The Wilt Inheritance (18 page)

‘We’ll just have to walk to a telephone box,’ Eva told the quads who were tired of standing by now and were sprawling on the verge, although thankfully
fully clothed this time. They got up reluctantly and set off, dragging their feet and walking so slowly that Eva finally resorted to blackmail and promised to buy a pay-as-you-go phone for all four of them if they would only get a move on.

Half a mile further on they at last came to a man who was using a sickle to cut back stinging nettles on the other verge. Eva crossed over and enquired how far it was to the next village.

‘I’d say about six miles,’ he replied. ‘Could be a bit further. You lot on a walking tour or something?’

‘No, our car is in a wheat field because a huge truck came round a sharp bend on the wrong side of the road and …’

‘I saw that raving maniac. He’s going to kill someone one of these days. He ought to lose his licence. The bugger must have been doing well over seventy at least.’

‘He nearly killed us,’ said Eva bitterly. ‘Is there somewhere nearby where I can phone a garage? Like a farmhouse or just a phone box?’

The man shook his head.

‘Not hereabouts. I mean, who’d want to live this far out, like – it’s the back of beyond. There used to be a phone box, mind you, but that’s long gone. There’s a farm two miles off behind you, but Mrs Wornsley had a baby three days ago and she’s still in Fenscombe Hospital. Her husband’s gone over to see how she is.’ Eva looked round at the flat fields seemingly filled with
wheat for as far as the eye could see. The entire landscape was flat. Only the trees along the roadside broke the monotony. Over to the right she could see the spire of a church and what looked like some roofs, but that was a long way off. She turned back to the man cutting nettles.

‘How do you get here?’ she asked.

‘Well, I work here and live in a cottage next to the Wornsleys. I’m his pig man, see. He drives me into market once a week when he’s going, to get my provisions. And I’ve got a bike too.’

At this point he paused and looked along the road. A tractor with a trailer behind was coming round the bend. The man crossed over and flagged it down without any fuss at all. ‘Ah, Sam! You’re just the bloke I wanted to see. This lady was forced off the road by that bloke who drives like he’s racing. You know, the bugger in the bloody great truck? Her car went into Volly’s field and she cant’ get it out. You’re heading down that way. Be a good chap and take her and these four lookalike girls of hers down there. See if you can get it back on the road for them.’ He leant closer to the tractor driver and said in a low voice so that Eva couldn’t hear, ‘I reckon she’d make it worth your while.’

‘All right, I don’t mind if I do. You gone into the wheat or something, missus? Tell your girls to hop up in the trailer. Only I wouldn’t like old Volly to find his wheat mucked up. He’s a very bad-tempered old sod, he is.’

Twenty minutes later, with the aid of the tractor driver’s thick tow rope, the Wilts’ old Ford had been dragged back through the hedge, scratched but not too badly damaged. At first the engine still refused to start, but after Sam had opened the bonnet and poked around a bit it coughed.

‘I’d better take you down to Jim Bodle to check this over,’ Sam told them. ‘He’s good with motors. I’m not.’ The quads got back into the trailer and he set off towing the Ford behind. Several miles down the road he pulled into a garage forecourt. A man in blue overalls came out of the work area while the quads disappeared into the small shop alongside.

‘What’s the trouble?’ the garage man asked.

‘Don’t know. Wouldn’t start. Not a tick over until I fiddled a bit, but it still isn’t running right. Ran into old Volly’s wheat field but I can’t see as there’s anything obviously wrong.’

‘What was it doing in a field?’

Eva intervened.

‘I swerved to avoid being killed,’ she said. ‘A great big lorry came round a bend on the wrong side of the road, driven far too fast, so I drove through a hedge and this kind man came along and pulled the car out.’ As she spoke, the man called Jim opened the bonnet and peered inside.

‘Don’t see anything bust in here. Must be underneath.’ He poked about a bit, shining his torch beneath the car. When he came out he was grinning. ‘Next time
you haul a car out of a field, Sam, pull it from the front instead of ploughing it backwards. You’ve blocked the exhaust with earth and straw good and proper. I’ll soon fix that.’

