The Wilt Inheritance (11 page)

On Thursday he got home to find that Lady Clarissa had phoned to say she wasn’t coming down to Ipford this weekend after all and suggesting that Wilt should instead catch the train to Utterborough where she’d send a taxi to pick him up.

‘That’s fine by me. The less time I’m closeted with that woman the better pleased I’ll be,’ he told Eva, and went back to twentieth-century German history. Half an hour later the phone rang again. Wilt left his wife to answer it.

‘That was Lady Clarissa,’ she said. ‘She wants you to catch the 10.20 train on the thirteenth. That’s tomorrow.’

‘Why the change?’

‘She said something about Edward getting on Sir George’s nerves.’

‘And she wants him to get on mine instead, I suppose? Did she say how much she was paying me for half a week?’

‘I didn’t like to ask. She seemed to be in a bit of a state. In fact, I wondered whether she’d been drinking. She started saying something about the cook being an old cow and her uncle being a fat bastard … or perhaps it was the other way round. I really didn’t like to interrupt her.’

‘Bloody hell! What on earth have you let me in for? Oh, well, I suppose I’d better go up and pack.’

‘I’ve done that already,’ Eva told him.

Wilt went upstairs and checked his suitcase to make
sure Eva hadn’t put the pink chalk-stripe suit in. She had. He removed it and hid it underneath a jacket in the wardrobe. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and cursed his wife for having got him into this infernal situation. One thing he definitely wasn’t going to do was take a dinner jacket; the Gadsleys probably dressed for dinner but he intended to maintain an independent stance.

The next morning Eva drove him down to the railway station and by twelve o’clock he was in the taxi at Utterborough, on the road to Sandystones Hall.

Built in the nineteenth century, the Hall had a mile-long drive which culminated in an amazing moat. The architect who designed it had been instructed by his client, General Gadsley, that Hunstanton Hall in Norfolk had one and so Sandystones must too. The building itself was such an extraordinary conglomeration of conflicting styles that it was commonly conjectured that General Gadsley – who had been in India at the time – must have changed what there was of his mind every month, removing any last shred of architectural coherence from the original design. More charitable critics would have it that the General’s horrific experiences in the Indian Mutiny had turned him into an opium addict, and this accounted for the series of bizarre instructions he sent back. Whatever the truth of this, the architect was known to have become so confused by them that he became a semi-deranged
alcoholic himself. His client died of dengue fever after being bitten by a mosquito and never came back to England to see the indescribable monstrosity which was the result of his many and varied instructions.

Fortunately the discriminating passers-by were spared any accidental glimpse of it by the high wall surrounding the grounds. This was augmented by the unnecessarily long and tortuous drive, and by the half-mile-wide belt of beech woods planted by subsequent generations of Gadsleys, to hide what some of the more sensitive of the General’s descendants considered the family ‘shame’.

As the taxi wove its way up the drive through the encroaching forest, frequently swerving round deliberately sharp and narrow corners to avoid crashing into tree trunks and overhanging branches, Wilt decided to insist that Eva and the quads should be met at the gates and driven down to the Hall by someone more accustomed to this death trap of a road. By the time they reached open parkland he was black and blue from tumbling about in the back of the taxi and determined that he would never drive this way himself. And then he saw Sandystones Hall half a mile ahead.

‘Whoever called it Sandystones must have been blind,’ muttered Wilt, surprised to find that the extraordinary house was not as enormous as he had expected. ‘More like Greypebbles.’

‘You can say that again,’ the driver agreed.

‘Is there any sand round here?’

‘Look to your left. See the nine-hole golf course? Bunkers have to have sand. Of course, they could have brought it up from the beach … I don’t believe that, though. It’s too expensive. Mind you, they’re as rich as hell. I mean, they have their own private cemetery and chapel.’

They stopped beside the drawbridge across the moat. Beyond it loomed a massively ornamented front door, though both door and moat looked ridiculously overblown against the relatively small scale of the Hall itself. Wilt got out and reached for his wallet but the taxi driver shook his head.

‘They’ve got an account,’ he said, and carried the suitcase across the bridge to the front door where he pulled the bell rope. Presently an extremely plump grey-haired woman dressed in black opened it.

