The Wilt Inheritance (2010)

by Tom Sharpe

  Eva had finally found two spare rooms in a guest house. She was already cursing Wilt for having taken the car. Without it she was stuck. While the hotel had at least had a restaurant as well as a courtesy minibus, the guest house had nothing and there was nowhere to eat within walking distance. She didn’t even have the telephone number of Sandystones Hall to let Henry know that she’d had to move. Having called directory enquiries she had been given two numbers, both of which she had tried several times only to find they appeared to be permanently engaged. To add to her troubles the landlady had come upstairs twice already to complain about the din the quads were making in their room next-door.

  “If you don’t stop those girls making such a dreadful noise, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave,” she said. “I have a permanent resident, an old lady who has had a very serious operation recently from which she’s recuperating.”

  “Oh, God,” muttered Eva, trying to think what on earth to do. It looked as though she’d have to go back to Sandystones Hall if only to collect the car since she couldn’t reach Wilt to tell him to bring it back. What the hell was she going to do with the quads? If she left them behind she’d probably get back to find that they’d all been thrown out. The only thing she could think of was to leave them outside the gate of the Hall and hope they could stay out of trouble there for half an hour.

  Having come to this decision, she silenced the quads for the umpteenth time and called for a taxi to take her back up to Sandystones Hall. By the time she got there she had changed her mind about leaving the quads. They had spent the entire journey in a sulk at not being allowed to stay in the guest house on their own and were now threatening to hitchhike all the way home if this holiday was going to be so boring. Eva apologised to the driver for their terrible manners and tried to hide the rip they had made in a seat with her coat. “Would you please go in through the back gate? I want to collect our car and get straight out of here again, ideally without being seen.”

  “You won’t get in unless you know the security code,” he told her. “They’re very strict about that and I don’t know it. We’d best go round to the front door.”

  Very reluctantly, Eva agreed.

  “Just go slowly,” she warned. “It’s terribly dangerous.”

  The taxi driver said he knew that all too well and his cab had several dents in it to prove it. When she heard this Eva felt a bit better about the damage to the inside of the taxi: at least it wasn’t a new one.

  Fifteen minutes later they had reached the Hall and were staring with some surprise at the hearse parked in front of it with the outline of a coffin just visible inside.

  “Looks like someone’s bought it at long last,” the driver muttered. “I’ve said it before…they should have done something drastic about that blasted young maniac. Spoilt he is. Mind you, they’re a queer bunch altogether.”

  He got out of the taxi and went over to one of the pall-bearers to have a word with him.

  Eva knew perfectly well who was in the coffin but she let the quads go on thinking that someone on the Estate had been shot and killed. Perhaps that would quieten them down a bit.

  ∗

  For Wilt the arrival of the hearse changed nothing. At least Eva’s staying at the hotel would give him a chance to recuperate alone at home from the horrors of the past week. After looking in vain for Lady Clarissa to tell her he’d had enough, he’d decided simply to leave a note and his phone number. Since then he had been busy packing and getting ready to leave this place and all its mad inhabitants for good. He went down to the kitchen to tell Mrs Bale he was definitely leaving, though not where he was going.

  “I can’t say I blame you. I’d do the same myself if I had the money and there was a better job to be had round here, but I have a very small house with a mortgage so I couldn’t sell…and besides, at my time of life I’ve good friends here and I’ve never lived anywhere else. Still, I’m sorry you’re leaving. Is your wife going home with you?”

  “I’ve tried ringing her but there was no answer. She’s doubtless too busy having a wonderful time with the quads in that luxurious hotel. I’ve a good mind to leave it to her to explain why I’m leaving to Lady Clarissa: Eva got me into this idiotic situation. By the way, is the parson already down there? I saw a taxi arrive just now.”

  “Oh, no,” said Mrs Bale with a laugh. “They don’t bother with a priest…or haven’t since I’ve been here. Sir George dons a parson’s collar and paraphernalia and conducts the service himself. Claims he has the right to as head of the family, in the family chapel. I wouldn’t know whether it’s legal or not.”

