A Change of Heir (17 page)

Mrs Minton – who hadn’t, of course, a glimmer that her supposititious great-nephew was deliriously and transformingly in love – evinced high gratification at the success of her luncheon party. Miss Bostock – although her eyes did occasionally narrow consideringly on the spectacle – couldn’t have anything to complain of. Boulter poured wine at his young master’s direction, and murmured confidentially into his young master’s ear, and passed trifle (for it was trifle again) very much as if it were already the wedding cake. It was, Gadberry judged, a happy, happy party all round.

For the time being, in fact, Sir Galahad was on top. Gadberry’s strength was as the strength of ten because his heart was pure. An honourable and elevating passion had taken entire command of him. Everything else would sort itself out.

He ought, of course, to have been abashed. Alethea and Anthea were girls of practical instinct and realistic mind. But he could see that they weren’t mercenary in anything that could be called a corrupt way. The proposed transaction (as it might be called) had a basis in the implicit assumption that he was himself out of the right stable. He could be trusted without inquiry to measure up to the required reliabilities and decencies and loyalties. Once that was clear, you went ahead in a sensible, open and (for that matter) simply animal way. It wasn’t a very exalted code, but it was a perfectly healthy one. And it was how Shilbottles produced Shilbottles, generation by generation. Yes, he ought to be abashed that, as well as being raised immeasurably above it by reason of his new and ennobling passion, he was also depressed a damnably long way below it through the shocking wickedness of his being at Bruton at all. But at present nothing of all this existed at all notably in Gadberry’s head. He was fathom-deep in the euphoria – which is also the cruel madness – of love.

He hadn’t as yet at all taken in the extent of the revolution in his own feelings and attitudes. For example, he had walked back to the Abbey from the Fortescues’ house without its once having come clearly into his head that this was a route he had determined never to take again. Since to leave Bruton was now unthinkable, he just didn’t think about it at all. Or at least he had dropped the problem into cold storage after giving it no more than the briefest reappraisal in his mind. Miss Bostock – and she was really rather an absurd and melodramatic character – was the nub of the matter so far as any actual urgency went. And even supposing that she was veritably Lady Macbeth to the life (or death) it was still not to be supposed that she was planning to act with anything like the breathtaking speed with which events had moved in that castle at Inverness. Mrs Minton’s new will, together with whatever related documents were involved, had of course been signed by this time. But it could hardly be Miss Bostock’s intention, within hours or even days of this, to lure her employer into (say) a little bird watching from the top of the Abbey tower and then briskly tumble her over the edge. That would be to give altogether too rum an appearance to the whole affair. A substantial breathing space, therefore, there must necessarily be.

Meantime, Gadberry had better things to think about. He had, that is to say, Evadne Fortescue to think about – and so much was he keyed up by the amazing events of the morning that he found himself able to engage in this intoxicating pursuit almost uninterruptedly even while he was being, to all appearances, perfectly attentive to Mrs Minton’s guests.

One small cloud did hang over his contemplations. He had from the first regarded Aunt Prudence’s agent, Captain Fortescue, as a very decent sort of chap. But this had been a matter of business relations and casual social encounters. Now, he had seen Fortescue for the first time in his paternal character, and he wasn’t at all sure that the man was adequate in the role. Or at least, although he might have been an adequate parent in a general way, it didn’t seem at all certain that he was adequate to being the parent of Evadne.

The Fortescue household, he had found, consisted only of Evadne, a younger brother whom he had judged insufficiently appreciative of the privilege of owning such a sister, and Captain Fortescue himself. Fortescue, it seemed, was a widower of many years standing. In such a position it must be quite a job bringing up a daughter, and perhaps one would come to feel the necessity of guarding against too much fondness. Perhaps this was why Fortescue had appeared a little cool towards his darling child when Gadberry had marched into the house and planted her with infinite gentleness on the drawing-room sofa. He had even – come to think of it – appeared embarrassed, and had been in more of a hurry to find Gadberry a drink than to determine the extent of his daughter’s injury. When Gadberry had insisted on ringing up Dr Pollock at once, Fortescue had rather oddly temporised. And Evadne herself, indeed, had followed his lead, although she was obviously in the most awful pain. Was she – Gadberry wondered – bullied by her father? His blood ran first cold, and then hot, at the thought. But at least Pollock had finally been summoned – although Gadberry had been surprised to hear Fortescue tell him that he needn’t hurry over before lunch.

