Aunt Clara

by Noel Streatfeild

  The family exchanged more looks. Really Clara was getting ga-ga. Why mention that miserable luncheon? George said in his most pompous voice:

  “I think, Clara, that Mr. Willis should be permitted to read the will without interruption.”

  Charles glanced round to see Henry was attending.

  “To my valet Henry the sum of one hundred pounds, if . . .”

  The rest of the phrase was missed, for the family was turning to smile kindly at Henry. One hundred pounds. Very nice, very suitable. Some also felt relief; you never knew with old people, they did foolish things, it might have been a thousand.

  Henry, standing in the doorway in his clean white coat, his hand discreetly hiding that the liquid in his glass was not port, nodded in the direction of Simon’s bedroom. A hundred nicker. Not so dusty. Very nice of the old B, he hadn’t expected anything.

  The little flutter towards Henry died abruptly as Charles read.

  “To Gladys Smith of 1, Liptons Grove, Paddington, W.2., the sum of one hundred pounds and to the following ladies if they still live and can be traced the sum of fifty pounds each, in gratitude for the pleasant times we spent together.”

  As the names of the ladies were read out, the Lilys, Roses, Victorias, Daisys and Nellies, it was as if others, and raffish others belonging to the last century, had joined the family group. Charles laid down the will.

  “I should explain that, although of course careful search will be made, it is not likely many of these beneficiaries can be traced. Mrs. Gladys Smith was the only one Mr. Hilton had seen of recent years.”

  “The old B,” thought Henry admiringly. “All those bits of brass wrote down in ’is will, ’e ’adn’t ’alf gotta sauce.”

  Charles picked up the will again. He read slowly, as if savouring each word.

  “To each of my nephews, nieces, great-nephews, great-nieces, great-great-nephews, and great-great-nieces who were present at the lunch party which I gave on my eightieth birthday, a copy of the photograph of the family group taken on that occasion . . .” There were small sounds as breaths were caught, disgusted inflections checked. Charles, enjoying himself enormously, added: “I have all the copies here,” he pointed to a large cardboard box. “Mr. Hilton himself purchased them.”

  George felt Charles was amused at their expense.

  “I think, Mr. Willis, you can leave the copies of the photographs for the time being and let us hear the rest of my uncle’s will.” There was the faintest pressure on the words “my” and “uncle,” suggesting that this was a family matter and, outside his duty as executor, no concern of Charles’s.

  Charles nearly smiled, but covered it by a slight bow, saying, “Of course, Mr. Hilton.” He looked round. Yes, they were all attending.

  “I give the residue of my property wheresoever and whatsoever including all property over which I may have a general testamentary power of appointment to my niece Clara Alice Hilton absolutely . . .”

  Clara had been dreaming. She found legal phraseology boring. She had heard that Henry was to have a hundred pounds and nearly had run across the room to shake his hand. Dear Uncle Simon, how thoughtful of him! A hundred pounds would be such a help to Henry while he was settling down in a new situation. She had heard with pleasure they were all to have a copy of the family group. Clara was a hoarder of photographs, never in her life had she thrown one away, her bedroom at the mission was full of them. She had wanted a copy of the group and had meant to ask Henry to find out the price, and now dear old Uncle Simon had left her one. From hearing it was hers it was natural for her mind to turn to her room; it would be quite a big photograph, it might fit in that gold frame she had bought at that last jumble sale, in which case it could hang . . . It was not the words Charles had read which brought her back to Simon’s drawing-room, but a strange silence, a silence which almost had shape, and not a nice shape but cold with evil in it. Moving her cosy figure to dispel her feeling of unease, Clara glanced up to find everybody looking at her. At once horrid ideas passed through her mind. Had she dropped off for a moment and snored? Surely she had not spoken out loud, she had got into a habit of doing that. It couldn’t be that, without her being aware of it, she had made a rude noise.

  Charles saw that Clara had not heard what he had read. He was amused. What a comic old girl she was! He could see why old Simon could not stop chuckling when he had worded his will.

  “I had just read out to you, Miss Hilton, that you are your uncle’s heir.”

