Definition: Originally a squire served as a medieval knight’s attendant. As the title spread, the village publican was often called ‘squire’. Later, the owner of a country manor house came to be known as “The Squire”.

Editor: Tod assisted me by checking spelling and grammar. All other errors are mine.

Prologue

In 1670 King Charles II of England, Scotland, and Ireland awarded the deceased Earl of Northumberland estates to his illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. England’s James II succeeded his brother Charles as King, in 1685. Royalist forces crushed a rebellion army led by Monmouth at the battle of Sedgemoor in 1685. General Charles Pickering commanded the 1st Duke of Grafton forces at the battle. Pickering was cited in dispatches to the King and was knighted for services to the realm. Sir Charles was married to the Duke’s only daughter, Lady Priscilla. Like his brother, James II gave out lands to his favourite subjects, especially those who followed the Roman Catholic religion. So in 1686, James bequeathed the Duke of Monmouth estate to Sir Charles Pickering. However, the Countess of Northumberland and sole heiress successfully sued for her estates to be returned. Pickering was handsomely remunerated for his loss. Charles and his wife, Priscilla, purchased the forty-acre Pixham Estate containing a twelve-room manor house east of the township of Dorking, much closer to London. Unfortunately, King James II was deposed in 1688, angered by his Roman Catholic favouritism and for disregarding Parliament as the ruling power of England.

Some three hundred years later, on the other side of the globe, in the new colony of New South Wales, Australia. The crossing of the Blue Mountains (1815) stimulated an exodus of explorers, and soon to follow over the next decades were settlers claiming farmlands on the western slopes. In 1886 one such family was the Mackenzie clan, wife and two sons making their way over the still rough mountain pass on a bullock-drawn wagon. A month before, Stewart Mackenzie was allocated 500 acres of land by the Lands Department ten miles south of the recently named settlement of Parkes. Stewart was the son of an Estate manager and held the promise of replacing his father in time. However, Stewart wanted to be independent and become Laird of his own property, thus their trip to Australia.

I am Henry Pickering, thirty-five, tenth generation of the family and Squire of the Pixham Estate. Whilst sitting at the 300-year-old desk in the study room, preparing for the next morning’s court case at the Central Criminal Court or, as we call it, ‘The Old Bailey’.

There was a knock on the door, “come in,” I called out.

Oscar entered, holding an express parcel post.

“A package for you, Squire.”

“Thanks,” I replied, taking hold of the parcel.

Oscar was my chauffeur and sometimes butler. He and his wife, Mary, the house cook, lived on the Estate, along with my daughter, Jenny. Oh, I mustn’t forget our Groundskeeper, Duncan and his family.

My wife, Sibyl Bowles (her maiden name), is a barrister living in our Chelsea, London flat. Our relationship has gone from bad to worse since Jenny, and I moved back to the Estate. Sibyl used to visit every weekend, then drop to monthly. She has been making up excuses not to visit her daughter and myself more and more. This last weekend, her excuse, a prior engagement with old school chums.

I had been expecting this terrible news since the weekend. The package contained many photos and a VHS tape. I was looking at the spread of photos of my wife and her lover (Sean Smith) in sexual congress while on a dirty weekend in the Canary Islands. I had become aware of the one-year affair six months ago as rumours filtered through to me. So I hired the services of Sam, a detective and business acquaintance of our law firm. But did I dare look at the video?

Sam said he couldn’t get into the room until they went to dinner. There was no sex that night - they were too tired, they claimed. However, the following morning they did, in Sam’s words, “rutting like animals.”

I found the morning scene. I assumed a spy camera was mounted in the fake smoke detector in the middle of the room from the view I got. Sibyl awoke, and after a brief look of confusion on her face, realised where she was. She ducked under the covers and appeared to take Smith in her mouth.

Before long, a grin showed on Smith’s face, and he started to egg her on, “suck that cock bitch.” Sibyl replied with a moan of encouragement and continued on her task.

Her moaning prompted Smith to offer more inducement, “Get it all down your gullet, bitch.” More moaning from Sibyl. Smith then pulls the cover off their naked bodies to view Sibyl’s work.

