Chapter 8

Frances asked, “You think that it may be possible that they came from a smaller museum’s store, darling?”

“Not really,” replied Reg. “Such stores get checked regularly for mundane reasons such as dusting, testing the humidity levels, and checking that the picture hangings are secure. No, what I think is that the drugs man probably gathered them over a considerable period of time, salting them away as his retirement fund. This is a big drug dealer who never gets caught holding drugs, so he sends them on to someone else as soon as he can get gemstones or art in payment. His distributors would know his requirements for payment, so they had the task of acquiring artwork or gemstones and ensuring it is not known as stolen. The onus would be on them to make the offered payment satisfactory in that way.

On occasion, they may have been obtained from a shady art dealer who had already acquired them illicitly, such as buying them cheap from a collector who had reported them destroyed by fire, and who was making money on the side, from the insurance payouts he got for his accidentally ‘destroyed’ art. He would just want the art to disappear for many years until they were no longer ‘hot’ property. It was a long term investment for the art dealer, but he could afford to wait, as art prices tend to increase year by year.

As to whether our drugs baron took larger artworks, who knows the mind of a crook? Only if we can find some would we know. It is certainly the case that smaller paintings can be moved with greater ease than larger ones, so he may have stipulated a size limit.

Our drugs baron in my feeble opinion was solely in the wholesale side of the business; selling to the men lower down the pecking order, so the drugs would seldom remain in his hands for more than a short time. I would guess that the tub in the garden was a reservoir for drugs in transit: a supply he was holding temporarily until he had payment arrive from his lower-level distributor. He was careful to keep the drugs well away from his person. Nothing inside the house would prove him to be a drug dealer; no more than a hint of the possibility. Nothing there could be proved positively as part of a drugs operation. In fact, the fake cash might have been a cover operation; a deliberate sideline of passing off counterfeit money which he could cough up to the police if necessary, and thus avoid the more serious penalties for drug-running. That guy was seriously well organised, I feel. He was just extremely unlucky to be killed on the roads, unless that accident was a criminal ‘hit’ from another drugs baron. It would not be unknown.”

Frances took what Reg suggested as probably accurate, and returned to what her father had told her.

“Daddy says that the artwork is not easy to value. It depends on the market at the time of sale, but his appraiser suggests in excess of half a million.”

“Gosh! That high?” Reg was surprised. “I was guessing at about a couple of hundred thousand, if they were all real and not stolen. It just shows you how little I know about art.” He added, “Does that include the sculptures?”

“Yes and no. The art expert said he was not so sure about valuations for small sculptures, especially bronzes, which is what most of them are. Sometimes if the statuette is a trial piece for a larger statue, he said, it can be higher or lower in value according to how many trial pieces the artist produced. On other occasions the piece may be a later mass-produced copy for the retail market, and that drops the value considerably. There are also questions of whether the piece is signed by the artist, and whether it is numbered. All in all, the sculptures are more awkward to value. Daddy says he will put a few up for sale, and see what happens.”

“Okay. I would go with that; it makes sense. Hey, has everyone had enough to eat and drink?”

“No idea. You haven’t eaten much, yourself. You spent too much time talking.”

“When a man is getting married, he has to get on good terms with his father-in-law.”

“You did that with Telford all right.”

“Telford?”

“Telford. Fiona’s Dad. That’s his first name. He’s named after a famous engineer, Thomas Telford.”

“Oh, I had the impression his forename was Theodore.”

“That’s the trouble with unusual forenames. He gets called a whole slew of alternatives, according to Fiona. Folk often can’t remember his first name, so they call him whatever they guess it is!”

“Right. I will make a point of remembering it is Telford. I will think of it as telling myself I have a Ford car: tell Ford. That will help me remember.”

“Does that work?”

“Yes. You give your brain a link to something easily memorable, thus it finds it simple to see that memorable item and links through it to the target name. It is surprising, but quite effective.”

“I must try it with my studies. Does it work for dates as well?”

“I don’t see why not. What date do you want to remember, Frances?”

