The Cryptic Lines

by Richard Storry

  So the old boy had already made another Will!

  On reflection, this did not really surprise Charles, although he did momentarily find himself feeling a little piqued that this new Will had been made without his being consulted. Nevertheless, the fact that there was indeed a Will in existence was certainly going to save Charles a lot of time and effort. But, as he carefully opened the envelope he was rather taken aback at what he found inside: A silver metal canister, with something rattling around inside. With a puzzled frown, Charles unscrewed the lid to discover a roll of Super 8 cine-film. Nothing else; no documents or papers of any kind.

  Well, if the now departed Lord Alfred had decided to commit his last wishes to celluloid that was his privilege, but it was certainly a departure from what Charles was used to. This whole business is becoming more and more bizarre, he thought to himself.

  The duty of the solicitor, as executor to the deceased, is to read the Will, ascertain who the beneficiaries are and invite them to attend a formal reading. On this occasion, however, Charles was not going to read it; he was going to watch it. Despite his curiosity as to what the mysterious film contained, he decided it would probably be best to wait until the morning so he could be refreshed when he viewed it.

  Charles managed a good night's sleep, though he did find himself eating breakfast quite hastily the next morning - and then having to apologise to Mrs Gillcarey for not fully savouring the subtle flavours in her delicious eggs benedict. Risking an attack of indigestion, he walked rather too briskly to the library, although he need not have hurried. When he arrived, James was still setting up the rather antiquated film projector and screen. With nothing to do but wait he glanced, idly, along the long rows of books, many of which were leather-bound volumes and clearly expensive. Some of them were first editions.

  His Lordship appeared to have been a very well read gentleman. The shelves ran the full length of the room, went all the way up to the high ceiling and were completely filled with books on every subject imaginable; and, unlike some private libraries, most of the books here had the appearance of actually having been read.

  The poetry section - one of Lord Alfred's favourites - was, Charles noticed, particularly well stocked. All the greats of the poetic world were here: Auden, Betjeman, Blake, Browning, Dickinson, Donne, Frost, Keats, Kipling, Owen, Rosetti, Tennyson, Yeats - the list went on and on. The one wall which was not adorned with books was filled with small paintings: Portraits of literary masters, as well as various monarchs and explorers, each in an oval frame. These were clearly not the work of an amateur artist; although Charles was aware that Lord Alfred liked to do some painting of his own, he guessed that such offerings would probably have been kept out of sight, rather than risking being inevitably compared with such fine pieces as were displayed here.

  Just then, James indicated that all was ready so Charles settled himself in a large comfy armchair, positioned his legal pad on his knee and sat with pen poised. After drawing the curtains, James set the film in motion then stood quietly and respectfully in the shadows. Sitting there in the darkened library, with the flickering light from the screen dancing in front of him, Charles began to view what turned out to be the most extraordinary piece of film he had ever seen.

  Chapter 4

  After the projector had whirred to a stop and the screen had gone dark Charles sat in silence for a long time. Staring vacantly ahead, he seemed unaware of the sunlight that flooded back into the room as James opened the curtains once more.

  "Sir?"

  No response.

  "Sir? Is everything alright?"

  Charles seemed to awaken from his semi-trance. "Oh, yes. Thank you James. Everything's fine, thank you."

  Just then, he heard something.

  "What's that noise?"

  "Sir?"

  "Do you hear it? Over there...it sounds like it's coming from behind that wall...a sort of scrabbling sound."

  All was silent again. They listened for a moment longer.

  "I suppose it might have been Mrs Gillcarey, sir. She's always busying herself with some task or other; or maybe - oh, I do hope it wasn't a rat. We have occasionally had trouble with rats in the past."

  "We may need to contact the pest control people."

  "Maybe, sir."

  After a few moments, Charles became aware that James was hovering with the demeanour of someone who had something to say but wasn't quite sure how to say it. Charles cleared his throat.

  "Well," he began, "it would seem that my first task is to contact Matthew." After Lord Alfred's tirade against his son on the night of his death Charles felt a little surprised that he would be mentioned at all in the terms of the new Will; but mentioned he was, so that was that.

  "Sir...if I may...?"

  "Yes, James?" The elderly gentleman fidgeted uncomfortably as he tried to find the right words.

  "Well, sir, it's not really my place to say, but...well...master Matthew, his Lordship's son, has always been...how can I put it? He has always been...well...something of a scoundrel, sir."

  "That's as may be, James, but my duty is to carry out his Lordship's wishes; not to pass judgement on the character of those he names as beneficiaries."

  "Oh, quite so, sir, yes. It's just that..." he faltered again.

  Still seated in the armchair, Charles looked up at the loyal butler, feeling some sympathy for the man who had served his master faithfully for all these years.

  "James," he said, gently, "if you have something important to tell me I can assure you that it will be treated with the utmost confidentiality."

  James took a deep breath and then, with an effort, he said, "Well, sir, it's simply this: Whilst I have no intention of wishing to suggest anything...illegal..." he hesitated again.

  "Take your time, James, I'm listening."

  Now James seemed to summon his fortitude. He drew himself up to his full height and spoke.

