Chapter Fourteen
It was early Sunday morning and Grace was just bringing up the tea when there was a rapid knock upon the front door. She answered it and abandoned the tea tray to scurry up the stairs to Aunt Edna’s room. Aunt Edna asked her to call Mrs. Walters, who knocked upon her daughter’s door minutes later.
“Harriet, are you up? Harriet?”
Harriet opened the door in her dressing gown. “Yes, Mother, I’m up. What is it?”
“Dearest, come with me to your aunt’s room. There is bad news.” Harriet clasped her mother’s hand and they rushed down the hallway. Mrs. Walters rapped on her sister’s door and entered without waiting for a response. Aunt Edna sat on a chair beside the bed in her dressing gown and cap. She turned numb eyes to Harriet.
“What is it, Aunt?” Harriet asked, falling to her knees and taking her aunt’s hand.
“Diane just sent one of the servants to inform us. It’s Mabel. Her maid could not wake her this morning, so they fetched the doctor. Mabel is dead.” Tears streaked down Aunt Edna’s face as Harriet embraced her and began to sob.
An hour later, Rogers ushered Aunt Edna and Harriet into Mrs. Evan’s room. The curtains were drawn, and Diane sat in a chair beside her mother’s bed while Reverend Simons murmured prayers.
“Diane, I am very sorry,” Aunt Edna said, stopping at the foot of the bed to nod at her before turning her gaze upon the earthly remains of her life-long friend. Harriet stepped around her aunt and made her way to Diane, who stood to embrace her. Tears began to flow down Diane’s face, and Harriet patted her back and helped her to sit. Reverend Simons continued his prayers while Harriet talked quietly with Diane. Finally, Harriet turned toward the bed. Mrs. Evans rested there, her hands folded upon the bedclothes and her face as peaceful as if she were just asleep.
“Dr. Mackenzie said that her heart failed during the night. She would not have suffered at all,” Diane said.
Reverend Simons closed his prayer book and looked up at the women. “She was one of the pillars of our community, and a good woman. We will pray for her at this morning’s service. Will you be coming this morning, ladies?”
Diane uttered an emphatic “no,” while Aunt Edna said “yes” just as forcefully. Harriet looked at her aunt; her posture was perfectly straight and her face was icily composed. Aunt Edna bent to pat her friend’s hand. Sighing, she said, “I’m ready to leave now, Harriet.”
“Of course, Aunt,” she replied, quickly kissing Diane’s cheek and whispering a goodbye. Harriet paused for a moment to lay one hand upon Mrs. Evans’, and then followed her aunt from the room. They climbed back into the carriage and returned home, where Harriet’s mother was waiting for them in the morning room.
“I asked Grace to serve tea and toast as soon as you came back,” Mrs. Walters said, taking her sister’s arm as Aunt Edna slowly entered the room. “Come and sit down, Edna.”
The two women sat together on the sofa, where Mrs. Walters motioned for Harriet to join them. Grace arrived with a breakfast tray and placed it on the table before them. Mrs. Walters poured out the tea and added sugar to their cups.
“How was Diane?” she asked, handing around a plate of toast and preserves.
“She’s very upset, of course,” Harriet responded. “She told me that Mrs. Evans appeared in perfect health yesterday evening. Diane had no inkling that her mother was unwell.” After a pause, she murmured, “I just cannot believe that Mrs. Evans is gone.” Her eyes began to tear, and Mrs. Walters took her hand. Harriet rested her head upon her mother’s shoulder while her mother consoled her. When Mrs. Walters looked up, she noticed her sister staring off into space.
“Drink your tea, Edna,” she said, gently. The women sat quietly together until it was time to leave for service.
Reverend Simons announced Mrs. Evans’s passing from the pulpit, and requested prayers for her and for her family. The congregation turned as one to look at the empty stall where the good lady had once sat. When the service was over, Aunt Edna marched out of the church without stopping to speak with anyone, pausing only to acknowledge Reverend Simons at the door. Following her mother and aunt down the stairs, Harriet noticed Mr. Ash detach himself from the school group and advance toward her.