“The due date of my baby, silly! What else would a woman want to have in her mind?”

“I wouldn’t know, darling, not being a woman, but I can see how it would be important to you. It has struck me: if all of you are going to give birth at the same time, it is going to be a maelstrom for me as well.”

“You obviously haven’t studied childbirth, Reg. Even if we all got pregnant on the same day – which we didn’t; we just waited and told you on the same day – the actual births could be as much as a week or two apart. We are aiming for home births, if we can arrange for a midwife to be on hand. It will only be if our doctor has any worry about a birth, that we will go into hospital for it, such as a caesarean if a pelvis is on the small side for the baby’s head, if it is a large baby.”

“You seem to have this well thought out, Frances my darling woman.”

“It is a woman’s job to to prepare for every eventuality. Giving birth is not as easy and straightforward as men seem to think. Occasionally a mother still dies in childbirth, thought it is rare nowadays. With good doctoring, any problems should be revealed early enough to have the solution prepared in advance, such as extra blood supplies on hand should there be excess bleeding.”

“Good grief! Do you have to be so morbid, Frances?”

“Darling, every woman has to face up to such medical facts, but giving birth is no more dangerous than crossing a busy road. Many people die every day from road accidents, and we think nothing of it. We girls can take this minor risk; childbirth is what our bodies are designed for. There is no other way of perpetuating the species without childbirth.”

“You are right, and when we look at the rate at which the human race breeds, the odds are all on the side of successful breeding,” Reg offered his assessment.

“There you are then,” declared Frances. “At least you men don’t have any death threat when it comes to fatherhood!”

“Agreed, but now that you have been confirmed as pregnant, I want all of you checked over by a doctor regularly, so if anything is not quite right, it gets seen to, sharpish. Is this possible under the NHS, or do we have to go private for such specialist attention?”

“Theoretically, the NHS should be able to do the job, but the efficacy may vary from hospital to hospital. It may be that we have to engage a doctor or midwife privately, to be able to dictate when they will come to us. NHS staff don’t have as much leeway over appointments, I believe.”

“That’s my Frances: always organised and in charge of events. Once we graduate I can see you being the chief operating officer for your father’s company. You will walk that job!”

“And your other wives?”

“There I am not so certain. My guess is that Freda will understudy Charles Frye, if he is still Head of Legal Services for the Company. She will bring new legal ideas to the company for further development of built assets, I am sure; Erika and Prudence are strongly individualistic, so may either become professionals in another field, or be very practical managerial talent for the company; possibly making the company more efficient in the field of assessing a building’s economic potential before purchasing, or making best use of the building assets they hold, finding new ways of getting profits out of them; perhaps just good marketing ideas.”

Frances stared at her husband. “Reg, you sound to me like the CEO of a company. You may want to take over from Daddy when he decides to retire. The amount of money he will make over the contents of our house may cause him to think of retiring early.”

She suddenly thought of her new sister-wife. “What about Fiona? What do you see her doing? Will she become part of Daddy’s company as well?”

“No idea, pet. I don’t know her in enough depth to get a feeling for her future career. She might take up life as a university professor.” Frances stared at her husband thoughtfully as she took in this idea, and stared over at the girl herself, and debating whether Fiona would pursue life as an academic.

Fiona said goodbye to her father after the buffet meal was over. Reg and the other wives gathered to thank him for coming and being part of the ceremony, and once again he put up with kisses from all the Robertson wives, plus the supernumeraries – Jessica, Sidra, Holly and Carol. He commented to Reg, “How do you put up with being surrounded by so many loving women, young man?”

Reg told him truthfully, “I was an only child, sir, so all this is the stuff of dreams. I never want to spoil a great dream, and my life now is just that; a great dream.”

Fiona collared Reg before they headed home. “Husband, can we go to church tomorrow again?”

“Certainly, Fiona my wife. A new one, or do you want to go back to St. Bartholomew’s?”

“Can we check with Jessica and Sidra first? They may want to join us, and I’d like Jessica’s input before suggesting that.”

