“What sort of woman is she?”
Mr. Tamblin paused. “She … er … is not the sort of person I should expect to be your father’s daughter.”
“What must we do?”
“I want to get a verdict on the marriage certificate.”
“Does anyone know about this?”
“I confess to telling Mr. Hanson. He has some knowledge of the law. Occasionally we exchange views and have done ever since I took over the practice. Very often business concerns the people here, and he knows them quite well. It helps when dealing with people to know something about them personally.”
“He did write to me.”
“Yes, he said he would.”
“But he did not give me any idea of the nature of the trouble.”
“No. He would be discreet.”
“So we must wait now for a verdict on the certificate?”
He nodded. “She is bringing it tomorrow. Her lawyer will be with her. Perhaps you would care to be here then. And would you object if I invited Mr. Hanson to come along, too?”
I said weakly: “No. I should not object.”
“This has been a great shock to you, Miss Cadorson, and coming so soon after the tragedy … but what happened would never have arisen but for that. Oh dear, this is most distressing.”
I said: “I will go now, Mr. Tamblin. I will see you in the morning.”
I came out of the office and mounted my horse. I rode out of the town and up the hill to Cador.
Then I turned away. I could not bear to look at it just now. I had been so proud of it always. My home … and now my very own. But for how long?
Could the story possibly be true? No. My father would never have deserted that woman. He would never have married my mother under false pretences. It was not his way. She was lying. It was clear to me what had happened. There had been full coverage of the story in the Sydney Gazette. She would have read about his coming to Australia to serve his prison term, his acquiring a little land which he was working when news of his inheritance came to him. She would have read all that. It was a romantic story of the kind beloved by newsmen. And how simple for her to fabricate the story. The marriage, the flight of the man who vanished from Australia for years during which he lived his grand life in England where he had married, settled down and had a family. I could see how the idea would come to an unscrupulous schemer, and because of the great distance between Australia and England, it might be possible to make it work.
I wondered what was happening to my life. I had suffered the terrible shock of losing my family and that had been so sudden. They had left me in the best of health that morning and I had never seen them again. I had lost Rolf—due to my own uncertainty; and now, I was in danger of losing my home. It seemed as though fate was preparing to rob me of everything I held dear.
I could not believe that this was really happening. It could not be possible that my mother had not been married to my father all those years and that I was his illegitimate daughter, Jacco his illegitimate son. It was like a bad dream.
And yet Mr. Tamblin thought the story was not impossible.
I had ridden some miles without thinking where I was going. I had come to Croft Cottage, and it was almost as though I had been led there, for it was of sudden interest to me. It was a pleasant little house, just outside the estate, and my mother had bought it ten years ago. One of the maids was going to have a baby, I remembered, and the father was a farm labourer. A quick marriage was necessary and my mother had bought the cottage for them to live in. It was, therefore, my mother’s property, and presumably did not belong to the estate. What a strange thought! If this woman’s story was proved to be true this cottage could be the only home I had in Cornwall.
I rode round the cottage. It was empty because the family had gone up to the north of England just before we left for Australia. The husband’s cousin had offered him a share in his farm as far as I remembered, and no one else had taken up residence in the cottage.
This was absurd. Of course the woman would be proved a fraud.
I slowly made my way back to Cador.
I summoned Isaacs and Mrs. Penlock to the drawing room. They came, their faces expectant. They knew something momentous had happened.
I came to the point at once.
I said: “A woman is now in the neighbourhood who says she is my father’s daughter and that he married her mother before he married mine. She claims that Cador is hers.”
Even Mrs. Penlock was struck dumb.
“She will have to prove her story, of course,” I went on, “and if she succeeds there would be great differences here. The place would not belong to me but to her.”
Isaacs had gone quite white. He looked very shocked.
Mrs. Penlock stammered: “Oh … the wicked woman to say such things. It be a pack of lies, that’s what it be.”
“That’s what I think, Mrs. Penlock,” I said. “It is what I hope. But of course such statements have to be examined, and Mr. Tamblin gives some credence to her story. She says she has proof. I think it could be well if you explained it to the servants. They know that something is happening, and I think it would be better for them to hear the truth rather than to listen to rumour. Particularly as this could affect their future very considerably.”
Isaacs said: “I will make it known to them, Miss Cadorson.”
Mrs. Penlock nodded. “Don’t ’ee take no notice of this wicked woman, Miss Cadorson,” she said.
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Penlock, I have to … until she is proved to be a fraud.”
“She will be. Don’t ’ee make no mistake about that.”
I prayed fervently that she might be right.
I could settle to nothing. As I went about the house, I was thinking: It may be that I have no right here. It may be that I shall have to go.
The next day I went to the lawyers’ office where Mr. Tamblin greeted me solemnly.
“Come in, Miss Cadorson.” He whispered to me: “She is here … and so is Mr. Hanson. I will take you to her immediately.”
Rolf took my hands and holding them firmly looked into my face.
“Good morning, Annora,” he said; and I could see that he was telling me how disturbed and sorry he was.
I felt a little rush of relief because he was here. And then I saw her. Oh no, I thought. She is not my father’s daughter.
She was tall and broad with large features, big china blue eyes and abundant hair with a reddish tinge. There was about her an air of aggression. No, no, no, I thought. He would never have had such a daughter.
“This is Miss … Maria Cadorson,” said Mr. Tamblin. “And er … Miss Annora Cadorson.”
She gave a little sharp laugh. “Well, I suppose we’re sisters … or half-sisters, you might say.”
I did not answer. I could not agree.
Mr. Tamblin went on: “I have already spoken to Miss Annora Cadorson of your claim. She finds it hard to believe, knowing her father so well.”
“I never knew him,” she said to me. “He was off when I was too little. He deserted my mother and left her to bring me up on her own.”
I said: “My father was a man who always shouldered his responsibilities.”
“Well, this was one he wanted to forget had ever been his.”
Mr. Tamblin coughed and said: “Miss Maria Cadorson’s lawyer will be here at any moment. He will bring with him the alleged marriage certificate. Until that has been seen, examined and verified as authentic, there is little to be said.”
The woman looked at me; her expression softened. “Don’t think I don’t know how you’re feeling. This must be terrible news for you. I know about the house and what sort of place it is. My mother used to tell me about it. You see, my father couldn’t stop talking of it, even though he thought it wouldn’t be his then. He had run away from it to be a gypsy. His brother never liked him. They hadn’t got on. Well, it made all the difference when it was his. He’d served his term and he was a free man. He could go back to England and claim his inheritance and he didn’t want to take my mother and me with him … so he just walked out.”