Best Kept Secret

way.’
    ‘That’s logical,’ said Ellsworthy. ‘Better take them both out.’
    ‘I agree with Major Fisher,’ said Giles, realizing it would increase his lead from 4–2 to 4–1. Fisher looked as if he wanted to protest, but said nothing.
    They all looked at the last ballot paper. Wainwright smiled.
    ‘Not in my lifetime, I suspect,’ he said, placing a paper with the words
Independence for Scotland
scrawled across it on the spoilt pile.
    Wainwright then checked each ballot paper again, before saying, ‘That’s four votes for Barrington, one for Fisher and one for Ellsworthy.’ He wrote down the numbers in his note
book and said, ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’
    ‘Let’s hope that’s not the only vote you win tonight,’ Griff mumbled to Giles as they left the stage and joined Miss Parish and her scrutineers.
    The town clerk returned to the front of the stage and once again blew his whistle. His team of deputies immediately began walking up and down the aisles writing down the final numbers from each
counter, before taking them on to the stage and handing them to the town clerk.
    Mr Wainwright studied each figure carefully before entering the numbers into a large adding machine, his only concession to the modern world. Once he’d pressed the add button for the last
time, he wrote down the final figures against the three names, considered them for a moment, then invited the candidates to join him on the stage once again. He then told them the result and agreed
to Giles’s request.
    Miss Parish frowned when she saw Fisher giving his supporters a thumbs-up sign, and realized they had lost. She glanced up towards the gallery to see Sebastian waving energetically at her. She
waved back, but looked down again when Mr Wainwright tapped the microphone, creating a hush of expectation in the hall.
    ‘I, the returning officer for the constituency of Bristol Docklands, declare the total number of votes cast for each candidate to be as follows:
Sir Giles Barrington
18,714  
Mr Reginald Ellsworthy
3,472  
Major Alexander Fisher
18,908.’
    A huge cheer and prolonged clapping rose from the Fisher camp. Wainwright waited for order to be restored before he added, ‘The sitting member has asked for a re-count, and I have
    granted his request. Will every teller please re-check their piles most carefully, and make sure no mistakes have been made.’
    The counters began to check, and re-check, every ten, then every hundred, and finally every five hundred, before raising their hands to signal that they had completed the task a second time.
    Giles looked up to the heavens in silent prayer, only to see Sebastian waving frantically, but then something Griff said distracted him.
    ‘You ought to be thinking about your speech,’ said Griff. ‘You must thank the town clerk, his workers, your workers, and above all, if Fisher wins, you must appear magnanimous.
After all, there’ll always be another election.’
    Giles wasn’t so sure there would be another election for him. He was about to say so, when Miss Parish hurried across to join them.
    ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said, ‘but Sebastian seems to be trying to catch your attention.’
    Giles and Griff looked up at the balcony where Sebastian was leaning well over the rail, almost begging one of them to join him.
    ‘Why don’t you go up and see what his problem is,’ said Griff, ‘while Giles and I prepare for the new order.’
    Miss Parish climbed the stairs to the balcony to be met by Sebastian waiting on the top step. He grabbed her by the arm, pulled her towards the railing and pointed down into the body of the
hall. ‘You see that man sitting on the end of the third row wearing a green shirt?’
    Miss Parish looked in the direction he was indicating. ‘Yes. What about him?’
    ‘He’s been cheating.’
    ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Miss Parish, trying to sound calm.
    ‘He reported five hundred votes for Fisher to one of the deputy town clerks.’
    ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Miss Parish. ‘He’s got five piles of one hundred in front of him.’
    ‘I know,’ said Sebastian, ‘but one of those piles has a Fisher ballot paper on top, and the ninety-nine underneath are for Uncle Giles.’
    ‘Are you certain of that?’ asked Miss Parish. ‘Because if Griff asks Mr Wainwright to check those votes personally, and you turn out to be wrong . . .’
    ‘I’m certain,’ said Sebastian defiantly.
    Miss Parish still didn’t look