  "Sir, I do not wish to speak ill of His Lordship's son, but out of courtesy to Lord Alfred I feel I must inform you that master Matthew has been such a disrespectful boy. The only times he would ever make contact with his father was when he needed money - and it was usually a lot. Since, at this moment, master Matthew does not yet know of His Lordship's sad demise, might I suggest, sir, in the light of what we have just seen, that he need not know? At least, not until it is...ahem...too late? I am sure that between us we could work things out to reach a satisfactory arrangement for all concerned?"

  "James, are you suggesting that I go against the express wishes of my client?"

  "Oh, no, sir. Well...not exactly. It just seems to me that it would be somehow wrong if such a vast fortune were to find its way into the wrong hands."

  "But James, they will be the right hands if that is what Lord Alfred has specified." There was a pause and James nodded. After this rare display of personal feelings Charles realised that James had now re-assumed his dutiful demeanour. Privately, he suspected that the butler's words were borne out of some bitter experience, but Charles was His Lordship's solicitor and he had a certain level of professional conduct to maintain. James raised his chin and spoke, calmly and politely.

  "Very good, sir. Shall I locate a telephone number for master Matthew?"

  So, master Matthew was called and informed of his father's death. During the telephone conversation, Charles noticed that he did not seem to express any sorrow or sadness at all but was, instead, asking eager questions relating to the size of his inheritance. Charles was careful not to go into detail, saying instead that it was necessary for Matthew to come to Heston Grange in order to complete a number of formalities. He also mentioned that it would be advisable for him to come prepared for a stay of a few days due to the 'complexities' of some aspects of His Lordship's estate. There followed an awkward moment when Matthew said that, since he was the only surviving member of Lord Alfred's family, there ought not be any complexities; surely it would be a simple matter to arrange for the estate to be transferred into his name. His
solicitor's experience came to the rescue and Charles was able to cloud the issue with some legal-sounding jargon. Matthew grunted and said he would arrive the next morning. The conversation was civil, but curt. Charles sighed as he replaced the receiver. Well, Mr Seymour, he thought to himself, just be professional. Do your job, and be professional.

  It was at about 10am the following morning, and Charles was sorting through yet another pile of papers in the octagonal tower room, when he heard the sound of a car approaching outside. He stepped out of the room onto the rickety bridge just as the car - a silver Shelby Cobra GT - pulled into the courtyard. The occupant emerged. He was quite tall and in his mid-twenties, and he was wearing a suit that almost fitted quite well. Probably trying to impress me, thought Charles, although there isn't really any need. Matthew didn't look up and see Charles watching him from the bridge; he just made straight for the front door and gave the bell-pull a firm tug. Somewhere deep within the bowels of Heston Grange the reluctant bell announced his presence and the door was subsequently answered by James. As soon as Matthew had disappeared inside Charles went back into the tower room and quickly tidied away the variety of documents he'd been examining, before making his way back across the bridge, into the main house and down to the drawing room. As instructed, James had invited Matthew to take a seat and had offered him a choice from Lord Alfred's impressive collection of sherries.

  When Charles entered, Matthew was reclining in a deep, luxurious sofa, holding aloft a glass of fine Amontillado, watching as the sunlight glinted through the amber liquid and the lead crystal vessel containing it. Ignoring what appeared to be certain airs and graces of this new 'lord of the manor' Charles crossed the room smiling, with his hand extended.

  "Mr Willoughby? We spoke on the phone. I'm Charles Seymour, the solicitor acting for your late father. Thank you for coming. May I once again express my condolences on your sad loss."

  Matthew shrugged. Without moving from his reclined position he reached up and shook hands.

  "Although we do have quite a lot to attend to," said Charles, "there is no immediate urgency, as such. So if you would like some time to be alone, perhaps just to walk around the house and grounds, then please feel free - or I'm sure Mrs Gillcarey could rustle up a nice snack for you if you're feeling at all hungry?"

  Matthew looked up and spoke for the first time. His gaze was firm. He didn't look like someone who had just lost his father.

  "Thanks, Mr Seymour, but I'm happy to get started right away."

  Charles nodded.

  "Very well. In that case, would you come this way?"

  He lead Matthew the appreciable distance from the drawing room to the library where the projector and screen were set up and ready in front of the burgundy-coloured twenty-volume Encyclopaedia Britannica, this time with two chairs positioned in front. James had already drawn the curtains so the room was lit with electric lights. Matthew seemed puzzled, then he sniggered.

  "What's all this then? We gonna watch an X-rated movie?"

  Charles allowed himself a gentle smile, and welcomed the slight relief in the atmosphere which this comment brought. He indicated the two chairs and they both sat.

  "Matthew...may I call you Matthew?...Somewhat unusually, your late father, rather than commit his Last Will and Testament to paper in the normal way decided, instead, to record his wishes on cine film."

  Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Ok. Is it legal to do that?"

  "Oh yes. So long as certain statutory wording is used to ensure that the correct protocol is followed, and provided that one's wishes are clear, there shouldn't be any problem."

  "Fine."

  "Shall we begin?"

  He waved a hand in a rather dismissive fashion.

