by LSF Publications
by by J Wackford Colton
Mrs Laura Hambleton was in a distinctly foul mood as she and her husband drove into town, in response to a letter from a firm of solicitors.
"I don't know why you arranged this meeting this afternoon, when you knew I had a hair appointment at 3.30. I think you did it deliberately to spite me."
Leslie Hambleton sighed.
"This meeting happens to be regarding the will of my late Uncle Silas, and the solicitors' letter mentioned that it was to our advantage to attend. I would have thought that had some precedence over a weekly hair-do."
"You should have told Mr Whatshisname that we would attend at our convenience and not his. He is no doubt paid handsomely for his services, and is no different from the women in the hairdressing salon I attend. They fit in with me, or I take my trade elsewhere."
Again, Leslie heard that remark in a mood that verged on despair. He wondered how many hairdressing salons Laura had fallen out with this year, and whether there would be any left for her to patronise after the inevitable falling out with her latest. Presumably she'd start again and hope the one she had been to first would have forgotten how awkward she could be. Aloud he said, "Be reasonable Laura. Our investments haven't done at all well this year, and whilst we're not on the breadline, a legacy from Uncle Silas would come in very useful."
"I'm not surprised our investments haven't done well with you in charge!" said Laura viciously. "Only a madman would have invested all that money in that so-called Mexican oil well, which turned out to be a complete fantasy."
Leslie bit his tongue at this last remark. It was Laura who had had this "sure fire tip" from one of her friends at her health club, and had bullied him into investing £20,000. He was not surprised when his money disappeared into thin air. The directors of the company had decamped overnight, and were now no doubt in some Middle Eastern or Far Eastern tax haven, enjoying their ill-gotten gains from the ignorant and the credulous.
To his relief they had reached the solicitors' office. The firm of Lishman, Siddle and Stokes was down an unobtrusive side street, with a dingy entrance. Laura snorted with contempt. She was more used to her lawyers occupying multi-story blocks with opulent offices, justifying the enormous fees they charged.
The receptionist looked almost as old as the building, but she smiled and said: "You must be Mr and Mrs Hambleton, I'll tell young Mr Stokes you're here." With that, she disappeared into the back regions.
"What a shambolic office," Laura said crossly, "I expect 'young Mr Stokes', is as ancient as that TV character, young Mr Grace."
"Do please try to be nice to him for once in your life," Leslie said desperately.
Laura did not see fit to dignify this comment with a reply, but just snorted again. The receptionist reappeared and said: "Would you follow me please?" She then led the way to Mr Stokes's office. He was in fact the sole partner of the firm.
Edward Stokes rose to greet them with a smile, and shook hands. He was rather shabbily dressed in a black coat and striped trousers, and seemed as old as Laura had predicted.
"I am delighted to meet you both," he said. "As well as being a valued client, Silas Hambleton was an old and dear friend of mine, and it is a real pleasure to read the will to his nephew and his wife."
He then rummaged about his desk until he found a will document tied up with red tape.
"Can't you spare us the legalese?" Laura said impatiently, "Just tell us what is in it for us and we'll be on our way. We are busy people you know."
"I'm sure my wife meant no offence," Leslie said hastily.
"And none was taken I assure you," said Mr Stokes with a smile, reflecting that Mrs Hambleton was every bit as irritating as Silas had said she was.
"Let me therefore summarise the main provisions. Your uncle was a very wealthy man and his estate came to over ten million pounds before deductions. After taxes and legal costs, and legacies to charities and former servants, I calculate that you will inherit in the region of five million pounds."
"That was indeed most generous of my uncle," Leslie said.
"He always had a very high opinion of you," Mr Stokes replied, with an emphasis on the word 'you'.
"I don't think we need detain you any longer, Mr Stokes," Laura said haughtily as she stood up. "As I said we are busy people. We will expect your cheque for the five million no later than a month from today."
"I'm afraid it is not quite as easy as that, Mrs Hambleton," Mr Stokes said with a rather harder tone to his voice. "We have yet to obtain a grant of probate from the court, and then there are the negotiations with Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs. Access to funds may take as long as a year, although naturally I would hope for a speedier resolution. I also have to make you aware of certain unusual provisions in the will that you were so disinclined to listen to."
"Well get on with it, man!" Laura said impatiently, ignoring the kick on the ankle from her husband.
"As you know, your Uncle lived in some style at Londesborough Hall, just a few miles out of town. Although he was a bachelor, he maintained this large house, with a number of servants. His wish, Mr Hambleton, was that you would continue to live there after he'd gone, particularly as it has been in the family for nearly two hundred years.