Sibyl carried on for the next five or so minutes. Her jaw must be getting tired by now. I was surprised at Smith’s staying ability. All the while, I could see Smith’s finger toying between her legs; Sibyl responded by stretching them further apart and constantly moving her hips in an opposite rhythm to his fingers.

Suddenly Smith pulled her head off his dick, spun her around onto her hands and knees, and then moved behind her. She lifted her bottom and wiggled it wantonly. Crying out, “Put that dick in me, baby ... I need your big cock in me now ... hurry you bastard.”

Turned on by her words, Smith slapped her bottom with an open hand, which only caused Sibyl to moan louder. She really was a bitch in heat. Smith obeyed and, in one thrust, sank until their bodies met with a smack.

There was no romance here, strictly porn. Maybe because I knew the female star, I surprisingly didn’t get an immediate erection, only a bad taste in my mouth. It went just plain rooting for the next ten minutes. Twice I saw Sibyl quiver and assumed she had mild orgasms. I could see by Smith’s rhythm he was building up to a finale. Taking one hand from her hip, he grabs her hair, pulling her head back to its full extent, which produced loud snorting noises, like a mare being bred. It was finally over with Smith’s last thrust - he emptied his balls into Sibyl. Then he let go of her hips and hair. She dropped like a stone onto the bed, not moving. Smith fell beside her.

Dare I say it, Smith’s stamina was something to behold; no wonder he was known for his skill as a lover. But the thought remained - it was only two people mating. There was no sign of love or devotion, just animals, mating forced by nature. Nothing more!

I had seen enough. Now I could better understand why Sibyl and I didn’t have a connection. We were two very different people brought together by circumstance.

Ours was a rocky marriage from the start. The legal team had just won a murder case. The Barrister, Sibyl and myself, articled clerks at the time, were celebrating well into the night after three long months of twelve-hour days of legal work. Unfortunately, Sibyl and I woke to find ourselves naked in a hotel bedroom with little memory of the previous night’s doings. As work colleagues, we were not that attracted to each other. Embarrassed, we quickly showered - separately, with a promise not to mention our night’s escapades ever again, then departed to our respective abodes.

Not two months later, Sibyl approached me in Chambers and said, “I’m late.” Sure enough, Sibyl was pregnant. I did the right thing and offered marriage, realising it was the honourable thing to do, when bringing a child into this world. To my surprise, she said, “Yes.”

We had a small wedding on my father’s Estate. I had only one year left on my articled clerkship and final University exams to become a Lawyer. So Sibyl became a mother and moved into my two-bedroom flat (I say my flat, but my father owned it) with our daughter. We settled in as a family, and Sibyl put her whole energies into being a mother and wife and raising our daughter, Jenny. When she reached the age of five, Jenny started school, and Sibyl continued her university studies now full-time to become a Lawyer, supported by me.

By now, I had a large clientele and was making good money, with the prospect of becoming a Barrister. Sibyl graduated two years later and found a position with an opposing legal Chambers. Before long, she was well on her way to becoming a force to be reckoned with in the London legal world.

Then suddenly my father, James died - some thirty-one years after my mother, Ruth, who died at my birth. They had married in their early thirties, and I was born when Ruth turned thirty-five. My father had a successful career as a stockbroker. When he turned fifty-two, he semi-retired and stood for election as the local Member of Parliament for the Dorking electorate. He held the post for the last fifteen years and in opposition for the past five. All the while managing the Estate and associated farms. During his time as the Squire of the Estate, Dad expanded its area by purchasing three surrounding farms, all commercially viable concerns. My father had many lady friends over the preceding years but never found a worthy replacement for my mother.

After the funeral held in Dorking’s St. Martin’s Church, which was filled to capacity, we had a private burial. Dad was placed next to my mother in our family plot on the Estate. Family and close friends held a wake in the Manor house to commemorate his life.

Now I was the Squire of Pixham Estate and all the responsibilities that came with it. Duncan quickly slipped into the position of Estate manager and attended to the day-to-day running of the farms and Estate, with an appropriate increase in remuneration.

