Stranger at the Dower House (Strangers Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  Willerton-Forbes shook his head slowly, as if disappointed in him. “Your duty, Mr Guddle, was to advise your client of any provisions within the settlement which would be injurious to him. Did you do so?”

  “I did!” he cried, seizing on this idea. “Certainly I did. At least, it was a long time ago and which of us can remember precisely what was said, eh? But I would have done so. Definitely I would have done so.”

  “Might I examine your records on the case?” Willerton-Forbes said blandly.

  “Erm… those records are private, sir. Private. I cannot divulge—”

  “Of course you can,” Willerton-Forbes said. “The client is here now, and gives his permission, so there can be no possible objection.”

  “I… may have… lost the records. There was a fire in my previous office, yes, a fire. Everything from that time was destroyed.”

  Willerton-Forbes produced a notebook and pencil. “And the date of this fire? I am sure the local newspapers will have reported on such a tragic matter.”

  Guddle leapt to his feet, his expression harassed. “Look, it wasn’t me! I had nothing to do with it, it was Slythe who arranged everything. I was just there to represent Mr Gage. You need to talk to Mr Slythe.”

  “You may be sure that we will,” Willerton-Forbes said. “Do not leave Bath, Mr Guddle. You may be needed as a material witness when this comes to court. Or you may be in the dock yourself, who can say? That will be for the magistrates to decide.”

  So saying, he rose to his feet and swept out of the room, Laurence in his wake, leaving the hapless attorney quaking.

  “Breakfast next, I think,” Willerton-Forbes said, patting his stomach in anticipation, as they emerged onto the street. “There are usually some chairmen just around the corner who will convey us back to the hotel.”

  “Should we not go directly to Mrs Haywood’s house?” Laurence said. “Catch them unawares… or something?”

  “Oh no, I think not. Best if they are forewarned. I am reasonably confident that they will be forewarned.”

  Laurence nibbled some toast and drank coffee while Willerton-Forbes worked his way steadily through eggs, devilled kidneys, a mutton chop and an array of pastries. He had just pushed aside his plate with a sigh of satisfaction, when an almost inaudible scratching at the door heralded the arrival of Neate, the valet.

  “Ah, James!” Willerton-Forbes said. “What do you have for us?”

  “Guddle left by the back door just as you were leaving by the front,” Neate said, grinning. “Straight down to the Haywood woman’s house, inside for a bit above half an hour, then scuttled off again. They will be ready for you. I left Fenton watching the house in case they make a bolt. Rather a grand house for a former governess, if you ask me.”

  “Fenton?” Laurence said. “The coachman? You set your valet and coachman to act as spies?”

  Willerton-Forbes chuckled. “Indeed. I should explain, Mr Gage, that Neate is a lawyer too, but his greatest talent lies in moving unobtrusively through the lower ranks of society. If one wishes to know what the grooms and footmen and innkeepers know or have seen, then Neate is your man. Fenton is less versatile, perhaps, but they are both very useful when one is investigating miscreants. Now, James, sit down and tuck in, for Mr Gage is going to tell us in minute detail all that occurred when the settlement document was drawn up. Who drafted it? Slythe, presumably.”

  “No, it was Turnbull, the Haywood family lawyer in Hereford,” Laurence said. “He suffered from dyspepsia and greatly disliked travelling, so he did not come to Bath himself, but sent a clerk with the draft document. The changes were agreed with him by letter, and when all was signed and sealed, the clerk took a copy back to Hereford.”

  “What were the changes?”

  “Some minor details of names and directions, mainly. In addition, Catherine’s pin money was increased from five hundred to one thousand pounds, and Mrs Haywood’s allowance was written into the settlement. Previously it had been agreed between us that I would make her an annuity of five hundred pounds a year, but that was increased to one thousand and became part of the settlement. It seemed reasonable at the time, since she was not expected to live long.”

  Neate chuckled. “Made a miraculous recovery, did she?”

  “And Turnbull agreed to these changes?” Willerton-Forbes said.

  “He did.”

  “Who communicated with him? Was it you?”

  “No, Slythe wrote to him.”