"He realised that you might find the expense of so doing rather daunting, until you had received the whole of your inheritance, so he established a trust fund that would keep the house going for a year, with all the expenses of salaries and overhead costs being met from this source. You would therefore be in the happy position of living in a very desirable residence without having to pay a penny for the privilege."
"I'm not in the least happy," interjected Laura, "I shall probably hate living there."
"I would indeed be disappointed if that were the case," said Mr Stokes, "but in truth you have very little option than to do so. Your inheritance is conditional on your living there for a year."
"How ridiculous!" snapped Laura, "I insist you contest the will. He must have been mad when he drew it up."
"I can hardly contest a will I was instrumental in engrossing," Mr Stokes said patiently, (What an impossible woman!) "I would in any case mention that when he drafted this will, your uncle took the precaution of consulting an eminent Harley Street physician, and an equally eminent psychiatrist, both of whom have sworn affidavits testifying to his soundness of mind and body."
"Well I for one will be delighted to live in the family house for a year," Leslie said before his wife could intervene. "Irrespective of the legacy, I'm really looking forward to moving there."
"I felt sure you would feel that way, Mr Hambleton," Mr Stokes said with a smile, "there is one final thing. The management of the house has been entrusted to a Mrs Alice Brewster, and it is a condition that she continues to run the house for this year of your residence. She had a very special place in Silas's affections, and he used to call her 'The Mistress of the House'."
"You mean she was HIS mistress," Laura said viciously.
"She wasn't quite that, although she certainly met some of his needs."
Mr Stokes stood up.
"You mentioned, Mrs Hambleton, that you were busy people, I'm sure you would like to attend to your business."
In no time at all Leslie and Laura were outside and Leslie turned angrily on his wife.
"Can't you just for once try to be nice to people? Why must you go out to deliberately upset everybody you meet?"
"That's just typical of you, you pathetic man," Laura snapped back. "Being nice to people means they walk all over you."
Four weeks later the Hambletons drove up the drive of Londesborough Hall. They had already let their house for a year, in case they decided to move back there. Laura was still unhappy about moving, although she was looking forward to inviting her snobby friends to "The Hall".
As they approached the end of the drive, the front door opened and a number of men and women came out, and lined the steps leading to the entrance. A smartly dressed middle-aged lady came out last and waited for the car to draw up alongside.
"Welcome to Londesborough Hall, Mr and Mrs Hambleton. I am Alice Brewster, and my task is to ensure that your stay is a happy one, and that I can attend to all your needs."
"You'd better," rasped Laura, "or I'll know the reason why."
"And I expect to be treated with the respect and politeness to which my position entitles me," replied Alice firmly, "or I will most certainly know the reason why."
Laura had not been spoken to like that for a long time and was lost for words. Leslie secretly thought, "Good on you, Alice!"
Before Laura had a chance to deliver a riposte, Alice was introducing them to the servants; from the footmen, to the cooks and housemaids, and the gardeners. Leslie exchanged a few friendly words with each of them, whilst Laura looked down her nose. Later, after having been shown round the house by Alice, they settled into their bedroom.
Laura exploded.
"What a thoroughly impudent woman! Did you hear what she said to me?"
"Yes I did, and it served you right."
"Typical of you, instead of backing me, you take the side of the people who insult me!"
"Not true, I just wish you'd treat people with some courtesy."
Later on, as they were getting ready for dinner, there was a knock on the door, and Alice Brewster appeared.
"I have no wish to intrude, but I thought I'd make sure that you had everything you needed and that you were happy with your accommodation."
"Everything is fine," Leslie said, "and thank you so much for going to so much trouble."
"Well I am not satisfied," Laura said glaring at Alice, "the rooms were in a filthy state, and the attitude of the servants, including you, is both indifferent and insolent."
"With respect, Mrs Hambleton, I think you are being less than fair," Alice said with a hard edge to her voice, "I personally inspected all the rooms shortly before your arrival and they were spotless. And as for the attitude of me and my colleagues, I totally refute your allegation that it was anything but appropriate. I would respectfully suggest that you examine your own attitude to others."
Laura became incandescent with rage.
"How dare you speak to me like that you insolent woman! You are dismissed! Pack your bags and go!"
"Unfortunately you can't get rid of me as easily as that," Alice said with a sweet smile. "You are not my employer; the trust fund employs me, which is managed by Mr Stokes. I think it highly unlikely you would persuade him to get rid of me."
"I will most certainly speak to Mr Stokes!" Laura shouted, "I will tell him about your incompetence and impertinence! He described you as the 'Mistress of the House'. As far as I am concerned you are nothing more or less than the late Silas Hambleton's harlot, and you would be better employed prostituting yourself on the streets!"
"That does it!" Alice retorted angrily. "I have put up with your abuse up to now, but you have now well and truly crossed the Rubicon!"
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