It was a foregone conclusion I would return to the Estate. It should not have surprised me that Jenny agreed to move with me. As Jenny had gotten older and her character developed, she and her mother often came to verbal clashes, and I had to frequently intervene. It helped that we had horses to ride on the Estate, her favourite pastime. She even put up with the early rising and long commute catching the 7.30 am train from Dorking to London, an hour’s ride each day. I booked annual tickets in a first-class carriage for Jenny and myself while she attended The Westminster School.

A year after my father’s death, I was approached and asked if I wished to stand for election as the Dorking local member of Parliament, but I declined. Having too much legal work, after becoming a Barrister at law at the ripe-old age of thirty-two.

Over the next four years, Jenny and I only saw Sibyl for Christmas or special family events. Or if we were in London on a weekend for school events. Initially Sibyl visited the Estate weekly and then it dropped to monthly. Sibyl spent these times with Jenny horse riding, and their relationship improved over this time. But ours did not, she chose to sleep in a separate bedroom.

Sibyl and I had become more like brother and sister than husband and wife! Sibyl preferred to remain in our London flat, she enjoyed the social life of London. I was unsure if Sibyl had discreet affairs, and her desire to stay in London implied that may have been the case, although I had no evidence at the time.

Throughout my career as both a lawyer and now a Barrister, I have chosen to take on cases for the underdog, sometimes even petty criminals. The higher profile cases paid for the latter. Much to Sibyl’s vexation, who was always in the newspapers representing actors, singers and the like in high-profile cases, saying, “That’s where the money is.”

By now, Sibyl was a very high-profile Barrister. It was inevitable she would find a full-time lover and it became public knowledge. What galled me, all she ever had to do was ask for a divorce, and we would have gone our separate ways. So divorce it was.

I decided to get a bit of my own back. The latest report on Smith detailed that while he is a highly paid, well-respected wildlife photographer always in demand, he is also a consummate seducer of married women, Sibyl being his latest. It appears he is well-endowed and an excellent lover. The report indicated MI5 had been keeping an eye on Smith for some time as a potential spy or security risk. Over the past five years, there have been four wives before Sibyl, one now divorced, and three are still married to unsuspecting husbands and are still having affairs with other men and the occasional dalliance with Smith when he’s back in England. I’m unsure how Sam got this report, and I wasn’t going to ask.

I decide to balance the scales and anonymously sent letters with photos to the gullible husbands regarding their wives’ affairs with Smith. Which quickly caused three more divorces.

During the initial stages of the divorce, Sibyl didn’t put up much of a defence as she had no claim on the Estate by a prior legal arrangement. I offered the Chelsea flat as a divorce settlement, which she accepted. The divorce would be final in twelve months. Jenny, now fifteen, elected to stay with me on the Estate.

Upon returning from a two-month assignment in Iceland and hearing of Sibyl’s divorce, Smith dropped her like a hot potato. The challenge was gone - time for a new female conquest. But now Smith, had several irate husbands after him, he departed with his tail between his legs, setting sail for the Antarctic on a photo shoot for three months.

Sibyl called me, devastated at Smith’s apparent rejection expecting me to commiserate with her! I nearly laughed down the phone and then realised we were definitely - like brother and sister. Smith’s rejection hit her vanity hard, and for the first time, she lost her next court case. But the bitch I knew returned quickly, and there was a flurry of wins over the next year.

My mature daughter visited her mother one weekend a month. Sunday evening after one such visit, she told me during dinner, “Mother came in at 2 am Saturday, drunk as a skunk. She woke me up and proceeded to boast about her myriad of lovers and sexual liaisons. But, you know what Dad, I think she is lonely, not that she would admit it.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” I thought. Saying, “Well she made her bed and will have to lie in it.”

On Smith’s return from the Antarctic, he found his family home burnt to the ground. I read a small news item in the Times, ‘Police suspect arson, but have no leads yet.’ Smith stated, “He lost all his equipment and photos of the last ten years, all of which cannot be replaced.”

Still enamoured with Smith, Sibyl offered him a roof over his head and a place to sleep whenever he was in England.

A week later Smith was found beaten outside a well-known gentlemen’s club. The Times newspaper reported, “Assault on well-known nature wildlife photographer, Sean Smith. Who was admitted to hospital for treatment of four broken fingers.” It would seem someone has declared war on Sean Smith!