  “Ah. And the clause about Mrs Haywood receiving the full interest in the event of the death of either you or your wife?”

  Laurence frowned. “Do you know, I cannot remember that at all. I remember reading the whole thing through very carefully, and Guddle explaining every clause, and I have to tell you that all that legal verbiage is impossible for a plain man to understand. There were clauses about my death or Catherine’s death, and a lot of complicated business about the children, but the only part that mentioned Mrs Haywood was the thousand pounds. So far as I can recall, in any event, but it was a long time ago.”

  “Hmm.” Willerton-Forbes’ eyes gleamed. “And she always called herself Mrs Haywood? Her friends all called her that?”

  “They did, and Catherine called her ‘Mama’.”

  “To her face?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “And she never denied it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Ha!” Neate said, looking up from his plate. “Got her!”

  Willerton-Forbes chuckled. “Possibly, James, possibly, but let us not get too excited. There is a long way to go yet, but it is promising. Tell me, Mr Gage, did you ever meet Mr Turnbull?”

  “I never did. There was no occasion for it. Slythe wanted me to sell Catherine’s house, since she would not need it, but I thought it might be useful for my son when he married, to have a place of his own, so it was leased to tenants. Turnbull and Crossley, my own attorney, managed the business between them.”

  “He must have been in on it,” Neate said, with a mischievous grin that made him look quite different from his lugubrious performance as a valet.

  Willerton-Forbes looked unconvinced. “Possibly. We shall certainly need to talk to him and the other trustee as to why they agreed to wind up the trust on such injurious terms. Turnbull must have known perfectly well that Mrs Haywood was merely the governess, for it was common knowledge in Hereford. We will make a detour there on our return journey. Well, Mr Gage, shall we sally forth to meet the interesting Mrs Haywood? But you must let me do all the talking.”

  “By all means, for if I say anything to her it will not be very gentlemanlike.”

  Mrs Haywood lived in rather a smart house not far from the Royal Crescent. A superior butler showed them into the drawing room, furnished with somewhat more money than taste, where Mrs Haywood rose to greet them. Laurence had not seen her since the day of Catherine’s funeral when the will had been read, but she looked little different from that day nine years before. A little older, a little scrawnier, a lace ruff hiding signs of age about her neck, but greeting him with what could only be the insincere appearance of pleasure. Slythe stood beside her, bowing with a smugly self-satisfied smirk. Mrs Fossett was there, too, even thinner than Laurence remembered, the only one of the three who looked nervous.

  When Laurence introduced Willerton-Forbes as a lawyer, there was a hint of wariness from Mrs Haywood, but Slythe’s oily expression never faltered.

  “What a pleasure to see you again, Gage,” Slythe said, beaming at him. “Are you making a long stay in Bath?”

  “Oh, I hope not,” Laurence murmured.

  Willerton-Forbes intervened smoothly. “That rather depends on Mrs Haywood… or perhaps I should say Miss Fossett? That is your name, is it not, madam?”

  She began to reply, but Slythe laid a hand on her arm. “There is no reason why a lady may not change her name if she wishes, you know. As a man of the law yourself, you will understand that it is perfectly legal.”

  �
�Was the change of name made officially?”

  “That is not necessary,” Slythe said, still smiling. “An informal matter, by the lady’s choice. It is not against the law.”

  “Only if there is no underhand purpose, Mr Slythe,” Willerton-Forbes said calmly. “It is my belief that Miss Fossett assumed a false name in order to defraud Mr Gage of property that was rightfully his, to whit, the income from his wife’s portion, by means of clauses in a marriage settlement inserted by deceit, money to which she had not a shred of entitlement as Miss Haywood’s governess.”

  The ladies were now definitely alarmed, but Slythe laughed genially. “Nonsense, nonsense! There was no deceit, and Gage had legal advice. He agreed to every clause and signed the settlement perfectly willingly. Is it not so, Gage?”

  Laurence knew better than to answer to such provocation, but he could barely contain his anger at being addressed by an attorney as if he were an intimate.

  “The legal advice came from a man barely qualified to offer it, who was in fact in your employ,” Willerton-Forbes said quietly. “Miss Fossett led Mr Gage to believe that she was Miss Haywood’s mother, a deception to which you, Mr Guddle, Mrs Fossett and Miss Haywood herself were all party.”

