THIS STORY IS NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER 12
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Chapter 15: Conservation
Velma knocked on the heavy wooden door.
“Come in.”
“Excuse me sir, there wasn’t any chamomile tea left so I brought you spiced apple and chamomile. I hope that’s okay.” She put the drink down on Sir Wenthrip’s bedside table.
Bennett Wenthrip looked up from his book. “Oh, new face. Where’s Gail?”
“She asked me to fill in,” Velma explained. “She’s got her hands full with one of your weekend guests.”
Winthrip frowned and nodded. “And you are?”
“I’m a temp, sir, just here for the weekend.”
“Well, yes, I assumed that but what’s your name girl, what’s your name?”
“Oh yes sir, sorry sir,” Velma was enjoying another bit of role-playing but she’d based her character on someone she’d seen on Downton Abbey and only just managed to stop herself curtsying. “I’m Mavis.”
“Mavis, eh? We don’t meet many Mavises these days.”
“No sir.”
“Right then Mavis, what did you say about the tea?”
“It’s spiced apple and chamomile. There wasn’t any just chamomile.”
“Put in on the list then girl! Put it on the list!”
“List?”
“Yes, the shopping list – that’s how they make sure they don’t run out of anything.”
“Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry I don’t know where -“
“You don’t know where the shopping list is because you’re new.” He mimicked her. “Never mind, I’ll have a word with Gail when I see her.” He tentatively took a sip of the herbal tea. “Hmm, not bad, not bad. But I’d rather have my usual. Tell Gail when you see her.”
Velma nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know when I’ll see her because she’s busy with -“
“The weekend guest! Yes, you told me. Which guest is it? Not Julian by any chance?”
“I believe so, yes sir, he’s a little bit -“
“Inebriated! And more than a little I dare say. Yes, he always gets like that after a shoot, bloody idiot!”
“I was going to say dead.”
“Dead?” Sir Wenthrip was taken aback. “Did you say he’s dead?”
Velma nodded. “Afraid so.”
“What did he die of?”
“Something that’s going around I think sir.”
Bennett’s book slipped from his lap as he stood up. “What?! Something contagious?” he asked with alarm.
“No, it’s not contagious. Goodness, what do I have to do to convince people of that?” she asked rhetorically.
“I don’t appreciate your tone young woman,” the master of the house was both annoyed and fearful. “You just said it was going around did you not?”
“I did, yes.”
“Well what do you mean by it’s going around if it’s not contagious?!” He found her calmness unnerving. The agitated aristocrat sat on the side of his bed and, while his feet fumbled their way into his slippers, he didn’t take his eyes off her.
“I’m sorry for the confusion,” her expression betrayed no emotion. “I meant to say – I’m going around.”
The pompous old man began to edge towards the door. “You killed him? Why? What did he do to deserve that?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“Today?”
“Yes today! Yesterday! Last year! What did he ever do to deserve such a violent end?”
“I wouldn’t say it was violent exactly. It was quick and painless. Probably didn’t feel more than a pinch. Unlike the twenty three birds he blasted out of the sky today.”
“You’re an anti!” Bennett exclaimed with horror.
“Good call,” said Velma with a slow nod.
“Bloody extremists! Know nothing about the countryside! Useless imbeciles!”
Velma smiled. “Go on, tell me about conservation. Tell me how good you lot are for wildlife. Tell me the grey partridge would be endangered if it weren’t for you.”
“Well it would!”
“And with a straight face he said that.” She smiled again. “I’ve got to hand it to you – you’ve done a great job of hanging onto the coattails of conservation, protecting the flora and fauna, planting trees and hedgerows, as if those things wouldn’t happen without you.”
“They wouldn’t!” He continued his slow shuffle towards the bedroom door.
“You’re not protecting nature, you’re holding it for ransom.” He tried to interrupt but she wagged a finger at him. “You’re telling the government if you stop us from killing animals we won’t spend any of our vast resources on planting trees or building ponds!” She shook her head disapprovingly. “But let me tell you a secret, Sir Bennett Wenthrip. All nature needs from you is your absence.”
She could tell from his face that his mind was waging a battle between fear and rage. “You arrogant little pleb!” And rage won. “You have no idea what you’re talking about! No idea about the countryside traditions that have been an important part of our culture for centuries!”
“Have you ever been to Chernobyl Sir Wenthrip?” Velma perched calmly on the man’s armchair.
“What? That nuclear disaster place? Why on Earth would I want to go there?”
“No, I don’t suppose you would. And I’m very glad about it actually because it’s doing very well without you.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked irritably.
“I was reading an article about it the other day – it’s forty years you know, since the catastrophe.” She watched his frightened, angry face retreat further as he slowly backed away from her. “And the photos were amazing. So much lush greenery. So many new trees. And so many wild animals. Wildlife is thriving. Flora and fauna are thriving Bennett. In that nuclear wasteland. And why is it thriving? Because human beings evacuated the whole area. They left it alone for forty years and it has thrived.”
Bennett grimaced. “My God you’re a mad woman! Advocating for nuclear disaster!”
Velma sighed. “Of course not Benny, you’re not really as stupid as you pretend to be are you?” She grabbed him by the throat and threw him into the chair. “So, after reading that, I thought I should do some conservation work myself.”
He struggled at first but stilled when she peered deep into his bleary eyes.
“That’s what I’m doing tonight in fact,” she told him. “I’m protecting the local wildlife by killing every member of your shooting party.”
The horror in his eyes was unpleasant to look at. Reluctantly – she really wasn’t hungry after all she’d drunk that night – she lifted his trembling hand and sunk her teeth into his wrist. For the animals, she thought.
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