The Wilt Inheritance (26 page)

‘You mean, she’s in mourning for him?’

‘Mrs Bale laughed.

‘Not on your nellie! It’s mainly because she’s got no excuse to go down to Ipford every weekend and sleep with the garage man.’

‘Yes, well …’ said Wilt, who still felt very uncomfortable talking about Lady Clarissa’s sex life. ‘I suppose I’d better go and tell them about the body.’

‘He left the kitchen and went down the corridor to the study, only to find the Superintendent already there with Sir George and Lady Clarissa, who was bawling her eyes out.

The Superintendent looked at Wilt suspiciously.

‘And where did you get to?’ he demanded. ‘Come to that, what were you doing so near the corpses? According to my men, when they arrived you were sitting no more than forty yards away.’

Wilt thought he had a strange turn of phrase, pluralising everything, probably attempting to impress Sir George. He glanced nervously over at Lady Clarissa, wondering why she was quite so upset given that her uncle’s body had at least been recovered.

‘So what? I wasn’t to know there was a grave nearby. I told the officers I was simply going for an
early-morning walk, well away from the idiot I’m supposed to be tutoring. You might not have noticed but the boy spends his time shooting anything he sees moving. That’s why I can only take a walk at first light. And that’s also why my wife went away with the quads.’

‘With the whats?’

‘Our four daughters, born at the same time. Quads is short for quadruplets,’ Wilt tried to explain over the noise of Lady Clarissa’s wails which had become even louder.

The Superintendent decided to change his line of questioning.

‘And what about the smell? The men on the scene said it was disgusting … utterly revolting. How did you get to be relaxing about the place, without a care in the world, that’s what we want to know? Only forty yards away and yet you didn’t smell anything? The sniffer dog did as soon as it got there.’

‘I am not a sniffer dog. I simply sat down to have a rest and look at the view. Anyway there was a strong breeze blowing from the east which probably carried the stink off in the opposite direction. If the corpse was smelling so foully it could be noticed from where I was, your men wouldn’t have gone in in the first place. They came out fast enough.’

‘True,’ said the Superintendent desperately. This bastard had a logical answer for every question.

‘But tell me,’ said the Superintendent, screwing his
eyes into slits, trying to look shrewd and professional, ‘what do you have to say about the second, non-smelly body?’

As he stood listening to the Superintendent subject Wilt to a barrage of questions, Sir George began to put two and two together. God, how he cursed the day he had married a good-looking woman with the morals of an alley cat on heat and a son who could no more get into university than run a mile in ten seconds. And now this! He just knew that the young imbecile had been the one who’d emptied that coffin and taken the body – probably for target practice, knowing him. And then the bloody fool had obviously gone on to shoot himself accidentally! Clarissa, who was by now in an inconsolable state, would make her husband pay dearly, though, of that he was sure.

That Edward had brought this upon himself Sir
George was completely convinced, but he was already struggling to think of a way of avoiding the scandal that was bound to ensue and would in all probability focus on himself. God knows, that bloody Vicar was going to have something to gloat over now. If he could somehow pin Edward’s death on Wilt, that should give him a chance to get himself off the hook … And, now that he thought about it, if Wilt were found guilty, Clarissa would only have herself to blame, given that she’d brought the man to the Hall in the first place.

Sir George reckoned he’d have the Superintendent on his side, too, as he seemed to view Wilt with the utmost suspicion and his interrogation was already taking on a particularly nasty tone.

‘What other body?’ asked Wilt, bewildered.

‘My darling Edward … Edward, my son and heir. My beloved Edward!’ bawled Clarissa, racked with grief. ‘It’s all your fault,’ she cried, turning on her husband. ‘You never liked him. You let him have your guns and encouraged him to shoot himself.’

‘I did nothing of the sort. I can’t help it if Eddie was stupid. Anyway, it must be Wilt here who’s to blame.’

‘Now hang on,’ protested Wilt. ‘What are you on about? I’m not involved in anything. Is Edward dead as well?’

Sir George ignored him and carried on shouting at his wife. ‘You were the one who brought him here to
teach your idiot son, and I know for a fact he’s been teaching him the history of warfare. Eddie must have got worked up then stolen your uncle’s body to use for target practice. For all we know, Wilt might even have helped him set up the corpse in the woods.’