  “Me! Oh, surely not. Why me?”

  Vera could not control herself. She said, and there was no hiding the bitterness in her voice.

  “Why indeed?”

  Frederick was convinced now of the monkey business he had feared. Clara must have been snivelling round the old man when no one was about. He looked at Charles.

  “On what date was that will made?” Charles told him. Frederick turned to the family with the triumphant smile he wore when he silenced a heckler at a public meeting. “I don’t think we need trouble ourselves why Clara comes into everything. That will isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. Not a week after that luncheon party, and you all saw him then, laughing at nothing, the poor old chap was senile.”

  Charles was about to answer, but Henry spoke first.

  “That ’e never was, the old pot and pan ’ad more sense in ’is ’ead than some I could put a name to what’s sittin’ in this very room.”

  Charles’s voice rose above the outraged family’s. He spoke to Clara.

  “I don’t, of course, know the value of the estate for death duty, so I will, if you don’t mind, leave that for the moment and go on to the assets.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “The lease of this flat together with all the contents. Fourteen racing greyhounds. Four race horses. The freehold licensed premises at 10, Orland Lane, Ashford, Kent, known as ‘The Goat in Gaiters.’ Preference and Ordinary shares in ‘Gamblers’ Luck Limited.’ A leasehold property at 1, Liptons Grove, Paddington, W.2., together with all the contents. And in addition there is cash at the bank and sundry small items.” There was an inclination on the part of all the family except Clara to speak, so Charles held up his hand for silence. “I’ve read you the contents of the Will, and my notes about the assets, but as well the testator left a memorandum of Wishes. Here it is. It’s addressed to you, Miss Hilton, and, in accordance with the instructions your uncle gave me when he made his Will, I am to read it in full. I, Simon Augustus Hilton, having to-day made my Will and having after certain bequests given my residuary estate to my niece Clara Alice Hilton desire to state my Wishes in respect of it. These Wishes are: That my niece will take an interest in Julia and Andrew Marquis, circus artists of Borthwick’s Circus of whom I am alleged to be the putative father, it being my wish that they shall be kept from want. That Gladys Smith caretaker at my leasehold house at 1, Liptons Grove, Paddington, W.2., shall be adequately provided for. That my valet Henry shall be retained in my niece’s employment at his present salary and for his present duties so long as he shall be able to fulfil them and that thereafter suitable provision shall be made for him. That my niece will arrange so far as she can both in her lifetime and after her death that the present even tenor of life and sociability at ‘The Goat in Gaiters’ and at No. 1, Liptons Grove shall remain unimpaired, and finally that the racing dogs and horses shall have consideration and kindness for the remainder of their lives and shall be well looked after. I do not wish to fetter the discretion of my niece about selling any of my assets since I feel confident that she will respect the spirit of my Wishes and as a Declaration of Faith I add that while I know that these Wishes are not legally binding on my niece I know all the more that being morally binding they have the greater force. As witness my hand, etc.”

  There was silence for a moment when Charles finished reading, then Frederick burst into a spluttering laugh. As he mastered it he turned to Clara.

  “Sorry, old girl, but I can’t help laughing. You, with greyhounds, race horses, and
a couple of by-blows in a circus . . .”

  Vera had been considering how best use could be made of Clara’s odd possessions.

  “You’ll have to sell everything, of course, but you might keep this place; it would be fun for you because it means you can see us all, and perhaps sometimes put up one of the children.”

  George had decided that, from the sound of things, he was well rid of Simon’s property. All the same, it would be as well to keep in with Clara, so he spoke kindly.

  “Mr. Willis will look after everything for you, but you know where I am if you want me.”

  Sybil got up to go. It had been a tiresome, wasted day, and very disappointing, but she would have the fun of telephoning Claudie and telling him all about it. He had such a sense of humour, he would adore repeating the story of Aunt Clara’s greyhounds.

  “Go back to your mission, Clara, and let Mr. Willis look after everything.”