Harriet turned to her mother. “If you do not mind, Mother, I would prefer to talk with a friend before walking home on my own. I feel the need of some fresh air.”
Mrs. Walters looked toward the approaching young man. “Is that the schoolmaster you have written to me about?” Harriet nodded. “All right dear, I will take Edna home and try to get her to rest. Take your time.”
Harriet hugged her mother gratefully, and Mrs. Walters left her to follow her sister. Ash caught up with Harriet and removed his hat.
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Miss Walters. Mrs. Evans was a dear friend to you and to Mrs. Slater, and I am sure that you feel her passing keenly.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harriet said, her eyes beginning to moisten again at these kind words. She averted her face.
“I wonder if you will allow me to escort you home?”
“That would be very kind.”
Ash offered her his arm and led Harriet away. His kindness prompted another wave of emotion, and Harriet was unable to speak for a few moments. The schoolmaster walked silently beside her until Harriet regained her composure.
Finally, she was able to say, “Do you know, Mr. Ash, I cannot think of anyone who was more alive than Mrs. Evans, or more joyous. It seems impossible that she is dead. I cannot credit it yet.”
“It was so unexpected. It’s not surprising that you cannot.”
Suddenly, Harriet stopped. “Oh, you do not know! I was going to tell you after church today. Mrs. Evans was taking me to London! We were going to leave tomorrow with Mrs. Fitzwilliam. It was all arranged very quickly over the past week. I told Mrs. Evans months ago that I longed to visit London, and she seized the opportunity to take me. We were to stay with her daughter and her family. That was the kind of woman Mrs. Evans was – generous and impetuous. Oh, how I shall miss her! And poor Aunt Edna. What shall she do without her friend?”
Harriet’s vision blurred with tears, and she feared she would be overcome with grief right there in the street. She trembled as she fought to control herself, her face averted. Two women from the parish passed them and looked back at Harriet.
“Come, Miss Walters, let us walk in the park a little,” Ash suggested, guiding her the short distance to the park entrance and down a tree-lined path. Some of the trees wore plump pink blossoms, and early spring flowers flourished in the beds. Ash led Harriet to a private corner where they sat on a bench underneath a tree. Harriet searched her reticule for a handkerchief to dry her face. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, she met the young man’s eyes and gave him a weak smile.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir. I am better.”
Ash took her hand. “It’s a very fresh loss, Miss Walters. You were brave to appear in public so soon afterward, but perhaps it was a little too hard on you?”
“Aunt Edna wished to come to service this morning to honour Mrs. Evans, and I wanted to support her. She is very strong – stronger than I, it would seem.”
“No doubt she is more familiar with loss than you are. Perhaps grief becomes easier to endure with practice? I have not lost anyone dear to me yet, so I cannot judge. But tell me, there was another woman with you today whom I did not recognize. She left with your aunt.”
“That was my mother. She was going to stay with Aunt Edna during my visit to London. I’m so glad that she is here now. Perhaps she will be better able to console Aunt Edna than I.”
“I’m glad that she is here with you, Miss Walters. I was concerned that you would have to bear your aunt’s grief as well as your own.”
Harriet nodded. “I would like to introduce you to my mother sometime. I have written to her about you.”
“I would very much like to meet her.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
“I know that your loss overshadows everything else right now, but you must be disappointed at losing the trip to London, too. Did I tell you that I visited London just before I came to Rexton?”
“Did you, Mr. Ash?” Harriet asked, glad of the diversion. “No, you didn’t mention it. What did you see on your visit?” The couple lingered on the bench for an hour while Ash described the London he had experienced.
Harriet would always remember that day with mixed emotions: the pain of losing Mrs. Evans coupled with her gratitude for Mr. Ash’s kindness, plus the wonder of seeing London through the eyes of a historian. When he left Harriet at her aunt’s door, her heart felt more at ease than she had thought possible. Mr. Ash’s company had given her an hour’s respite, and she felt ready to resume her burden and to help comfort her aunt as she entered the house.