‘Mr Wilt? Do come in. I’ll show you up to your room. I’m afraid the cottage you were promised isn’t quite ready yet but I do assure you it will be by the time your family arrives. Lady Clarissa apologises for her absence but she has been suddenly called away. I’m Mrs Bale, Sir George’s secretary. I come over and act as housekeeper when either of them is away.’

‘I must say I’ve never stayed in a house with a drawbridge before,’ said Wilt, gazing around him at the furniture which, like the house itself, was extraordinary. Everything had clearly come from India. Even the portraits of what he presumed were family ancestors
on the ornately panelled staircase wall were of people dressed in the uniforms of the Indian Army during the heyday of the Empire.

‘And this is your room,’ Mrs Bale told him, opening a door at the top of the stairs. ‘The bathroom’s through the door over there. If there’s anything you need just let me know. There’s a bell on the desk.’

But Wilt hardly heard her. He was gaping at an enormous bed which looked as though it had been designed for six overweight adults.

‘All the beds in the house are that size,’ said Mrs Bale, evidently reading his mind. ‘Very difficult for the maid to make in the morning. You have to run round them to tuck in the other side. I personally find them quite comfortable.’

She went to the door.

‘If you’re hungry, the kitchen’s downstairs along the passage to your right by the back door. That’s where I eat and have my tea.’

Wilt thought to himself that from the size of her it must be quite some tea, but refrained from commenting and thanked her as she pulled the door to.

Left to himself he wondered what sort of household he’d come to, and for the umpteenth time what on earth he’d let himself in for. Then, having unpacked, he went out on to the landing and down the stairs, wandering from room to room exploring the house. Everything inside the Hall was as peculiar as the exterior had
promised. Through the windows overlooking the drawbridge he could see what looked like a lake with a chapel on its far side, and to his right a walled kitchen garden with a cottage standing beside it. That presumably was where he would be staying with Eva and the quads when they arrived. In the end he wandered outside and followed the moat round to the back of the house where he was surprised to find a wide and solid metal gate set in a wall, with beyond it a cobbled yard in front of a garage big enough for several cars.

‘That’s the family’s way in. You have to press the bell beside you on the right three times for the gate to open,’ called a woman’s voice. Wilt looked up and saw Mrs Bale standing at the top of a flight of steps at the back of the house.

‘Come in and have a cup of tea,’ she invited him. He went up the steps and followed her into what seemed to be the kitchen, judging from the stove and racks of cooking equipment. But the room’s sheer size was astonishing: it was enormous in relation to the rest of the house.

‘Sit yourself down,’ Mrs Bale instructed him. ‘The corners are the best places for conversation in here otherwise one has to shout. I doubt if you’ve ever been in a stranger place – this whole house, I mean.’

Wilt agreed. He hadn’t.

‘I think you ought to be warned that Sir George is a weird old devil too,’ she went on as she handed Wilt his tea. ‘He used to be called Smith or something
equally ordinary. From what my late husband told me, he wasn’t a real Gadsley at all, let alone a Sir. Apparently the line died out when old Sir Gadsley, the real Sir Gadsley that is caught a bad case of mumps, so that was that. His sister had married a Mr Smith and their eldest boy inherited Sandystones and the Estate. They do say he has no right to the title at all, though I wouldn’t like to comment. In fact, if I’m honest, there are some who say that old Sir Aubrey – the last real Gadsley – didn’t even get mumps.’ She paused to draw breath. ‘Now I don’t hold with gossip, but I have heard it said that he was a bit … you know … funny.’

‘Funny?’ asked Wilt, who didn’t have a clue what the woman was rabbiting on about.

‘Yes. Funny. You know, batted for the other side. In any case, I don’t hold with gossip but the upshot of it all is that Lady Clarissa is no lady, if you see what I mean.’

‘I found her to be completely respectable when I met her,’ said Wilt hastily, just in case either of the Gadsleys was within earshot of this embarrassing series of revelations.

‘No, no. I mean she isn’t a Lady with a capital L. Even if Sir George were a baronet, she wouldn’t be called Lady Clarissa, she’d be Lady Gadsley. But she’s not. She thinks she is but it’s about as real as one of those titles you can buy on the internet. Or so I’m told. I never have, of course … although my late
husband did once get a plot of land on the moon as a birthday present. Fat lot of use that was!’