  “Now, she never said so,” Slythe said, his voice growing louder, in marked contrast to Willerton-Forbes’ calmly precise tones. “No one ever said so, and Gage never asked. There was no deception by anyone, everything was done legally and Gage agreed to every proposal that was put to him. Eugenia never took anything, it was all given freely. This won’t fly, I’m afraid. You’ll find it’s all right and tight, Forbes. Not a thing illegal about it.”

  “Do you think so?” Willerton-Forbes said, his voice benign. “How interesting. By my reckoning, there are at least five charges that may be brought — fraud, false pretences, false personation, conspiracy to defraud and either falsifying a legal document or forgery, I cannot quite be sure which. But you may well be right. I am sure the courts will give us a definitive ruling. Come, Mr Gage, let us go and find a magistrate.”

  “Wait a minute!” Mrs Haywood cried, grabbing hold of Laurence’s arm. “You can’t take us to court! It was Catherine’s money and she wanted me to have a little bit of it. It was her wish to see me comfortable after I looked after her all those years. She asked for it and you agreed to it and signed all the forms, and you can’t come along now and talk about charges and courts as if we committed a crime. There was no crime! I never said I was Catherine’s mother, not once! I never, ever pretended to be her mother, not once! I never lied about anything!”

  “Except being ill,” Laurence snapped. “That was part of it, was it not? You wanted me to believe you were at death’s door, so I would agree to everything without fuss.”

  “An excellent point,” Willerton-Forbes said, with a pleased expression. “We will add that to the list. But yes, Miss Fossett, you lied by not correcting an erroneous assumption. That is false pretences, which is illegal.”

  She squeaked in alarm, and now Mrs Fossett grabbed his other arm, her face riddled with distress. “Please, please have mercy!”

  “Amelia, Eugenia, enough!” Slythe said sharply. “They cannot touch us. It is all bluff. We have done nothing wrong, remember? Nothing at all.”

  “That’s true,” Mrs Haywood said. “Nothing wrong. I told no lies.”

  “What I do not understand,” Laurence said, turning to Mrs Fossett in puzzlement, “is why you encouraged Malcolm to dangle after Catherine. All those secret meetings must have threatened the whole of your little enterprise. Why did you do it?”

  “Secret meetings?” Slythe said abruptly. “What is this, Amelia?”

  “Oh, but it was so romantic! They were so in love, the two of them, I had not the heart to deny them. It was so cruel the way they were torn from each other, just so she could marry him.”

  “Nonsense!” Mrs Haywood said. “If you think that, you’re even more of a fool that I’d thought, Amelia. Catherine never intended to have anyone but the elder brother — the heir. She knew which side her bread was buttered.” She caught sight of Laurence and her face hardened. “Oh, go away! And do not come back here, for I will make sure you are forbidden entry. I never want to see you again.”

  “I am afraid another meeting is quite unavoidable, Miss Fossett,” Willerton-Forbes said gently. “You will encounter him in court, after all.”

  She shrieked in rage, and if she had had a heavy object in her hands at that moment, she would undoubtedly have thrown it at him.

  Laurence and Willerton-Forbes beat a hasty retreat.

  25: Dinner At The Dower House

  Louisa was beginning to feel dangerously settled. Every day she told herself that her original plan had been washed away by the application of Laurence’s good sense, and that therefore she ought to start her new, more permanent, life in Bath as soon as may be, but somehow it never quite reached a point of urgency. She had a full complement of servants now, not the least of whom was her wonderful man-cook, the garden was beginning to emerge from decades of neglect and there were even vegetables growing in the now immaculate kitchen garden. She had her dogs to accompany her on long walks and to sit at her feet in the evenings, and Gaius Valerius to take her further afield, exploring the lanes and woods and meadows that surrounded Great Maeswood. The helpful Mr Jeffrey Rycroft had found a key to the gate in the garden wall, and she had permission from Lady Saxby to use it to enter the grounds of Maeswood Hall whenever she wished. She rode and walked energetically every day, once or twice a week she took the gig to Market Clunbury to shop, and most of the time she managed to persuade the pony to return to the Dower House.

