I seized the first opportunity to find out and asked him forth right as we moved along.
“It’s not that I don’t approve … however, fights between women rarely accomplish any good.”
“You speak from your extensive experience, no doubt.”
He shrugged. “Well, yes. Yes, I do.”
My gaze narrowed. “Do you mean sisters or mistresses? Or women in general?”
“Women in general,” he replied, nonplussed. “Ah, here we are. Level four. And the Henderson room is down that corridor.”
Leaning against the corridor wall and smoking, Jack Grimshaw saluted us. I shuddered. The vision of him and Rosalie in the woods was too fresh in my memory.
“I’ll wait outside,” the major offered, but Ellen, fortified by his presence, asked him to accompany her.
The three of us entered the Henderson room, Ellen and I on either side of the major’s arms. Eyes scathed every part of us, as the major was quick to find a seat for Ellen.
Most of the family were seated. Standing near the door, Jack Grimshaw adjusted his jacket and spoke in low tones to Dean Fairchild. The tension in the room increased with every passing second. How long must we wait? I prayed not any longer for I foresaw daggers drawn. I purposely avoided the eye of Cynthia Grimshaw and Rosalie.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” The younger of the two solicitors commenced the meeting. “If you are not already seated, please sit down. Mr. Morton will read out the last will and testament of Terrence Bradley Grimshaw—”
“Excuse me,” Cynthia Grimshaw interrupted. “Is this the new will or the will he made a few years ago?”
Mr. Morton, seated at the desk behind his young associate, looked at her through his spectacles. “These are Mr. Grimshaw’s last instructions.”
“But I don’t think it was witnessed properly, was it?”
“It was witnessed,” Mr. Morton said, grave and despotic. “If you wish to contest the will, Mrs. Grimshaw, you will have to take it to the courts. Now, Frankton, proceed.”
Clearing his voice, Frankton appealed to all in the room. “Mr. Morton and I will endeavor to answer your questions at the end of this reading. If you could please hold your questions until then, I would appreciate it.
“‘Last Will and Testament of the deceased: Terrence Bradley Grimshaw, dated this day of May the twenty-seventh, 1927. I do hereby leave the bulk of my estate, my worldly goods, cash, and possessions to my fiancée, Ellen Mary Hamilton. I stipulate that after we are wed, Ellen continues the renovations to Thornleigh. I also wish for my daughter, Charlotte, to grow up on that estate, though, if I die, I would like my daughter to make the journey to America once every two years to visit her grandmother (my mother, Phyllis Enid Grimshaw, of Sevenoaks, Boston).
“‘As for my other daughter, Rosalie Lilybette Grimshaw, I do leave an inheritance sum of twenty thousand pounds, and the—’”
“It has to be the house.” Cynthia Grimshaw nudged her daughter. “It has to be the house.”
“‘—allotted sum of shares (forty percent) for the Gildersberg business.’”
“That’s outrageous!” Cynthia hissed. “What about the house in Boston? That’s ours! It has to be ours!”
“Please be quiet!” Tapping his desk, Mr. Morton gave her a severe frown.
“You may ask any sort of question at the end,” Frankton soothed, finding his place to resume the reading. “‘As regards Gildersberg, I do hereby leave a further share of (thirty percent) to my nephew, Mr. Dean Fairchild, and I also leave the final share of (thirty percent) to my nephew, Mr. Jack Grimshaw. The fate of Gildersberg I leave in your hands to do with what you will. Mr Dean Fairchild is aware of my plans for the company and I wish those plans to proceed. I am therefore allocating a trust fund of thirty-five thousand pounds in the hands of these solicitors, Morton and Frankton. The amount is to be used solely on the business and any withdrawal out of this investment by the directors of the company is disallowed.’”
Frankton paused, making sure that if he was to be interrupted it was now and not midsentence.
Cynthia Grimshaw openly seethed across the room. Equally incensed, Rosalie glared at Frankton, waiting to hear the rest.
“‘The house in Boston shall be sold.’”
