Mrs Grainger's Gift 35

By Ritchie Moore

(I'll forward it to the author)

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Part 35

Monday 7th September
Mr Barry speaks to the staff; Bryden returns with news.

“Mrs Grainger,” the lawyer said solemnly, “signed her will not long before she left for Paris, where she soon died. In it she made provision for the estate and the academy, for each and every one of her staff, in a remarkable demonstration of a caring employer.” Matthew looked at him incredulously. Barry caught his eye and half-smiled in a deprecatory way, and continued.
“Perhaps I need not bother with preliminaries, nor with the details of the disposal (or otherwise) of the Academy, and her personal effects. The Grainger Library, for instance, has its own destiny. There are several codicils to the document that handle all these. I intend at this meeting to do no more than inform the beneficiaries. I trust that is acceptable to you all.”

He paused and looked round, scanning the hopeful faces of the servants, who stood three deep around the walls and occupied all the chairs round the long table. They shrugged and nodded, and it was left to Abigail as their spokesman to say “That’s perfectly all right, Mr Barry. Please continue.”

“Thank you. The list is in several categories, beginning with the gardeners. Mr Roger Wilson, one hundred pounds.” A ruddy-faced man at the back made an exclamation, and smiled. “I should interject,” said Barry, “that Mrs Grainger has also provided for letters of recommendation to be made out for all seeking other employment.” A buzz of approval went round the room. “Each of the gardener’s boys, Jack Jones, Morris Early, George Baker, Giles Marston, is to receive five pounds.” They looked at each other with grins, as Barry proceeded to make a roll call of the outside workers, the indoors servants, at the main house and the Academy, finishing with “Mrs Jean Ponsonby, long dedicated to maintaining the kitchens, five hundred pounds,” at which the lady burst into tears, and “Mr Theobald Bryden, butler emeritus,” who got the same amount. Abigail surmised that he didn’t get a lot more because he already had an annuity from Mr Grainger.

Each servant got a hundred pounds, basically, to which was added an amount commensurate with one’s ranking in the hierarchy, Abigail receiving a further hundred as main manager. Catherine and Matthew each received fifty pounds, which Jennie thought was a paltry reward for being abused, but they were pleased to get any recognition at all from the domineering lady. When all was done, Barry indicated that the monies would be distributed according to the recipients’ wishes, by cheque or in cash, just as soon as formalities were concluded. Until then, he asked them to be patient and carry on as usual as was possible. Representatives from his office would be arriving shortly to deal with all sorts of matters triggered (or impeded) by Mrs Grainger’s death. There were many things to consider. Life was going to change for all of them; they should have courage and face what came with acceptance.

He droned on for some time, and the assembly were glad to see an end of the ceremony. Barry bowed and left the room, and a loud buzz of conversation burst out. Matthew and Catherine went out in search of the old lawyer, and found him standing at the front door putting on his gloves, presumably preparing to leave. Catherine went up to him and said “Mr Barry, thank you for being so clear in what Mrs G wanted. I’m sorry she’s died, she was so young. I’m pleased she remembered me and Matthew here.”

He turned and smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s Catherine Hammond, isn’t it? And Matthew Raven? How do you do. I’ve heard a lot about you. Your sentiments do you credit, young lady. Mrs Grainger was a … difficult person to deal with. And you, young man! There is a mention of you in the main will, the section dealing with the disposition of the Erotica Library, which you evidently looked after.” He peered at the boy and winked. “But still, it must be said that Mrs Grainger took great pains to arrange matters in the unlikely event of her death – after all, she could have lived for another forty years, you know. By that time, of course, much of the legacies would be out of date, unpayable for one reason or another. In that case, naturally, they would have merely been ploughed back into the general estate. But I’d have made sure she revised it every so often. As it turned out….” He left the rest of what he was going to say unsaid.

“As Catherine says, we’re glad Mrs G thought of us in the will,” said Matthew. “I say, we’ll have to get bank accounts now!”

The lawyer looked at them quizzically. “Yes,” he said, with a curious smile, “I’d recommend it.”

At that point they were joined by Bryden, who shook hands with the lawyer and commented “Well, I’m pleased with my own portion. It’s not great, but I do have another annuity, remember. I can tell you now to deposit it in my account, Mr B, and we can talk later about things. You’ve met Catherine and Matthew here at last, and I’m glad of that. I want us all, all four of us, to have a serious conversation. With your young clerk in attendance.”

Barry blinked. “Oh, certainly, Mr Bryden, I thought that myself. It can be arranged very easily. He’ll be arriving tomorrow, with some more documents, and there are certain important matters to discuss arising from them.” He looked askance at the children, but turned back. “Well, I must away. I have another errand in Heighsham, then to find an hotel. I plan to return here tomorrow at noon. I’ll see you then.” With a tip of his hat he entered the little car that stood idling and drove off.

The others looked at each other. “Come,” said Bryden, “come and have a cup of tea. Let it all sink in.”

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“Well now,” said Bryden, dipping a digestive biscuit in his cup, “I have something to report too.” They looked at him expectantly. “Catherine, my dear, you gave me some information about your own position and I have been following it up. Mr Barry was helpful in this, and it’s resulted in an interesting situation.” He chewed and sipped his tea. “Listen Catherine: it has been established that Bigby, the lawyer who sorted your uncle’s estate, is an utter scoundrel who has committed several indictable offences, among which is the criminal act of defrauding you of your inheritance.”

She gazed at him in shock. “Fraud? But he said there was no money—”

“Yes, my dear, but he was lying. He’s done this with others, believe me, and he’s been feathering his nest with ill-gotten gains. I won’t go into details, Mr Barry should do that, but suffice to say that he’s in for it with the law, let alone his law practice! He will make full restitution, and you are going to be nicely situated. Yes, Catherine my dear, it’s the story of the Little Princess again. You’ll come into your birthright, and you’re not a penniless orphan any more.”

Matthew beamed and took her hand. “Catherine! I’m so happy for you! This means you’ll never go back to that prison in Cumberland. But oh—”

Bryden nodded at them and pursed his lips. “Yes, children,” he said, “but now you’ve got to decide what to do. Look here: when Barry gets here tomorrow, you can talk it over with him. After all, he, as family lawyer, should now take responsibility for you.”

“But he’s not our lawyer,” Matthew objected. “It’d be nice if he was—”

“Yes, exactly, and I’m suggesting he be appointed as such by the courts. It should be easy to do. Then, you see, Catherine, he can act as a sort of parent for you. Find you somewhere to live, for one thing. See to your education. Oh, wouldn’t it be fine to play a piano again, ride your pony?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Dolly!” she cried. “What happened to you?”

Matthew put his arm round her. “I expect she was sold, Catherine, those lawyers probably turned as much into cash as they could, and every ten pounds counts. But you can get a piano—”

“There’s one here,” said Bryden. “Come along.” He led them back into the dining room and threw an arm out at the grand that Gregory had played so recently. “There it is. Can you remember that prelude?”

She sat down and flexed her fingers, then with a sad smile put them to the keys and played that short but sweet moment of music that the old butler had let her hear that time. Matthew listened with a tender smile, and when she finished he seized her and kissed her.

