Claudia and the Lords of Peterborough

Claudia and the Lords of Peterborough

By Adam Mann

ISBN: 9780463102114

© Copyright 2015 Adam Mann

ISBN:

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S.Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained.

A note on English peerages:

English peerages date back over one thousand years. In 1014 counties or shires were created in England, mainly to defend against the Danes, and each county was led by a local great man, who became an Earl. Sheriffs were the administrative head of a county, and Barons were created at a slightly lesser rank, but the title of Dukes and Marquis were not created until the 15th Century, and then largely for the sons of kings.

Over centuries many peerages became extinct as the male line expired, although there were a few exceptions for the son-in-law of a peer.

The author of this novel has carefully researched the peerage involved in this story, which he believes has been extinct for several hundred years.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

chapter one

~the congo~

Benjamin heard the early morning calls being made, stretched and got out of his rickety camp bed. He had to be careful or it would turn over and leave him on the ground. He stood on his bare feet on the canvas floor and opened the tent flaps. His locally made rubber flip flops were handy and he ran to the latrines.

Shaving was impractical in their camp, so he just stood under the cold water shower – although the water was not that cold in the tropical heat – cleaned his teeth and ran back to his tent dripping wet as he’d forgotten to bring a towel again.

He usually shared his tent with a young doctor, but they would come, stay for several months and then leave; right now he had no one.

His clothing consisted of a pair of boxer shorts and flip flops which a local craftsman had made from an old car tire. He wore a faded green overall which went over his head and tied around his waist with a string, remaining open at both sides – air conditioning they joked.

The doctors usually wore white or pale blue overalls, including the occasional woman doctor who joined their mission.

Ben had joined the mission, MSF, several years ago as an orderly. His knowledge of French and English was useful, and his ability to pick up local dialects invaluable to the mission. It didn’t take long for the head of the mission to promote him to Camp Administrator.

Right now they were based in the Congo, but over the past years the various missions had been posted to Niger, Chad, and then Libreville before coming to this remote region in the Congo. Much of the country was in a state of civil war, but the patients who came to the mission were a mixture of war wounded, both adults and children and civilians who had suffered from accidents. Occasionally they had female patients with birth and genealogical problems, but not many.

Ben made his way to the mess tent for breakfast, which was usually instant noodles that had been donated by some charity to them in bulk, and tea or coffee, whichever looked the most appetizing.

Morning Ben, called Dr. Hubert, in French. He was the mission leader and an expert in plastic surgery, mainly for correcting war inflicted injuries.

Ben smiled, Good morning.

One of the African clerks, they called him Dick as his native name was unpronounceable, called to Ben in broken English, Message for you, Mr. Ben.

Ben took his plastic mug of coffee and followed the clerk.

The gist of the message was that Ben’s father had died in England yesterday, and his mother wanted Ben to come back to London for the funeral.

Dr. Hubert had heard this and before Ben could react, Dr. Hubert said, Ben get ready to travel immediately. Take a car and driver and also that patient who is now walking. He pointed to a man with a single crutch hobbling across the compound, and added, We need his bed. Ben nodded in acknowledgment. I’ll radio ahead and get the office to give you a flight ticket, Dr. Hubert said.

The mission’s camp was on the Bateke Plateau, and although only 300 kilometers from Brazzaville, it took them a whole day’s painful journey on the terrible roads to get to the mission’s local office, which had stayed open to give Ben his air ticket.

His flight was at midnight, to Brussels he was told and then onto London, and Ben smiled when he saw the South African logo on the flight ticket.

You got a bag of mine, somewhere? Ben asked.

If we do it will be in the storeroom, said the office manager who was from Belgium. He handed Ben the key. But please don’t take too long.

Ben found his old canvas holdall in the storeroom and carried it to the office area.

He opened it carefully wondering what insects or other lodgers might have joined his clothes. Tweed jacket, he commented as he pulled his clothes from the bag. He hadn’t seen them in quite some time. Shoes, shirt, anorak, he noted. But no pants or socks.

He looked down at the clothes he was wearing; just a t-shirt, boxers and flip flops. Plus he had one clean t-shirt that he had brought from the camp.

Take the bag with you, suggested the office manager who was impatient for Ben to leave, and change on the plane.

Can I get a lift to the airport? Ben asked.

I’ll get a taxi for you, said the manager, adding, Have you got enough money?

Don’t worry, replied Ben, wondering why the man was being so unhelpful. I’ll get something to eat first and then get a cab myself, Ben said. I’m sorry. I can see you’re in a hurry.

My wife is coming here from her mission in Libreville, and I’d like to be there to meet her when she arrives, the manager uttered,