As the Crow Flies

“No, I’m from England,” said Charlie. “And I’ve brought your husband a small bequest from my aunt Mrs. Ethel Trentham, who has recently died.”

“Oh, how kind of you,” said Mrs. Slade. “Do come in.” She guided Charlie through to the kitchen, where he found an old man, dressed in a cardigan, clean check shirt and baggy trousers, dozing in a chair in front of the fireplace.

“There’s a man come all the way from England, specially to see you, Walter.”

“What’s that?” said the man, raising his bony fingers to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“A man come from England,” repeated his wife. “With a present from that Mrs. Trentham.”

“I’m too old to drive her now.” His tired eyes blinked at Charlie.

“No, Walter, you don’t understand. He’s a relative come all the way from England with a gift. You see, she died.”

“Died?”

Both of them were now staring quizzically at Charlie as he quickly took out his wallet and removed every note he possessed before handing the money over to Mrs. Slade.

She began to count the notes slowly as Walter Slade continued to stare at Charlie, making him feel distinctly uneasy as he stood on their spotless stone floor.

“Eighty-five pounds, Walter,” she told him, passing the money over to her husband.

“Why so much??

?? he asked. “And after so long?”

“You did her a great service,” said Charlie, “and she simply wished to repay you.”

The old man began to look more suspiciously at Charlie.

“She paid me at the time,” he said.

“I realize that,” said Charlie, “but—”

“And I’ve kept my mouth shut,” he said.

“That’s just another reason why she had cause to be grateful to you,” said Charlie.

“Are you saying that you came all the way from England, just to give me eighty-five pounds?” said Mr. Slade. “Doesn’t make any sense to me, lad.” He suddenly sounded a lot more awake.

“No, no,” said Charlie, feeling that he was losing the initiative. “I’ve had a dozen other bequests to deliver before coming out here, but you weren’t that easy to find.”

“I’m not surprised. I’ve stopped driving these twenty years.”

“You’re from Yorkshire, aren’t you?” said Charlie with a grin. “I’d know that accent anywhere.”

“Aye, lad, and you’re from London. Which means you’re not to be trusted. So why did you really come to see me? Because it wasn’t to give us eighty-five pounds, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t find the little girl who was with Mrs. Trentham when you drove her,” said Charlie, risking everything. “You see, she’s been left a large inheritance.”

“Fancy that, Walter,” said Mrs. Slade.

Walter Slade’s face registered nothing.

“And it’s my duty somehow to locate her and then inform the lady of her good fortune.”

Slade’s face remained impassive as Charlie battled on. “And I thought you’d be the one person who might be able to help.”

“No, I won’t,” Slade replied. “What’s more you can have your money back,” he added, throwing the notes at Charlie’s feet. “And don’t bother to show your face round these parts again, with your phony trumped-up stories about fortunes. Show the gentleman the door, Elsie.”