The House of a Hundred Whispers

end.’
‘But what happens when the trust comes to an end?’ asked Rob. ‘Can we sell the house then?’
‘When the trust closes, the freehold of the house passes to your son, Timothy, who by then will have reached eighteen years old.’
‘To Timmy?’ Martin demanded, almost shouting. ‘What about me? What about my daughter Petulia? And what about Grace, come to that?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Russell,’ said Margaret Walsh. ‘That is what your father stipulated in his will, and I’ve already drafted the trust instrument.’
‘But this is absurd,’ Martin protested. ‘Why should we be expected to cover all of the expense of keeping the house up when we’re going to get no benefit out of it? And why in God’s name did Dad decide that he was giving it to Timmy and not share it out between all of us?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Russell, but that’s what it says in his will. The only circumstance in which the title to the freehold would be shared between you is if Timothy were to pass away before his eighteenth birthday.’
‘Fat chance of that happening. Not unless we club together and buy him a car when he’s old enough to drive and send him off to Postbridge.’
‘Oh, Martin,’ said Grace. She knew he was referring to the local story about the Hairy Hands – a ghostly force that was supposed to seize control of drivers’ steering wheels as they sped through Postbridge, which was only thirteen miles away. It was said to cause them to veer wildly off the road, crash into a wall, and die.
‘I don’t care,’ Martin told her. ‘Dad always told me that when he died he was going to bequeath Allhallows equally between me and Rob and Gracey. In fact, he even confirmed it to me in a letter, and I believe I still have that letter somewhere. If I can find it I’m going to contest this will, and even if I can’t find it I’m going to contest it.’
‘It does seem a bit odd, I’ll admit,’ said Rob.
‘A bit odd? What do you mean, a bit odd? It’s bloody ridiculous. If you ask me, Dad was losing his marbles. I mean – did he tell you why he wanted to change his will? Did he appear compos mentis? I can’t understand it. He never even seemed to like Timmy very much. In fact, he always seemed to regard him as nothing but a flaming nuisance.’
Outside, Rob could see that it was starting to rain, and that the wind had started to rise. He went over and opened the window and called out to Timmy to come inside. Timmy threw his stick away and came stamping his way back up the weedy garden path.
‘What about the contents?’ asked Grace. ‘The paintings, and the furniture? And there’s at least two antique dinner services and two canteens of solid silver cutlery.’
‘Yes,’ put in Martin. ‘The paintings alone are worth a fair bit. That one with all the people in hoods – it’s not signed but it’s supposed to be a Northcote. If it is, it’s worth thousands. Tens of thousands, even.’
‘Your father specifically says that all the contents of the house should be kept intact, and that nothing should be separately sold off.’
‘What about renting? That would help to cover the cost of its council tax and its upkeep.’
‘As trustees, any of you are free to live here, or use it as a holiday home. But under the terms of the trust you are not permitted to rent it to anybody outside the family. Your father was adamant about that.’
They heard the kitchen door bang as Timmy came in. ‘That does it,’ said Martin. ‘I’m definitely going to talk to my solicitor about this. And I’m going to talk to Dad’s doctor. I’m sure he must have been going doolally.’
‘I can’t comment on that,’ said Margaret Walsh. ‘When your father changed his will, his affairs were being handled by Walter Besley, our senior partner, but he’s retired now. I took over his affairs only nine months ago.’
‘In that case I’ll go and talk to him, too. Dad must have been losing it. I mean, honestly, this will makes no sense at all. I’m certainly not going to pay for the upkeep of a property I’m never going to own.’
‘Well, even though I’m Timmy’s father, I have to confess that I agree with you,’ said Rob. ‘I’m not ashamed to admit that I could use the money right now, even if it’s only a third of the selling price. And, like you say, there’s the contents. The paintings and so forth. And even the furniture must be worth a fair amount. They’re all genuine antiques.’
Margaret Walsh said, ‘I’ve brought a copy of the will for each of you. Once you’ve had the chance to read it through I’ll apply for probate, identify your father’s assets and sort out any liabilities and inheritance tax and whatnot. Let me know in due course if you decide to contest the will, but of course it could be a very long-drawn-out procedure. And expensive, too.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder why we bothered to come,’ said Martin. ‘Do you know what time we had to set out this morning? Twenty past five.’
Rob said, ‘Listen… why don’t we all go down to The Royal Oak, like you suggested, and talk this over somewhere warm and comfortable?’
Margaret Walsh handed out copies of Herbert Russell’s will, and then they all left the library. Rob went into the drawing room to close all the windows and to see if Timmy was there, but there was no sign of him. He went into the kitchen, but Timmy wasn’t there, either.
‘Timmy!’ he called out, going back into the hallway. ‘Timmy, we’re going out now for something to drink and something to eat!’
There was no answer, so Rob went to the bottom of the stairs and called out again. ‘Timmy! We’re all going out now! Come on down!’
He waited, and then he turned to the rest of the