"Matthew, let's go back to the house and talk about this over a drink. We could both do with it." His voice stayed calm but he could feel the drops of sweat as they ran down the inside of his shirt. Matthew, his eyes fixed on Charles, took a step towards him, menacingly.
"You just had to get involved, didn't you? Why couldn't you leave well alone? Then everything would've been ok." He moved closer and his voice rose to a scream, "I'm the heir to Heston Grange! Me!" and then, with both hands reaching out for Charles' throat he hissed through gritted teeth, "and me alone!"
"I'm not so sure that's correct."
Matthew whirled round in surprise. The voice came from one of the dark recesses of the crypt.
"But you were correct when you said that we need to have a little chat."
"Who are you?" screamed Matthew. "Show yourself!"
A figure moved forward out of the shadows and stood in a pool of the dim light.
"Oh, dear. Whatever am I supposed to do with you? You don't even recognise your own father?"
Standing before an astonished Matthew and Charles, in good health and very much alive, was Lord Alfred Willoughby.
Chapter 19
It was as though time stood still. Neither Charles nor Matthew could quite believe what they were seeing. Lord Alfred said nothing but eyed them both with a shrewd gaze. Eventually, it was Charles, still perched on the edge of the alcove, who recovered his speech first. He spoke in a gabble, barely coherent.
"Lord Alfred...but I was there...I saw you. You -"
"Died?"
"Well...yes."
"To borrow that delightful quotation, 'the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.'"
"What about the Will?" asked Matthew, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The Will? Ah yes, my Will. Wrong question, my boy. That's the wrong question. I had hoped that you might be pleased to see me; that there might be some glimmer of happiness at my still being present in this world. You might have asked me whether I was in good health and whether there was anything I needed. At the very least, you might have asked how it came to be that I had somehow managed to die and yet still be alive today. Even if you had simply feigned some interest, as a matter of common courtesy, at least that would have been something. But, no. Following my remarkable resurrection, what are your first words? ‘What about the Will’." He sighed deeply. It was a sad, depressed sigh.
Charles found his voice again. "But how did you- ...why did you- ... you faked your own death?"
Lord Alfred smiled. "It was rather convincing, wasn't it? I must confess, though, by the day of your arrival I had practised it many times. I wanted to make sure I got it just right." He took a deep breath and then continued. "But I suppose I do owe you some sort of explanation. You’re looking awkward, Matthew. Why don't you sit down?" he indicated the ledge where Charles was already seated.
"No thanks, I'll stand."
"As you wish." He thrust his hands into the deep pockets of his corduroy jacket and began to speak again, looking rather like a university lecturer, pacing slowly back and forth, moving in and out of the pools of dim light on the floor of the crypt as he did so.
"I am an old man. I may be a reasonably healthy old man, but I cannot escape the fact that I am still old. Having been blessed with the gift for making money, if indeed it has been a blessing rather than a curse, the final significant financial decision I needed to make was concerning the settling of my estate after my departure." He stopped his walking and focused his gaze on Matthew before continuing, "You don't need me to remind you that I had some concerns regarding this matter. Eventually, rather than simply give away a free handout, I hit upon the idea of turning it into a kind of challenge." He glanced again at Matthew, who was staring at the floor. "I was hoping against hope that the value of hard work and applying yourself to a task would somehow be realised. Was I really asking too much?"
He paused, and the distant sound of the sea echoed plaintively around the crypt.
"As you can imagine, it took quite some time to set up this little scheme of mine. I spent a long while searching through my poetry collection before I was able to find the perfect piece for use with this task. Once I discovered 'The Grave of Shelley' I was delighted. It was truly extraordinary how closely the lines of this poem matched the already existing features of the house and cemetery. The only ones I had to fabricate were the addition of the poppies in the panelling outside Meg's room, and the owl at the top of the steps leading down here; and I engaged a couple of local craftsmen some time ago to create them. But, as for the pyramid-shaped room under the eaves, the model sphinx and so on, it all fitted perfectly. The very finest author could not have scripted it better! Now, as you will have reasoned, I made both pieces of film several days before my - ahem - performance. Having thus ensured that all the relevant clues were correctly positioned along the way, I realised that once the wheels were set in motion I would need an 'inside man', an assistant who could help things along when required, as well as keeping me informed of any developments."
Matthew glared at Charles. "You were setting me up, all along!"
"No, yet again you are in error," said Lord Alfred.
"Then, who?"
"Come along, my boy, it doesn't take rocket science to work it out."
He looked incredulous. "James?"
Lord Alfred gave a sarcastic grunt. "Well done. I knew you'd get there eventually."
Then he turned to Charles.
"On the night of your arrival, you turned up before your appointed time! When James brought you to my room, I had only just managed to return from hiding the sapphire. While you waited outside, he helped me to change quickly, getting rid of my soaking wet coat, and told me that you'd seen my torchlight from your window. But I didn't bother to dry myself too thoroughly - I thought that the presence of a little extra moisture would add to the illusion of illness."
"But how did you get in here?" asked Charles. "You'd never have been able to move that flagstone all by yourself."