“It’s yours.” Cynthia Grimshaw put her arm around her daughter.
“‘The house in Boston shall be sold,’” Frankton repeated, “‘and the proceeds, less the sum of fifteen thousand pounds, are to go in a trust fund I have set up for the restoration of Thornleigh. Five thousand pounds I bequeath to my niece, Miss Alicia Brickley and a further five thousand pounds I do hereby bequeath to my daughter, Rosalie Lilybette Grimshaw, upon her marriage.’”
“The bastard!” Cynthia Grimshaw roared. “He’s done it to cut me out.”
Her face turning pink at her mother’s outburst, Rosalie blinked in pure disbelief. It was obvious to all she expected to receive a great deal more than her father left her.
“Don’t worry, honey.” Springing out of her chair, Cynthia Grimshaw seized her daughter’s hand. “We’ll fight this in the courts. You’ll get your money.”
They flounced to the door where Jack Grimshaw stood. Opening the door, he murmured, “Rosie, looks like you’re practically disinherited.”
Rosalie flung her hair over her shoulder. “The rest of the money is mine. I’ll get it back one way or another.”
Closing the door behind them, Jack Grimshaw crossed his arms. “Anything for me in there, old boy? Or are we boys cut out of the will?”
Mr. Morton frowned at him. “Mr. Grimshaw, you were never in the will to be cut out of it. Your inheritance, along with your cousin Mr. Fairchild, is the shares in the company. It was Mr. Grimshaw’s plan that you work for a living.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” he snorted, displeased. “Rosie’s out to pasture, too, I see. Ha. Smart old man. Never liked us loitering about, did he, Ellen?”
Ellen tensed. His calling her Ellen instead of “Mrs. Grimshaw” was an evident slight.
“No offense intended,” he added, quick to heal the breach. “I suppose I have to ask you for a loan now, don’t I, Aunty Ellen?”
“Now’s not the time, Jack.” Dean Fairchild pulled him away.
“No, it’s not,” Dean’s mother backed her son. “Your father, rest his soul, would be ashamed of you.”
“Well, I damn well expected something. Even a share in the house in Boston. Uncle Ted knew out of all of us I spend more time there than anyone else.”
“I agree with Jack,” Amy Pringle spoke up. “Rosalie should have got the house.”
“It was Uncle Teddy’s decision to make,” her cousin Sophie reminded her.
“Well how come he gave five thousand pounds to Alicia and not to us?”
“Because we have our own dowries, Amy. Poor Alicia has nothing.”
“It’s not our problem her father left her nothing. I can see what this is. We should have danced more on attendance with Uncle Ted. Now we’re all disinherited. It’s not fair.”
“It’s been a tiresome morning,” Dean Fairchild said, taking on the male responsibility for the family. “I think we ought to retire. No doubt Mrs. Grimshaw will wish to talk to the solicitors in private.”
“Thank you,” Ellen whispered to him as he passed her. “For all your kindness.”
He smiled. “Let me apologize for them.”
“Don’t bother. I can understand their … objection. As for the threats, I hope they won’t come to pass.”
“I shall do my best to persuade Rosalie and her mother to accept things as they are,” he promised. “No harm can actually befall you.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Ellen whispered. “There was murder in their eyes, didn’t you see?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hanover Square loomed before us like a minefield.
“Follow me.”
Tagging behind the major’s curt order, we weaved through the desperate reporters and
photographers.
“Say nothing.”
I admired Ellen’s tenacity. Though she gripped my hand tighter, she refused to let them lure her into answering such taunts as “husband-killer,” “married him for his money, did you?” and, the worst: “whore.”
Once inside the taxi, she burst into tears.
“Ignore it and don’t take it as a personal offense,” was the major’s advice. “They have a living to make. It’s called sensationalism.”
“I know, I know,” she breathed. “But it’s difficult. They label me as a murderess and it’s not true. I can’t even grieve for Teddy because—because—”
Sliding my arm around her, I appealed to the major. I wasn’t sure what I had in mind but he seemed to understand.