Reg mused, “If we include them, we should include Holly and Carol too, should they want to come. They may fancy the trip just to get out of the house again, but more importantly, I’d like them to act as the first-level protection squad for Jessica and Sidra, watching to make sure they don’t get harassed in any way. Teenage girls can be effective that way without causing offense.”

“Good idea, Reg. Can we go speak with all the girls now?”

“If you want, Fiona. This is your wedding day, after all, so we should give you your head!”

The consultation was revealing. The twins admitted they had been confirmed at their parish church a few years ago, and had been regulars there for a long time, so were all for a visit to a church service now. Sidra and Jessica were rejoicing in their participation in today’s Commitment ceremony, and were keen to follow it up with a church service next day, so Fiona found everyone willing to join in such an expedition.

Frances suggested that St. Bartholomew’s would probably have a different visiting priest, so should be worth going back to. Reg reminded them that there had been an assumption that his wives were his sisters. “I didn’t disabuse them of that notion, but we can’t make out that Jessica and Sidra are your sisters! They will have to be friends who are visiting us. The twins will be themselves – relatives of Frances. Everyone okay with that?”

Prudence decided to be practical. “Reg, if you are directly asked who is your wife, you are going to have to confess that most of us are. You daren’t lie to these folk in a church! If they can’t take the truth, then we don’t go back again.”

“True. We will just take things as they happen then,” he admitted, prepared to face anything in support of his wives.

Once home, the girls all reluctantly changed out of the hired dresses and jewellery that they had enjoyed wearing. Curiously, no-one opted for the purchase of the originals. Reg was surprised at this decision, then belatedly recognised that his ladies most likely saw no reason for splashing out for what they would wear only occasionally. Frances saw his consternation and whispered to him, “If anyone wants a special dress or jewellery, darling, we can contact your beautician lady again. I was really surprised at what she was able to do for us. Can we engage her from time to time, whenever we want to go to an event?”

Reg cuddled her to his side, and gave her a loving hug. “Naturally. Anything for the mothers of my children!”

Frances added quietly, “Did you notice Sidra?”

“No. What?”

“As soon as she changed out of that lovely dress she was wearing, she went to her books and got back to studying. That girl has taken your advice to heart, Reg, and is educating herself as fast as she can.”

“Great! She has a good brain that has not been stretched until now. She is the better for it already, now that she is enjoying learning.” He and Frances exchanged a ‘high five’.

It was a convoy of three cars that carried them to St Bartholomew’s parish church next day. They were welcomed by a lady greeter, who handed out hymn books and service booklets, clearly pleased at this sudden procession of visitors entering for the service. She recognised the Robertsons among them as previous visitors, and said “Welcome back to St Bart’s.” She was not so sure about the others, especially the apparent foreigners, so said nothing, just smiled.

The Robertson household spread themselves over two pews in the middle of the nave, and Reg noticed there were a few more people in the congregation than last time. They chatted by themselves for a while until the clergy party trooped out from the vestry to start the service.

The Robertsons were surprised to find that the celebrant was the same lady who had conducted the service on their previous visit, but she made no outward sign of recognising them other than a glance at the filled pews in their part of the church.

The service went as expected, and there were several good hymns that Reg recognised and sang lustily, as well as two that had him flustered until the second verse, when he at last saw how the tune went. They all went out to the rail for the communion. The reverend lady was sure she recognised Reg and some of the women beside him, but naturally made no comment.

At the end of the service, one of the congregation rushed to bring the urn to the boil. It had been heated prior to the service, so did not take long to return to the boil. The congregation, those members who were not rushing off to family or other appointments, gathered for their tea or coffee, and some bakes provided by one of the ladies. Today’s offering was a banana and chocolate chip loaf, spiced with cinnamon, and was delicious, Reg thought.

Finally the clergywoman got back from removing her official garb, and came to shake hands for the visitors. She told Reg, “Didn’t I see you here a week or two back?”

“That is so, Reverend. We brought everyone today, as we enjoyed the last service here.”

“Ah, yes. Now I remember. This lady is your wife,” she gestured at Frances.