“Yes! Catherine, you’ll have a piano, and make lovely music. Oh, I can’t tell you how absolutely happy I am!”

Bryden looked at them with a beaming smile of his own. “In the meantime,” he said, “we carry on as usual. Barry and his clerk will be here tomorrow, and we’ll see what happens then. But it’s tea-time. Away you go, join the girls in the kitchen. Abigail probably has some intentions of her own. All right? Fine, see you tomorrow.”

On the way Matthew suddenly drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply. “Catherine love! Don’t you see how this changes things? You needn’t be afraid of being packed off to Mrs Grove! You’re free now! You don’t need to listen to Abigail!”

She nodded but said “Yes, but you’re still unprotected. We have to work things out.”

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The girls were naturally all talking at once about the awful events and their good fortune. Abigail was tucking into her tea and buns, and when she spied the children (as she still thought of them) she waved and said “Well, what do you think?”

Catherine squeezed Matthew’s hand and said humbly “Oh, we’re upset of course, but it was nice of Mrs G to remember us. What’s to happen to the household, though? Is everyone going to leave?”

“Good question,” said Abigail. “Can we have a show of hands? Or is it too early to think about this? Remember, anyone who wants to leave may do so with a letter of recommendation, the lawyer will supply one.” She glanced at Catherine with a slight smile of cynicism, knowing she understood that that didn’t apply to her. “Amelia, what do you think you’ll do?”

The girl spread butter on her bread and shrugged. “If I get a good reference, I’ll apply for a post closer to home. I haven’t seen my family for ages. Mind you,” her gaze wandered to Matthew, “it won’t be the same. It’s been great here, especially lately.” She simpered and looked directly at the boy, and Catherine smothered a rude comment.

Abigail laughed. “Yes,” she said, “it won’t be the same. Young Matthew will be off with his bonus to Mrs Crossley’s again fairly shortly, oh yes. And what about you, dear Catherine?” Her look was challenging.

“Oh,” said the girl, “I shall be off too I expect. But maybe not to Cumberland.”

“But hey,” interjected Jessica, “you’ll be stopping your catalogue, Matthew. I thought you enjoyed that.”

“Well, I did. I do, and maybe I’ll stay till I’m done. We haven’t got much further to go I think.”

“Fine,” said Abigail, “and we’ll enjoy your presence till you’ve done all that. Then you can make some arrangements for your return. Pass the scones.”

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That evening Grace came by Matthew’s room to say “Hey Matthew, come with me. I want to show you something.” He put his book down and followed her with curiosity. She collected Catherine too, and they all went downstairs to the morning room.

“Now,” she said, turning to them, “I’ve been exploring a bit, now that Mrs G isn’t around, and I discovered something. Come.” She led them into the adjoining room, which they hadn’t seen before. “This is one of Mrs G’s private rooms,” she said with a guilty giggle. “I’ve been wondering ever since I got to Summerton what she had back here. Come along.” They went with some wonderment into the next room, and Grace led them to a door in the corner. She opened it with a look of daring to show a short passageway and a stair going up. In they went and crept up the flight, somehow (in all foolishness) trying to keep quiet in case of discovery at their trespass, to find themselves in a long corridor with curious boxes, or lids, on the walls every few feet. Grace turned to Matthew. “Try one,” she said. “Lift one of those covers.”

He took one at random and lifted what turned out to be a cover for a little hole in the wall. Peering through it he was astounded to see a view of his bedroom from behind the head of the bed. He caught his breath and stammered “Oh! G-God, she was s-spying on me all this time! Even when I – when we – Oh!” He flushed at turned to Grace, who was staring at him in amusement.

“Yes, Matthew, I’m afraid she could watch you when you were tossing off and all.”

Catherine peeped through and blushed herself. “Oh,” she breathed, “when we were … kissing on your bed, she saw us!”

“No, Catherine, not then, I don’t think so. It was very late, after the party. And it was late, too, that first night you were here when we met. But she could see me, that’s true. God, I wonder if it gave her a thrill?”

Grace said with a hint of satisfaction, “I told everybody Mrs G was listening to us, you remember? It wasn’t keyholes, though, or microphones. She just peeked through these holes and eavesdropped. No wonder she knew everything.”

“Not everything, Grace,” said Catherine, “thank goodness! But enough to keep you on your toes I think. Oh, and … if there’s one for my room, I’m afraid … she probably saw me ….” She looked at Matthew somewhat shamefacedly. “All right, she could see me when I …” With a glance at Grace, she finished “… felt myself. But is there another spyhole for that bathroom, Matthew? I think there must be, so’s she could check up on how well the girls bathed you.”

“Oh yes,” said Grace with a grin, “it’s that one there.”

Matthew flushed again and sighed. “But now no more,” he muttered. “Unless…! Still, I wonder about Mr Bryden’s rooms, then. We’ve been plotting revolution there for weeks. We’ll only know if we try them all. Anyway, Grace, thanks for showing us. It explains a lot. Poor woman….”

“What do you mean, poor woman?” said Grace in shocked tones. “She was spying on us, on me, let me tell you both quite honestly, I’ve pleasured myself now and again, and she was gloating behind the wall! Poor woman!”

“I only mean she must have been very … insecure. In herself. She was alone, no family, children, friends – well I wonder if she really liked those awful people at the dinner party….”

“I think she just tolerated them,” said Grace perceptively. “They amused her, like animals in a zoo. Basically, she was as bad as they were, but I think she had a more … cynical outlook somehow. Anyhow, that’s what I wanted to show you. Interesting, eh? And there’s something else. See here.” She led them back to the drawing room, and indicated a curtain evidently hiding a large mirror-like object. “See that?” She pulled the curtain. They gasped as they saw it was a window into the bathroom.

“What? She looks into her bathroom?”

“Yes, Catherine, but in the bathroom it looks like a mirror. She can look at her guests this way. It’s a bit … “

“Yes,” said Matthew, “it is a bit! I’m glad she never had me in here. Mind you, she saw me other places….””

“But no,” said Catherine, “I bet you she was peeking at those boys that were here, I told you about, Matthew, Jeremy and Francis. They came in here to … wash their hands, and … actually I think they had to masturbate. And she was spying on them.”

“I don’t know about all that,” said Grace, “but it sounds just like her. What a woman!”

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Another shower at the gym

“Well, Matthew, it’s time for another bath.”

He looked at Abigail and clenched his fists, but didn’t dare say anything. He had no wish to annoy her, and he and his family were still in her power. She stared at him as if to provoke him into being rash, and was evidently disappointed that he stayed calm. Oh well.

“This time,” she said slowly, looking at him as if to tell him a great welcome surprise, “it’s not upstairs, it’s at the gym.”

“The gym,” he repeated foolishly. “But—”

“It’s not a gym class, I’m scheduling that for Thursday, with a shower of course. This is really the same, I suppose, except that you won’t be doing physical jerks to start with. And it involves many more students, naturally.”

His heart sank. Not again! A fleeting thought crossed his brain that the girls would all be naked, maybe, like last time?

