been to dying.

There was a distant shout and the laughter of his assailants petered out.

"Fuck," muttered someone.

"Come on, lads. There'll be other chances," said another with grim assurance. "This ain't over."

The new voice shouted, "Wait!"

Giles could hear his attackers walking away to the evident bafflement of the new arrival. Moments later there was a splash, and a hand seized his arm and led him into the shallows. His saviour helped him up onto the bank and pulled the sack from his head. He gulped at the air.

Tony Johnson from Dearborn's neighbouring estate stared at him. "That explains a lot."

"Th - th - th," Giles forced out, unable to complete the word as he started to tremble violently.