Wilt turned pale and sank down on to a chair.

Sir George seemed quite pleased with his argument and carried on: ‘And how did the Colonel come to die so conveniently, I ask you? Just when Wilt was coming. And don’t think I didn’t know you could hardly wait to shag him …’

‘You complete bastard,’ Clarissa sobbed. ‘Uncle died and you couldn’t have cared less. You wouldn’t even let him be buried in the family graveyard. And now you’re insulting the memory of my dead son. And it’s you who got Edward killed, not me. Yes, you! All because you want to make sure there’s none of us left who aren’t Gadsleys by blood.’

‘Oh, no, not me, my dear. You and your lover Wilt have probably been in league together.’

Wilt could not believe what he was hearing. ‘Contact Detective Inspector Flint in Ipford. He can vouch for my innocence,’ he insisted.

‘We’ve already done that,’ the Superintendent told him, just as the man himself walked in to join the fray.

‘Flint!’ shouted Wilt. ‘Am I glad to see you! Tell them I couldn’t kill a flea.’

The Inspector remained poker-faced. ‘But maybe
this time you have. It was just that I could never pin anything on you before. Looks very much to me as though we’ve finally caught you red-handed.’

Wilt realised he was in deep trouble and very much on his own. This situation was rapidly becoming a nightmare. He knew who he blamed for everything: Eva. This was all her doing, and when he got out of this mess he intended to put his foot down. The quads were definitely going back to the Convent.

‘But why would I want to get Edward killed?’

‘Because you yourself thought him a fool and he has been taking pot shots at your quads,’ Sir George answered.

‘Well, yes, but …’

The Superintendent felt he was losing control of the situation.

‘Lady Clarissa, I must ask whether you have been having … well … relations with Mr Wilt here, as your husband claims?’

‘Don’t you try to pin this on me, you bastard!’ yelled Lady Clarissa, turning on Sir George.

‘Now let’s all calm down,’ Flint said in a calm but firm tone, trying to exert some authority over the situation.

‘Wilt, are you saying you were nowhere near the scene of the crime?’

‘No, I haven’t said that. I was near the place where the bodies were found as I walk there pretty often.’

‘So you admit you are involved?’

‘No, I don’t! As I just said, I was near the scene of the crime, but that does not mean I was involved in the crime itself or that it was a crime to be there.’

‘If you were not involved, although you were there, why were you there?’ Flint was experiencing the usual sense of incipient mental collapse which always descended when he was confronting Wilt.

‘Look – I had no interest in getting Edward killed. Why would I when I only took a job here in the first place because I needed the money I was paid to teach him? No more Edward means there will be no further need of my tutoring services.’

‘Ah! But that leaves the way open for you to start dispensing your services in other ways,’ cried Sir George, trying desperately to steer the blame back on to Wilt.

‘I wasn’t going to pay him for that!’ cried Lady Clarissa, before she could stop herself.

‘So what were you going to pay him for?’ asked Flint.

‘I wasn’t going to pay him for anything. Sir George was going to pay him.’

Wilt, Flint and the Superintendent all turned and stared at Sir George.

‘What? I haven’t arranged anything, I tell you. It was Lady Clarissa who arranged for Wilt to come here. She was the one.’

Wilt, Flint and the Superintendent all turned and stared at Lady Clarissa.

‘Are you suggesting that I could have arranged for
Wilt to kill my own little Edward? He was only meant to tutor him – to get him into Cambridge!’

Flint thought that an unlikely story judging from what he had heard about the boy. However, he was by now totally confused as to who had arranged with whom to do what, and where exactly Wilt fitted into what was clearly a carefully laid plan … before it had gone wrong along the way. Or had it? Flint was completely flummoxed because he couldn’t make sense of any of it.

‘Look – we’re not getting anywhere. Let’s break for a bit and carry out some interviews with the rest of the household, not to mention Mrs Wilt and those four girls,’ he suggested. He, the Superintendent and the Constable went off to the kitchen to try and find someone to make them a cup of tea, only to find it empty. They had to settle for helping themselves to tap water instead.