  “But are they really just going to stick the old man in the ground down there? It doesn’t sound right to me,” said Wilt.

  “I agree, but apparently that’s always been the custom in the family. Of course, they don’t bury strangers in the graveyard, only close relatives.”

  “Extraordinary. It certainly makes the place more interesting…but not interesting enough to make me want to stay, I’m afraid. And my advice to you is to find yourself a bullet-proof vest if you really are stuck here.”

  Wilt said goodbye to Mrs Bale. Feeling only a twinge of guilt at leaving without telling the Gadsleys, he took his suitcase out to the car and presently was driving up the family lane and out through the gate on to the road.

  Behind him the late Colonel Harold Rumble’s coffin was being lifted out of the hearse and carried round to the family graveyard. At the gate Wilt thought he caught the sound of Abide With Me’ being sung but decided he must have imagined it.

  As he left the Hall by the back road Eva was making her way in at the front, having made the quads swear they would sit quietly on the lawn and wait for her. Once in the house she found her way to the kitchen where a surprised Mrs Bale almost dropped the tea things.

  “I’m afraid that if it’s Mr Wilt you’re after, you’ve just missed him.”

  “Missed him? Did he tell you where he was going?”

  “No, I’m afraid he didn’t.”

  “Well, didn’t you ask him?”

  “No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “What business is it of mine?”

  “But didn’t he even mention whether he was coming to see me and the girls?”

  “No, he didn’t. I’ve told you that already, several times,” the secretary replied brusquely. She found Eva’s manner decidedly irritating and by now understood Wilt’s simmering resentment. It was one thing being browbeaten by Sir George – at least she was paid well to put up with his rudeness – but she wasn’t going to endure any more of this obnoxious woman’s intrusive questioning, which almost amounted to an interrogation. And Eva’s next question definitely did.

  “Did my husband make love to Clarissa? I want an honest answer.”

  Mrs Bale decided to get her own back for this impertinence.

  “Of course he did. I mean, after all, they were in neighbouring bedrooms and your husband is a very attractive man. You can hardly pretend Sir George is of an age to satisfy – sexually, I mean – a woman as beautiful as her ladyship, so what else did you expect? That she really paid him a large salary to tutor her idiot son? I mean, that’s pretty unlikely, isn’t it?”

  It was a speechless and furious Eva who stormed upstairs and threw open the door of the first bedroom she came to. And sure enough there was Lady Clarissa, staring at her reflection in a huge mirror.

  She was dressed in her panties and little else. When she spotted Eva’s reflection, she turned to stare at her in person.

  “What the hell do you want?” she snapped.

  “You’ve been sleeping with my husband, you whore!” spluttered Eva, unfortunately gaping at Clarissa’s breasts as she did so.

  “How dare you burst in here making accusations! And what in God’s name are you staring at? Haven’t you seen a pair of breasts before? You’re not bisexual, are you?”

  “Certainly not! You really are disgusting
.” Eva hesitated for a moment. “What I want to know is, where is Henry? He’s obviously just got out of bed with you so you must know where he is.”

  Lady Clarissa didn’t bother to correct her. “I’ve no idea where your wretched husband is, and if you bothered to look after yourself like I do you might be better able to hold on to him. Just get out, will you, or I’ll be late for the funeral.”

  Eva went slowly back downstairs. Her worst fears had been confirmed: Henry was an adulterer. She looked around for Mrs Bale but the secretary⁄housekeeper had made herself scarce. She’d had enough of Mrs Wilt.

  Eva went outside to gather up the quads and take them back to the guest house, but despite their promises there was no sign of them. She tried quizzing the cab driver but he said they must have gone off when he had his back turned, talking to the pall-bearers, and anyway he wasn’t a bloody child minder and she should take better care in the first place.

  At this final straw a distraught Eva sank to the ground and began to wail.