"Look around you. These underground chambers are extensive. You discovered that yourselves when you found your way into the pyramid room from beneath the lodge. They date back to when they were used by smugglers hundreds of years ago and there are, in fact, several entrances that I'm aware of. Who knows? Maybe there are still more waiting to be discovered - but I digress. Once I knew you had realised the significance of the Shelley portrait I simply made my way down here and waited for you to arrive. Oh, but please forgive me, I'm getting rather ahead of myself."
He cleared his throat and continued.
"Following my dramatic exit, the crucial thing was to make sure that you found your way to my tower room and the all-important first piece of film. I instructed James to hide the box containing the key in some place where he knew you would find it. I felt it necessary that you find it rather than he simply hand it to you, as a precaution to ensure that he was distanced from my scheme - in case you should ever suspect that he may have some deeper involvement in all this. Your first real test came after you viewed the film for the first time. I told James to suggest to you that you might consider embarking on the quest without advising Matthew at all - and I was there to hear your reaction."
"You were there? In the library?"
"Mr Seymour, the sprawling design of Heston Grange was not in any way accidental. Its irregular shape facilitated the inclusion of a good number of hidden passageways. Later on, I could show you some of them if you like." He smiled before continuing. "In fact, I did make a small blunder and you heard me as I moved around behind the oak panelling. Annoyingly, I was not as quiet as I had wished to be. Thankfully, on the spur of the moment James came up with some convoluted story about rats, and I managed to stifle a laugh. From my concealed position I heard the way you responded to his suggestion and knew that you were of good stock. It was pure good fortune that when you happened to hear me on a subsequent occasion, it coincided with the arrival of Mrs Gillcarey. I heaved a sigh of rel
ief and decided to keep a safer distance from that moment on. So there was now nothing else for me to do but stay hidden and wait for you to solve the clues...and now here we are, having reached journey's end at last." He looked Charles in the eye and held his gaze for a long moment, and then glanced over at Matthew who fidgeted and looked at the floor.
"Just one final thing to say," said Lord Alfred, and his tone hardened. "This whole ruse was created and set in motion so that I could finally establish one thing, once and for all." He turned to Matthew again. "I needed to know for certain whether the reports I was hearing of your conduct were true or not. I needed to find out for myself whether you were truly worthy of the Willoughby name, not to mention the Willoughby fortune. I know, of course, that you had a troubled adolescence, and I admit that I was perhaps not always the best father in the world. But throughout this entire masquerade I hoped and prayed, day in and day out, that you would somehow show yourself to be a good man with a truly noble spirit. Instead, what do I find? No sooner is the mission accomplished than you turn traitor and immediately start to rescind on your agreement. And so, now that we stand at the end of the trail, I have reached my final decision. On my death - that is, my actual death - my estate will pass to you, Charles."
Matthew gasped. "This is a joke, right dad? Another of your little games?"
"With great wealth comes great responsibility, Matthew, and that is something which you have shown you do not possess."
Matthew looked like a man who had lost his strength and he staggered back against the wall. "But I'm your son!" Tears of anger welled up in his eyes.
"Even now, I hope that you might somehow learn the error of your ways."
"But I still get nothing, is that it? Nothing! While this - this imposter takes the entire fortune that should have been mine?"
"You could always try getting a job, if you know what that is, or perhaps you should get rid of that smart gleaming car that's parked out front - I don't suppose it's paid for yet, is it?"
Matthew threw back his head and howled with rage. It was the sound of years of built-up heartache and frustration bursting forth in a primal shriek, with its hideous tone reverberating and resonating, as it bounced off the stone surfaces and echoed throughout the crypt with an unnerving other-worldly quality.
Lord Alfred continued, "You could have had everything. Indeed, there were times when I wanted to you to have it all. But at least one of us needed to stay level headed enough to see the situation as it was, and deal with it appropriately."
"No!" screamed Matthew, the tears running freely down his face. "NO!"
He reached inside his jacket and Lord Alfred suddenly paled as he found himself staring into the muzzle of a Tokarev TT pistol.
"Against the wall, both of you! Now!" Matthew gestured with the handgun, and Lord Alfred and Charles slowly did as they were instructed.
"This is a stupid course of action," Lord Alfred blustered. "All you're doing is proving me right."
"Shut up!" There was a pause as Matthew, bristling with rage, regarded his two prisoners. Then he gave a small laugh.
"Remember what you said about the sphinx in one of your stupid films? - About how it would strangle people? Well, just to show you that I was actually listening and paying attention, you might like to know that's what gave me this idea. Of course, your unexpected appearance means I've now had to modify my plan a little, but it remains the same, in principal."
"You're speaking like a fool! Put the gun down and we'll talk."
"No! NO! For once, just once, you're going to listen to me. You got that?" He waved the gun again.
"Here's what will happen: in a few minutes time I shall be calling the local police. I'll tell them that as I was endeavouring to solve the next clue I happened to stumble across my father being killed by Charles Seymour who was trying to secure the entire inheritance for himself. I tried to duck back into the shadows but he saw me and I had no option but to shoot him dead in self defence."
"You're mad. Put the ruddy gun down while you still can!"
