Lord Lucan

William Coles

Description

A murder gone wrong. A worldwide police hunt for the killer. And a fugitive who became a legend: The 7th Earl of Lucan. The Lord Lucan Scandal is one of the greatest and most extraordinary mysteries of the 20th Century. Ever since Lucky Lord Lucan disappeared in 1974 after the murder of his nanny, the world has wondered what happened to Britain's most dashing Peer. Here, in his own hand, is the answer. This is Lord Lucan's personal memoir of his life as the worlds most infamous fugitive. It is the story of an Old Etonian Earl on the run; of how a man became a murderer; and how a life-long friendship soured into an enduring hate. Here, for the first time, is the full monstrous account of the life of Lord Lucan. This is his story.

Sujets

• Infamous Murders
• True Crime
• Substance dependence
• Peerage
• Unsolved Crimes

Informations

• Publié par: Legend Press
• Date de parution: 30 mai 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781907461118
• Langue: English

Extrait

Legend Press Ltd, 3rd Floor, Unicorn House 221-222 Shoreditch High Street, London E1 6PJ info legend-paperbooks.co.uk www.legendpress.co.uk
Contents William Coles 2009
The right of William Coles to be identified as the author of this work has be asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
ISBN 978-1-907461-11-8
This is a work of fiction and all characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well- established are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
Set in Times Printed by J. H. Haynes and Co. Ltd., Sparkford.
Book jacket design: bremnerdesign.co.uk Illustration: hellogriff yahoo.co.uk All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Editor s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Notes
Editor s Note
The Lord Lucan saga has been one of the greatest and most enduring mysteries of the 20th Century. The very name Lord Lucan has now entered the English language as a byword for the far-fetched and the simply unbelievable. His sudden disappearance in 1974 after the murder of his nanny Sandra Rivett has the fairytale quality of a modern-day Rip Van Winkle. And ever since, the world has been speculating as to his whereabouts. Did he escape to South Africa, to South America, or even to Alaska? Or did he take his own life after realising that his final throw of the dice had - yet again - ended in abject failure?
Here, and in his own hand, is the answer. It is Lord Lucan s personal account of his life as the world s most infamous fugitive.
It is not for me to spoil Lord Lucan s narrative by alluding to the story. But I do think it fair to say that there are a number of anomalies about the text. Sometimes it is difficult to know where reality ends and fantasy begins.
When I was first confronted with the job of editing this sprawling manuscript, I was tempted to clear up some of the major inconsistencies. But having immersed myself in the project, I realised that these very anomalies have their own charm, as they reveal so much about Lucan s character.
It was also noticeable just how much Lucan s writing style seems to vary. From one chapter to the next, his words can change from bluff to tearfully maudlin. And although Lucan was by no means a writer, his style occasionally has a startling directness and candour.
My editing has largely consisted of clearing up some of Lucan s spelling and grammatical infelicities, as well as putting this hodge-podge of reminiscences into a sort of sequential order. He frequently switches tenses, flip-flopping from present to past, but for the most part I have let these inconsistencies stand. Three quasi-dream sequences, however, have been excised altogether. They were incomprehensible. Should any reader care to have a look at these rambling screeds, or fancies that they might be able to make head or tail of them, I would be happy to supply the details.
For a number of legal reasons, I am unable to reveal the full provenance of the Lucan papers. What I can say, however, is that in 2004, a cache of handwritten documents ended up in the vaults of a leading London solicitors. Two years ago, I was approached with a view to editing these papers. I can only hope that I have done the manuscript justice.
Finally, it should be noted that Lord Lucan levels a number of venomous accusations at his one-time friends, particularly Sir James Goldsmith. I am sure that if the ever-litigious Sir James were still alive today, we would already have been hit with the first libel writ. I was in some doubt as to whether to include these sundry rants against Sir James, but in the end opted to stick with the spirit of the manuscript. I realise that, given his fragile state of mind, Lucan is not a credible witness. But those who seek to defend Sir James must also concede that he was a charlatan of the first order. I am therefore more than happy to leave it to the readers to sort the wheat from the chaff when it comes to weighing up Sir James s many calumnies.