  ∗

  The quads had grown bored of staring across the lawn at the yew hedge and wondering what was happening behind it. They had never seen an actual burial, only the occasional brief film clips on the television of coffins being lowered on straps into oblong holes outside churches or disinterred in autopsy cases where murder was suspected. Here was an opportunity to see the real thing. So while Eva searched for Wilt they made their way cautiously down to the family graveyard, mindful of Edward’s propensity to shoot anything that moved.

  They dashed into the kitchen garden and climbed the wall into the field behind it. From there they crept along behind the cottage and a hedge towards the pine wood beyond the lake and then around the boat house. In short, they kept well out of sight and spoke in whispers when they spoke at all. Finally they reached the rear of the tiny unconsecrated chapel which was itself hidden by the yew hedge surrounding the cemetery. All the same, they took the precaution of taking it in turns to lie on the ground and keep watch at the entrance to the graveyard while the others examined the coffin. Just looking at it soon grew boring. They started to wonder whether the coffin lid was nailed shut: much to their delight it wasn’t. When – after much daring and goading on of one another – they opened the lid there was a corpse inside.

  “Bloody hell! I can’t believe they left it open.”

  “That’ll be so as people can say a proper goodbye to him. You know, like you see on the telly. God, he’s ugly, though. And, look, he’s got a wooden leg, hasn’t he?”

  “I bet you it’s that old uncle Mummy told us about in Ipford,” said Josephine with some disappointment. She’d hoped it might really be someone who had been shot and killed on the Estate. Or someone rotting away at least.

  “He’s a colonel in the army.”

  “Was. I don’t think he’ll be doing any more fighting.”

  “With that wooden leg, I don’t see how he could,” said Samantha. “And anyway he’s too old.”

  At that moment Emmeline ran up from her hiding place by the hedge. “Quick, shut that lid! There’s two people coming down, arguing their heads off.”

  A moment later the coffin was shut and the quads were on the ground, keeping well behind the chapel where they couldn’t be seen but could hear everything that was being said. The man who had to be Sir George was obviously in an ugly mood.

  “He was not a Gadsley – how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not going to conduct a ceremony for someone who isn’t related to the family. And I don’t care what you say about getting the local Vicar in, I’m not having that old fool buried here and that’s that. You should have had him cremated as I told you. In fact, I’ve half a mind to set light to the blasted box here and now. Except that would mean his rotten ashes would be here on the Estate.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Someone would see the smoke and wonder what was going on. I can’t see why you’re being so horrible, George. He’s my uncle and I’m your wife so he is family. You’ll be telling me next that Edward isn’t family.”

  “Eddie? Christ, no, he bloody well isn’t,” spluttered an irate Sir George. “If he were in my family I’d have had him castrated years ago, to make sure his useless genes didn’t carry on down the line. He’s not going to be buried here either, when and if we’re fortunate enough to be rid of him.”

  “Now listen, Clarissa, you’ll do what any sensible person would and go and arrange something with the Vicar in the village. Either that or have the old bugger cremated. That’s what you always said you were going to do when the time came.”

  “Oh, you are so vile, George. I know I did, but I changed my mind.”

  “You haven’t a mind to change,” he snarled. “Get this into your head. I am not having the cemetery defiled by burying someone outside the family in it. And that’s my final word on the matter.”

  Peering round the side of the chapel, the quads saw him stride off.

  Lady Clarissa leant against the coffin, crying audibly for five minutes, and then she followed him. When they had both gone the quads came out of their hiding place.

  “Lady Clarissa was crying,” Emmeline said. “And that horrible man didn’t care.”

  “Well, she’s horrible too,” said Josephine. “I overheard that fat woman telling Mummy she’s been having sex with Dad. Every night,” she added, embellishing the story a bit to make it more salacious. “Why don’t we teach them both a lesson?”

  “How?”

  “Let’s pinch the body, and then he’ll think she’s gone ahead and had it buried here in the cemetery and she’ll think he’s burned it!”

  “All right, but where can we hide it?”

  “I suppose we could bury it. Neither of them would find it then and all hell would break loose.”

