THE SPARROW INHERITANCE

Introduction:

Sparrow House had been built in the early 1900s, by an entrepreneur with a yen for landscaping. He had the reputation for being as the villagers would say “a bit of a lad.” Some said he reminded them of Scottish hero, Prince Charles Edward Stewart also known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, but when he, the entrepreneur, heard, he laughed at the comparison, for in his eyes the Scots ‘would be’ royal was a failure, whereas he, Richard Albert Stanley, was a success. He worked hard, and as a bachelor saved the money he earned so that as he was climbing on in years but young enough to enjoy life, he built a stately manor house complete with cottages for the ‘serfs’ as he called them and installed all the mod cons of the day including servants for his own residential pleasure. As time went on, however, he knew it was unlikely that he would marry: his only male heir, in that case, would be his cousin Edmund twelve years his junior and just as pompous as he. After a while, he went into parliament and became Lord Sparrow making good use of the peerage and its benefits. It was simply unfortunate that he was attracted to a young lady and coerced her to take a tumble in the hay with him. It was also unfortunate that the young lady’s father was a member of the house of Lords too. A storm in a teacup developed into a full-scale political Tsunami, resulting in an act of Parliament with Royal assent revoking his title, though because he was wealthy, he retained Sparrow House.  

Richard Stanley lost his zest for life once the privileges were scant and died a lonely man, bequeathing the vast estate of Sparrow House to Edmund Jeremiah Stanley. However, this is not Edmund’s story, inasmuch as it highlights the goodness of the ordinary person’s heart, and is entirely fictitious.

Summer 1945

“Hang it all, Olivia, I simply must get into the village today: it seems an awful shame to have to wait for a delivery when a drive to the depot two miles away would achieve the end result sooner.” Edmund had that gleam to his eye that stated he was not going to give in, irrespective of good sense.

“I wish you would reconsider darling; you have been a trifle peaky all day and it is extremely hot,” said Olivia Stanley in her caring wifely manner.

“And what prey would you have me do, my dear? It is an English summer day, not bushfire weather in that frightful place Austr…”

Olivia turned to face her husband, unimpressed by the statement.

“Do I need to remind you, Edmund, that my dear father was born in Australia, and so indeed was I?”

“No, my dear, it was an unfortunate choice of example I will admit, but I am still going out, and you will see me when I return.”

Glancing at his watch Edmund called Yates the chauffeur and asked to be taken to the village in deference to his wife’s caution. He did not think it all that hot, but if nothing else he was determined, that was why he had made a successful business of Sparrow House albeit with the assistance of their sons.

The village was busy and the heat was rising, but Edmund went to the depot to pick up the parcel for Olivia as he did not want her seeing it before her birthday; a likely scenario if it were delivered and the staff left it beside the mail.

“My it’s hot.” Edmund said to himself, “I think I had better sit down.” Just nearing the seat, he felt faint and fell to the ground fortunately it was a soft landing on the grass. Moments later, he came too, to find a crowd of concerned villagers, hardly giving him space to breathe. He was touched nonetheless.

The local baker walked past, retraced his steps and asked “Are you alright Matey?” belatedly recognising the owner of Sparrow House. He was not in charge of the bakery for nothing he knew how to get things done.

Give the man some air folks. Would one of you fellas please help me get Mr Stanley up and seated?” the baker turned to Edmund “Mr Stanley, might I suggest you sit in the shade for a spell and allow my wife to bring you out a little refreshment?”

“Oh, thank you so much.” replied Edmund, quite taken aback “I don’t wish to be any trouble.”

“None whatsoever, Sir; it is our pleasure.” the baker smiled walking away calling for his wife

“Mabel, can you spare a moment…”

The crowd had dispersed. Edmund took the time to survey the tiny village. The Post Office, the Bakery, of course, the depot, where he had been, the garage, the corner store, all within sight. A little farther down the road, was a butcher and the pub. He thought it a might too early for beer, but that did not stop him wanting one nonetheless. Soon a young woman, bearing a tray laden with crockery and presumably food approached him smiling. She looked a mite too young to be married to the Baker, but that was not any of his business.

Good afternoon, Sir. We thought you would like some tea and a ham sandwich; or would you like something else?”

“No, my dear, that sounds splendid, thank you. May I know your name?”

“I’m Mabel, Sir. I’d best get on, we are busy.”

“Yes, of course, Mabel I quite understand. Thank you once again.”

Soon afterwards Edmund feeling “tons” better, aware of the fact that Yates would soon return to take him home, ventured into the Bakery. It looked such a cosy little shop and the smell of freshly baked bread met his nostrils teasing them just a little.

He smiled as he read the sign acknowledging the proprietors: Peter and Mabel Smythe. Mr Smythe was attending to a customer, Edmund was not used to waiting his turn, but needs must. He was indeed tempted to purchase something, other than lunch but what would Cook say, let alone the family?

Mr Smythe looked at Edmund and smiled, knowing what he really wanted to do.

 “Are you feeling better Mr Stanley?”

“Indeed, yes thank you, Mr Smythe. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing Sir, it was our pleasure to assist you.”

“That is indeed kind, but you do have a business to run.”

“That is true Sir, but I’d like to think I could do you a good turn as I would to anyone, so it’s on the house…”

“Mr Smythe that act of generosity has touched my heart, and I accept it with gratitude. However, if you should ever need anything and I can help you: will you please let me know? Anything at all.” Edmund shook the baker’s hand “well Toodle pip and thank you.”

AUGUST 1950

Peter Smythe, his work done, and his wife cooking dinner opened the mail. The usual bills and an official legal letter from Arbuthnot McKenna and Arbuthnot Lawyers, the content of which shocked him. He read the letter a second time his jaw sagged in disbelief.

“Mabel.”

“Just a second love.” Mrs Smythe yelled, “the pie is ready, I’m bringing it out of the oven.”

“Mabel.” Peter said again “whichever one of you is free, could you bring out the brandy, for three; we have some news.”

“Well,” said the younger Mabel, as she bustled into the living room with glasses “‘what is it Dad?” she looked aghast “Mum, never mind the pie, come quickly I think he is going to faint.”

“No fear, young Mabel.” said Peter “remember I told you that Mr Stanley had passed away?”

Both ladies nodded, one with recognition of time passed flitting through her mind, the other quizzical, vaguely remembering the news.

“He has bequeathed the Sparrow Estate to us Mr Peter and Mrs Mabel Smythe because of our kindness.”

“What did I ever do for him?” said Mabel senior

“Nothing, my love. You were too busy the day he was ill to see to his needs, and he did not know our daughter had the same name. Mind you in assuming our Mabel was my wife he must have wondered about the age difference! When is dinner? I’m starving!”