Wilt felt as though he had landed on Mars, never mind the moon. This was becoming increasingly surreal. It looked and sounded as though everyone at the Hall was completely batty.

‘You were talking about Sir George,’ he said, trying to steer the conversation back on course.

‘Oh, him. Well, he’s been a magistrate for years now, though the way he carries on you wouldn’t know it sometimes. In fact, I find it’s best not to disagree with him else he stomps around, shouting the odds.’

Wilt made a mental note of this advice.

‘Thanks for telling me. What’s Lady Clarissa like?’

‘Drinks. Come to that, they both do. And … Well, you’ll soon find out for yourself. As I understand it you’ve come to get her son Edward through some exam. I can’t say I envy you. Strange boy, that one. Skulks around the place, throwing stones and the like … In the old days he’d probably have been put in one of those homes, you know, for children who had a bit missing. Two bob short of a shilling, if you get my meaning … Anyway he went out first thing this morning and none of us have seen hide nor hair of him since.’

On this dour note she got up and trekked to a very large stove where she poured some more water into a catering-size teapot.

‘Another cup?’ she asked.

Wilt nodded and thanked her. A bit missing? Good God, the boy really was an idiot.

‘You don’t think he’s – well, bright enough?’

‘I don’t know what he is. What I do know is that Sir George loathes him. In any case, the boy’s not his real son, only his step-son, so maybe that’s why they don’t hit it off.’

‘Oh, well, it certainly doesn’t sound like a very happy household,’ said Wilt with a sigh. ‘I’m surprised you stay on here.’

‘Have to because my husband was killed in a car accident … just like Lady Clarissa’s first one was, although it was a different level crossing, of course … and Sir George needed a secretary so I applied. I need to work and the pay is good so I stay on and just keep myself to myself. As I said, I don’t hold with gossip.’

‘Absolutely not. Of course not,’ said Wilt hurriedly. ‘Well, all I can say is that you’ve been remarkably helpful, giving me all this information. I really appreciate what you’ve done. Thank you very much.’

‘Not at all. It’s just that I have seen so many people walk innocently into this rat trap … actually, no, I think madhouse is a better description … that I thought you ought know what you are up against. They’re not a normal couple – she married him for his money – and as for her ladyship’s son, if you manage to teach him anything at all …’ Here she stopped abruptly. Edward was evidently not a topic
she cared to dwell on. Wilt tactfully changed the subject.

‘I suppose no one would mind if I phoned my wife, to tell her I’ve arrived and that she’s not to use the main gate when she comes? That route through the woods is horribly dangerous. What I saw of the back lane struck me as far safer.’

‘The old road is meant to deter unwanted visitors. And of course you can use the phone. I’ll show you where it is.’

She led the way along a corridor. Halfway down she looked over her shoulder to check that no one was observing them before stopping beside a half-concealed door. ‘This is his private lavatory,’ she said with a grin. Sir George has had a telephone installed in there. He can be inside for hours sometimes – he claims it’s constipation but I’m certain he uses it for illegal purposes. To make the sliding door open you have to shine an infra-red torch at it …’

‘And what’s inside?’

‘Exactly what you’d expect in a lavatory … with the addition of a telephone, fax machine and computer. Oh, and it’s sound-proofed too.’

‘This is the strangest house I’ve ever been in,’ Wilt muttered to himself, then looked at her suspiciously. ‘How do you know what’s in there?’

Mrs Bale laughed quietly.

‘He went to London one day and forgot to hide the torch … so I used it.’

‘But how did you know what the torch was for in the first place?’

‘Because I happened to be on my knees at the top of the stairs one day, fixing the carpet, and he didn’t see me above him.’

‘Blimey! You don’t half take chances,’ Wilt said, privately wondering how on earth she’d managed to get down on her knees in the first place, given the size of her.

‘Have to in this loony bin,’ she said with a snigger.

‘I guess so. Well, where’s the phone I can use?’

‘Outside his study. He likes to be able to hear what people are saying.’

‘Thanks. I just want to tell my wife to be sure to get a taxi. I don’t want her driving through that awful wood.’