  "Please do."

  Whilst trying to maintain his external air of cool professionalism, now that the big moment had arrived Charles was feeling very excited. This was going to be very different to the norm and he just couldn't wait to see how Matthew was going to respond to what he was about to see. He signalled to James, who nodded and switched off the lights. Then he pushed a button on the projector; a soft whirring sound was heard and the film began to roll.

  Chapter 5

  The first thing to be seen was simply an empty room - the one which Charles now knew to be the octagonal chamber in the tower. After a moment, the figure of Lord Alfred, looking surprisingly well, moved into the frame and sat down at his desk. He appeared so jaunty and full of excitement that it could only be supposed that he had made this film quite some time before his death. He was wearing a tailored smoking jacket of blue velvet - not that he ever smoked, of course, but Charles knew he felt such a garment to be part of the quintessentially British character that he had made his own. He regarded his audience, gazing directly into the camera lens for a long moment. Then he began:

  "So, I suppose you'll finally be very happy to know that I am no longer resident in this world. And, I suppose, you're so absolutely stricken with grief that you're not even remotely concerned as to what little nest egg might be waiting for you from the - ahem - modest estate which I am fortunate enough to have built up. Well, more of that in a moment."

  He paused for a second. Then his gaze hardened as he continued:

  "Now then, Matthew!"

  Charles was sure the man physically jumped a little as his name was called.

  "Your whole life has been characterised by wastefulness. Over and over again you have wasted your own money on countless pea-brained schemes and then you've come running to me for help to bail you out of your ever-increasing messes."

  His tone softened a little as he continued. "I tried so hard to teach you all I could; I tried to instil in you the noble character which has been associated with the Willoughby name for generations. Was it asking too much to want my son to be a fine upstanding citizen?" An undercurrent of annoyance became apparent in his voice as he added, "I'd love to be standing there right now to ask you what you think of such an impressive record of - achievement."

  Matthew scowled and sank a little lower in his chair.

  "Now, my loyal butler, James."

  Since this was, for James, the second viewing of the film he knew what was coming, but years of service caused him to instinctively draw himself fully upright and listen to his master attentively.

  "You have served me well. There have been many times when I needed someone to rely on and, time and time again, you were that person. You have my heartfelt thanks."

  "And Charles, my...so-" Lord Alfred paused, and seemed to have a moment's difficulty in breathing. Recovering swiftly, he looked back into the camera and continued, "...my solicitor. I have always been impressed with the standards you have exhibited in your work. All necessary details have always been attended to and," he paused again and gave a slight smile, "you have displayed great patience in your dealings with a grouchy old man."

  Charles was aware that Matthew was becoming a little restless. The killer punch was almost upon them. Just stay calm, he told himself. You're an experienced solicitor. You know how to handle these situations, and you’ve faced more difficult ones than this. Remain cool and collected.

  "And now," His Lordship continued, "we finally come to the moment you've all been waiting for - the division of the loot!"

  "About time," grumbled Matthew, under his breath.

  "So, let's make it all official then. Here goes."

  He paused again, before clearing his throat very deliberately and taking a deep breath.

  "I, Alfred Clifton Leonard Willoughby currently of Heston Grange, being of sound mind and body, do hereby make known my Last Will and Testament and, in so doing, hereby revoke all previous testamentary dispositions. And, just in case any of you should doubt my sanity," - he held up a piece of paper - "this is a letter signed by my doctor stating that I am perfectly well and in complete possession of all my faculties."

  He glanced at it briefly.

  "In fact, he even goes so far as to say that I am in surprisingl
y good shape for someone so advanced in years. I'm sure this knowledge is of great comfort to you, Matthew."

  There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice. You could have heard a pin drop.

  "Turning my attention to James first. I know that you have had to deal with some very difficult issues on a personal level and, although you have had to wrestle with your conscience on many occasions, I want you to know that I admire the way in which you have handled these various trials. At every stage you have displayed a level of integrity to which many others would do well to aspire."

  James shuffled his feet a little and felt slightly awkward.

  "I have therefore made arrangements that, on my death, the sum of five million pounds will be automatically transferred to your bank account. I sincerely hope this will be helpful as you continue to work through the circumstances facing you."

  There was another pause. Lord Alfred sat, elbows on his antique writing desk, with chin resting on his upward-pointing fingertips. When he spoke again his voice had a more sombre tone, and had his eyes become just a little glazed?

  "I will make no secret of my feelings on this matter: Matthew, my son, despite my highest hopes for you there have been many occasions when you have disappointed me. Yet, I cannot ignore the fact that, come fair wind or foul, you are still part of my family and, even now, I still hope and pray that you will become the fine fellow I always dreamed you to be."

  Matthew seemed to visibly relax a little.

  "At the same time, I am anxious to do what I can to ensure that my worldly wealth, being of no use to me anymore, is used in a sensible and responsible manner. Therefore, I am making one final and possibly futile attempt to get you to realise the importance of applying yourself to a task and carrying it through to completion. Somehow, I have to make you aware of the rewards that may be won or lost due to your success or failure to do so. And, to that end, I have decided to set a little challenge for you."