Hello, and welcome to December's edition of 'The Autolycan'. This one starts with a headline in The Independent which my son sent me some time ago. I was much taken by it, but couldn't immediately think of a suitable back story. You may think I still haven't of course, but I hope not and that you will enjoy and share the story. And a Merry Christmas!
BUST
UP!
Town
builds statue to local hero – and takes 40 years to notice it's the
wrong man
The
Independent
I've never been accused
of having brain cells to spare, but then you don't need many to tell
when Shreeves disapproves. On that particular morning he raised not
merely one but both eyebrows when he brought my tea, a sure sign that
I was in for Arctic levels of froideur and all the warm
bonhomie of a shoal of peckish barracuda. I forced what I hoped
might be taken as a smile.
'What ho, Shreeves!'
'Good morning, sir' he
replied carelessly, and even in that first moment I could detect an
abundant and copious absence of mateyness.
'Shall I run your bath,
sir?' he enquired in tones which suggested he'd like to fill it with
boiling oil, or whatever it was that fellows stuck inside castles
used to pour on other fellows stuck outside.
Two or three gulps of
the brown restorative later I realised he was eyeing me in the manner
of all those barracuda homing in on a particularly appetising
anchovy.
'I did not find the
likeness flattering, sir' he pronounced 'and had I been granted the
opportunity duty would have compelled me to advise against the choice
of that tie with the blue worsted.'
I mean to say! I
thought the roguish glint in the Schuster eye lent the portrait a
kind of raffish charm, but 'duty would have compelled me' is pretty
much Shreeves' top level of outrage. Anything higher than that and
he would simply blow up and a man would have to come round to mend
him.
The funereal mood
turned yet more wretchedly morose when the letters arrived. I swear
Shreeves had deliberately placed the one in Great Aunt Elspeth's
unmistakeably strident hand on the top. If only Napoleon had had GAE
up his sleeve at Waterloo Shreeves would now be wafting in on a wave
of garlic with one of those tiny cups of disgusting coffee that are
all the rage at those pavement cafés they go in for. Which might in
fact have been preferable to the relish with which he presented the
poisonous f and b's letter. I opened with a sense of foreboding so
deep that it approached fiveboding. It concerned my venomous ward
Archie who had been staying with his doting step grandmother – the
aforesaid GAE – in Stygian gloom in that decaying wreck of hers in
Sussex. How this most striking of blots on childhood had made it
this far in life beats me, but a tenth birthday for the little
blister was apparently looming and GAE had decreed that I should
present myself in joyous raiment for the ghastly obsequies. There
was to be no escape from her bleak command that I should kick up the
Schuster heels at this desolate merrymaking.
When I brokenly relayed
the news to Shreeves he showed rather less sympathy towards me than
that Dracula bounder did when sinking a fang or two into some comely
neck.
'It will afford you the
opportunity, sir, to renew your acquaintance with Miss Alicia' he
exulted. I'd never previously detected anything so close to euphoria
in those sonorous tones of his.
Alicia was Archie's
older but equally repellent sister and I had tried for years to treat
her with a kind of rapturous disdain This did nothing to stop the
pestilence setting her cap at me with grizzly predictions about the
sunny idyll which awaited me if only I allowed my true feelings to
show. I've had unpaid and hungry creditors who were a lot less
tenacious.
My normally jaunty and
jolly manner was bereft of all jaunt and joll as Shreeves rattled us
cheerily down to Sussex in the old jalopy, and I was becoming
increasingly envious of that pilgrim cove who kicked up such a
childish fuss about a little thing like sinking up to the ears in his
Slough of Despond.
GAE welcomed me with an
icy snarl, which grew only colder and fiercer once I had gritted the
lips sufficiently to bestow the required peck on the antediluvian
cheek. I realised with horror that soothing words of comfort were
required for the recent departure of the universally detested Great
Uncle Wilfred, the only decent thing that gruesome old fossil had
ever done. The only person ever to bask in the warm glow of Great
Uncle W's esteem was, unaccountably, that prize affliction, Archie.
Normally, Shreeves
would hove reassuringly into view at a time like this, dispensing
general solace to soothe a troubled spirit and a nudge in the general
direction of le mot juste to lob at the old firedrake, but he
was nowhere to be seen.
At this juncture my
detestable ward rushed up and bit me on the right shin, occasioning
such a rare display of approval from the Medusa like great aunt that
the left shin instantly met a similar fate. In what passed for life,
Great Uncle W had forbidden all chastisement whatsoever of Archie and
clearly didn't regard death as any reason to mend his ways. GAE and
Alicia merely simpered, whereupon arch-fiend Archie pressed home his
advantage with a couple of well aimed kicks to the ankles.
This was actually going
slightly better than I had expected, but things took a turn for the
worse when Alicia drew me to one side under the pretext of saving me
from further attack.
'Lambkin! Oh, my
lambkin!' she blushed. I mean, dash it, how's a fellow meant to
handle a girl who blithers on mawkishly like this?
'What ho,' I replied,
with probably less list than I had ever previously endowed the
expression. I braced myself for the usual nonsense about overflowing
cornucopias, milk and honey, wedding bells and so on. I wasn't
disappointed. Well, I was, but you know what I mean.