“Miss Cramond won’t be there, because it doesn’t involve gymnastics. No, the girls have elected a chief bather, who’ll direct the proceedings. The girls will wear bathing costumes – yes, it’s a disappointment, isn’t it, you randy hooligan! That’s so that they can get under the shower with you. Any of them. All of them. Which’ll be above forty or so, I think. In fact they’ll probably take turns in washing you. Several times, I should think! My, you’ll be awfully clean by the time they finish. And it strikes me that you won’t be able to avoid the obvious, several times!”

He shook his head and muttered “Which means spending, I suppose? Being manhandled—”

“Ha! Wrong word! Girl-handled, by God! All your interesting parts handled, and rehandled, and handled again, by girls. And you are going to take it, Matthew,” she said in a rising tone of menace, “you’re going to accept it, embrace it, because otherwise there’s a letter all ready to be sent to Essex. But you, you’ll look for it anyway, won’t you? You want this, deep down, don’t you? You pretend it’s unalloyed awfulness, but deep down you are actually craving this. You want to be felt, you want a girl’s hand on your ballocks, on your arse, on your cock. Don’t pretend! Hah!” she crowed, “I do believe that once you’re back in your nest down there, you won’t know what to do with yourself, you won’t be able to get a hard-on unless there’s a girl looking at you, you won’t get an orgasm till a girl squeezes your balls! I hope you’ve got a nice maid at Crossley’s. Or else it’s that little sister of yours maybe. You can teach her how to do it!”

“You—you bitch! How dare—”

“How do I dare? Sorry if I offend your family sensibilities. But anyway, you’re due at the gym in … a half hour. Enjoy!”

The actual number of girls turned out to be forty-five, and the number of times they made him ejaculate in an hour and a half was three, if you didn’t count the weak attempt at the last drying-off. The girls had a good time, at least, and were conscious that such chances were getting slimmer by the day. Several wondered out loud how they’d be able to manage without the prospect of his delightful nudity before them as a scholarly incentive. He nearly told them about Mrs G’s plan to replace him, but breathed a sigh of thanks on behalf of the poor bugger who would not be plucked from Mrs Grove’s orphanage to serve as a naked clown for future generations of the Academy. Because she was dead. She wouldn’t be able to torment people any more.

And so, he asked himself as he dressed, am I glad she’s dead? A good question, Raven! To be honest, it’s a strange mixture of relief, on my part and Catherine’s, with a mild sort of desolation at the death (so young!) of a beautiful woman. And it reminds me too, inevitably, of my own mortality. What had that Ernest person said in Paris? It was true. But while we’re all mortal, we do have to make our life somehow here. And my life – oh Lord – is in Essex. And Catherine’s? Can we manage to work something out? Oh fuck! Life is still complicated!

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Bryden was called to the telephone, and had a long conversation which intrigued the other staff. His side consisted mainly of “Oh!”, “My word!”, “Of course,” and “That’s wonderful!” and he laid down the receiver with an extraordinary grin on his old lined face, then went back to his den and lay down on his couch with a peaceful contented look, sighed and slept.

Tuesday 8th September

The Gift

The next day, after a good breakfast, they made a point of thanking Mrs Ponsonby. “I know we haven’t tried to be friends,” said Catherine, “but I hope you realise how much you’re appreciated. We’ll be going away soon, but we wanted to say thank you before that.”

The dour Scot broke into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Catherine. D’you know, you’re the first one in a long time that’s told me that. I may be leaving myself, it’s too long since I saw my folks. But maybe I’ll come back to cook for the Academy, I’ll be needed there. And the girls seem to like my dumpling, though they’ve never said so. Thank you again.”

“Oh,” said Catherine, “can I ask – maybe you could give us your recipe for your Caledonian Cream.”

She laughed. “Oh, I can do that. And I wish you good luck when you leave here. And you too, young Matthew! From what I hear, you’ve had some tribulations. But I hope all goes well for you. For you both.” She turned away, and Matthew suspected there was a tear in her eye that her Scottish pride wouldn’t let them see.

“She said ‘for you both’—d’you think she saw us as a pair? Is it as easy to see, then?”

“Oh Matthew, of course it is! I’m sure they’ve all known for a good while, it’s probably the way we look at each other. Like Mr Bryden said about Elizabeth and Eithne.”

“Or I noticed about Tadeusz and Damian,” said Matthew. “All right. Now, what’s our task for today? Oh, the library, of course.”

They went to the room, which was looking a lot tidier than before. The catalogue lay on the table, with pen and ink and paper, and the three volumes of Ashbee’s bibliography were there to be consulted. Several paper markers were inserted between the volumes to indicate where the examination had stopped, and one set of shelves bore books set aside because they were not erotic. The little Dutchman soon joined them, and hefted a volume bound in russia.

“Ah,” he said in tones half approving and half despondent, “yet another one about the pleasure (and pains) of flogging. Really, you English!” He looked at them humorously. “You’d think, wouldn’t you, that there’s not much you can say about the subject. After the first flogging or two, what more is there?”

Catherine grimaced and said “Not much, indeed! I suppose you can have an escalation, with more screams—”

“—And more blood!” said Matthew. “Yes, but I do admit that only a real lover of the, the genre—”

“Yes Matthew, it is a real genre, I’m afraid. And you have a remarkable lot of it here. As you see, with the books divided like this, we’ve got nearly a third, I’d say, of a flagellistic sort. The others – scatology, sado-masochism, simple seduction, etc., form two-thirds, but more varied. And this thing here,” he flourished it, “is just another. Get the catalogue. This’ll be under the title.”

He read out “Sublime of Flagellation: in Letters from Lady Termagant Flaybum to Lady Harriet Tickletail.” The others started laughing.

“Oh, I know it’s ludicrous. There’s quite a few titles like this. The date is 1872, yes. This is number six in a bawdy series put out by John Camden Hotten, the ‘Library Illustrative of Social Progress’, which we came across before. Is it there, Matthew?”

“Oh yes, Adriaan, it’s here. Is it meant to be funny?”

“Not really, though you might imagine so. Listen boy: these folks are in dead earnest, and I verily believe they never smiled when writing such stuff. Nor did the intended audience reading it. It’s only the normal person who laughs. Oh dear, I shouldn’t be making value judgements. But anyway it goes over here among its brethren.

“By the bye,” he said, “the death of Mrs Grainger will not affect the catalogue or the appraisal, except that it’s probably a bit more necessary now, since I understand the whole library is to be sold. We can discuss it later however. I know the lawyer, Mr Barry, is coming to talk about things this afternoon.”

Mr Barry greeted them with smiles, and Jeremy at his side looked at them rather sheepishly and flushed. He hadn’t forgotten how he met Catherine, and seeing them together he remembered his last night at Vaulx. Catherine however smiled at him and asked him how he was. He flushed some more and mumbled “Fine, thanks. And you?”

“Oh,” cried Catherine, “I’m pretty well, and pretty happy, and you know I’m going to get my inheritance! I’m ever so grateful to Mr Barry and Mr Bryden, who managed it. And I bet I should thank you too, for you probably did most of the donkey work!”