  She lacked for nothing, except good company. The two card parties every week were delightful, but all too often, her evenings were spent alone with her books, the dogs and a glass of something. Much as she enjoyed the tranquillity of her present life, she was not willing to spend so much time in solitude. She had received a great deal of hospitality from local society, so now she determined to return it in full measure. It was time to hold her first dinner for guests.

  Squire Winslade and his family were first on the list, and it would be unexceptionable to invite the clergyman, the handsome Mr Truman, who flirted with her with such finesse at the card parties. He had made somewhat enigmatic overtures towards her when she had first arrived, and there was still a corner of her mind that wondered whether the seemingly upright parson would be amenable to a liaison, if she had not herself abandoned the idea.

  The Saxby ladies from the Hall were more problematic, for she was not sure whether they were yet entering company. However, it was almost four months since Lord Saxby had gone to meet his Maker, so she sent William with her invitation and hoped. To her surprise, he returned with an immediate response asking who else might be attending. She replied and Lady Saxby accepted immediately on behalf of all her family. If everyone else accepted, that would be twelve people! Chambers would be delighted to display his culinary talents for such an audience.

  She chose her gown with more care than usual. There was some suspicion of her amongst the wives of the village, partly because all widows were viewed as potential threats to the equanimity of their marriages, and partly, Louisa admitted reluctantly, because she had made little effort to blend into the neighbourhood. She had set out with seduction in mind and had dressed accordingly, but now that she wished to entertain, it would suit her purpose to exude an aura of matronly respectability. So it was that, despite Marie’s head-shaking and rattle of disapproving French, she had chosen a more modest outfit for the occasion, not precisely demure, but certainly more restrained.

  The ladies from the Hall were the first to arrive, the Miss Saxbys’ eyes shining with excitement, and even Lady Saxby smiling benignly, although her assessing gaze swept the drawing room from floor to ceiling. The squire and his son and daughter were not far behind, and then the Rycroft brothers, who had walked down from the Hall by way of the gate into Louisa’s garden. Some of the
guests were old friends from the card parties, but she was curious to see the Saxby ladies out of their home environment.

  The last to arrive was Mr Truman, and again Louisa was intrigued. Would he continue his mild flirtation with her, or would he devote his attentions to the other ladies, and in particular was Miss Saxby still responsive to his smooth charm? Before dinner, there was a general mingling and Mr Truman moved about the room freely, and seemed to favour no one in particular. When they moved through to the dining room, Louisa invited the squire and Lady Saxby to sit either side of her, but otherwise left the guests to sit where they pleased. Mr Truman was very quick to take the seat beside Miss Saxby, and there was that little blush on her cheeks again. Yes, she definitely had a tendre for him, but although he was most attentive, speaking to her in a low voice, his gaze intense, that was his habitual manner with all ladies. He was certainly so with Louisa, and while she saw no harm in a man engaging in a flirtation with a widow older than he was, it was cruel to do so with Cass Saxby, who was not only susceptible, but might come to have expectations of marriage. Louisa rather liked Cass, who made light of her limp, the result of a childhood illness, and was invariably cheerful and friendly.

  There was another couple who drew Louisa’s attention, too. The elder of Lady Saxby’s two sons, Mr Jeffrey Rycroft, had slipped into the seat beside the squire’s daughter with unusual eagerness. Having no one on his other side, he directed all his conversation towards Miss Winslade, but she received his attentions in a cool manner. Was he in love? There was a gleam in his eye that suggested it, but the lady was distinctly unencouraging.

  Then there was Agnes Saxby, who was desperate for a husband and seemingly surrounded by eligible young men, yet conducted herself without a sign of interest in any of them. Perhaps the Rycroft brothers and the squire’s son were too familiar to be interesting, or perhaps they fell outside Lady Saxby’s parameters as to suitability. She seemed unaffected by Mr Truman’s attentions to her sister, however, and showed no consciousness when Mr Chandry’s name was mentioned, even laughing when one of the Rycrofts teased her in brotherly fashion about him.