The recollection of this seeming callousness was a little disturbing Gadberry now. Fortunately he was able to assure himself that it was, at the most, only one side of the picture. Perhaps Fortescue, as an old military man, believed in stiff upper lips and so forth when it came to minor injuries. Certainly he was an
admiring
parent. Gadberry had seen enough to be in no doubt about that. It was precisely a kind of reluctant admiration that Fortescue could several times be observed as directing upon his daughter. Again, when Gadberry had taken his leave, Fortescue had accompanied him silently some way down his drive. Several times he had appeared prompted to speak, but he had not in fact got round to doing so. Something like embarrassment had again overtaken him. Probably he had been wanting to tell Gadberry what a marvellous girl Evadne was, and then shyness had prevented him. Finally he had shaken hands, still in silence, and with a look which, deprived of its context, one might have taken for an odd sort of compunction. But that didn’t make sense. He must have realised the instantaneous and powerful nature of the passion which this young man had conceived for his adorable daughter, and been in fact commiserating with Gadberry on having to leave his beloved, even for a short space of time, in discomfort and even pain.

Thus did Gadberry meditate, even while listening attentively to Shirley Shilbottle – otherwise Lady Arthur – while she entered with some particularity into the history of her family. For generations its ladies appeared to have made quite a thing of conferring their hands and fortunes upon titled persons all over Europe. It seemed a harmless and indeed benevolent form of dedication, and Gadberry made all the appropriate responses. But he was really wondering, of course, about when he could next see Evadne. It would be perfectly proper to call at the Fortescues again that afternoon, but only perhaps to make polite inquiries about the sufferer at the door. He had discovered in himself, in her, in their relationship, a rare – and at first perhaps a fragile – thing. It was like a bud that he must now devote his whole energy to coaxing into flower. Apart from this, nothing else mattered. Undeniably, of course, there were awkwardnesses. Equally undeniably, some of them were in that moral sphere in which it was so hard not to feel a certain perplexity. But, somehow or other, it would all straighten itself out. Mrs Minton, for instance, couldn’t but acknowledge the transcendent worth of Evadne Fortescue as soon as it was brought within her purview. She might well be so enchanted by his capture of such a prize (when he
did
capture it) that she would be very willing to overlook the slightly irregular manner in which he had become her heir – supposing the worst came to the worst and she ever had to know about it.

Gadberry, sunk in his madness, took the Shilbottle girls on a little after-luncheon conducted tour of Bruton. He continued to apportion his attention scrupulously between them. His thoughts were far away. But he was aware that they were both, poor dears, deciding that Yes, he’d do.

When Gadberry came down to breakfast next morning he found to his relief that Miss Bostock had finished her meal and departed. As Mrs Minton invariably breakfasted in her own room this meant that Gadberry was able to begin the day delightfully with one sole companion. Needless to say, this wasn’t the parlourmaid. It was the divine image of Evadne herself. He planted this invisible presence firmly before him on the other side of the table, and communed with it rapturously while eating everything he could lay his hands on.

So absorbed was he in this agreeable reverie that it was some time before he noticed that the parlourmaid wasn’t there anyway. He was being waited on by Boulter in person. This was unusual. Presently, however, he decided that it was also satisfactory in itself. He had a wholesome longing to communicate to some other living creature at least some shadow of his bliss. The parlourmaid wouldn’t here have been a practical proposition. But with Boulter a little familiar conversation was entirely in order. If only very cautiously, he could skirt the sole topic which alone lay close to his heart.

‘I liked those Shilbottle girls very much,’ he began. ‘They struck me as good sorts.’