Eva went off to find the quads. Twenty minutes later, after she’d paid for various breakages in the shop and retrieved most of the goods they’d secreted about their persons, they were on their way again with Sam and Jim £20 apiece better off. More than could be said for the shop-keeper who had to close for the rest of the day in order to recover from his ordeal. As they drove off, the quads could be seen giggling in the back of the car. They had learnt yet another way of putting a car temporarily out of action and were now so delayed they were going to be forced to stop somewhere for the night. This holiday was already exceeding their expectations and was certainly a million times better than the boring old Lake District.

Lady Clarissa got out of bed feeling slightly better for her long drink-fuelled sleep and went into the bathroom, mentally reviewing the way many of her problems were resolving themselves. In fact, if only she could get George to accept Uncle Harold’s being interred on the Estate, she would have very little left to worry about. Now that Henry Wilt was tutoring him, she felt sure Edward would get into a Cambridge college. And from the time she had spent with him since he’d arrived, she was convinced that the tutor was interested in her and that – more importantly – he would make a good lover. He’d undoubtedly be a more interesting one than the garage man, who was a little unimaginative except for when car engines were
involved. And from all that Wilt had said, it did seem as though Eva was unduly obsessed with their daughters.

Clarissa couldn’t imagine that the Wilts had a sexually fulfilling married life. Nor could she imagine that they had much by way of money. She’d seen Mrs Wilt’s eyes light up when she’d told them she would pay fifteen hundred pounds a week with a bonus if Edward got into Porterhouse. Uncle Harold’s death had actually worked out quite neatly for her, financially speaking: she’d spent far more staying at the Black Bear for her weekend visits than she was paying Wilt per week. Not that she was really bothered about money. After all, she had married Gadsley for his wealth and her first husband’s death had left her fairly well off in her own right. She climbed out of the bath, dried herself and got dressed, feeling in a thoroughly good mood.

The same could not be said of Eva. She was in a thoroughly bad mood. In addition to the crises she had already been through on her way to and from the school, she had had to spend another night in a hotel. Although the quads had promised to be on their very best behaviour and she had made absolutely certain the mini-bar in their room was locked and bolted, she had been woken up by the most terrible screeching in the early hours of the morning. It took her a while to realise where it was coming from, and then even
longer to persuade the poor woman who had woken to find four girls crawling across her bedroom floor not to call the police. The girls claimed they had gone downstairs to see if they could borrow some books to read and had then returned to the wrong room in error, but that didn’t really explain why Josephine seemed to be wearing the woman’s make-up and Penelope one of her necklaces.

Eva had spent the rest of the night trying to sleep on a chair in their bedroom and in the morning had found herself paying for the woman’s room bill as well as their own. Half an hour later, when she looked into the rear-view mirror and realised that the girls had stolen all of the hotel towels and two of the pillows, she was almost tempted to drive on, thinking that at least they had got their money’s worth, but in the end thought better of it and turned the car round.

The last straw was trying to negotiate her way along the deliberately tortuous driveway to the Hall. Eva had completely forgotten Wilt’s instructions to use the rear entrance and had instead taken the road from the main gate. She’d made dozens of wrong turns, continually finding herself at dead ends, and had had to back up so many times that even the quads fell silent.

Crossing the drawbridge at last, she told them to stay in the car while she went over to pull the bell rope. She had expected Lady Clarissa to greet her at the front door but instead a youth carrying a gun
asked her what she wanted, in a tone that suggested he thought she had come to sell something.

‘I’m Mrs Wilt and we have been invited to stay.’

‘Nobody told me,’ Edward said. ‘I’ll go and get Mrs Bale. She’ll know.’ He disappeared into the Hall and presently, after staring down with some alarm at the water below the drawbridge, Eva heard footsteps approaching. When she looked up, she was glad to see what appeared to be a sensible – if rather large – woman standing before her. Mrs Bale introduced herself and apologised for not having answered the bell herself.

‘I just hope Edward wasn’t rude to you,’ she said, eyeing the four teenage girls in the car.

‘Oh, that was Edward? I had an idea he would be a little younger. Well, he wasn’t particularly polite actually,’ said Eva. ‘Seemed to think I had come to sell something.’

‘He’s like that. Thinks anyone coming to the front door is a salesperson and wants to scare them off. Anyway, come down to the kitchen. I’ve just made a pot of tea.’