Reg concurred, “Yes, Frances is my wife. Well remembered.” He said nothing more.

The Reverend went on, “And the other ladies of your household?”

“The foreign-looking ladies are visiting friends, and the twins are cousins of Frances.”

“How nice of you to bring them, Mr...”

“Robertson. The girls you met before are all Robertsons as well.” He deliberately left it at that.

“I see,” said the clergywoman, who was left wondering what this actually meant. The way he spoke implied something unusual. Her gaze shifted across the girls called Robertson, and noted that all those whose left hand was in view were wearing a wedding ring on the correct finger. She considered asking another question about these, then reminded herself not to be nosy. She asked if his coffee was satisfactory.

“It is, and the baking is excellent. Please tell the baker so.”

The priest ended her social chat, “Well, I must speak to some others and not monopolise your time, Mr Robertson.” She moved off to accept her own coffee and cake, and was collared by a member of the congregation wanting to ask something. She was grateful for the chance to sip her coffee while she listened, and have a bite of the cake. It would allow her to make a comment about the cake if she needed to think further about her response to the parishioner’s request, as it was almost a demand. Probably the best course would be to offer to refer the point to the congregation’s own priory, as she was only a visiting priest. The priory, all elderly men who assisted with the services, would manage to obfuscate the matter quite effectively.

Then she remembered something, as her eye was caught by the sight of the foreign lady and her obvious daughter. She cut short her conversation and went over to grab Reg Robertson’s arm.

“Mr Robertson, can I have a word in private? In the vestry, if you don’t mind?”

Puzzled, Reg nodded. “Sure. Just let me organise things. Frances?” he called to her. She came over. “Yes, dear?”

“Take over for a few minutes please, darling. The Reverend wants to speak to me in private.” He rolled his eyes, indicating that he thought this was about his having more than one wife. Frances saw this too, and simply said. “Sure. We’ll be fine.”

Reg followed the priest to the vestry room, and she closed the door behind him. “Mr. Robertson? We clergy have a sort of grapevine, where unofficial information gets passed around. Something came to me last week.”

“Oh? From the Reverend Professor at the university?”

“What? No, why should it? This was about Pakistani women.”

“Oh? Please tell me more.”

“There was a request for feedback about a Pakistani woman and her daughter. Apparently this lady absconded, taking her daughter with her, and stealing from the marital home. The poor husband is beside himself for word of them, and asked his priest to help. That is what came to me, but I am confused. Both the women with you seem very happy. Can they be the same people?”

Reg gave her a grim smile, and explained, “If we are talking about a Mr Sadaf, he had been abusing his wife for most of their married life, and also started beating his daughter. The daughter, terrified, ran away from home and ended up hiding at the university here. She was handed over by the Reverend Professor for us to offer her a place of safety. From her, we found out about her mother’s terrible situation. We made arrangements for the mother to escape, with the guarantee of safety with her daughter. We arranged her rescue through the good offices of a policeman friend, and she is now recovering.

Reverend, I saw the bruises on both of them when they came to us, so I know their story is true. What seems to be happening is that the abuser is trying to locate them to get them back. An anonymous informant advised their local police that he was an abuser, so they have been investigating, but have limited powers as the abused persons are not available to them. The women only want to escape his clutches and have no desire to be near him. We are protecting them, and will do so for as long as they want.”

The priest was looking shocked. “I think I should inform his priest that he is an abuser under police investigation.”

“I agree, but I would suggest doing it anonymously, in case the priest lets slip your location. Even if he just mentions your name, you are in Crockford’s Clerical Directory, are you not?”

“I am, although not under the name of this charge, but I take your point.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

He thought they had finished, but she had not.

“While we are in private, Mr Robertson, whose is ‘we’?”

Reg looked her in the eyes and said calmly, “My wives and myself, Reverend. Our love has extended to cover our charges. They are in the best place possible.”

“Wives?”

“Wives, by their own choice.”

“The ones with the unfortunate facial looks?”