"Then, at last, that will be the end of these pathetic time-wasting games you've had us all playing, and I will be the sole heir to the Willoughby fortune, as is my right."
Charles glanced down at the open coffin which had until recently contained the sapphire. It seemed to yawn before him like a gaping chasm waiting to swallow him whole. He was trying to think; trying to decide what to do, but his mind was in such a whirl he could not order his thoughts in any coherent manner. Was this it, he wondered. Is this how my life is to end? In an underground cave with no-one to help?
"Oh, but you needn't worry," Matthew continued. "At each of your funerals I shall be the very epitome of grief. I shall weep and wail long and loud and no-one will be able to console me. Naturally, they won't realise that my tears will really be tears of relief – and triumph."
Lord Alfred smirked. "You won't do it," he said. "You're not man enough."
"Is that so? Well, Lord Alfred Willoughby, for once in your perfect little life perhaps your judgement is just about to display a flaw - a fatal one."
Then he stood firmly on both feet and levelled the pistol. Steadying his aim and breathing deeply, the next words came hoarsely from his throat, "Why didn't you love me?"
"Matthew?" Lord Alfred's voice was quieter now, calmer. "This is not the way. We can talk it through and work something out."
"Too late for that," Matthew replied, his face still wet with tears. "Too late for that, and now - it's too late for you!"
His expression was set and grim.
"Don't be a fool, man!" Lord Alfred whispered, pleading.
"Bye...Dad."
Charles closed his eyes.
Matthew surveyed the scene for just a moment longer...then squeezed the trigger. A sharp crack echoed throughout the crypt. Then he seemed to falter and stagger a little, before dropping his gun and falling to the floor spread-eagled and unconscious.
From the shadows behind him, James emerged and stood over him, still wielding the cricket bat. He glanced across at Charles, who was now as white as a sheet.
"I did warn you he was a scoundrel, sir."
Chapter 20
Following a rather unpleasant and emotional trial, in which both Charles and Lord Alfred were the principal witnesses, Matthew Willoughby was sent to jail. James and Mrs Gillcarey sat in the public gallery of the courtroom as he was led away to begin his sentence. She dabbed a tear from her eye as she saw the overwhelming conflict of emotion crossing His Lordship's face.
It was not long afterwards that His Lordship fell ill and, finally, died - for real this time. The funeral was a simple affair, as he had requested, with only a very few people in attendance.
"He wanted to leave quietly and with as little fuss as possible," explained the vicar to the select gathering. Charles and James had exchanged glances at that moment, each knowing what the other was thinking - that Lord Alfred's first ‘death’ had been fraught with fuss and was anything but quiet!
As expected, when the Last Will and Testament was read, apart from the five million pounds which James received, along with Heston Lodge for Meg, Charles inherited everything else and suddenly found himself to be very wealthy indeed. He moved into Heston Grange and set himself the task of gradually refurbishing the more decaying areas, intending to restore the house to its former glory. He also invited both James and Mrs Gillcarey to retain their positions as butler and housekeeper and was delighted when they both agreed. However, his otherwise pure delight was slightly tarnished by a question that hovered in the back of his mind. So he decided to address it, and waited for an appropriate time, knowing that a suitable moment would present itself sooner or later. As things turned out, it was sooner.
It was a pleasant Summer afternoon, and Charles was relaxing in a cane rocking chair on one of his many patios following a delicious lunch of monkfish and fresh salad. The sun was shining, the birds were chirruping merrily, and even the ocean in the distance was soundin
g friendly today. James was just setting down a tray of coffee with steamed milk when Charles decided that now was the time.
"James, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, sir."
"Thanks to the provision of Lord Alfred, you are now a millionaire."
"Yes, sir."
"In the light of that, why would you wish to continue working as a butler?"
"Are you unhappy with my service, sir?"
Charles laughed, a full friendly laugh.
"Good gracious, no! It's just that most people, having encountered such a windfall, would probably stop working, or at least look to embark on something new."
"At my time of life, sir, is it not perhaps just a little on the late side to be looking for something new? In any case, I feel that I owe it to you to stay in your employment."
"Whatever do you mean? Why do you owe it to me?"
James shuffled his feet and looked a little uncertain. When he spoke, Charles knew that he was suddenly not speaking as a butler, but man to man.
"May I sit down, sir?"
"Of course. Let me pour you some coffee."
"No, thank you." He paused, and Charles knew that James had something significant to say.
"I need to tell you something of Lord Alfred's history," he began. "His Lordship was very close to his brother who was happily married and had four lovely children. Although Lord Alfred dearly loved Lady Caroline, his second wife, it seemed that they were unable to have children, for some reason. They were so deeply heartbroken after the death of their first adopted son, William, that His Lordship and his brother made a rather extraordinary pact: having had the privilege of raising a wonderful family of his own, but not wishing to have any further children it was decided, with the full agreement of all concerned, that this brother and his wife would have one more child which they would then give to Lord Alfred to raise as his own. The brother, though, had fallen on hard times and was not in employment. So His Lordship's part of the bargain was to offer him full time employment and to allow him frequent access to see the boy growing up; although, naturally, he was never allowed to mention his connection with the lad."
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