“The hotel won’t be a good place to go now. Driver, take us to the … Tower.”
My brows rose.
“Well, there we should be unremarkable among the tourists.”
He was right, of course.
He was right about most things.
Ellen didn’t care where we went. She said that she wanted to brood alone.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Grimshaw, but it isn’t safe.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “When will it ever be safe? I feel like a hunted rabbit.”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “We have a plan to lure out the fox and trap him.”
“Him, sir?”
“I would say ‘her,’” I put in. “How does one trap a female fox?”
“Why don’t we discuss it over tea?” the major suggested and I warmed to him, to his strength, to his reassuring presence. Oh, how I wished he was mine.
* * *
“I really don’t feel equipped to do what you want me to do,” Ellen whispered over a fresh cup of hot tea.
“The monthly meetings aren’t formidable,” he promised. “And we don’t expect you to understand what is discussed there, only that you take notes and report to us.”
“All of this means something, doesn’t it, Major? But you won’t say what it is.”
“I can’t say because we don’t actually know at the moment. Foxes have a way of going underground when they are pursued. Give it time, Mrs. Grimshaw. Give it time.”
“Thank you for your support today, both of you.”
She gazed from him to me. I registered the query behind her eyes and blushed. The major intensified my blush by smiling at me. It was the kind of smile one gave when holding one’s hand.
“I suppose we ought to be getting back now.” Ellen broke the awkwardness. “I promised Charlotte I’d buy her a new dress and thought I’d go shopping this afternoon.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Grimshaw, I don’t think that is a wise idea.”
“Why ever not? You think I’m in danger, too, don’t you?”
“Let’s get moving, ladies,” the major said, firm and serious. “And I think it’s in your best interests, Mrs. G., to have a man about caring for your safety. I have already taken the liberty of hiring one for today. He’s a trustworthy man and has no current engagements.”
“Oh.”
The news came as a shock to Ellen.
“How long will I have to have this person?”
“It’s hard to say, but you have to realize you are a very rich lady.”
Once we were inside the car, Ellen implored the major for his particular advice.
“I would keep a man about for the remainder of the year.”
Ellen turned white. “What about Charlotte? They wouldn’t seek to harm her, would they?”
“Children are sometimes prey in wealthy families. Once this business is concluded, I recommend going home to Thornleigh and staying there but for the—”
“Monthly business meetings?”
“Yes.”
“You suggest leaving my child, Major? When she could be in danger?”
The major looked at me. “It’s always advisable to surround yourself with people you can trust. For the time being, you have Daphne. Do you trust her?”
“Of course I do! I’d trust her with my life!”
A whisper of a smile teased the major’s lips. “Good. Then you have your answer.” Turning to me, his eyes deepened with a new meaning. “And I’m sure Daphne will stay with you as long as you need her. She loves frolicking about in grand old houses.”
“I can stay the whole year if you need me,” I said to Ellen, open to the arrangement. “You know I love Thornleigh and there’s my book to write.”
“But your parents…”
“They won’t mind at all. In fact, they’d be relieved to have me so occupied. Papa’s busy with his new play and as you both know, London and I are not the best of friends.”
“Then it’s settled,” the major said, and I thought, pleased with himself.
* * *
Back at the hotel, I ran Ellen a hot bath and went downstairs to collect her messages. The elderly concierge shook his head.
“I am sorry, madam, but we sent Mrs. Grimshaw’s messages to her room.”
I asked whether this was the usual practice.
“Not normally, but Mrs. Grimshaw telephoned this morning. She wished for any messages to be sent directly to her room.”
“Oh. I see. Thank you.”
Frowning, the concierge began to look at me suspiciously. “And you are?”
“Miss du Maurier.”
“Mrs. Grimshaw’s companion?”
I paused. To some in my circle being called a companion might be regarded as an insult. I never thought of myself as a companion before and an intriguing possibility entered my mind. What was the life of a companion like? Perhaps I ought to make my character a companion at the start of the book?