“All those happy girls wearing wedding rings, Reverend,” Reg corrected. “If you need a reference, speak to the Reverend Professor at the university. She will back me up.”

“You committed bigamy? That is a crime, young man!”

“Not if there is no legal marriage involved, ma’am. We performed a Commitment Ceremony in public, where we declared our love and commitment to each other, agreeing to being together for life. We regard this as just as binding as a legal marriage, and all the girls have used the Deed Poll system to legally change their names to Mrs Robertson, with just the first names different. We are a Christian family, all of us are university students, and we intend for all of us to graduate eventually. We are home-schooling Sidra, the runaway daughter, and she is taking to learning with gusto. Her mother is still trying to cope with life, but she will have our full support.

Was there anything else?” he challenged her.

She looked shocked at the revelations, but as a wife and mother, as well as a priest, she believed in tolerance.

“Nothing. I shall have a quiet word with the learned Reverend you mentioned, and if she backs up you story, I will not interfere. Indeed, if you want me to come and visit you at home, I shall be happy to offer my pastoral care, should what you say be supported by my university colleague. Thank you for your time, Mr Robertson. Ring me if you need me: here is my card.”

Reg returned to the back of the church and finished his own eats before gathering his flock for the departure. He collected all the empty mugs and handed them back to the serving lady, with his thanks. He made a point of dropping a five-pound note into the donation box beside the urn before leaving, getting a genial smile in return.

Once he was sure that everyone was accounted for and back in the cars, they set off for home. A few asked him in the car about what happened in the vestry room, but Reg said, “Later, once we are home.”

Sure enough, as soon as they were through the door, almost everyone was trying to ask what happened with the priest. Reg asked for quiet, so he could explain.

“First, Frances, it was not what we expected. Instead, it was about Jessica and Sidra. It seems that your husband, Jessica, told your local priest that you had run away, taking Sidra with you and stealing some unnamed valuables from the house. Untrue of course, but so was everything else he offered to the priest. He apparently claimed to be trying to find you, and asked the clergy to put out the word, and let him know if you went to a church somewhere.

I told the Reverend the truth of the matter, so she is going to privately inform his local priest that the truth is different from what he claimed, and that the police were investigating him.”

Frances exclaimed, “She can’t do that, or that will give our general location!”

“Frances, I am not stupid! I asked her to pass on the information anonymously, to keep that possibility from happening.” He emphasized, “I am really not that daft, you know, despite my occasional gaffes!”

“Sorry, Reg. I should have known you would be prepared for that. So that was it?”

“Not quite. As she had me alone in the vestry room, she asked me point-blank about all of you with wedding rings, so I admitted you were all my wives. She accused me of bigamy, but I explained we had not made a legal marriage, so were free of that accusation. I gave the Reverend Professor as a reference that we were in a loving relationship, so she will check that out, and promised not to interfere. In fact, once she speaks to the professor and if she is satisfied, she is willing to offer us pastoral care should we want it.”

He looked over to Jessica, including her in the conversation, and Sidra showed interest too. He added, “I wondered whether Jessica would benefit from an external shoulder to cry on. We have to phone the lady if we want her to visit us, and I have her card for that purpose.”

Jessica seemed unsure of what to say in response. Sidra was more forthcoming, “Ammi, if you want a woman more your age to talk to, she may be quite helpful. Is the lady married, Reg?”

“Yes, she is. She said her husband is also a priest, and I gather they have children.”

“Sounds like she may sympathise with you, ammi.” Sidra concluded.

“But I already have Reg sympathising with me, Sidra, and I like it. Do I need another?”

“Mum, she is a woman with children. That is the difference, She will have life experiences that Reg doesn’t have. She can talk to you as a mother; even I can see that!”

“Oh. That is true. Very well, I am willing to try that, Reg, if she accepts us.”

“Soon, or whenever?”

“Within the next few days, while I am still supportive of the idea. If we leave it longer, I may change my mind.”

Sidra raised a point with Reg, having him handy.

“Reg, what do you know about the Vikings?”

Reg looked towards Sidra, and answered, “It depends on what you want to know. I have read a fair bit about them, and there are a variety of descriptions based on who and when they are being written about.”

