"Now, Ruth." She cleared her throat. "Your behaviour since your seventeenth birthday has appalled me. I can find no way to account for it or excuse it. I have always told you that the property would be yours when I died. I was referring to Cedar House but you assumed, without any prompting from me, that the contents and the money would be yours, too. That was a false assumption. My intention was always to leave the more valuable contents and the money to Joanna, and the house to you. Joanna, I assumed, would not wish to move from London, and you would have had the choice either to sell up or stay but you would have sold, I'm sure, because the house would have lost its charms once the estate was approved. What little remained to the property would never have satisfied you because you're as greedy as your mother. In conclusion, I can only repeat what I said to Joanna: I have made some very handsome settlements on you and feel that I have more than discharged my obligations to you. It may be the fault of inbreeding, of course, but I have come to realize that neither of you is capable of a decent or a generous thought." Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "I therefore intend to leave everything I own to Dr. Sarah Blakeney of Mill House, Long Upton, Dorset, who will, I am confident, use her windfall wisely. In so far as I have ever been capable of feeling fondness for anyone I have felt it for her." She gave a sudden chuckle. "Don't be angry with me, Sarah. I must have died without changing my mind, or you wouldn't be watching this. So remember me for our friendship and not for this burden I have laid on you. Joanna and Ruth will hate you, as they have hated me, and they will accuse you of all manner of beastliness, just as they have accused me. But 'what's done cannot be undone,' so take it all with my blessing and use it to promote something worthwhile in my memory. Goodbye, my dear."
"When sorrows come, they come not as single spies but in battalions." I am afraid that Ruth's behaviour is becoming compulsive but am reluctant to tackle her about it for fear of what she might do to me. She is not above taking a stick to an old woman who annoys or frustrates her. I see it in her eyes, an awareness that I am more valuable to her dead than alive.
It was truly said: "He that dies pays all debts." If I knew where she was going every day, it would help, but she lies about that as she lies about everything. Could it be schizophrenia? She is certainly the right age for it. I trust the school will do something about it next term. I am not strong enough for any more scenes nor will I be blamed for what was never my fault. God knows, there was only one victim in all this, and that was little Mathilda Cavendish. I wish I could remember her, that loving lovely child, but she is as insubstantial to me now as memories of my mother. Forgotten wraiths, both of them, unloved, abused, neglected.
Thank God for Sarah. She convinces me that like Shakespeare's sad old man "I am more sinned against than sinning..."
*5*
Paul Duggan switched off the television set and spoke ito the silence. "The video recording, of course, has no legal standing which is why I referred to Mrs. Gillespie's last written will and testament." He reached into his briefcase and produced some sheaves of paper. "These are photocopies only but the original is available for inspection at my office in Hills Street." He handed a copy to each of the women. "Mrs. Gillespie felt you might try to contest this document, Mrs. Lascelles. I can only advise you to consult a solicitor before you do so. As far as Dr. Blakeney is concerned"-he turned to Sarah-"Mr. Hapgood and I will need to discuss details with you as soon as possible. We can offer you three mornings next week. Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. In my office for preference, although we will come to Long Upton if necessary. You understand, however, that executors are entitled to charge for expenses." He beamed encouragingly at Sarah, waiting for an answer. He appeared to be completely unaware of the brewing hostility in the room.
Sarah gathered her scattered wits together. "Do I have any say in this at all?"
"In what, Dr. Blakeney?"
"In the will."
"You mean, are you free to reject Mrs. Gillespie's bequest?"
"Yes."
"There's an alternative provision which you will find on the last page of the document." Joanna and Ruth rustled through their copies. "If for any reason you are unable to take up the bequest, Mrs. Gillespie instructed us to sell her entire estate and donate the proceeds to the Seton Retirement Home for donkeys. She said, if you couldn't or wouldn't have her money, then it might as well go to deserving asses." He was watching Sarah closely and she thought that, after all, he wasn't quite so complacent as he seemed. He was expecting that remark to strike a chord. "Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, Dr. Blakeney? I should point out that an early meeting is essential. There is the future of Mrs. Lascelles and her daughter to be considered, for example. Mrs. Gillespie recognized that they would be in residence at Cedar House when the will was read and had no wish that we as executors should demand their immediate vacation of the property. It was for this reason, and without any offence intended," he smiled amiably at the two women, "that a full inventory of the contents was made. I'm sure the last thing any of us wants is a battle royal over just what was in the house at the time of Mrs. Gillespie's death."
"Oh, bloody fabulous," said Ruth scathingly, "now you're accusing us of theft."
"Not at all, Miss Lascelles. It's standard procedure, I assure you."
Her lip curled unattractively. "What's our future got to do with anything, anyway? I thought we'd ceased to exist." She dropped her cigarette butt deliberately on to the Persian carpet and ground it out under her heel.
"As I understand it, Miss Lascelles, you have another two terms at boarding school before you take your A levels. To date, your grandmother paid your fees but there is no provision in the will for further expenditure on your education so, in the circumstances, whether you remain at Southcliffe may well depend on Dr. Blakeney."
Joanna raised her head. "Or on me," she said coolly. "I am her mother, after all."
There was a short silence before Ruth gave a harsh laugh. "God, you're a fool. No wonder Granny didn't want to leave her money to you. What are you planning to pay with, Mother dear? No one's going to give you an allowance any more, you know, and you don't imagine your sweet little flower arrangements are going to produce four thousand a term, do you?"
Joanna smiled faintly. "If I contest this will then, presumably, things will continue as normal in the meantime." She looked enquiringly at Paul Duggan. "Do you have the authority to give the money to Dr. Blakeney if I too, am laying claim to it?"
"No," he admitted, "but, by the same token, you will receive nothing either. You are putting me in a difficult position, Mrs. Lascelles. I was your mother's lawyer, not yours. All I will say is there are time limits involved and I urge you to seek independent legal advice without delay. Things will not, as you put it, continue as normal."
"So in the short term Ruth and I lose either way?"
"Not necessarily."
She frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
Ruth flung herself out of the sofa and stormed across to the window. "God, why do you have to be so obtuse? If you behave nicely, Mother, Dr. Blakeney may feel guilty enough about inheriting a fortune to keep subsidizing us. That's it, isn't it?" She glared at Duggan. "Granny's passed the buck of trying to create something decent out of the Cavendishes to her doctor." Her mouth twisted. "What a frigging awful joke! She warned me about it, too. Talk to Dr. Blakeney. She'll know what to do for the best. It's so unfair." She stamped her foot. "It's so bloody unfair."