He laughed and said “Yes, Catherine, you’re right. We’ll talk about that, what to do with the money that nasty fellow Bigby is going to give you back, but more especially some other—”

Barry called them to order and asked where the butler was. “He’ll be here fairly soon, sir,” said Matthew, “don’t worry. Is there anything else you can tell us about Mrs Grainger’s wishes? There’s the ‘other destiny’ you mentioned for the library. I’d like to finish the catalogue, if you don’t mind. I and Mr de Groot are getting on together famously, and we’re working our way through the catalogue quite quickly. It won’t take that long now. You’re going to ask Sothebys, are you, to auction it?”

“Sothebys or Christies. If no single buyer comes forward,” said Barry. “I happen to agree with De Groot in that an institutional purchase, while easy to arrange, doesn’t serve the needs of the collecting market too well, and doesn’t often serve the needs of the public. The British Museum hides things away in what they call the Private Case, a literary cousin to the ‘Secretum’, as they call it, which is a hidden away repository for … phallic bric-à-brac, you might say, similar to the ‘Secret Cabinet’ in Naples.” They looked at him.

“Ahem! It’s a museum of things from Pompeii and Herculaneum, of an erotic nature.”

“Oh yes,” said Matthew, “it’ll be connected with the graffiti they found on the walls.”

The others looked at him quizzically. He added with a flush, “Mr de Groot was telling me about it.”

“Ah yes, of course,” said the lawyer drily, “occasioned by your erotica through there. Anyway, I’m saying that that library is to be offered to the aficionados of the topic, and if no taker comes forth, it’ll go to auction. However it’s done, it should fetch a pretty penny, which Mrs G calculated rather well. See, the estate consists of land, both here and abroad, buildings, movable estate such as the pictures and books, and money in the shape of cash, bonds and so forth, besides the insurance claim, which I’m making this week, which will be considerable. The exact amount of her estate will not be known for quite a while yet. It will be sizeable, however, and can very easily bear the weight of Lydia’s bequests, which you may guess to be a large amount for her employees alone! Once that sum is subtracted, the residue … well, we’ll get to that in due course. And there’s death duties too, of course, to consider, which demands a complete valuation of the estate.

“Perhaps I should tell you something about Mrs Grainger’s will.” They looked at him in puzzlement. “She had been tinkering with it for some time, some considerable time. In fact I tried to persuade her to draw up some kind of testament as soon as she married in 1910. And when she was widowed, I tried again. Of late though she took it more seriously, and acting with Jeremy here as go-between, we finally managed to get a draught of the document earlier this year, and it was in its last stage in June when Jeremy came here and met you, Catherine.” She blushed, as did the boy, and Barry hurried on. “So the last signature was put to the document at Vaulx last month. By that time it had become a matter of some urgency.” There were more puzzled looks.

“What Mrs Grainger didn’t tell anyone was that the consulting a specialist in Paris and so on was all about the possibility, which turned out to be certainty, that she had a terminal disease.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Catherine, remembering how Mrs G had looked after them that day in Paris. “The poor woman!”

“Ah,” said Barry, “I’d expect that from you, Catherine. You gave me the impression of being forgiving, compassionate even to your enemies.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe it was her condition that made her so unpleasant, so hard.”

“Perhaps,” said the lawyer. “Still, I was informed that her last words were something to the effect that it was ‘just as well’, c'est un mal pour un bien, the inference being that it was better to die in the flower of her life than gasp it out in pain sometime down the road. Bauvais did her a favour, in a way, which is why she forgave him. He’ll still be guillotined, of course.” He saw the shock on their faces and hurried on. “She left him a substantial legacy, as you might expect, but of course that is impossible now.

“I expect the insurance company, by the way, would have refused to pay up because of a pre-existing medical condition. But she didn’t die on account of that, but an unlooked-for attack, which means that the insurance amount, which was seventy thousand pounds— ”

“Good Lord!”

“Yes, Matthew, a goodly sum, but due to what they call double indemnity, for accidental death the amount doubles, so the claim is for one hundred and forty thousand pounds.”

Their eyes grew big, and they mouthed that huge amount in unison.

“That amount I’m afraid will certainly put the estate evaluation well over the basic liability, though I’m not sure how much. I’ll have a look at the 1919 Act, but that needn’t bother you. If the percentage charge is forty, I think, that alone yields fifty-six thousand pounds in tax.

“Anyhow, that brings me to the point. She left three codicils to the will, all written out in her own hand, which makes them powerful documents, holographs as we say, which take precedence in a manner of speaking in that they don’t necessarily need a witness. She however had them witnessed and indeed notarised, so they’re all equally legal and watertight. In one of those she made further provision for you, Catherine, and for Matthew too.” They looked at him in amazement.

“Yes,” he continued, “she left you more money, in some ‘recompense’ as she put it, for your ‘troubles’. I may as well tell you that Jeremy here brought this about.” They looked at the boy, who flushed under their gaze, and prompted by his employer, hesitantly told them how he had pleaded for them with the beautiful tyrant.

Barry took out an envelope and waved it. “Here’s the very note,” he said humorously, “this is what she wrote. I found it surprising, but not too surprising. The lady had to make decisions rapidly, and prompted by Jeremy’s advice, she has left you, jointly, the ‘remainder of the estate, however much or little it is.’ And it is not little.”

He sat back and looked at them benignly. They were thunderstruck and speechless. Jeremy grinned at them, saying “Isn’t it great? I’m so happy for you!”

Matthew blinked and shook his head as to clear it. Then he took Jeremy’s hand. “And we owe it to you, Jeremy! Oh, thank you!”

Catherine hugged him and kissed him, at which he blushed. Barry observed all this with a benevolent smile, then cleared his throat to say “Children, you realise you’re both under age, and can’t administer these funds yourselves. Mrs Grainger left arrangements to me as her executor. I have therefore decided that I’ll appoint a trustee for the funds, to look after your money for you. He will have absolute power of attorney, you realise, until you are of age, which we define as eighteen years.” He gazed at them and they nodded slowly.

“Who—?” asked Matthew, with some trepidation.

The old lawyer smiled again. “I’ve already done it,” he said. “I’ve appointed a friend of yours, Mr Bryden. He is the trustee. I’m sure you’ll be pleased about that.”

Catherine clapped her hands. “Oh! Thank you!” she cried, “that’s too marvellous. That’s perfect. I’m sure he’ll look after the money wisely. However much or little it is. Oh!” She looked at him questioningly. “Will there be enough to give more money to some people? I think the cook, Mrs Ponsonby, served Mrs G very well, and she only got five hundred pounds. I’d like to give her more. Can I? I mean, is it up to me, or maybe Mr Bryden?”

“Legally, it’s he who must have the last word,” said Barry, “but obviously he’ll go along with your wishes, to disburse your money to a person, or a charity, as long as you aren’t too foolish about it. If I may say so, your generosity is laudable. You don’t know yet how much there is, and you’re giving it to others! That’s very good of you.”

She coloured and said “But Mr Barry, I don’t need a lot for myself. And I’m already getting what my uncle left me. Matthew can have most of Mrs G’s money. I only hope there’s enough to give some presents.”

Barry smiled. “I think I can assure you of that. What else?”