Chapter Fifteen
The funeral service was held later that week at St. Michael’s. Mr. Fitzwilliam was not able to escape his London responsibilities in time to attend his mother-in-law’s funeral, so Diane was left to cope with all of the arrangements herself. She leant heavily upon Harriet’s arm as the procession, comprised of Diane, Harriet, Harriet’s mother, and Aunt Edna, followed the casket into the church with Rogers and the rest of the household servants following at a respectful distance. Mrs. Evans was laid to rest with her parents in the Rexton family plot. Mr. Evans’ remains were interred in London, where the couple had resided at the time of his demise.
Diane invited Aunt Edna and Harriet to meet with Mrs. Evans’ solicitor the following Monday for the reading of her mother’s will, Harriet assuming that Mrs. Evans had left some small bequest to her old friend. The two ladies were admitted into the morning room on the appointed day, where Diane waited with the solicitor.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Slater, Harriet. Do have a seat,” Diane said in a low voice, not bothering to rise from the couch. She turned to the gentleman standing beside her and nodded.
The ladies having seated themselves, the lawyer began by introducing himself. “How do you do, Mrs. Slater and Miss Walters. My name is Harvey Burton, and I acted as Mrs. Mabel Evans’ solicitor while she was in residence here in Rexton. You were asked here this morning because you are both beneficiaries of Mrs. Evans’ will. The will is relatively new, having been signed and witnessed on January 18th of this year. I will avoid reading it aloud in its entirety in favour of relating the primary points to you.”
“Mrs. Evans names Mr. Edward Fitzwilliam, the deceased’s son-in-law, as her executor. There are some small monetary bequests left to the younger servants and to her favourite charities, and more ample sums to her cook and butler, who have worked for her faithfully for over ten years. A donation is made to St. Michael’s Church to purchase a new organ. To Mrs. Edna Slater, she left her silver dining candelabrum, her silver service, her Devon Rose china dish set, and a Venetian, cut-glass punch bowl with matching glasses. Mrs. Evans comments in her will that Mrs. Slater always borrowed these items at Christmas, and now ‘she will have to keep them for herself.’” Aunt Edna snorted and her stony expression softened in amusement.
“Now, to deal with the two properties that are part of Mrs. Evans’ holdings. One of them is a country estate in Hampshire consisting of one hundred and sixty acres, the principal residence, and the outbuildings, which Mrs. Evans inherited from her father. There is a tenant farmer in place, and Mrs. Edward Fitzwilliam habitually occupies the residence during the summer months. Mrs. Evans leaves this property to her daughter to do with as she so desires.” Diane nodded with a sad smile.
“The second property is the house in Rexton that came to Mrs. Evans through her mother and, in recent years, was Mrs. Evans’ principal residence. Mrs. Evans has willed the ownership of the house and its residual contents – that is, those contents which are not specified in other bequests – to Miss Harriet Walters.”
Harriet gasped, Aunt Edna started, and Diane’s hand flew to her mouth. Mr. Burton paused to allow them time to recover.
“Mrs. Evans comments that Miss Walters may choose to reside there, or to sell the property and use the proceeds, as she so desires. Mrs. Evans has also asked me to deliver this letter to Miss Walters.” Mr. Burton withdrew a sealed envelope from his leather case and passed it to Harriet, who accepted it wordlessly. He reseated himself and continued.
“Now, Mrs. Evans comments in her will that the maintenance of the house and the employment of servants, et cetera, is not insignificant, and that she wishes to provide Miss Walters with an annuity so that she may comfortably reside in the house if she so chooses. Therefore, she leaves Miss Walters one hundred shares in the Arlington Bank, Bond Street, London which her deceased husband, Mr. Richard Evans, owned until his death. At the current rate of interest, this should provide Miss Walters with an annual income of approximately three thousand pounds.” Harriet’s eyes opened wide in astonishment as she tried to digest this news.
“Finally, Mrs. Evans wishes to leave her remaining one hundred Arlington bank shares to her grandson, Stephen Fitzwilliam, in trust until his twenty-fifth birthday, and the contents of her bank accounts, safety deposit box, and remaining stocks and bonds to her daughter, Mrs. Edward Fitzwilliam.” Mr. Burton finished reading and looked up. “This sums up the disposal of Mrs. Evans’ estate. I have a copy of the will for your husband, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, which I will post to his London residence today. Are there any questions?”