Mrs Bale entered the study by the other door, carrying a mug of tea for Wilt, whom she had rightly guessed was in dire need of it, and a glass of whisky for Sir George. Lady Clarissa was left to help herself to some cognac.

Wilt drank his tea down quickly then left the study to find Eva and the quads and tell them to get ready to leave, with or without him. They were all sitting together on the edge of the moat, the first sniffer dog having now been joined by the second and both of them pawing occasionally at the quads, despite Eva’s best efforts to repel them.

‘Mummy, is Daddy going to be arrested?’ asked Emmeline.

‘It’s not fair if he is. That stupid boy shot himself,’ Samantha added.

Wilt stared at her.

It was at this juncture that it suddenly dawned on him that his terrible quads were definitely involved in this freebie holiday-turned-tragedy. God, he might have known it. He daren’t let Flint and the other policemen anywhere near them: he had to keep the girls out of this at all costs. He told them not to speak to anyone but to go and sit in the car and wait for him there, then handed over two £10 notes when they refused. The quads ran off, secretly glad to get away from all the sniffing and pawing. Wilt ignored Eva’s questions and ordered her to follow him. After looking at his face, she obeyed him for once and let him steer her back into the house.

Left alone in the study, Sir George and Lady Clarissa glared at each other over their drinks.

Sir George knew that he could not get out of this plight without his wife’s support, but at the same time couldn’t see how he might call on it. Eddie was dead, and he himself had been reckless about his gun cabinet precisely because he had secretly hoped the boy would kill himself or someone else and thus be off their hands.

Lady Clarissa sobbed into her drink, feeling guilty that she had treated Uncle Harold with less respect
than she should have, and certain that her harbouring lustful thoughts about seducing Wilt must have brought about the death of her beloved son.

For the first occasion in a very long time, Sir George went over to Lady Clarissa and put his arms around her as if to comfort her. Drastic situations called for drastic measures so he said, ‘Darling, I’m really sorry about Eddie … I mean, Edward. I didn’t want him killed – I just wanted him to have some fun with my guns because that was the only thing he seemed to enjoy. If it’s any consolation, you can bury him here. Even though, strictly speaking, he’s not one of the Gadsley family …’ He broke off as Lady Clarissa started to wail even louder, ‘… he must of course be buried nearby. And, what’s more, I’ll pay for you to fly out to Kenya with your uncle’s ashes so that his last wishes are respected. And, while you’re there, why don’t you take a long holiday at the same time?’

Lady Clarissa was no fool. She turned her tearstained face towards him and demanded, ‘And what do I have to do in return for this display of generosity?’

‘Oh, nothing at all. Except to tell those policemen that Edward must have known where the keys to the gun cabinet were kept. And I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I never wished him to get himself killed. It was a tragic accident, poor boy.’

It was a most convincing act by Sir George. It was only much later, when Clarissa was on the plane, in first class of course, that she remembered Sir George’s
mother was one of the few Gadsleys who was not buried in the family graveyard. In fact, Sir George had never known where his mother’s body had ended up after she was swept away by a freak wave on a family holiday on the Costa Brava. Or so his father had claimed.

Inspector Flint and the Superintendent returned to the study filled with new resolve: to get to the bottom of this death or two deaths or two murders or one murder and one death or God knows what.

They found a completely different atmosphere inside the room from the one that had pervaded it barely half an hour before. Sir George had clearly made things up with his wife and there was an air of reconciliation between the two of them as they exchanged contrite smiles with one another.

‘Superintendent … Inspector,’ began Lady Clarissa grandly, ‘I’m very sorry that you’ve had your time wasted investigating what was obviously a terrible accident. My poor silly boy,’ and here she paused to sniff loudly, ‘was probably trying to help me by taking charge of Uncle’s body after my husband misguidedly refused to recognise him as family. I expect he thought he could bury him here himself, tripped as he tried to do so and was fatally wounded.’

‘But why did he take the clothes off the body?’ asked Flint.

‘Only Edward will ever know that,’ said Sir George
as he slid his arm supportively around his wife’s shoulders. ‘But I expect he wanted to give his poor mother the medals to remember her uncle by.’