The Inheritance

'You're not wearing that old jacket George, so get back up those stairs and put your best suit on; and while you're at it, change that tie as
well. We're attending a formal will reading, not going down the Horse
and Groom for chicken in the basket.'

George, a gentle giant of a man, gave a weary sigh and retreated vertically to do as instructed. He'd waited a very long time for this day and not even Mary's chiding was going to spoil it. This was the day when the stairs he was climbing would become his stairs; a day when both he and the Mansfield family should all get what they deserved.

George and Mary, as gardener and cook, had dedicated forty five years of their lives to Howard and Cecillia Mansfield. Childless themselves,
they had taken a particular interest in the three Mansfield children,
Sydney, June and Cynthia, watching them grow into young adults and
nurturing their interests in mother nature's bounty; George in the
garden and Mary in the kitchen. To their great distress, they had
also watched a once tightly knit family slowly become fractured,
bitter and dysfunctional.

The tragically early deaths of June and Cynthia and the sudden departure of Sydney to the other side of the world had been devastating for Howard and Cecillia. The death of their granddaughter Harriet and then the completely unexpected death of Cecillia, had left Howard traumatised and bereft .

From his bedroom window, George could see the roadworks beyond the boundary wall and a tailback of cars at the temporary lights. The
queue started to move and two of the vehicles turned into the main
entrance to the big house. He smiled to himself as he continued his
battle with the Windsor knot in his most sober tie. Mary had been
right, becoming a man of property was an occasion for his best suit.

The sun broke through the clouds as the couple made their way across the extensive gardens towards the house, mother nature's voice rudely
interrupted by jack hammers outside. Mary slid her hand into George's
huge calloused grasp and he squeezed in gentle reassurance. A third
car crunched its way loudly down the gravelled drive and drew level
with them as they approached the entrance. George and Mary smiled at the two occupants as they emerged from their vehicle, but received
little more than lukewarm acknowledgement. The pair brushed past them and rudely disappeared into the big house.

Summoned by the family solicitor, and just before the appointed hour, they sat around the large oak table in the library, acknowledging each others presence cautiously. At its head sat Sydney Mansfield, the eldest and only surviving son of the deceased, Major Howard Mansfield. Along the side, to his right, were Agnes and Kindred, his sister June's
daughters and along the side to his left sat Humphrey, Cynthia's son,
with George and Mary Hanratty. The two nieces, both now in their
greying fifties and looking older, stared across the table at the
Hanratties, bristling with silent indignation. The presence of the
couple was clearly unexpected.

Humphrey, garrulous, nervous and generally inept, broke the ice with anxious chatter about grandad Howard's reaction to him being kicked out of University, laughing nervously as he reflected on his slim chances of inheriting anything. His two sour cousins sat motionless opposite, leaving his anxiety to ricochet aimlessly around the room.

Sydney, fit, rugged and tanned and now well past retirement age, seemed deaf to everything as he focussed on documents sitting on the desk in front of him. He suddenly raised his left arm and peered
melodramatically at a ludicrously expensive and over engineered
wristwatch, it was the appointed hour of 2pm and there was still no
sign of Combs.

He was just about to vent his dissatisfaction when the door opened and
in strode Edward Combs, the family solicitor, followed by his strikingly tall, blond and attractive assistant, Julie Webster. The arrivals generated mixed reactions from those assembled; stifled irritation from Sydney and the nieces, comforting smiles from George and Mary and slack mouthed lechery from Humphrey. Combs read and registered the
responses with amusement as he seated himself at the far end of the
table, leaving Julie to tuck herself carefully into a chair against
the wall behind him. He placed his expensive calf-skin case carefully
on the table, snapped open the two catches and lifted the lid. This
simple piece of theatre instantly gained the rapt attention of all
present. This case contained their destiny.

Edward Combs, expensively dressed in bespoke tweed suit, hand made brogues and matching walnut complexion, scanned those present at the table like a prison camp searchlight. This was a sight he had seen many times during his long and eventful career as a solicitor, faces
staring back at him, silently mesmerised by expectation. He lifted a
file from the case and placed it carefully in front of him, gently
pushing the case to one side. Combs was enjoying carrying out his
client's instructions to the letter and theatrically glanced across
at the ornate clock on the wall; it was two minutes past two and the
only sound in the room was the distant muffled rumble of jack
hammers.

'Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen and my apologies for being ever so slightly late; I had not anticipated the lengthy tailback outside.
Now, you all know why we are here and I'm sure you are all anxious to
get proceedings underway, but before I begin the formal process, do
any of you wish to ask any questions?'

Agnes, initially taken unawares, quickly recovered her composure and, in her best Sunday school voice, broke the silence.

'Yes Mr Combs, I would like to know why Mr and Mrs Hanratty are here when this gathering is surely one reserved purely for family members?'

Kindred nodded vigorously in support, staring first at the Hanratties and then, with intent, at Edward Combs. Humphrey grinned at his cousins' evident pique, as he too looked towards Combs in hope of a response that might further inflame their prissy indignation. Quite
unexpectedly though, the response came from Sydney at the opposite
end of the table, who until this moment hadn't actually established
himself as being even present, never mind being senior member of the
family and first in line to the family fortune.

'For Christ's sake Agnes, put your claws away. George and Mary are here because they were invited'

Agnes let fly at Sydney with the sort of venom Sydney would have
experienced in his adopted Australia, had he been bitten by a funnel
web spider.

'How dare you speak to me like that Sydney Mansfield. You may be the
senior family member here, but we didn't abandon our grandparents and disappear to  Australia like you did. We've spent large parts of our lives caring for them and I have every right to know why these two are here.'

Sydney guffawed loudly, Humphrey's inane grin widened and Kindred nodded more vigorous support for her sister. As they did so, Edward's
extremely attractive assistant rose slowly from her seat in the outer
defences, walked to the head of the table and began nonchalantly
sliding a sheet of A4 in front of each of them. She then calmly
retreated to her redoubt, acknowledging a smile from her boss as she
did so. The document read as follows:

On St Adjuter's grave the journey begins, red abreast of shields and
avis song. The saints hold time, red Latin letters complete the
sequence which opens the door to Vanilla and Vanda's palace. Travel to the skeleton coast, prick out Walvis Bay. There you will find a
ticket to your last destination.

'Thank you Julie. Now ladies and gentlemen I would like you to take a few minutes to read the contents of the sheet in front of you. I will
then read through Howard's explicit instructions in the hope that you
will be able to make much more sense of its meaning.'

Following an initial flurry of spectacle case noise, the puzzlement began to slowly transmogrify into facial contortions and dramatic visual
expressions of annoyance. Kindred was first to burst, dropping her
page onto the table and hissing in the direction of Combs.

'I thought this was supposed to be a will reading, not a silly game of
charades. Will somebody please tell me what's going on here?'

'I  knew something like this would happen,' snorted Humphrey
triumphantly, 'grandad said he was going to have fun writing his
will. This is brilliant.'

George and Mary looked at each other with smiling eyes, but were determined to keep a low profile. Howard Mansfield had warned them that his will would be unconventional, as he had put it, and asked them to remain unperturbed by whatever happened at its reading. Edward Combs waited patiently as his audience gradually emerged from whichever state of annoyance or confusion they had been visiting. Satisfied he now had their full attention, he began reading from the document in front of him.

'These are the words of Howard Mansfield,' Edward said, clearing his throat and pausing for effect.

“You have in front of you the first part of a riddle, and you have twenty
four hours in which to solve it. I have instructed Edward Combs to
return at exactly two o'clock tomorrow afternoon and to hand over a
document which gives title to all of my assets to the person in
possession of the cherished item. That person will, subject to the
conditions set out, be legally bound to administer my entire estate.
Failure to comply with this instruction will result in my entire
estate being gifted to charity, as will the failure of anyone of you
finding the cherished item within the specified time.

Edward is under strict instructions not to answer any further questions and will now leave the house. Those of you remaining in the room are the surviving members of the Mansfield family, along with my faithful
servants and friends George and Mary Hanratty. You now have what is
left of the remaining time to solve my riddle and find the cherished
item.”

To stunned silence, Edward Combs slid his file into the calf-skin case,
gently closed the two brass catches and, with a look of immense
satisfaction, left the room. Julie Webster, with her back against the
wall, remained firmly seated.