A few days later there were some unwelcome developments with regard to Bob Orcas’s will and the future of Athlingfoot Farm. I’d been across to the Coach at lunchtime for a sandwich and a pint of Twaddle’s but on my return to the office I walked into the hall to find Victor trying to deal with a very angry client. The former was standing on the third step of the stairs so as to be able to look the latter, who was much taller than him, directly in the eye.
‘Now you listen to me,’ said Victor, in a voice attempting aggression but showing a tremor as he raised it in near panic. ‘At the moment there’s one very rude man in this hall, but if you don’t behave yourself and leave at once then there’ll be two!’
On that note he ran out of steam and his voice tailed off in a strangled shriek so that he sounded like a diver who’d inhaled too much helium.
‘Or maybe three rude men,’ I said firmly. I had to stop this at once as Victor was out of his depth and I would not have my staff being bullied in this manner. I could only assume he was pitchforked into this drama at the insistence of Carthew, who was probably lurking in the safety of his room, having excused himself as being hors de combat on account of his difficulty in coming downstairs.
‘Leave it out!’ shouted the visitor, completely ignoring me. ‘You give me them papers you insolent little dwarf, or I’ll wring them out of you like water out of a sponge, so I bloody well will!’
This looked very serious. I quickly moved into the eye of the storm.
What on earth’s going on here?’ I asked. ‘There’s more noise in this hall than at chucking out time in the farmers’ bar at the Coach and Horses.’
At the sight of me Victor showed a degree of relief akin to that of a drowning sailor catching hold of the ship’s last lifebelt.
‘Mr. Aysgarth,’ he said. ‘This is Mr. Brian Orcas, the other brother of Mr. Bob Orcas. He has some very bad news I’m afraid.’
And even worse manners, I thought.
‘My brother has had a merciful release,’ said Brian Orcas, his voice having a slight North American intonation. Agnes had told me the missing brother had gone to Canada so that would fit. ‘The old guy had a real good run and was just dragging himself around the last year or two,’ he continued.
I realised Bob must at long last have answered the great selector’s call to go and captain the heavenly team of deceased Athlingstock cricketers. This would be the no good brother who had materialised as soon as he heard the news he’d no doubt long been waiting for. Victor thrust a B and A style file, tied up with obligatory pink ribbon, into my hand, as if passing a baton to a runner in a relay race. Then he backed up the stairs again as he made a final contribution, his voice now back to its normal timbre.
‘I’ve told Mr. Orcas he can’t have his brother’s will. Nor can he have a copy or be told what’s in it. No doubt you’ll explain why.’
With that he was gone, turning round and racing up the stairs as fast as a fox fleeing a pack of Jack Athlingham’s baying hounds, but leaving me to deal with the irate Orcas. I also heard a click from upstairs as maybe a door up there was mysteriously closed.
‘I think you’d better come to my room,’ I said to Orcas, ‘provided you’re going to keep your voice down and behave. You and I have a little sorting out to do. Be sure of this, you’ll be out of here quick as a flash if there’s any trouble.’
I felt like Toad in Wind in the Willows, dishing out blustering threats when menaced by malevolent weasels in the Wild Wood.
Orcas continued to be just as overbearing and abusive when upstairs. Someone had obviously been keeping him informed of developments at the farm. Apparently Bob had died yesterday and the missing brother materialised this very morning. From what he said it was clear he’d been lying low in the district awaiting the event. When he heard of the death he went straight to the property, put the fear of God up the Lad and upset poor Ginnie as well.
‘What made you do that?’ I asked. ‘She’s a poor old thing at the best of times, worn out with nursing your brother.’
‘She’s a conniving old crone, that one. She, Bob and the Lad, they did me out of my inheritance from Mother and Father. Well I’m going to get it back. Ginnie says I’ve been left nothing, but I’ve taken advice, I have. And I’m told Bob’s estate has to provide for me, seeing I’m his brother and unable to work.’
‘That’s very bad advice I’m afraid. I assume you’re talking about the Inheritance Family Provision legislation which only applies to dependants. You’re certainly not in that category, I’m quite sure.’
‘Listen buddy, I’ve gone to real lawyers over this, not to a small town shit house like yours.’