“For one thing,” said Catherine, “I think Mr Pascau – oh! We never did find out his other name.”

“Don’t worry,” said Barry. “He’s on the employee list along with everybody else. My, she was thorough, Lydia Grainger! She left him five hundred pounds. But did you want to give him more?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Don’t you think, Matthew, he deserves more than that?”

“Of course,” he said. “He looked after us so well, and was really a charming old fellow. And his daughter too, Mireio. What d’you think, hm? A thousand each!”

“My goodness,” said the lawyer. “They must have been good to you.”

“It’s true, sir,” said Jeremy, “they were really nice people. And it’s a hard life, I’m sure, out there in the country. Actually from what I saw I’m not sure that Mrs Grainger treated them all that well.”

“Very well, a thousand apiece it is. And the same, I fancy, to Mrs Ponsonby? Don’t worry, the estate can easily handle it. Tell me though, do you have any plans for that property? I know it’s awfully soon to mention it, but at some point you’ll have to deal with it.” They stared at each other and then at the lawyer.

“Oh,” said Catherine after a moment, with an amazed look. “D’you mean – we get that too? It’s not just a bit of money?”

Matthew spluttered and said “You mean … we … we inherit … all the rest? This place, and, and Vaulx, and … everything?”

The lawyer nodded, as the children looked at each other open-mouthed.

Jeremy piped up. “Listen, if I may, sir? I think you should keep it as a holiday home. You had a nice time there, didn’t you, overall? I’m sure you’d like to continue. And employ Pascau and his daughter.”

Catherine pulled herself together and nodded her head. “Oh, of course! And this time, I mean next time, we won’t have those girls to contend with—” She stopped at Matthew’s expression. “Oh, dear Matthew, I’m sorry to remind you.”

He smiled rather wryly and said “You had some experiences too.” Jeremy got another blush remembering the episode on the lawn, and glanced sideways at Catherine, and the old lawyer looked at him with a faint smile, at which he lowered his eyes and blushed harder. “But not any more. I say, you’ll be in charge! And I might be able to improve my French, with no distractions except you!”

Barry looked askance. “Er, excuse me, Matthew, but you’re both still under age, and you can’t be there by yourselves, it wouldn’t do at all. The servants, of course, don’t count, I’m afraid. You’ll have to have a chaperone. I know it’s something of an imposition, an impertinence, but it is a convention, you know. I must say that … you may have … become intimate in Paris – Mrs Grainger thought so – but nevertheless, custom demands it. Do you have any preference, is there someone you know and trust, a woman I mean, who could act as a chaperone?”

Catherine had gone a little red at the revelation of their “intimacy”, but murmured to herself. “Dear Mamie, my governess? But she moved to her sister in South Africa. Who…?” She looked at Matthew.

He furrowed his brow and said slowly “We don’t have any friends like that, except maybe—”

Catherine smiled and said “Yes! I know who you’re thinking of. Elizabeth! Do you think she’d come? It’s in the holidays, after all.”

“Of course,” said Matthew. “That’s who I was thinking of. Perhaps her friend Eithne could come too.”

“That’s perfect!” said Catherine. “Do you know of her, Mr Barry? She’s a teacher at the academy. She teaches Latin and Greek.”

“Oho,” said Barry. “In that case she must be a pillar of rectitude.” He smiled at them. “I jest of course. But I assume she’s a lot older than you?”

“Well,” said Matthew honestly, “not all that older. But she is an adult, and a very dear person. We like her a lot.”

“Fine then,” said Barry, “that can be arranged. M. Boucard looks after the property, you are there for holidays. And you’ll have to think about the other properties Lydia had. There’s a villa in Florence, for instance, and a little estate for shooting up in Ross-shire. You might want to divest yourself of that, but it should be pleasant in summer, and you can always leave the stags and grouse alone. There may also be some land in the United States, but I’ve got to look into that. Now what else?”

“Goodness,” said Catherine a little shakily, “I’m still trying to assimilate this. Let me think….”

“I say, Mr Barry,” said Matthew suddenly, “are you really sure there’s no-one else in the family who has a claim on the estate?”

The old lawyer looked at him and replied “I see what you’re saying, and the answer is, both sides of the family, hers and the Graingers, have indicated total distaste for the affair. You see, since Mr Henry Grainger died, they severed all connections, both of them, both families, and refused to have anything to do with her. It’s a bit … distasteful. The word does fit.” He pursed his lips. “Do you know,” he asked slowly, “how Mr Grainger died?” They looked ignorance.

Matthew said “I got the impression there was some funny business about that. Mr Bryden was a bit reticent, and Grace said it was an odd sort of accident.”

“Yes,” he said, “odd is a good word.” He drew a deep breath. “Henry and Lydia Grainger,” he said heavily, “were devotees of some very peculiar practices. I happen to know about this from family papers and a few accounts taken after Henry died. They derived pleasure from indulging in various acts which brought about … oh, goodness, children, I know you’ve been through a lot with Lydia, but still it’s rather embarrassing to mention to you. In order to bring themselves to climax,” he said going somewhat red, “they tied themselves up and simulated strangulation.” They looked at him with wide eyes. “Yes,” he continued, “you see, or perhaps you didn’t know – oh, I’m sure you’re so innocent – I suppose, Jeremy, you don’t know either – when one is being strangled, as when one was hung, in the old days, or even now, for all I know, it often produces an erection, and even … emission.” He paused and looked apologetically at their amazed expressions. “So when one wishes to obtain an erection, one simulates throttling.” His flush increased. “That’s what they used to do, and on this occasion they went too far, and Henry really did strangle himself. I suspect that Lydia achieved her own purposed orgasm, and Henry did too, but expired. A friend of his, a certain aristocrat who indulged in the same sort of thing, exclaimed to me, judging me to be both a man of the world and a discreet family lawyer, that it was a perfect way to die, in the midst of an orgasm. He laughed, and said la petite mort turned out to be la mort douce.”

Matthew looked serious. “Was … was his name … Sir Graeme Childers, by any chance?”

The lawyer looked astonished. “Why, yes,” he said. “How do you know?”

Matthew smiled wryly. “It’s just that he was at a dinner party Mrs G gave, and I got the impression he was like that. Oh hell, Mr Barry, let me be frank: he was a really dreadful old roué, who caused us both painful embarrassment, and I’m not surprised he made that remark.”

“I won’t ask,” said Barry, “the details of your experience. I have been able to glean sufficient information from various places to build my own ideas about Mrs Grainger’s activities. And we’ll discover, as we go through her papers, a great deal more. You do see that you’ll have to do that, don’t you? As her heirs, it’s up to you to deal with all that. I’d warn you to be prepared for some shock or unpleasant things, but,” he peered at them a little sadly, “I don’t suppose you will be surprised, after all the things she put you through. But anyway, you were asking about other claims. The Graingers had deliberately estranged themselves from this branch, since 1860 or so, in Hereward’s time, or rather his sons’ time, that was Howard and Edward. Edward married Gertrude Merrick in an elopement, which scandalised his cousins, since Gertrude was only thirteen at the time….”

