didn’t think we needed to worry about was her financial position — the solicitor had said that she was going to get the income from Isabella’s estate, and we assumed that meant she’d be quite well provided for. It wasn’t until yesterday that we found we were wrong.
Maurice and Griselda and I were sitting in the Newt and Ninepence, as usual on a Saturday morning, working hard at our crosswords. We’d polished off the
“When she says she’s in trouble,” said Griselda, “she surely doesn’t mean—?”
I said I didn’t think so.
“Men can be such pigs,” said Griselda.
Which of course they can, but I still didn’t think it was that kind of trouble. Later on Maurice came round and told me what kind it was.
It had taken him quite a while to find out what was upsetting her. What he gathered at first was that she’d been insulted by Mr. Iqbal at the supermarket. He was very surprised about this, because Mr. Iqbal is usually most polite and obliging, but when Maurice asked exactly what had happened Daphne just started crying and saying she hadn’t known that people could be so beastly. It was some time before he realised that all Mr. Iqbal had done was ask when she expected to be able to settle her account. And she can’t, and has no prospect of being able to.
Yes, it’s quite true that under Isabella’s will Daphne gets the income from the estate — but only as long as she provides a home at the Rectory for the beastly Roderigo and the wretched ravens. At the Rectory, mind you — she isn’t allowed to move anywhere else, even if she takes them with her. Either she stays here in Parsons Haver for the rest of her days with no chance of finding a job or making friends of her own age or doing anything with her life, or she gives up everything and is left homeless and penniless.
Well, as it turns out, she’s penniless anyway. After taxes and legal expenses and so on the house is just about all that’s left in the estate, and if it can’t be sold there isn’t any income. Or hardly any — Mr. Godwin, the executor, says she can expect about twenty pounds a year. How could Isabella have expected her to live on that? And maintain the house? And feed the wretched birds?
And of course, the poor girl can’t afford to get any legal advice, which might turn out to be no help anyway, but Maurice thought you might be able to tell us whether it’s legal for anyone to make a will like that. I’m enclosing a copy of it, and I’d be most grateful if you could let me know what you think.
Can Isabella really go on controlling Daphne’s life like this? Can she reach out of the grave to keep hold of her? It’s monstrous — I can’t believe it’s allowed, and if it is it ought not to be.
Yours with much love,
Reg
There was a lull in the noise of drilling and Julia had paused in her labours to pour further cups of tea. I enquired whether she had been able to assist with the problem of Isabella’s will: it seemed to me to be one rather outside the area of her professional expertise.
“Yes, it is, but fortunately Selena and Ragwort had a similar case a few months ago, so they were well up on the authorities.”
“A case about a vulture?”
“No, no, about a pet tortoise, which the testator had evidently held in high esteem and wished to make provision for. Ragwort represented the trustees of the will and Selena represented the residuary beneficiary.”
“Who represented the tortoise?”
“No one — this placed it, I’m afraid, at something of a disadvantage. So with the benefit of their advice I was able to send my aunt a comprehensive account of the current law relating to testamentary dispositions for the benefit of animals, with particular reference to the provisions of Section 106 of the Settled Land Act. The gist of it was that if Daphne wanted to challenge the will she’d have to go to the Court of Appeal, if not the House of Lords, and the costs of the action would be prohibitive.”
“And you were unable, I suppose, to suggest any other solution?”
“On the contrary,” said Julia with some degree of indignation. “We suggested a perfectly sensible and practical alternative involving almost no expense at all. The will provided, you see, that Daphne was to have the income of the estate during her lifetime or until she ceased to live at the Rectory and provide a home there for Roderigo and the ravens.”
“Yes,” I said, “I gathered that.”
“And subject to that, everything went to Isabella’s sister, Marjorie, or if Marjorie predeceased Isabella, to Marjorie’s child or children. Which meant that Daphne and Marjorie, or Marjorie’s children, were together absolutely entitled to the whole estate and if they agreed to divide it up between them there was nothing Isabella, or indeed the vulture, could do to stop them. So we suggested that Daphne should approach Marjorie or her children with a view to doing a deal — selling the house and sharing the proceeds and putting the vulture in the care of the community.” She sighed. “But you know what beneficiaries are like.”
The drilling began again with redoubled vigour; I resumed my reading.
24 High Street
Parsons Haver
West Sussex
Saturday, 7th August
Dear Julia,
Thank you for all those interesting stories about people leaving money to cats and donkeys — I’m afraid I must have put you to more trouble than I realised, and as it turns out completely wasted.
Maurice has explained your suggestion to Daphne, about coming to some sensible arrangement to divide up the estate, and Daphne says she’d rather starve. She’d rather beg. She’d rather go on the streets. (This isn’t a very practical idea — there’s not much scope for that sort of thing in Parsons Haver, and even if there were I frankly don’t think it’s something she’d have a talent for.)
Isabella’s sister Marjorie died a year or two ago, leaving one son. Isabella’s sister, according to Daphne, was an unkind and horrible person and hadn’t been to Daphne’s mother’s funeral (so Daphne didn’t go to hers) and hadn’t spoken to Isabella for nearly fifteen years. So it obviously follows that her son is also an unkind and horrible person and Daphne doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. And anyway, there can be no question of dividing up the estate, because Aunt Isabella wanted her to stay at the Rectory and keep the birds there and she could never even think of betraying Aunt Isabella’s trust in her.
Naturally, Julia, I think it’s very proper for a niece to regard her aunt’s wishes as sacred, but in the present case it simply isn’t practical. What is Daphne to live on?
She seems to imagine that everything will go on just as it did when Isabella was alive, and refuses to understand that it can’t — they were living on the income from the fortune-telling business, which seems to have been quite profitable, and an annuity Isabella had bought which ended on her death. (How like Isabella!) But Daphne doesn’t seem to understand that this means that she has to make some money — she just goes on blaming poor Mr. Iqbal, and saying that he’s insulted her.
“She says he ought to know,” said Maurice, “that she isn’t the kind of person who doesn’t pay their debts.”
“If she hasn’t the money to pay them,” I said, “what other kind can she be?”
“She’s the Custodian,” said Maurice. “The Custodian does not break faith. I wonder, Reg, if I could have a spot more gin?”
Poor Maurice, I’m afraid he’s finding the whole thing rather wearing. You see, it isn’t just her practical problems that she expects him to help her with, it’s her great spiritual problem — can the Custodian go to church? She wants to go to church, so that she can listen to Maurice’s sermons and help him with his important work, but