‘Thank you. I would love a cup. And perhaps some lemonade or squash for the girls? But is my husband about anywhere if he isn’t with Edward? And Lady Clarissa?’

‘In bed, I’m afraid,’ Mrs Bale said as they went down the passage, the quads gaping at the ancient portraits on the walls as they followed.

‘In bed? Why? With whom? Whatever is the matter?’

‘Well, I’m not one to gossip … but you’ll find out soon enough. Too much to drink, as usual.’

‘Oh, no! How disgraceful! I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible. Whatever must Sir George make of it?’

‘Oh, he’ll no doubt shout and yell a bit but he’ll get over it. Now don’t distress yourself so much. These things happen. Especially in this house.’

‘I can’t bear it! I just can’t bear it!’

‘Please don’t get upset, there’s really no need. In fact, I’m certain I heard noises a bit earlier. I should think she’ll be up any minute and will come straight down to see you.’

‘What, Lady Clarissa’s in bed as well?’ said Eva, with some alarm, wondering what on earth was going on. ‘Did they both drink too much? Please don’t tell me that they’re in bed together …’ She broke off abruptly, only too aware of the girls listening with great interest.

‘What? Of course Lady Clarissa is in bed. Who on earth did you think I was talking about? Oh … I see. She’s in bed on her own, of course. Well, unless Sir George is with her. Which I very much doubt.’

‘I feel so stupid,’ Eva protested as they entered the kitchen, the quads nodding their agreement unseen behind her. ‘But I am sorry to hear about Lady Clarissa.’

‘Well, she’s had a recent death in the family. Her uncle. She’s been consoling herself with dry martinis and the like.’

‘Oh, dear. How dreadful. I am sorry. It must be the mourning period.’

Mrs Bale nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Morning, noon and night. I’m sure I don’t know how she keeps her figure. Or her liver, come to that.’

At this point Eva gave up and quietly drank her tea. When she’d finished Mrs Bale said, ‘I’d better show you where you and your daughters are going to stay. I think you’re lucky not to be in the house. It’s quieter down there, and I’ve fixed the fridge and the stove, although I’m hoping that you will take supper with me in here tonight. Your husband does. He doesn’t like the atmosphere in the dining room.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Eva. ‘I wonder where he is now if he isn’t in bed. Which he isn’t,’ she added quickly. ‘I’d expected him to meet me.’

‘The last I saw of him, he was walking across the lawn past the pond and taking off his shirt. I expect he’s gone for a dip.’

After they’d inspected the cottage, Eva excused herself to Mrs Bale and hurried over to the lake, leaving the girls to amuse themselves in the woods. She soon spotted Wilt, lying on the grass reading, and ran over to him, highly agitated.

‘Oh, Henry,’ she wailed. ‘Something too awful has happened.’

‘I know. Her uncle has died.’

‘It’s far worse than that. It looks as though the girls are definitely going to be expelled from St Barnaby’s.’

Wilt glared at her.

‘As I repeatedly told you, it was bound to happen sooner or later. They should have stayed at the Convent. Anyway, that lets me off the hook here.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Quite simply that I no longer have to waste my time trying to explain modern European history to someone who can barely read and whose only ambition seems to be to kill people. Which, as luck would have it, seems to be his step-father’s ambition for him too.’

‘You’re just being selfish! We’ve only this minute arrived and the girls are looking forward to their holiday. And in any case, what about the fifteen hundred pounds a week she’s paying? We’d have to pay it back.’

‘Oh, no. I was sensible enough not to accept any payment until I’d had a good look at the useless adolescent. Anyway, why are the girls going to be expelled? That’s more to the point.’

Eva’s face reddened.

‘I don’t like to say,’ she muttered.

‘Ah, but I want to hear. In fact, I insist.’

Eva still hesitated. Even the headmistress had been too embarrassed to say it and had handed her another letter as they left.

‘Go on then,’ Wilt said impatiently.

‘Gross indecency,’ she whispered.

‘Hardly surprising. Now that’s not something they got from my side of the family. From what you’ve
told me about that aunt of yours who worked in a pub close to an American air base, I got the distinct impression that she was a …’

‘Don’t say anything about her!’

‘All right. Then you tell me what gross indecencies the quads look like being chucked out for.’