Jenny had just got off the phone with her mother and reported, “Smith is recuperating at her mother’s flat. So I can’t stay there anymore.”

Looking at my daughter, I suggest, “How about we buy a two-bedroom flat in London as you will be off to University in a couple of years.”

The joyous look on my daughter’s face was all the encouragement needed, and I proposed, “How about, I leave it your responsibility to find one.”

As my divorce proceeded, Susan, my paralegal, took maternity leave, and Elizabeth took up the position. She is a twenty-eight single mother of a six-year-old daughter (Rita). Her husband was killed five years ago on a UN peacekeeping mission in Bosnia. Elizabeth was a well-regarded paralegal before her marriage, and now her daughter is in school, she has returned to the workforce.

Over the next year, a strong friendship between Elizabeth and myself emerged, and by the time my divorce was final, we had become an item, dating regularly.

In Elizabeth, I found a woman with much empathy and warmth I had never felt from Sibyl. Much to our relief Jenny and Rita got along surprisingly well, considering their age difference. Rita treated Jenny like a bigger, older sister. And they both love horse riding around the Estate.

After eighteen months, the romance between myself and Elizabeth had reached a point where I asked for her hand in marriage. I offered Elizabeth an engagement ring last worn by my great-great-grandmother, Matilda. She was the sixth generation of the family.

It is affectionately known as the Pixham Engagement Ring and dated back to the first Lady Pickering. Originally, it only had the larger central diamond, and over the years six smaller diamonds were added in a circle as the Ring was used. However, now there was no more room for anymore.

A month before our wedding, I took Elizabeth to *Royal & Sons Jewellers, where we chose our wedding rings, and Elizabeth’s engagement ring was professionally cleaned.

The wedding took place at the local St. Martin Church of England. Elizabeth’s parents attended, her father giving her away again. Jenny was Elizabeth’s bridesmaid, and Rita was the flower girl. My best man was an old chum from my University days. The staff of Pixham Estate put on the reception. Cook did a splendid job.

The family honeymooned on the island of Jamaica for two weeks. We took along both our daughters, who had their suite with a connecting door.

Our first time together, Elizabeth had insisted we wait for the honeymoon. Elizabeth retired to the bathroom to freshen up. I stripped off my clothes and jumped into bed naked, waiting expectantly for her exit.

The door opened, and I saw a vision of beauty, but not quite what I expected. Instead of a tiny, short see-through teddy, Liz wore a modest, long, flowing salmon-coloured nightdress reaching her ankles. The stringed lace top enclosed her breasts to display their fullness. I felt myself becoming erect immediately and looking forward to exploring her body.

I threw back the bed covers, uncovering myself and inviting her to join me. She sauntered with a sexual sway of her hips. As she reached the bed with one swift motion, the gown dropped to the floor, and there stood a thing of beauty.

Liz told me to, “Lay back.” Then, picking up a small bottle, she rubbed scented oil into my chest, arms and legs. She paid particular attention to my rampant erection. Once finished, it was my turn to anoint her body.

I marvel at the firmness of her breasts, cupping my hands and working the oil into her soft skin. I tweaked the erect nipples, with my thumb and forefinger, with an extra drop of oil. Massaging her inner thighs, paying special attention to her clitoris, bringing it out of its hiding spot. Soon she was releasing copious amounts of her fragrance. Now I had Liz constantly moaning. I spread her legs further and brought my tongue into play. I was encouraged by her grabbing a handful of my hair and mushing my face into her vulva. I continued to massage her clit with my tongue until she climaxed, bringing her legs together and writhing out her orgasm.

She pulled me off her groin, drawing me toward her face - we kissed passionately for what felt like a full minute. Signalling her acceptance, she opened her legs wide, vocally urging me on, “I need you inside of me now ... pleaseee.” I succumbed to her request and sank into her furnace to my fullest extent.

Knowing I wouldn’t last long, I bit my lip in an attempt to forestall my inevitable cumming. Small, “oh ... oh ... oh,” encouraged me to continue at full pace. Then I felt Liz starting to quiver, and she cried out, “Oh God,” and grasped me firmly. I proceeded to pump all I had into her channel, grunting as I did.