Then, when I was at my
lowest and feeblest, this daughter of Jezebel sprung it on me.
'We had the reading of
Great Uncle's will yesterday' she said 'and Archie is to inherit the
entire estate on his 50th birthday. But his guardian
must be persuaded that he has shown proper respect to the poisonous
old devil throughout his life.'
My crest fell heavily
and lay bruised at my feet.
'Great Aunt Elspeth
thinks that you should erect a bust to that awful man in the boy's
name, and that this will show the necessary respect. If you do I
need hardly say that I shall never speak to you again.'
My crest immediately
perked up at this as I contemplated the glittering prize to be had
from putting up this blessed bust – even though I would then be
complicit in my repulsive ward inheriting a fortune. But then I
furrowed the brow pretty mercilessly and taxed the protesting grey
matter within with questions about what would happen if I refused.
GAE and Archie would badger me at every turn, the grey matter
intoned. What's more, it confided, I would then be Alicia's hero and
she would swoon at the very sight of me. Neither the grey matter nor
I had the courage to think what might happen after that.
A Schuster has his
pride, and I forebore from putting the dilemma to Shreeves for fully
ten minutes. Eventually I had no option. He listened intently,
occasionally offering insights such as 'most distressing' or 'a
very pretty conundrum, sir.' Then the dreaded 'I fear no efficacious
solution readily presents itself, sir.'
I summoned as much
hauteur as the circs allowed.
''Most distressing'
cuts no ice with me, Shreeves. I expect suggestions in the morning.'
I had to exact some retribution for his dismissive remarks about the
portrait and can be wounding at need.
I stared at him coolly
the next day when he shimmied in with tea.
'Well?'
His smile, I felt, was
supercilious.
'I judge that a little
subterfuge on your part might satisfactorily resolve the difficulty,
sir. But the proposition must be implemented in full. I fear that a
partial execution would not achieve the required eventuality'
I was all ears.
'Well, say on,
Shreeves!'
'I wonder, sir, if you
might commission plans for two busts, one of the recently deceased
gentleman, and another of a deceased thief and vagabond of somewhat
similar mien. I believe that getting your great aunt to approve the
plans for the bust of your great uncle would cause little difficulty.
Despite his youth I think it vital that your ward should also
signify his approval of the plans.'
I nodded. 'But......'
It is imperative, sir,
that the sculptor whom you commission then experiences some delay
in creating the work.
Perhaps it would be best if his tormented soul struggled doggedly
with certain aesthetic concerns.'
'Why so, Shreeves?'
'I fear that your great
aunt's memory is failing, sir. I am inclined to believe that a delay
of at most a year or so while the sculptor wrestles with his artistic
difficulties would be sufficient for your great aunt to be uncertain
about the accuracy of the likeness. I further judge that Master
Archibald is of an age where he finds the accuracy or otherwise of
the likeness immaterial.'
'And then......?'
'You might then
instruct the sculptor to proceed with the likeness of the rogue and
vagabond, sir, which should then be publicly displayed. This should
be sufficient for Miss Alicia to abandon that interest in you which I
believe to be unwelcome.'
'That's all well and
good' I began, but that means that that frightful pill Archie will
inherit a fortune. Or have you forgotten that bit?'
Pointed, I thought.
'I have a suggestion
which I believe might pre-empt that outcome, sir.'
'Shreeves?'
'I propose, sir, the
addition of a time capsule to the bust, to be opened at a public
ceremony forty years from now on the day Master Archibald expects to
inherit his fortune. I am of the view that the more people who are
present at this ceremony, the better.'
I couldn't for the life
of me see what the great manipulator was driving at, and perhaps
unwisely said so.
'The time capsule,
should contain letters of unimpeachable authority from the family's
solicitors, stating that the likeness is not of your great uncle, but
instead of a rogue and vagabond. The approvals from your great aunt
and in particular from your ward should also be evident. Under the
terms of your great uncle's will it will then be impossible for
Master Archibald to inherit given such clear evidence of his
disrespect.'
'Masterly, Shreeves!
So what happens to the estate?'
'I have taken the
liberty, sir, of examining the will in some detail and have
discovered that should Master Archibald fail to inherit the entire
estate is to be settled on his guardian.'
'You mean.......you
mean.......me?'
'Exactly as you say,
sir. You.'
'But......'
'I have one further
suggestion to make, sir, and that is that you should also deposit
your recent portrait in the time capsule, with a postcard addressed to
Master Archibald. It might perhaps read 'Presented by Mr Bertram
Schuster in compensation for the loss of your inheritance.' I
consider that a note added in your own hand reading 'sorry it's not a
good likeness' might be suitably cutting in its ambiguity, whilst exacting a measure of revenge.'
I'm not sure if I
gibbered before I jabbered or if it was the other way round. An
ambitious and wholly ill-advised attempt at a yammer failed utterly.
'Shr...Shreeves....' I
stammered incoherently, 'you're a marvel.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Pity we've got to
wait for revenge though for... what... erm... well, about...'
'Forty years, sir.'
'Is it, by jove? Well,
a dashed long time....'
'Indeed, but I have
often heard it said that revenge is a dish best eaten cold. Will
that be all, sir?'
ANAGRAM CORNER
MR PRESIDENT ELECT
LECTERN DISTEMPER!