‘Precisely so, sir. I am in agreement with you. Although, indeed, “decent fellows” is the expression that would spring to my own lips. There is something a little masculine, to my mind, about that vigorously outdoor type.’

‘That’s perfectly true.’ Over his raised coffee cup, Gadberry glanced at Boulter in surprise. It had occurred to him before that there was something rather deep about Boulter. Perhaps – he thought, with a twinge of uneasiness amid his new-found joy – something a little too deep. Still, he seemed a sensible man. ‘But Mrs Minton has a high opinion of them,’ he went on. ‘Of both of them. Or, one might say, of either equally.’

‘Quite so, sir. I am aware that the mistress has her plans.’

‘She damned well has.’ Caution ought to have shut Gadberry up at this point. So should propriety, since offering to Boulter such an expression about his employer was to put him in a false position. But it was very evident that Boulter could look after himself. ‘Of course,’ Gadberry went on, ‘one has to admit it’s a rational notion. Healthy girls who would produce healthy kids. Adjoining estates. A considerable fortune. Same class of society, and all that stuff. But a chap ought to be allowed his own say in a matter of that sort, if you ask me.’

‘Yes, sir. Yes, indeed. Anything to the contrary is quite unusual in the modern age.’

‘But the trouble is that the old lady may be dead set on it. And, of course, she might…well, totally change her mind about me still at any time.’

‘I judge not, sir.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Well, sir, it is a matter of great confidence. Nevertheless it will be proper, no doubt, that I should put you in possession of certain relevant facts. Perhaps I should mention that the will of the late Mr Minton made provision for the pensioning of such upper servants as should be in the employment of the household at the time of his widow’s decease, or should pass out of that employment after a certain term of service during her remaining lifetime. Such arrangements are quite common, I understand, among persons of property. A special fund is constituted for the purpose. The effect is a little to mitigate the oppressive incidence of certain current trends in social legislation.’

‘Death duties and things, you mean?’ There was something a shade overpowering, Gadberry found, in Boulter’s notion of a chatty English prose.

‘Indeed, yes. And I mention these matters only to explain how it came about that I was in a position to be called in as a witness to the dispositions made by Mrs Minton yesterday. No interest of my own was involved.’

‘I see. And you got a look at what it was all about?’

‘At a modicum of it, sir, at a modicum. There was one instrument which it was not very clear to me that Mrs Minton fully understood. It concerned an irrevocable trust, and its effect has been to take a very considerable part of the properties involved out of Mrs Minton’s control and vest them in trustees. The trustees are professional people: bankers, solicitors and accountants. And they are now under a legal obligation to execute their trust in a manner which, according to their independent judgment, is in the best interest of the beneficiary – who is of course yourself. They
could
consult Mrs Minton in any matter. But they would be challengeable if it in any way appeared that they were acting in a manner suggested or dictated by a whim of hers.’

‘You mean she’s made me more or less independent here and now – and without knowing it?’

‘Well, sir, I have not been trained to the law. But the position is at least an interesting one. And there is a thought in that, sir. There is distinctly a thought in it.’

‘She
is
in a bit of a muddle about it.’ Gadberry was staring in a kind of awe at the efficient Boulter. ‘And so is Miss Bostock.’

‘Miss Bostock, sir?’ Boulter spoke rather sharply.

‘She was there a couple of nights ago, when Mrs Minton was explaining her intentions. We both got the impression that all this signing of documents and so forth was going to affect matters only after Mrs Minton’s death.’

‘In my judgment, sir, that remains true in relation to the greater part of the property. At the same time, there is this matter of the trust to which I have referred. Were you and Mrs Minton to fall out, it would appear to me very doubtful whether you could, in the old phrase, be cut off with a penny.’

‘If we fell out over this marriage business, for instance?’

‘An excellent example to take, sir. Were you yourself to propose a perfectly suitable marriage, and Mrs Minton to attempt to insist on another, it would be very difficult for the trustees to give her their support.’

‘I see. It takes a bit of thinking about, doesn’t it?’

‘Exactly, sir. It is, as I said, a thought.’