We lay quietly, heavily breathing, me on top, supported by my elbows, lightly kissing until Liz’s legs became uncomfortable, and I turned onto my side. Liz snuggled into my shoulder, her arm across my chest and my arm around her shoulders; we fell asleep for a time. Later needing a pee and cleaning up, we returned to our prior positions. Sleeping till the early morning Jamaican sun and tropical breeze woke us.

Only a month back from our honeymoon, Oscar met Rita, Jenny and myself at the train station. We arrived home to be greeted at the door by an excited Elizabeth. She blurted out, “Darling, I’m pregnant!”

Dropping my briefcase, I took her in my arms, hugged and kissed. Then, we heard, “ewuee ... enough of that,” said Rita, but both Jenny and Rita congratulated her and hugged.

One evening a short time later, I got an unexpected phone call from Sibyl in a tizz. “Henry, I got the most terrible news today ... I’m pregnant. That bloody Sean Smith has knocked me up! Just like you did, you’re a pair of bastards.” I didn’t get a chance to reply - she had hung up. So at the age of thirty-eight, she’s pregnant again.

Noticing a surprised expression on my face after Sibyl’s phone call, Jenny asked, “What was that all about?”

“Your mother is pregnant.” She immediately called her mother and commiserated.

Jenny tells me after the call, “Smith refuses to believe he is the child’s father and refutes all claims of parenthood. He has disappeared from public view and is uncontactable. You know mother is a Roman Catholic, so abortion is out of the question.”

Jenny went on to quote her mother, “I’ll have the bloody kid, but it won’t change my lifestyle.”

Sibyl, true to her word, continued working throughout her pregnancy. Only stopping to bear Smith’s son. She then hired a nanny to tend to him and return to work.

A month later, our son was born, and we named him Richard. He will be the eleventh generation of the Pickering family and heir to the Pixham Estate. I celebrated with Duncan sharing cigars and Scotch.

No sooner did we get a new family member at home when we lost another? Jenny, now eighteen, much to her mother’s disgust, she decided to study veterinary medicine and enrolled at The Royal Veterinary College in London.

My old paralegal came off maternity leave, so Elizabeth could retire and become a full-time mother to Richard. So Rita and I continue to travel by train, for work and school.

Usually, it was Oscar who picked us up at the Dorking railway station. But Oscar had become unwell. Elizabeth met us one Wednesday evening. She disliked driving the old Jaguar Mark VII. The next day I went to the Jaguar dealership and purchased a Jaguar SUV for Elizabeth’s personal use.

I phoned Elizabeth later that day to say, “Don’t pick us up at the station - we will find our way home.” She tried to question me, but I refused to say anything other than, “It’s a surprise.”

That evening, Rita and I drove into the Estate in the new Jag. To say she was amazed would be an understatement. She was happy with the Jag’s safety features and loved the alpine white paintwork and leather seats, especially the automatic transmission.

The following weekend Jenny came to visit and ride her horse. At lunch, she said, having recently visited her mother, “Mum rarely sees or holds her son - he is an adorable baby. I don’t know what her problem is?” I replied, “Just like Sibyl, the Barrister and socialite. But, in my opinion, she has low empathy. In fact ... I think you got all she had.”

I noticed a story on page five of the Times newspaper. The report detailed the death of Sean Smith, a noted British wildlife photographer on assignment touring the USA. After getting into a scuffle with another male, he was shoved off Mather Point, Grand Canyon lookout. The unidentified Caucasian male was arrested at the scene. Unconfirmed reports from bystanders, told of rumours about Smith being caught in bed with another man’s wife the night before, while staying at a motel in Flagstaff, Arizona.

A delegation of local businessmen arrived on Saturday afternoon, having made an appointment the previous week. Their spokesman stated, “Our local Member of Parliament is retiring, and the group asked me to stand at the next election, Father’s old constituency.” After two hours of chatter, I told them I would discuss it with Elizabeth and get back to them in a week. Elizabeth and I went into the pros and cons, and I was surprised when she suggested I stand. So be it.

Rita is now sixteen and we still travel to London daily, now accompanied by an eight-year-old Richard. We exited at St. James’s Park station and I walked the children to the Westminster school gate and then continued to the law office where I am now Head of Chambers.