He lolled back in his chair, then had the effrontery to take out a small cigar and light it, which I ignored with difficulty for the moment.
‘And where is the location of this fount of legal knowledge which has put you up to all this?’ I asked.
‘Never you mind, but they’re a big city firm who really know their stuff.’
Why would any firm, large or small, want to get involved in a rustic squabble involving riff raff like him? The fee situation would hardly excite them. There had to be much more to this than met the eye.
My debate with Brian, if it could really be called that, lasted another ten minutes. He was determined to be as awkward and obstructive as he could to the family and therefore to me, their lawyer, as well.
‘And there’s another thing,’ he said as he eventually got up to go. ‘About the funeral. I’ve been to Simpsons the undertakers and arranged for him to be cremated.’
‘Only if the rest of the family say so,’ I replied. ‘I think you’ll find Ginnie wants him buried in the little churchyard at Athlingstock, next to your parents.’
‘I don’t care. I’ve fixed it now, for as soon as the doctors’ certificates come through. She’ll just have to lump it. Better to get rid of the old bastard altogether, I say. Don’t want a grave for folks to cry over and stand round remembering the silly old sod.’
‘Well, you can just unfix those arrangements.’
‘And what if I won’t?’
‘I’ll unfix them for you. We’re not having your version of a funeral. The family will organise theirs and that’s the only one that will go ahead. You can have a stand off if you like, but you’re in the minority and it won’t get you anywhere.’
I laughed, thinking how ridiculous that would be. Two funeral corteges eyeballing each other up at Athlingfoot Farm, neither prepared to give way. A funeral version of High Noon with rival groups of pallbearers belting each other with coffin handles instead of having a shoot out with Colt 45s.
‘Also, I’m an executor,’ I said firmly. ‘The undertaker will take instructions from me, not you.’
I thought of poor old Bob asking me to be what he quaintly called his ‘executioner.’ How I wished that term had been correct. Then I could have done everyone a service by consigning his wretched brother to oblivion at the earliest possible opportunity.
‘We’ll see about that. I’m having the body taken to my undertakers. Tomorrow.’
‘You can’t do that either. Since Bob probably hasn’t been seen by a doctor for a day or two the coroner will have some input, even if there isn’t a full inquest in the end.’
I picked up the phone and dialled Agnes.
‘Get me the local undertaker will you, please. As quick as you like.’
That did it. Brian blew up, shouted, pounded my desk, even hurled the waste paper bin across the room. Then he did the same to my dictating machine, which hit the wall and broke into several pieces.
‘Get out,’ I said, ‘before I throw you out.’
I advanced round the desk, certainly not blustering now, fully prepared to eject him from the building by force if necessary. I knew I mustn’t hit him though, whatever happened. I even glanced at the large window as if to add weight to my command. I would cheerfully have picked him up and thrown him through it if that was an option. I think he got the message as he turned out to be a dreadful coward and abruptly fled downstairs.
Please let him not trip, I said to myself and followed rapidly to see him off the premises. Meanwhile Kirsty appeared in the hall, carrying a tray full of mugs for washing up. He barged into her as he passed and the girl screamed as she lost her balance, dropped the tray and fell.
‘Get out of the way, you snivelling little broad,’ he said as he picked up her tray and threw it at the wall. Kirsty burst into tears. Furious, I caught up with Orcas, grabbed him by the arm and tried to drag him to the door. But he was so skinny and insubstantial that there was very little to actually get hold of. I ended up holding him by the collar as well, then hauled him out into the street like the sack full of rubbish he was.
‘How dare you assault my staff?’ I shouted, amazed at how much noise I was making, but incensed by his intimidation of Kirsty. It felt as if he had attacked a member of my own family.
‘I’ll have you prosecuted for that, I said. ‘And I’ll see you pay for the smashed dictating machine and our broken crockery. Now, just get away from here and don’t ever, ever come back!’ I let go of his collar but the effect of the abrupt release was to catapult him down the pavement and straight into the gutter. He got up, pathetically spluttering and gesticulating, but seeing he wasn’t injured I turned on my heel and went back inside.
Now it was his turn to shout at me.
© Copyright John Cragg