  Maurice was utterly appalled by the will and still more by the wishes: “alleged to be the putative father!” What a mercy the girls had not been able to leave their harvest work to attend the funeral. All the same he had to see Clara in a new light. He had not had time to inquire how God looked upon money earned by racing dogs and horses, and from shares in something called “Gamblers’ Luck Limited,” but God knew all about the small stipends of the clergy and deplored them, and perhaps on that account He might consider that it was not necessary to ask where money came from provided it came. He gave Clara a kiss.

  “Dear Clara. You mustn’t do anything in a hurry, must she, Doris? Why not come and visit us in Essex while you’re thinking things over?”

  Doris picked up her cue.

  “What a good idea!”

  Paul had listened to all that was said, but his eyes had been on Clara, now he minced over to her.

  “But I don’t think Clara is in need of advice. You know what you are going to do, don’t you, Clara?”

  Clara had not listened to the others, her mind was on Simon and his wishes, but she did hear what Paul said. She clasped her hands, her eyes shone happily at her family from behind her pince-nez.

  “But of course I know what I’m going to do. Uncle Simon’s wishes are a sacred trust. I shall try my best to look after everybody and everything exactly in the way he would wish. I shall move in here immediately.” She looked towards Henry. “And you will stay and look after me, won’t you, Henry?”

  * * * * *

  Charles arranged things so that three days later Clara moved into Simon’s flat.

  “He has been so helpful,” Clara told Henry. “I’m such a muddle-headed person about business, but he makes everything so easy. Although my uncle left me some money Mr. Willis says I can’t have it yet, but he has talked to the bank manager who has very kindly arranged that I can have a little to go on with; so wonderful of him, Mr. Willis, I mean, because I find bank managers rather unapproachable myself.”

  Henry, though he liked Clara, was extremely doubtful how they were going to get on living under one roof; it was Charles who had persuaded him to give the arrangement a trial.

  “It won’t kill you to try it out for a week or two, and you’ll be doing her a good turn, you know all about everything and can see to everything; just imagine her hopping off to look at horses and greyhounds on her own, let alone everything else.”

  “I don’t see what good she’ll do lookin’ at any of ’is property; much better stop on at that mission, and let you see to everythin’.”

  Charles had laughed.

  “You’re no psychologist, Henry. You heard what she said, her uncle’s wishes were a sacred trust, and if that lady says something’s a sacred trust you mark my words they’ll be a sacred trust. She’ll go into everything like a dose of salts.”

  Henry’s face was gloomy.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, ’tisn’t right a nice lady like that. I’ll do what I can, sir, but I won’t say for ’ow long, not bein’ used to lookin’ after a lady, more especial not a religious-minded lady.”

  It was therefore a cautious Henry who greeted Clara on her arrival, carried her cases up to Simon’s bedroom, and heard her views on bank managers. Clara felt a change in Henry’s manner and appreciated its reason. He had his ways of doing things, and of recent years without interference; it must be hard for him to see her, a comparative stranger, in his old master’s room, and he would naturally dread changes. The first of Uncle Simon’s wishes that she must carry out was seeing Henry happy. She opened a suitcase and from under a dress took out her copy of the family group, now framed in the gold jumble sale frame. She placed it in the middle of the mantelpiece.

  “Dear old man, it’s a speaking likeness, isn’t it, Henry? I’m so glad to have it, because when I’m in doubt as to what he would have wished I shall look at it and I’m sure I shall know.”

  Henry’s face expressed nothing, but he thought a lot. It was a speaking likeness all right. He could see the old B dolled up in his flash togs, laughing fit to bust himself because he had thought of leaving all he had to his niece Clara. If the old man were alive Henry would have given him something to laugh about. Ought to be ashamed of himself, playing a joke on a nice Christian lady like Miss Clara.

  Clara, still peering at Simon’s portrait through her pince-nez, disregarded Henry’s silence; it was her duty to make him trust her, that was what Uncle Simon wished.

  “Except that I shall clean my own room, for I’ve always done so at The Mission, I don’t want you to change your ways, Henry; my uncle especially mentioned in his wishes that you were to have your present salary for your present duties, so of course you’re to go on exactly as if he were still alive, for his wishes are sacred to me.”

