It didn’t. There was a gnawing feeling in my gut. I began to think that I’d heard something tonight that should have set off alarm bells but hadn’t registered. I went over the conversations I’d had, trying to recollect the exact wording of each.
I finally gave up, remembering what my dad always said. Trust your unconscious mind. If you don’t understand something in the light of day, let your subconscious work on it at night. Generally being in favor of cutting ZZZs and letting another guy do the work, I punched the pillow and called in the third shift for the heavy lifting.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Matthew Farnsworth looked every inch the country solicitor. From the last century, which was when he probably started his practice. The wing-tip collar was from the same long-ago era, but it suited him. He’d asked the servants to be present, and said it would be useful for Kaz and me to attend as witnesses. No one seemed to have a problem with that. Big Mike had gone off to Greenway House to check in with Harding and let him know our plans. Not that there was much to tell.
My subconscious had worked overnight, and I planned to talk to a few people after the reading. Since everyone was a bit on edge this morning, I’d decided it could wait until after the main event, which was about to get underway. Williams, Mrs. Dudley, and Alice Withers filed in to the library and stood behind the family members seated in chairs facing Farnsworth. He had his papers spread out on a small writing table and was busy cleaning his glasses, which gave him an excuse not to look directly at any one person. Crawford had taken a straight-backed chair in a far corner, once again slightly presumptuous without quite overstepping the bounds. Kaz and I leaned against the bookshelves, which afforded us a good view of all concerned.
“I apologize for the necessity of this reading,” Farnsworth said, placing pince-nez glasses firmly on his nose. “However, Sir Rupert stipulated that his will be presented, and explained if necessary, in this fashion.”
“His will be done,” Edgar said, which earned him a few nervous chuckles, as well as daggers from Meredith.
“If there are no objections, I will dispense with a full reading of the Last Will and Testament of Sir Rupert Sutcliffe, and summarize the disposition of his estate.” Farnsworth peered over his glasses at the two daughters, their husbands, Lady Pemberton, and the servants. No one had the slightest interest in waiting any longer.
“The first point I was instructed to make was that the stipulation regarding Lady Pemberton’s ongoing residence here is to stay in force. This was Sir Rupert’s wish and also an obligation of the previous inheritance. To ensure that Lady Pemberton’s final years are spent in comfort, he left the sum of five hundred pounds to supplement her income and investments.”
Farnsworth looked up and nodded to Great Aunt Sylvia, who smiled and returned the gesture.
“As for the servants, Sir Rupert left the sum of five hundred pounds each to Roger Crawford, Charles Williams, and Beryl Dudley. One hundred pounds is to go to Alice Withers, the lesser amount due to her shorter tenure at Ashcroft House.”
“Oh!” Alice exclaimed, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Williams frowned at her, but the two thousand or so bucks he was getting had left him in a good mood, and he reverted to his usual stone face. Crawford smiled, but his expression had a bitter edge to it, as if he’d expected to be remembered with a bit more cash.
“The sum of five thousand pounds shall go to Helen Sutcliffe Martindale,” Farnsworth said, giving Helen a polite smile and avoiding eye contact with Meredith.
Farnsworth read off a few smaller sums to go the village church, library, and some local charities. Meredith was kneading an embroidered handkerchief in her hands, and I waited for the stitching to come loose as she became more and more impatient. Helen gripped David’s hand, her eyes riveted on the solicitor.
“That concludes the smaller items,” Farnsworth said. “The bulk of his estate, Ashcroft House with adjoining properties, and the remaining bank accounts total slightly over two hundred forty-six thousand pounds after the aforementioned dispositions. There is also an annual income from rents totaling six thousand pounds.”
“Oh!” This time it was Meredith. She must have been startled at the amount. I was. It was nearly a million dollars, if my arithmetic was right. Oh indeed.
“Sir Rupert’s original will stipulated the following,” Farnsworth said, clearing his throat and fiddling with his papers. He looked nervous, adjusting his glasses before continuing. I wondered why he’d referred to the original document. If there was a new will, why not skip it? Had Sir Rupert known more than he let on about Peter Wiley?
“Original?” Helen said, looking to Meredith with confusion written over her face.
“Yes, that is why I am here, to be certain that the new will is understood and to clarify the circumstances under which it is to be carried out,” Farnsworth said. He took a deep breath and began again. “The previous will had Ashcroft House going to the government for whatever purposes it deemed necessary. The monies in Sir Rupert’s accounts were to be used for its maintenance. The only stipulation was that any usage was to be appropriate to Lady Pemberton’s continuing residence.”
“The bastard!” Meredith exclaimed.
“Yes, ahem,” Farnsworth said, soldiering on. “However, shortly before his death, Sir Rupert came to me and had a codicil added. The long and the short of it is, he directed that instead of the government being given title to the estate, it should go to Peter Wiley, an American, should it be demonstrated reasonably that the young man was the issue of Sir Rupert, the legitimacy of the birth notwithstanding.”
“What? Reasonably? What the bloody hell does that mean?” Edgar said, his face red and his voice tight with rage. Around the room, other voices were raised in confusion laced with anger.
“Please,” Farnsworth said, holding up one hand. “I will explain as soon as there is quiet.”
“Don’t tell me to be quiet!” Edgar said, but he managed to nonetheless. I was ready for him to stalk out of the room, but his curiosity overcame his anger, and he relaxed back into his seat. Now I understood why Farnsworth had been eager to have Kaz and me present as witnesses.
“Please, Mr. Farnsworth,” Helen said, leaning forward, eyes brimming with tears. “Please tell us what this means.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Meredith said. “Father had an affair with the maid. Such a cliché.”
“How do you know that?” Helen said, turning to Meredith in a fury. “What a horrible thing to say!”
“Wake up, darling,” Meredith responded. “Aren’t you listening to Farnsworth? When Peter Wiley showed up here, Father must have realized, or at least seen the resemblance. And don’t forget the ring the American was wearing. Why else would Julia Greenshaw give it to her son?”
“Be that as it may,” Farnsworth said, “Sir Rupert asked Captain Boyle to look into the matter for him, to determine whether Peter Wiley was in fact his son, born of Julia Greenshaw.”
“What?” Edgar said. “You mean the maid who married the groundskeeper and went to America? Ah, now it becomes clear.”
“Mr. Farnsworth, please continue,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “And excuse the interruption; this has been most difficult for us all.”
“Understandably, Lady Pemberton,” he said. “Sir Rupert came to me most distraught. He had tried for years to communicate with Miss Greenshaw, or I should say Mrs. Wiley, by that time. She never responded to his letters, and he gave up hope of any news from America. When young Peter Wiley came here recently, he said it was his last chance to do right by the boy.”
“Right by him?” Helen said. “What about Meredith? He left her nothing. Is that right?”
“My role here is not to pronounce upon morality, Mrs. Martindale. All I can do is communicate Sir Rupert’s instructions. If there is any evidence at all that would indicate his paternity, then the estate goes to Peter Wiley. He left it to my discretion, with the understanding that paternity need not be proved legally, but simply to my satisfaction.”