“According to this history textbook, they rampaged all over the coast of Europe in their longships, pillaging and stealing people for slaves; a nasty bunch altogether.”

“I see. And that is what the author says, does he?”

“In essence, yes. Is it not true? I thought it was all well documented.”

“It is. Let me ask you another question: what do you think of the English?”

“The English? What has that got to do with the Vikings?”

“Bear with me, Sidra. English merchants got rich, did they not, sending ships to Africa, buying slaves with manufactured goods from home, taking the slaves to the Americas, and selling them there. The captains bought tobacco and sugar with the proceeds, and brought these goods back to England to sell, making a huge profit on the total transaction. The Vikings raided coastal villages, captured people and sold them as slaves to other countries. What is the difference between the English slavers and the Vikings?”

“Um... , when you put it that way, not a lot. So why do we moan about the Viking raiders, and not about the English slavers?”

“Perspective, Sidra. Most of the slaves were taken from England, so as English people, we find that offensive. Slavery abroad, between Africa and the Americas, had little impact on English people at home, so it got relegated to the ‘unimportant’ side of the balance.

Actually, when you work out the numbers, the Vikings were small beer compared to the English slavers. The Vikings probably captured and enslaved tens of thousands of people. The English slaver captains shipped MILLIONS of Africans, some of whom didn’t even survive the voyage, before the slave trade was abolished.

When you think about it, every Viking raid probably involved a couple of hundred warriors. This happened only during the summer months, because these men were farmers the rest of the time. Once they had their fields ploughed and the seed sown, the summer was free for them to go raiding with their friends. The made sure they returned in time to gather the harvest from their fields. This restricted their raiding efforts somewhat, as they had to dispose of their captives after each raid; so they probably went back to Norway or Denmark to sell their captives as slaves before they could go on another raiding voyage. Their ships could not carry many slaves, as these ships were designed as raiding vessels, not transports. If they had the investment capital, they could take one or two cargo vessels with them – these ships were called knarr, unlike the raiding longships that were called snekke.

Putting all that together, the proportion of the Norwegian or Danish population that went on Viking raids was miniscule. The majority of the population stayed at home to farm or ply their trades, in the same way as most of the English population were not involved in the English slave trade.”

“But all these records of Viking raids? It makes them seem frequent and horrific.”

Reg smiled at Sidra, and told her, “Again, it is a matter of perspective. Who did most of the recording in that period of the Viking raids? It was the clergymen, as they were almost the only people who could read and write. Their records concentrated on raids against monasteries on the coastline for much of the time. They probably ignored raids on fishing villages, partly because there were no priests involved, and partly because the information perhaps never reached them. If a small fishing village was attacked, those who were worth enslaving would be grabbed, and those not worth taking would be slaughtered to prevent them raising the alarm. The village would vanish entirely, becoming a ruin. Who is going to report this to the monastery where the records were kept. If you look at the records prior to that Norman Conquest, it is only matters which the monks felt were important to them that got recorded, not the lives of the common people.

As with most of history, what gets recorded is only about the doings of ‘important’ people, or the people who are doing the writing. Most war records are written by the victors, from their own standpoint.”

Sidra was saddened by this revelation. “So we don’t know what the ordinary people were doing?”

“As far as recorded history goes, that is so, but archaeologists are filling in the gaps. They can look at ancient bones and determine what people were doing with their lives. Archers had strong arms from holding the bow taut, seamen had two strong arms from hauling ropes to raise the sails, or to row the oars in a ship when there was no wind, and so on. Teeth can be analysed to determine where you grew up, based on the local geology. The geology affects the plants that grow there, and that difference gets carried into the human body. Fish in your diet also shows up chemically in the teeth. The types of pottery also suggest trade links. Samian ware was common in England during the Roman period, and we know its origin. It was produced in quantity in parts of Gaul (modern France) and in what is now Germany. Specific designs added to the pot or bowl help to date the piece, and in some cases the name of the potter is found impressed in the underside of the base.