  “But we’d never dig a grave big enough to hold it,” Emmeline objected. “I mean, that coffin’s huge.”

  “We could take the dead body out, so it would look like it had been stolen.”

  “Who on earth wants to touch a dead body? I know I don’t.”

  Samantha spoke up next.

  “Don’t be such a stupid coward. All we’d need would be some plastic gloves or something. That way there would be no need actually to touch the body, and there’d be no fingerprints if anybody did find him.”

  “I still don’t see what we’re going to do about digging the grave.”

  “Don’t have to dig one,” said Josephine. “We can always take him into the woods and make a big pile and do what Sir George wanted to do.”

  “You mean, burn him? How horrible.”

  “It isn’t. They cremate dead bodies all over the country every day. A lot of people put it in their wills that they don’t want to be buried at all. They want their ashes scattered over their gardens. Or somewhere beautiful.”

  “That’s true. I read about some man the other day who wants to be taken to the moon and scattered there when he kicks the bucket.”

  “Silly sod. He’d just float away, wouldn’t he?”

  “OK, we’ll burn him. But we’ll need some matches.”

  “Check no one’s coming, I’m going to the cottage. There was a packet of plastic gloves in the kitchen and there are bound to be matches as well,” Samantha told the others.

  She set off, keeping well under cover, and twenty minutes later had returned with eight disposable gloves and a matchbook.

  At the gate to the graveyard Josephine called out, “Something weird’s going on up by the drawbridge. They have two furniture vans and men are unloading tables and chairs. Anyone would think they were going to have a garden party.”

  “For a funeral? Don’t be silly.”

  “Well come and see for yourselves.”

  The other three did, lying one at a time where she had lain. Then they all went behind the hedge.

  “More likely the guests will be mourners coming for the burial which isn’t going to happen.”

  “With coloured umbrellas?”

  “No, I have
to admit, that’s odd,” agreed Emmeline. “Now if they were black it would make more sense.”

  “I bet it’s the food bit and not the mourners. They’d have to set up first and they might need brollies in case of rain.”

  “Oh, well, never mind that,” said Samantha. “We’ve got to get the body out very quickly and hide it somewhere. We can come back later and take his uniform off.”

  “How gruesome. Wiry can’t we burn him with it on?” asked Penelope.

  “Because his medals and belt buckle and cap badge are made of metal and it doesn’t burn.”

  “What are we going to do with his clothes and the wooden leg?” Emmy asked.

  “We can’t leave them here or anywhere nearby. Someone is bound to find them.”

  “The wooden leg will burn, won’t it, stupid? And as for the clothes, I suppose we could take them out to sea in a plastic bag and weigh them down with a rock. Nobody would find them there,” Josephine declared.

  “Except for a skin diver,” Samantha replied. “Or someone fishing with a hook and line.”

  “Please, can we just get on with it before someone comes and catches us? We’d never get all his stuff back to the guest house without Mummy seeing us, in any case. We’ll just have to bury it all somewhere they won’t think of looking. We don’t need to decide where now.”

  “There’s no need to be so bossy! OK, let’s see if we can move him.”

  They pulled the late Colonel out of the coffin quite easily and disappeared with him into the thick stand of pines behind the chapel.

  23

  Up at the Hall Eva was hoarse from calling for the quads and had begun to think they might have gone off in search of the beach. She’d had to borrow money from Mrs Bale to pay the taxi driver, who’d turned quite nasty when she had told him she’d pay him as soon as her husband came back.

  “All I’m telling you is that I’m adding all this waiting time and I’ll bloody well get my solicitor to take action if…”

  There was no need for him to go on. Eva had dashed back to the kitchen where, to her relief, Mrs Bale had re-emerged and asked if Wilt had returned. Mrs Bale had said she scarcely thought so given that his car was not parked in the yard. She was about to say she could understand why, with a wife like Eva, but changed her mind because the woman was on the verge of tears. A moment later she was crying properly and tears were coursing down her cheeks.