After school, the children return to St. James’s Park station and take the train home to be picked up by Elizabeth in her Jag at Dorking train station. On their hour journey, they supposedly do their homework or not? I usually arrive two to three hours later to be picked up by Oscar, our chauffeur.

One evening in bed, I asked, “Why do you pick up the children from the railway instead of Oscar doing it?”

She replied, “Because the kids are so happy to see me and full of news from the day.”

Some evenings, I can travel home on the train with the children. During this particular trip, Richard was talking animatedly about another boy at school named Connor.

Dad, “He’s new to the school this year and is in my class. We have become good friends, can I invite him over for a weekend?”

“Richard, I’m happy for him to visit, talk it over with your mother. She will make the necessary arrangements.”

Friday evening at dinner, Elizabeth mentioned, “Richard’s friend Connor is coming tomorrow for the weekend; his mother will drop him off in the morning.”

A sleek BMW two-door coupe pulled into the driveway on Saturday morning around ten. Richard had been waiting at the front door for their arrival and rushed out to greet Connor.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when Sibyl exited the driver’s side. Elizabeth smirked at me as she made her way to greet Sibyl and insisted she stayed for lunch.

It was lunchtime when I entered the dining room, the ladies were sitting chatting at the table and suddenly stopped. I felt a cold atmosphere and decided lunch was not for me. So I asked, “Where are the boys?”

Elizabeth replied, “Cook made them packed sandwiches in the kitchen, and they left, off to adventure.”

I replied, “I think I’ll do the same,” and left. Taking my sandwiches to the study and adventuring into the Estate accounts, for the rest of the day.

Connor started catching the train with Richard on Fridays and spent more and more weekends on the Estate. Richard insisted they share a room, and Connor had a collection of clothes, so he didn’t have to bring any.

When the summer holidays commence, Richard, with his mother’s consent, invites Connor for the duration at the Estate. Connor happily agrees as long as his mother will go along. Elizabeth phoned Sibyl for permission, only to be greeted with relief from Sibyl at not having to hire a babysitter for the holiday break.

Duncan rebuilt my old treehouse in the big oak, which had fallen into disrepair. I understood that the boys helped. While having afternoon tea on the terrace, we often heard the boys playing pirates in the distance. It brought back fond memories of my youth. However, I didn’t have a playmate and had to do with imaginary friends.

Three months before the next general election, I start campaigning in the electorate. It takes up a considerable amount of my time at public meetings, shopping centres and the like. I started missing my family time and made Sundays sacrosanct, only attending morning church. The rest of the day is politically free and devoted to family.

By some quirk of fate, the general election was a landslide for our party, and I now find myself a junior Parliament member.

Over the coming year, the two boys spend every weekend together adventuring on the Estate, even going as far as helping Duncan with farm work during summer holidays to earn pocket money. As a result, they are soon driving tractors, herding cattle and rounding up sheep.

Elizabeth first notices they have become brothers and act like fraternal twins doing everything together. Richard secretly tells his mother they are now blood brothers. It was only a matter of time before Richard asked if Connor could live on the Estate full-time. Connor, for his part, pestered his mother to move to the Pixham Estate to live with his blood brother, Richard.

We held a combined birthday party on the Estate, as Richard and Connor’s twelfth birthdays were only weeks apart. Attractions were a jumping castle, a water slide and a small Ferris wheel. All their school chums were invited for the weekend at the Estate. While there, Sibyl and Elizabeth discuss the pros and cons of Connor moving full-time to the Estate manor house. During the conversation, it appeared that Sibyl was dating the Australian Ambassador to England, George Mackenzie. Connor moving to live at Estate would be very agreeable with her. So it is done, and on Sunday evening, after all the guests have left, Sibyl takes Connor aside and tells him the good news.

Not hesitating to take advantage of her good mood, Connor asks his mother, “If he can change his surname from Smith to Pickering?”

Sibyl’s good mood disappeared quickly, and she curtly replied, “Don’t push your luck, young man.”

Undaunted, Connor replies, “You know I dislike the name, SMITH.”

Much to my delight, Rita has decided to move into our flat with Jenny, starting her University education as a lawyer. She is happy to work for free in chambers during the summer holidays to get experience.