Janet, a free and loving spirit finds herself hopelessly at the mercy of her rich relatives …
“Did you see them today?” Ellen said from her bath. “Vultures, all of them. The look on her face was priceless. She thought they were getting the Boston house.”
Rosalie and her mother.
“And no doubt much more. She’s furious with him for leaving her those company shares. It means she’ll have to work or at least have an interest in the company to reap its profits instead of being handed them on a silver platter. She’ll contest the will, of course.”
I said I had little doubt they would try.
“Jack is livid. He thought he had it easy; fetching and carrying for the heiress.”
Sitting down in the chair beside the bathtub, I told Ellen what I’d seen.
“Yes, I know. Jack and Rosalie. Teddy found out before he died. He had a man following them.”
She paused.
“And now that I think of it, Teddy’s been quite clever in leaving that company to the three of them: Rosalie, Jack, and Dean. Dean is the worker. But he won’t brook any tardiness, particularly when his future is at risk. He’ll make it work. They either have to make it work or risk losing the benefits.”
I couldn’t imagine Rosalie working at all and said as much.
“No,” Ellen agreed. “She’ll send Jack to look out for their interests. Remember, she still has the twenty thousand pounds.”
“Which will go quickly if her mother gets her hands on it.”
“Exactly. But it’s not my problem, is it? Once, a long time ago, before I learned Rosalie destroyed those letters, I thought we may have a chance to be a happy little family. Teddy, me, Charlotte, and Rosalie.”
“Things could change,” I replied, endeavoring to engender hope into this conversation.
“If she becomes her own person, yes … but can you see her free of her mother? Or even wanting to be? Her mother has controlled her whole life.”
I thought hard. An only child, raised by a domineering mother. But there comes a time when one leaves the nest to find their own home, their own place in the world.
“Jack will press Rosalie to marry him,” Ellen predicted. “But Rosalie knows which side of her bread is buttered. She’ll marry elsewhere.”
/> I nodded and fetched her a towel. “Oh, by the way, did your messages arrive?”
“Yes,” Ellen called out from the bathroom. “They’re on the table.”
On the table I found a small basket with a bottle of champagne, a box of chocolates, and scented flowers.
“Who are they from?” Ellen asked, drying her hair.
“Frankton and Morton.” I read the card.
Ellen paused to admire the flowers. “Nice, but a little bit inappropriate?”
I shrugged. “As your husband’s solicitors, they were obviously aware of the likely family squabbles.”
“Still … it’s odd. Care for a glass? After today, I certainly need a drink.”
So we sat down in the little reception parlor in our room. Upon our second glass, Ellen reached for the box of chocolates.
“How did they know I like chocolate?” Ripping open the box, Ellen offered the tray to me first.
I always took time in choosing. We loved chocolate in our house. As soon as I saw the box, from the Swiss chocolate company, I knew which one I wanted. While searching for it, the tray flipped from my hands and crashed to the floor.
“Oh, sorry,” I cried, leaping down to pick the chocolates off the floor. Turning over the empty tray, I started to stack them but Ellen grabbed my hand.
“Daphne, stand away!”
I did so, startled by her outburst and the intensity of her expression.
“Look at the box!”
Black words obscured my vision.
DIE.
Written across the back of the box.
Shaking, Ellen lifted the telephone. “Help. Help … quickly.”
Placing down the receiver, she inched her way toward me. “I knew I was right. I knew they’d try something.”
“Shall I call for the major? He’ll know what to do.”
“Yes, yes,” Ellen murmured. “I should have known the moment the basket arrived. Morton and Frankton wouldn’t think of sending such a thing to me; they’re men. No, this is the hand of a woman. And the poison is meant for me.”
“If they are poisoned,” I pointed out.
“They must have planned it … they’ll be expecting to hear of my death…”
I stood with her while we waited. “What about the other death threats you received? Do you think they are from Rosalie and her mother, too?”
The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) Page 10