  Henry swallowed. The old pot and pan ought to be here to see what he’d done. It was a shame, playing Miss Clara up like that. His wishes sacred! They wouldn’t be if he could help it.

  “That’s all right, Miss Clara.” Henry hesitated. “Miss ’ilton I should say.”

  “Oh, no, call me Miss Clara. I am called all sorts of things at the mission, Miss Clara is one of them; sometimes I am elevated to Lady Clara, and a lot of people call me ‘our lady’; it is not meant blasphemously, you know, but quite literally; I am their lady, the one they know. Now, about plans. The first thing I must do is to find those children. Do you know anything about them, Henry?”

  Henry had already been asked this by Charles, so he had his answer ready.

  “Not really. I did ’ear ’im leadin’ off one day after a letter come; it was from someone ’e called Ruby. I reckon she was the kids’ mother; in ’orspital she was when Mr. ’ilton let fly; I think she was askin’ ’im to see after ’er kids and sayin’ ’e was their father, which, accordin’ to ’im, ’e never was.” Henry struggled for suitable words. “You see, miss, Mr. ’ilton didn’t think nothin’ ’appened what could account for it; what ’e said in a manner of speakin’ was he was gettin’ on a bit at that time and . . .”

  Clara, experienced from her mission training, understood Henry’s embarrassment.

  “Of course. All the same, I have my duty to do to the children, that was his wish. Do you know what age they are?”

  “Mr. Willis asked me that. It was in ‘44 when the letter from that Ruby come. I remember it was just about the time the rockets started comin’ over.”

  “They were babies at that time I suppose. What happened to the mother, do you know?”

  “She died, that I do know, because ’e told me so. I don’t think they’d ’ave been babies, you see ’e ’adn’t seen that Ruby since before the war.”

  Clara calculated on her fingers.

  “They’re in their teens perhaps. Do you know anything about circuses, Henry, how you find out where they are?”

  Circuses had not been a part of Henry’s life. They could be seen on the south London roads, passing from place to place, but he could not imagine they had an address. He replied, and as the words left his mouth, he felt they were to be used very often
.

  “I couldn’t say, Miss Clara, I should telephone Mr. Willis.”

  Charles was delighted to search for Borthwick’s Circus; he was, and he made it clear on the telephone that he was, delighted to advise Clara on anything at any moment. The truth being that Clara and her strange possessions filled his mind; she was, in spite of her appearance, a figure of romance in a drab world, and he had a frustrated feeling, as if he had missed an instalment of an absorbing serial, when he thought of that flat with Clara and Henry in it, and he not there to know what was going on.

  “Of course I’ll get the address right away. I’ll ring you back.”

  Clara found Henry in the kitchen.

  “How good people are, Henry. That young Mr. Willis is kindness itself, nothing seems too much trouble. Now, I want to know about Mrs. Gladys Smith; I must call on her, of course.”

  Henry kept his face on the potatoes he was peeling.

  “I’ve met ’er like.”

  “What sort of person is she? You see, my uncle wished she should be provided for, and should go on living her life as it was lived in his lifetime and, though I must call, it will only be to tell her this, not interfere in any way.”

  Henry dug his knife into a potato.

  “I don’t think I’d visit. She’s a woman what does thin’s ’er own way and always ’as.”

  “Is it a nice house?”

  “Well, for them as likes Paddington it is.” A helpful memory came to Henry. “Church property it is, so I ’eard Mr. ’ilton say.”

  “Church property! How splendid! I shall look forward to meeting Mrs. Smith, but I’ll leave her for the moment. Now, tell me about ‘The Goat in Gaiters’; I’m teetotal myself, it’s the one wish of my uncle’s I’m rather worried about. Having taken the pledge it’s difficult to own a public house. I wonder if he would understand that? What do you think?”

  Henry cast an eye towards Simon’s bedroom. He could picture the old man sitting up in bed doubled up with laughter. It was not right to think badly of the dead, but at that moment he would have given a lot to tell him what he thought of him. He was spared answering for the telephone bell rang. Clara answered it, she sounded happy.