Chapter 4 The Family

Miss Pinkerton played them out on the organ and missed a note when she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. Ten years older than his father, she always had an eye for him.

The frosty February air bit into his cheeks and nose as he guided his softly weeping mother to the Neyve mausoleum where his father would lay at his final resting place.

Someone had painted the railings around the stone building since the last time he'd been here. The ancient yew trees stood guard over the grave.

The churchyard looked precisely as it always had done, certainly for as long as he'd been alive and probably for the last seven hundred years. No one was buried here anymore except the family and a few village residents who had family plots. Most of the newcomers were up at the council cemetery on the other side of the village.

He would hate to be laid to rest here, and he had always found the idea of the family mausoleum very comforting.

Thankfully most of the congregation had gone back to the house, and this simple ceremony was just for family, which included long time employees. These were people who might as well have been family, including Francis Braxton, the butler, who at twenty years older than him, had come to Shettleham when Jasper was a baby and had become not just an employee, but almost a father figure and far more amiable than his father.

Then, Mary and Betty Blakeney, sisters who ran the household. Mary the cook and Betty, the housekeeper. Their role was much more than that to Jasper, and they might both as well have been grandmothers to him. He knew that they would never let him retire them, and they would more than likely die on the job.

They were accompanied by George Walker, the estate manager, Eric Shipley, the head gardener, and Major Baverstock, who ran the stables.

Jasper watched Henry Conway, his father's solicitor, having a word with Chichester, patting his back in a placatory manner as the chief constable made his feelings known.

These seven people were more of a family than the man in the ornate lead-lined coffin in front of him. His father kept him at arm's length, a case of doing what I say and not what I do.

He was no father, didn't even know the meaning of the word, or husband either. Perhaps now his mother would find some happiness at last, but please, not with that obsequious man Chichester.

The Reverend Quentin Peabody took his place at the foot of the coffin. The doors of the family mausoleum were opened to receive the new occupant. The pallbearers stood to one side, ready to wheel the lead-lined coffin inside. Jasper wondered if some duke in the future would have to build onto this small building. He knew there was space for him, his mother and his wife, whoever she may be. Bringing his thoughts back to what was going on around him, he heard Quentin saying,

"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure of certain hope..."

Everyone murmured 'Amen', and at last, the door to the mausoleum was finally closed, and Jasper put his mother's arm through his and together, they walked back up the lane to the manor.

They were silent for a while, both of them watching a couple of horses in the paddock.

"Scooby looks fit," Jasper said of the chestnut who was shaking his mane, knowing that his mistress was near.

"Yes, he's going to Cheltenham next month. Your father loved going there. It was the one thing we shared."

"I could go with you if you'd like me to."

"Well, maybe," Rosslyn shrugged "If you can remember."

Jasper let out a sigh, his breath forming a cloud around him. "I'm sorry, about earlier, it was a complete accident. I..."

"No, Jasper, that's just the point," she said as she watched her horse. "It wasn't an accident at all; it was a total lack of consideration on your part. You went back to London to see a client, which I understand. I know you needed to see him after you had waited so long to paint his portrait, but honestly, Jasper, would it have been so hard just to come home and rally the troops? You have a responsibility here now, and drinking with your friends will have to wait." She stopped walking and glanced at her son, "I don't know what's in your father's will, I'm hoping everything is just left to you as it always was, but be warned, your father spent lots of time with Henry before your he was bedridden. They had some big arguments about the things your father wanted in his will. I know you don't want to hear this, darling, but your father might still be running your life from his grave."

"Like what? He can hardly send everything to the donkey sanctuary, and he wouldn't let you be without a home, mum. I know he was a pain sometimes, but he would always look after you."

Rosslyn shrugged, "I hope so, but be aware that his last will might have certain conditions for you. I don't know what, but Henry and your father argued a great deal before he was too ill to talk. I'm sure we will find out soon enough."

"Mate, I'm sorry about the bike. I'll go and get it back for you," Jasper spoke on the phone to his friend rock -star Gabriel Swann. "If there is any damage, I'll get it sorted for you."

"How was the funeral?" Gabriel asked.

"I've never seen the church so full it was standing room only. I can't think they were all there for my dad. He was old school, didn't associate with the villagers. They couldn't even have gone to keep warm as the heating in the church hardly works."

"Give it a rest, Jasper. You know your dad did some good things in the village. He must have employed two-thirds of them."

Jasper sighed. Since the conversation with his mother, he'd been anxious, wondering what his father had conjured up in his will.