Catherine gasped, but said “That was unusual, I suppose, but wasn’t Juliet thirteen?”

“Yes,” said Matthew, “and so was Edgar Allan Poe’s wife, I think.”

Barry nodded. “Mind you, parental consent was all that was necessary. It was different – it still is, in fact – in Scotland, where such consent isn’t required. And the ages are lower too, it’s not my speciality, but Scots law differs markedly from English in several respects. A boy can marry at fourteen, I believe, and a girl at twelve.”

Matthew looked at Catherine with an odd light in his eye. She returned the look, but merely said “Oh yes?” and made a gesture that meant Let’s talk about this later.

“Anyhow,” continued the lawyer, “they fell out, and by the time Henry died they were completely cut off. The Delatourelles, Lydia’s family, were very sparse, not many at all, and the line has now practically died out because her second cousin, the only one left that I know of, is a nun and wishes to have nothing to do with her.”

“But wait a minute,” said Matthew, “there’s another cousin, Hilary Something, who’s a young artist.”

“Ah, I know about her,” said the lawyer. “Hilary Benson, a young girl of 17, I believe. Supposedly a niece of Mrs Grainger.”

“Supposedly?” asked Matthew. “But I thought—”

“Yes, my boy, but it was just a friendship, not a relationship. Or at least,” he coughed, “not a family relationship. And she does get a small bequest. So there are no more relatives to consider.”

“But why did they become estranged?” asked Catherine. “Didn’t the others like their behaviour?”

Barry grimaced. “That, mostly. The entire family had been, let’s be honest about it, rather … free with their morals, and their ethics. But people can change, can become reformed, and that was what happened. It was the mid-Victorian times, when respectability was de rigueur, and the other branch grasped it wholeheartedly. They all became utter prigs, frankly,” he said with some humour, “and would have nothing to do with this branch, godless and immoral as they saw them. As they were, let’s face it! So anyway, that’s a long answer to your question. You need have no fear of anyone contesting the will.”

“Actually, sir, I was wondering if the families would like to share in the estate….”

“No, Matthew, I do see what you’re saying, and it’s commendable, but I am absolutely sure of their lack of interest. I know because I have already asked them, and the representatives turned down the offer. And I can assure you that they are not in any kind of want. Now then….”

“But there’s an awful lot to deal with,” said Catherine doubtfully. “What about the books?”

“Ah yes,” said Barry, “the books. Well, as I said, according to the main will, the erotica library is to be sold at auction if there is no en bloc sale – to a private collector. I understand from the Dutch gentleman that he advised Lydia thus. But he also tells me there are other books, not erotica, and advises sale of those too, provided you don’t want them. Matthew?”

“Oh,” said the boy, “I talked about that with Mrs Grainger, and she promised she would give me a present when I left, the Dutch atlas maybe –”

“It’s all right, Matthew, you may keep what you will out of the collection, and I mean all of the books, erotic, ordinary, novels, atlases and so on. Mrs Grainger’s last codicil allows me to amend her instructions, and the library is for me to disperse as I please. Actually Mr de Groot tells me there are some very desirable books there that have been acquired almost by accident in the past couple of centuries. Or more, for the family has been getting books of all sorts, pictures and so forth, for a very long time. He tells me there’s a very early edition of Boccaccio in there, for instance. It must be very valuable. And there’s evidently the last book of the Kelmscott Press, William Morris’s beautiful edition of Chaucer. Have you seen it yet? I’d advise you to keep them all actually, the non-erotica at least, and carefully choose one or two of the other kind for your own library. Hmm? What do you think?”

“I think,” said Matthew, “that I’ll consult with Adriaan and weed out what I want, what he advises, and leave most of it, especially those horrid pictures and ghastly stuff about flagellation, to those who revel in that kind of thing. There are some beautiful books, after all. There are some beautiful pictures. So we’ll just be … selective.”

“Right!” said Catherine. “That sounds good. And listen, Mr Barry, I would love to have that Bösendorfer piano, and the music.”

“Certainly, my dear! It is yours, of course. But we’ll be making decisions about what to keep, what to sell, or discard, and so forth. You do see, there’s a lot to think about, don’t you? But we’ll get through it. Jeremy, are you writing all this down?”

“Yes, Mr Barry, of course.”

“Hey Jeremy,” said Catherine suddenly, “do you want a present, a keepsake, or something? We owe you a lot.”

He coloured and gasped. “Oh, really, Catherine, I’m supposed –”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, you daft thing,” said Matthew. “Some books, some pictures, look, there’s some jolly pretty landscapes hanging around the house. I’m sure at least one is a Constable.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he looked at his employer, who smiled and said “Jeremy, I’d advise you to take advantage of the offer. Matthew, Catherine, I ask you formally to allow the boy to choose two or three suitable things as a slight remembrance of his services to you. Hmm?” They grinned and agreed, and Jeremy blushed with pleasure.

“Well,” said Matthew, “that settles it, I’ll be staying to complete the catalogue and choosing my books, and the school will be in session. Quite separately, though, thank God!”

“Oh Matthew,” exclaimed Catherine, “at least you won’t be teased any more, not humiliated. And I’ll just be allowed to enjoy the estate, and take time to … play the piano, for one thing.”

Jeremy looked up and said “But as we said, you’ll have to go through Mrs G’s things. You’ll be kept busy! The house and grounds are to be sold, I expect, but you’ll need time to dispose of her clothes, for one thing, her private papers. Oh,” his eyes went wide, “I wonder if she kept a diary?!”

“My God,” said Matthew, “I shudder to think what would be in it! But you’re right. There’ll be a lot of things to do. I’ll tell you though, I’m not sure what our relations are going to be with the other servants. Will they resent our good fortune? Abigail –”

“Abigail can go hang,” said Catherine. “She was very ready to do Mrs G’s bidding, and took pleasure in thinking of ways to torment us. I don’t care what she thinks. In fact I’d love to dismiss her. Can I do that?”

Barry shook his head. “I don’t think so. I see what you’re saying, and as administrator of the estate I suppose it’s up to me, but in all conscience she can’t be dismissed without cause.”

“Without cause?” cried Catherine, “do you know what she’s done to us?”

Barry raised a hand. “I know it’s difficult for you, but she has been a good servant to the late Mrs G, and that’s what counts. As long as she has fulfilled her contract, of course, and I assume she has. I shall however have a word with her and try to persuade her to resign her post. She’ll get a first-class reference and some more of a send-off, and I think she’ll go quite happily. Once the Academy is sorted out, others like Mrs Ponsonby may leave. Mr Bryden is a special case of course.”

“Oh yes,” said Matthew, “what happens to him?”

“Well, he is to be Catherine’s guardian; they may move away to a little place of their own. You, Matthew, have a family to consider, and I’ll suggest that they come and stay with you, leaving Mrs Crossley’s establishment, you see. You could even be neighbours. You do want to maintain a relationship, don’t you?” They looked at each other and blushed. Barry smiled a little sardonically and said “Of course. Well, that can be arranged very easily. As for where you go, the whole world is out there. Maybe you could get a little farm like your uncle’s, Catherine, or graduate to a city. Even London. Have you been there?”