I have included a number of footnotes, the better to clarify and embellish some of the points that Lucan breezily skates over.
But, for the rest of it, this is wholly the work of Lord Lucan. This is his story.
William Coles - Edinburgh, May 2009
Dedication
To all those other passengers on this Ship of Fools who have ventured everything on a single roll of the dice. I only hope they fared better than I did.
Chapter 1
This is the story of a vile man - and I am that man and I committed a most wicked deed.
There can be no excuses. There are no mitigating circumstances. It was one of the most evil things a man can do.
That events did not turn out as I d planned is irrelevant. For what I had set out to do, and what I set into motion on that black November night, was an infamous act in its own right.
The cards did indeed fall differently from how I expected. I could never have predicted quite so catastrophic a turn of events. But that is the very nature of events. Things frequently do not turn out as we would like them.
Nevertheless, it was I who conceived the whole of that crazed venture and I who accepts full responsibility for the consequences.
And now that I am in the very twilight of my days, it is time to make full and frank confession of my wasted life. From start to finish, it has been such a waste and there have been so many sins along the way. Most of them venial sins of the flesh.
But there is one sin for which I can never be forgiven.
And I would be the first to admit that.
Before I embark on my tale, I would like to make two things plain. The first is - and I know this may sound far-fetched - that at the time I believed I had a higher motive. Whatever I did, no matter how appalling, I believed that I was doing for the good of my three children.
You might well say that I was primarily acting out of selfishness and I could not possibly disagree. But, how ever warped it might seem, at the time I truly believed that what I was doing was ultimately for the best for my son George and two daughters Frances and Camilla.
I can almost hear the hollow laughs of disbelief. How on earth does a man plot to kill his estranged wife, leaving his children motherless, yet claim that it s for the best ?
It sounds laughable, I know it does.Worse, it sounds utterly self-deluding and pathetic.
But if you are to comprehend anything at all of my life, you must understand that although my judgement may have been twisted beyond measure, at the time I sincerely believed that what I did, I did for the good of my children. All I cared about was them.
They were - and continue to be - the three things that I cherish most dearly in this evil old heart of mine.
And it is, perhaps, a small irony that my whole monstrous plan was conceived so that I could spend more time with my children. As it turned out, I have never laid eyes on them since. I have studied their pictures, I have read their quotes in the newspapers, but I have not seen them, have not kissed their darling cheeks, in over 20 years. To my eternal shame, I have also had to witness how that single dark deed has cast such a hideous shadow over all three of their lives.
That, then, is the first thing you need to understand about my life and my motives. It can never be right to do what I did. But at the time, at least, I thought that ends were justified by means.
The second thing you must realise is the enormity of the price that I have had to pay. I know that this is as nothing compared to the price that Sandra, dear Sandra, had to pay all those years ago, and that while she lies dead in her grave, I at least have been allowed that wonderful miracle of life.
But what a stinking misery of a life it has been - and, in so far as one can discuss that airy conceit of natural justice, it would be fair to say that I have received my just desserts. Not that what has occurred to me has even been a penny, a scintilla, of the price that Sandra had to pay.
But, it has been a price, an awful price, and to this day I still wonder if it wouldn t have been better if I had done away with myself the moment I realised the whole affair had been botched beyond belief.
I didn t though. Always I waited for the next turn of the card, hoping for something better to turn up. Although it never did. Year after year, things became ever more terrible. In fact, rather than being nicknamed Lucky , it sometimes feels as if a more appropriate name might be Cursed by God . That has been my life and what little I have left of it.
I must just say one thing more.
I am very much to blame.
I am the guilty party.
And, as a result, I cannot possibly complain or bleat about the hand that has been dealt me. But - and I pause for a moment on how to write this without sounding full of impious self-pity - it would also be true to say that there has been a man in my life who has not helped matters; a man,