Diane sprang to her feet and cried, “Harriet, how could you!” before turning and running from the room. Mr. Burton, Aunt Edna, and Harriet remained seated as they listened to Diane rush down the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor.
Mr. Burton removed a card from his wallet and presented it to Harriet, who still clutched Mrs. Evans’ letter. “If you have any questions, ladies, or wish to consult me concerning the execution of Mrs. Evans’ will, please do not hesitate to visit me in my chambers. Good day. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
Harriet automatically answered, “Thank you Mr. Burton,” as he bowed and left the room. Still dumbfounded, she turned to her aunt, who considered her thoughtfully.
“Well, Niece, that was a poke in the eye for Diane. It looks like Mabel got her way after all.”
“What do you mean, Aunt?” Harriet asked.
“I’m sure that Mabel’s letter will explain everything to your satisfaction.” Aunt Edna rose from her chair. “Come, Harriet, let us go home and give Diane a chance to lick her wounds in private. I cannot wait to see Edwina’s face when I tell her that her daughter is an heiress.” Aunt Edna smiled grimly as she took Harriet’s arm and pulled her from the room.
Chapter Sixteen
A letter from Mrs. Richard Evans to Miss Harriet Walters
January 15, 18__
“My dear Miss Walters,
This letter has been delivered to you by my solicitor, Mr. Burton, on the occasion of the reading of my will. You have been informed by now of my bequest to you. I am sure that you are surprised, and am wondering what on earth possessed me to do such a thing.
I have already expressed my gratitude to you for the difference you have made in your aunt’s life. It gladdens my heart to see Edna happy again. You have become her lifeline to the outside world; in caring for you, she takes an interest in life again. I have also grown close to you over these past months and have felt privileged to be your friend and confidant. I am very fond of you and, I must admit, worried about your future. I have told you before, Miss Walters, of a similarity in our experiences: you, too, are a spinster dependent upon a relative for your living and without expectation of marriage. I was more fortunate than you because my people had property and means. I would have inherited a home and enough money to make me independent, at the very least. But you, to be blunt, would have been dependent on your relatives all of your life.
Why should that be, whilst I have the means to help you? Society might wonder at my leaving a portion of my estate outside of my family, but should I let convention interfere
with what I know in my heart to be right? Diane does not need the money. She had a generous marriage settlement, and she and Mr. Fitzwilliam enjoy a very comfortable life. I have left her the Hampshire estate, which she is accustomed to using as a summer home, but is also profitable in its own right. Diane will have no reason to complain, and I have left her a letter explaining my actions. Perhaps it was cowardly of me not to warn her of my intentions, but I did not wish to quarrel with her and leave unhappy memories behind.
Please forgive me for this indulgence, Miss Walters. To think of you enjoying your own home, perhaps living part of the year in London or travelling to see some of the world’s wonders, gives me great happiness and peace. You were always keen to hear stories of my own travels. Perhaps you will wish to marry now that financial constraints are smoothed away. I might recommend Mr. Ash; you seem fond of each other, and he is a worthy young man. I can imagine the two of you exploring Roman ruins, or perhaps visiting some exotic location together. Egypt? The Orient? Whatever you please. Whatever you choose.
It has been a pleasure to know you, my dear Miss Walters. Have a happy life.
Yours most affectionately,
Mabel Evans
__________
Aunt Edna sat sewing on the drawing room sofa while her sister peered out the window. Without looking at her, Mrs. Walters said, “I’m worried about Harriet. She’s been walking in the garden for hours now. Do you think that I should go out to her?”
“No, Edwina, I do not. I think that you should leave the girl alone and let her think. She has a lot to consider.”
Mrs. Walters seated herself beside her sister and picked up her sewing. Jiggling the toe of her shoe, she frowned.
“I just do not understand what Mabel could have been thinking. What outrageous behaviour, to leave such a valuable property and income away from her own family.”
“I’m sure that Mabel could do whatever she liked with her own money. Diane will not miss it – she’s wealthy enough. What I want to know is what Harriet will do with it.”
The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster Page 11