“Just for a bit, passing through, in the summer, going to France,” said Matthew, remembering with something of a flush the treatment at Lady Malvern’s. “We could live there,” he went on, “there’s lots to see and do. And what did Dr Johnson say? ‘When one is tired of London, one is tired of life.’ Yes, I think I’d like that.”

“We’ll have lots of discussions about things like that,” said Catherine, “and you’ll be a party to them, Mr Barry, and of course dear Jeremy as well.” The boy blushed and smiled, and looked at his employer.

Barry smiled in his turn. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” he said diffidently, “I think the three of you, so close in age and temperament, should become very good friends. I can see you like one another; I’m sure the friendship will deepen. It occurs to me, after all, that you pair don’t have any real friends, do you? Not of your own age. But here’s Jeremy, who (I wager to think) may have few friends also.” He looked at the boy, who looked up at him shyly and nodded. “Well, then. I think a good friendship will ripen. But now, on to other things. Oh, by the bye, you can probably tell me; who’s Luigi Morelli?”

Catherine looked astonished. “He’s a, a man we met in Vaulx,” she said. “A film-maker. Did—oh, did Mrs G mention him in the will?”

“Yes, exactly,” said Barry. “She left him a considerable sum, ‘for his art’, as she said. I imagine she was taken with his productions, and wanted to invest in them. Do you know what his films are like?”

They looked at each other, and couldn’t help giggling. Matthew made a hopeless sort of gesture and said “Mr Barry, we know what his films are like. They’re very erotic, and, let’s be honest, Catherine and I took part in some.” He remembered thinking that the two adults had had a fuck or two when Mrs G visited, and smiled a bit to realise she had rewarded him well.
Jeremy frowned in sympathy, and the lawyer tut-tutted. Matthew went on, “I’m not surprised she gave him money for them, and wanted to support him. But whether we’ll ever see them is a bit of a question. I got the impression they were made in small quantities, for a limited clientele, you can imagine. Still, I suppose he’s entitled to it. And he has a large household to support.”

“Right,” said Barry. “I’ll be communicating with him this week. There’s a few others, evidently friends she knew in Italy and Belgium and places…. Ah, here’s Bryden.”

The butler entered and shook hands with the guests, and said “I’m betting you’ve told this pair about their windfall, hey? Children,” he went on turning to them, “it’s really no more than you deserve. You’ve been through a lot with Lydia Grainger. Now she’s made up for it, or much of it. Can you forgive her?”

Matthew shrugged and said “In a way, I suppose. But it’s too early to take it in.”

“Yes,” said Barry, “but we have to discuss things. I suggest we make some decisions about Catherine’s inheritance, then some rough plans for the estate, which is more complicated to deal with. And the school, especially.”

“Righto!” said the butler, and sat down. They talked for an hour, and were interrupted by Grace, who told them lunch was ready in the dining room.

“Thank you, Grace,” said Bryden. “We’ll be five. Is that all right?”

She looked at him with a frown. “You and Catherine—”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “We five. We have things to discuss. And I might as well tell you right now, that there’s a change in the set-up here. Mr Barry?”

“Yes, miss,” he said. “You should pass it on to your colleagues. Catherine and Matthew are the new owners of the estate. They inherit from Lydia Grainger.”

The girl looked astonished, then wary, then laughed. “God,” she said, “you’re just fooling, aren’t you?! Wait….” She looked at them, who were nodding affirmatively, and then said “Well, by God, if it’s true, I’m so pleased! I am! Crikey, I’ve got to tell the others! Catherine, Matthew, you – you really – oh, I’m pleased! Well, no wonder you’re all dining together! Sir, Madam, lunch is ready! And don’t worry, there’s plenty!” She dashed out giggling.

Matthew looked after her and said “Well, that’s a good sign. She took it all in and didn’t show she resented it.”

“Of course not,” said Catherine. “She’s a sensible girl. We’ll see about the rest of them, though….”

They were just finishing the meal when Christina came in and shyly looked a question. “What is it, Christina?” asked the butler.

She looked a bit troubled as she said “There’s a big parcel thing – several actually – arrived, addressed to Mrs G. What should we do with it?”

“Where’s it from?” asked Matthew.

“Paris,” she said.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “maybe it’s things she bought, and had them sent home?”

“Yes,” said Catherine. “It’ll be those paintings that she bought at the auction, remember?”

“Oh dear,” said the lawyer, “more things to value and add to the estate!”

“Yes, sir,” said Christina, “there’s a crate from a gallery, that’ll be it. But there’s other stuff too….”

“Oh, listen,” said Jeremy, “I bet you it’s her personal effects the police spoke about.”

“Heavens,” said Catherine, “I forgot about that. Listen, Christina, could you get them into the front hall, just, and we can unpack them there.”

“D’you want them unpacked now, then? It’s no trouble, honestly. I’ll get a couple of the boys to help do it.”

“Would you? That’d be good, Christina, thank you.”

“No trouble, Catherine!” And she left them with a smile.

“There you are,” said Matthew, “she doesn’t mind being told what to do.”

“You didn’t tell her,” said Jeremy mischievously, “you asked her! But you’re right. She accepted the situation.”

“All the same,” said Catherine, “I bet you some will be loath to accept us as the new owners.”

“Well,” said Barry, “the alternative is to leave, and they’ve already been promised a handsome letter of recommendation. I don’t think you’ll get too much trouble. Let’s ask for coffee to be served in the drawing room, hey? And later we can take a look at the things in the hall.”

*

Matthew held up an unframed canvas and looked at it with a frown. “Mrs G has a funny taste,” he said. “I know it’s colourful and so on, but I can’t see much in this.”

Bryden asked “Can you see a signature?”

The boy squinted at it. “It’s a bit of a scrawl,” he said, “but it looks like ‘Pulazzo’. Is that Italian?”

“Good God,” said Barry, “let me see.” He peered at the picture and laughed. “No, my boy, not Italian. It’s actually ‘Picasso’, who’s a Spanish painter of some reputation. I know this looks rather demented, but believe me people pay well for this sort of thing. Lydia G probably did, and, let me remind you, you should be able to sell it for a nice little sum.”

“Oh,” said Catherine, “Mrs G knew him, I think. She was upset at missing him in Paris….”

Matthew looked at the stack of canvases and said “So all this will really be worth quite a bit?”

“Yes,” said Barry, “and remember, these works of art are yours now. You may keep them or not, as your taste decrees. I know that one is a little too modern, to my taste and evidently to yours, but Lydia knew her art, oh yes, and you’ll probably like to have a good few of these. Remember, they may well increase greatly in value as the years go by.” Matthew smiled and repeated the phrase to himself, looking at his lover. As the years go by! Yes, for us both, a lifetime! God, a lifetime with that wonderful girl….

The other packages contained what possessions Lydia Grainger had had in Paris, and they looked forlorn and sad when they were piled overflowing on a sofa. They included clothes, of course, quite a lot of them, jewellery, books and magazines and parasols and gramophone records, a camera, and papers of various sorts. Catherine looked at the debris of a life and sighed. The formidable Mrs G reduced to this…. Christina appeared again and offered to take it all through to Mrs G’s bedroom. “Oh good, Christina, thank you,” said Catherine. “We’ll have to look through it but for now that’ll do. As for the pictures—”

“As for the pictures,” said Barry, “I suggest we leave them where they are for the nonce and they’ll be appraised with the others later. And now we must be off. I’ll be telephoning you about – no, wait, I should be back tomorrow to settle some things. All right? Then goodbye, Catherine. Goodbye, Bryden, Matthew. Come, Jeremy.”

The pair left, shown out by Christina, and Bryden looked at the new owners with a smile. “I’m off to my lair for a bit,” he said. “You two should go out, take a walk about your domain, settle your minds. I know it’s hard to get to grips with, so take your time to absorb it, think about things, plan some things. You have a lot to think about. Oh, my dear children! I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. Anyway, off with you.”

Matthew seized Catherine’s hand and together they ambled out of the house as if in a dream – this time a continuous daze of relief and freedom. Bryden watched them go with a loving smile. Yes, he thought, they are a beautiful pair, and this is the perfect end of their story. But no, Theo (he told himself), it’s a wonderful beginning for them. Bless them!

In the car the old lawyer took his left hand off the wheel to pass an envelope to Jeremy, who examined it curiously. “You may read that, my boy, it’s relevant to all this.”

Jeremy noticed the French stamps, and guessed “Oh! It’s from Mrs Grainger, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Jeremy, her last message to us.” The boy opened it and read.

21 Rue Coulvain

Mr Barry:

I am writing this to let you know exactly why I have made some changes to my testament. You’ll read this only after my death, so there’s no gain in being reticent. I’ve enjoyed playing with my human toys, Catherine Hammond and Matthew Raven, and I’m genuinely sorry our acquaintance was so short. They are fifteen years old, and awfully innocent. I have delighted in putting them in intolerable situations, exposing them naked to the opposite sex, mostly to young folk of around their own age. Your own Jeremy Crowther took part in a few such events, and I’m sure he enjoyed handling a nude girl. You should ask him about that.

Jeremy swallowed and looked at his employer with a flush. Barry looked sideways at him and smiled tolerantly.

But he turned out to be sorry for his participation, and sympathised with her. He dared to remonstrate with me, and I then told him a little of what I had done with her and Matthew too. He was upset, and reproved me for my tormenting of a couple of helpless orphans. I told him he was being rather rash in confronting me, and hinted that a letter to you might incline you to dismiss him. The boy understood this, but still continued to tell me that I should make it up to the pair. You realise just how brave he was being; I felt quite moved by this. After he’d gone with the main will all signed and so forth, I determined to do something more for them, and was confirmed in my intent by some bad news about my health. To be short, a specialist here in Paris has warned me that I have very little time left – it’s probably cancer of the ovaries, and has spread through my body to the extent that operations would be fruitless. So there it is: I am dying, slowly but surely (not so slowly, either, it can only be a matter of months or even weeks), and the will is truly going to be my last testament. Young Crowther pleaded for some measure of recompense for the two abused children, and told me I could well afford to make up for all I’d put them through. He was thinking of course in terms of a few thousand pounds. Now however with the grim reaper breathing down my neck I see no reason to tax my brains with further bequests, and so I’ve signed that codicil leaving all the residue of my estate to them. I’m sure they’ll treat it well, and perhaps remember me with – not affection, God knows, but understanding perhaps. I’m not apologising to them; in fact I could tell them that I mightily enjoyed putting them through their paces. I never did get the chance to put them together, in a sexual way I mean. Perhaps now they will however. (Though I suspect, in fact I’m sure, they bedded each other in Paris here.)
I have no assurance of an afterlife, but if there is one I’ll perhaps join my Henry in an eternal party. I’ll drink to that here and now.

And I enjoin you to drink a toast to me; ask those young innocents to join in. There’s plenty good wine, and some Napoleon brandy in fact, in the cellar. – While you’re at it, give young Jeremy my regards. My, you should have seen him blush when I made him touch Catherine’s secret spots! Again, I’ll tell you he showed some extraordinary spunk in telling me off like that. I predict he’ll go far.

That explains my actions. I may regret all this when I return to England, but somehow I don’t think so. For now, and forever, I feel, fare you well. You’ve been an honest servitor of Henry and myself all these years, and I thank you.

Lydia Grainger

Paris, 21st August 1925

He sat back and licked his lips as he put the letter in its envelope. “S-sir,” he stammered, “I, I told you—”

Barry hushed him. “Jeremy,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me anything else.”

“B-but there were other—”

“No, Jeremy, I can guess that something, or some things, else happened at Vaulx. Suffice to say that you, my dear boy, were instrumental in her turning round and having a good look at herself and changing, having an epiphany, you might say, or a Damascene revelation. It was your doing, Jeremy, along with the intimacies she sent your way, and without them your intervention might never have occurred. But you were the catalyst. She praises your bravery in standing up to her, knowing her power to ruin your life. But you must know, don’t you, that I could never be a party to that? She wasn’t to know the threat was empty, and I suppose neither were you. Well, I also suppose she’s right saying your own request was for a modest few thousand pounds, eh? Her imminent death, though, made her go further. And the result is that that lovely pair have been given a great gift. Think no more about it. I forgive you, if you want to hear that, for your shameful behaviour; and it’ll certainly never go further. I also may as well tell you that I’m proud of you for what you said. Very proud.”

His arm went round the boy’s shoulders and he hugged him to him. Jeremy was startled by the display of emotion but smiled and rested his head on the other’s shoulder. Barry smiled himself and hummed a soft tune as he drove to town.

Their tea was served to them by Laura and Liza in the little breakfast nook, and not quite knowing how to react, the orphans accepted the service shyly from the girls, who themselves smiled at them a little diffidently. This is the way it would be from now on, they thought. But the girls didn’t seem to resent the dramatic change in things. That night the orphans shared Matthew’s bed, not caring if the others were to find them there. They clung and kissed in naked happiness, and looked at each other with humour as they separately contemplated what the future might bring.

“I can hardly believe it still,” said Catherine, “how we’re free of her … domination, cruelty, what have you, and there’s an incredible new life ahead of us. You and I, Matthew, we’re so young as to look forward to a fair go at living till we’re sixty maybe, insulated by enough money and everything, insulated against the despair that I knew I had in store, and you looking forward just to a thankless career in an uncaring household. Now….”

“Now, Catherine, we have a new life to make, you’re right, and in a way it’s a fearful prospect, don’t you think? I do wonder what the future holds for us, but I know we’ll live it together. You and I, my wonderful love, together.”

He kissed her and ran his hands over her beautiful tanned skin, and she shivered with delight. Then it was her pleasure to let her hands admire his body, to seek out his erection and playfully tweak it close to her eager vulva. Another kiss, a French one, with two tongues meeting and teasing each other, as their bodies slid together, and then the dear dance that united their spirits, a heaving of arses, a gasping of names, a thrusting towards the glorious conclusion and a sighing on the other’s breast. They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled, smiled, then moved apart to let him withdraw from her satisfied cunny; then spooned together and relaxed into a contented sleep.

(End of File)