“He must have listened to me,” she whispered.
“Or else to Granger,” Booth said, glancing around at the man who stood before the bookshelves.
Ross continued to page through a volume he had taken down, and if the change of wills was news to him, he gave no sign.
“The new will,” Mr. Pompton said, “has been legally drawn and witnessed.”
He began to read aloud, and Camilla caught the wording of the first bequest.
“‘To my eldest daughter, Hortense Judd, I leave the family Bible, with the hope that she will learn from its wisdom.’”
Hortense sniffed, her impatience growing. “If Papa has doled out everything stick by stick, this is going to take us all day.”
“Believe me, madam, it will not take very long,” Mr. Pompton said, and continued with the task in hand.
To his second daughter, Letitia Judd, he had left the treasured photograph taken of himself and his three daughters. Letty nodded in pleasure and her tears began to spill again.
“I shall treasure it too,” she murmured.
Hortense threw a look of scorn for such simple-minded gratitude.
Several small sums had been left to Toby and Matilda, and to others who had worked for Orrin in the past. His bequest to Ross was a strange one.
“‘In view of the years of trusted service given me, I wish Ross Granger to be permitted the occupancy of the rooms above the coach house for as long as he cares to use them.’”
Ross did not look around, or acknowledge the bequest in any way. What a strange thing for her grandfather to do, Camilla thought. Surely Ross’s quarters in this house must be more comfortable than such an arrangement would be. Besides, if his work for Orrin was finished, he would be leaving soon.
When Mr. Pompton paused, Booth looked quickly at Ross, and Hortense put a hand on her son’s arm, as if to restrain him.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Pompton continued. “‘To Camilla King, daughter of my youngest daughter, Althea Judd King, I bequeath this house of Thunder Heights and all the property therein.’”
For an instant the words meant nothing to Camilla. Then, as she began to grasp their meaning, she was so astonished that she did not hear what followed. Mr. Pompton had to repeat the fact that Orrin Judd had left, not only Thunder Heights, but his entire fortune and business holdings to Camilla King, who was herself to be the sole executor of the will.
Camilla’s shock and bewilderment were like a mist through which she struggled for some landmark simple enough in its meaning for her to grasp. She was aware of Hortense’s gasp and the startled silence of the others. Even Ross had turned and was watching her. With an effort she forced herself to listen and understand the meaning of the stipulations Mr. Pompton was reading.
In order to inherit this house and fortune, Camilla King would have to live at Thunder Heights, preserve it in good state and continue to care for the rest of the family as long as they chose to live in the house. They were to live on the present allowances given them. If any member of the family chose to leave Thunder Heights, he was to receive nothing at all thereafter. Nor was Camilla to receive anything if she chose to leave.
The full meaning of the burden her grandfather had placed upon her was clear now, and Camilla rose uncertainly to her feet.
“I don’t understand why Grandfather did this. He must have made this will before I came here—”
“He was insane when he made it!” Hortense cried hoarsely.
Mr. Pompton shook his head. “Madam, Dr. Wheeler would quickly vouch for his sanity. I regret the fact that he did not consult me about this will. Perhaps he would have done so if he had lived. Then I would have warned him that such stipulations were too general and difficult to fulfill. They can be regarded only as Mr. Judd’s wishes. I doubt that a court would uphold them.”
Hortense recovered herself abruptly. “Why didn’t you say so at once? Of course we will fight this in court. The whole thing is preposterous.”
“If you will allow me a word—” Mr. Pompton bent his disapproving gaze upon her, “the stipulations could probably not be enforced. But the main body of the will remains sound. Mr. Judd has left everything he owns to Miss King, and I doubt that you could touch that in a court. What she does with it is her own affair. She may go or stay, care for her aunts or not, as she pleases—the inheritance is still hers.”
Hortense had begun to breathe deeply, harshly, as if she restrained herself with difficulty. Letty was watching Camilla in bewilderment, as if she did not altogether understand what was going on. The sardonic look was once more in Booth’s eyes, though he took no active part in what was happening. Ross was regarding her sharply, his arms folded across his body.
How could she possibly accept this legacy? Camilla thought. A small sum of money she would have received gratefully. But not this, when so clearly the true rights to it lay elsewhere.
“What happens if I refuse the legacy?” Camilla asked.
Mr. Pompton looked faintly skeptical, as if he found it hard to believe that she would do such a thing.
“Since there is no other legatee,” he said, “the same thing would happen as would happen in the event of your decease. The money and property would revert to the next of kin.”
“To Aunt Hortense and Aunt Letty?” Camilla asked.
“Exactly.” Mr. Pompton reached among his papers on the table and drew out an envelope.
“Then I’ll refuse it!” Camilla cried. “I have no right to it. And I don’t want the burden and responsibility of it.”
“Bravo!” Booth cried. “We have a heroine in our midst.”
Mr. Pompton wasted not a moment’s glance in Booth’s direction. He crossed the room to Camilla and held out the envelope. She saw that her name was written upon it in a wavering hand and that it had been sealed with red sealing wax and imprinted with the initialed emblem of a ring.
“This letter is from your grandfather,” Mr. Pompton told her. “I do not know its contents. When Toby brought this new will to my office while I was away, he brought the letter also. It was to be given you only in the event of your grandfather’s death.”
Camilla took the letter almost fearfully, turning it about in her hands.
“The girl has refused the legacy,” Hortense said sharply. “Is anything else necessary?”
“I cannot accept a refusal hastily given and without due thought,” Mr. Pompton said. “It is my duty to see that some attempt be made to carry out Mr. Judd’s wishes. Perhaps you would like to take the letter away and read it, Miss King? It is not necessary to do so here under our eyes.”
She accepted the offer quickly. “Yes—yes, please. I’d like to do that. I’ll return as soon as I’ve read it.”
She did not look at the others as she left the library and crossed the hall to the parlor. Someone had left a cloak over a chair, and she flung it about her shoulders as she hurried toward a veranda door.
It was not raining now, but the air was heavy with moisture as Camilla leaned upon the railing, looking out over what had once been a fine lawn. Beyond and below lay the river, wreathed in fog, with misty swirls drifting among nearby trees. From the water came the low mooing of a foghorn on a boat.
All these things she was aware of with her senses, without knowing that she was aware. She steadied herself with one hand upon the damp rail, holding in the other the sealed envelope she dreaded to open. How could she follow her grandfather’s stipulations and live here, knowing that the family would resent her and want her away, knowing they must hate her because they were tied to her for as long as they chose to accept her charity? Under such circumstances, could she even count on Aunt Letty to befriend her? If she accepted this inheritance she must give up her own freedom and the sense of independence that meant so much to her. She would have to give herself to Thunder Heights. Forever. The prospect was frightening.
She took her wet hand from the rail and looked at it absently. A memory of the river boat and Ross Granger turning her
hands palm up swept back. What did he think of this strange turn of events? But what he thought did not matter. She had the feeling that she ought to make up her mind before she read her grandfather’s letter. Yet how could she know her own heart and mind so swiftly?
With a resolute gesture she lifted the envelope and broke the seal.
My Dear Granddaughter (the letter began):
You do not know me, which is not your fault. Nor do you know that I have long followed your fortunes and watched you from a distance. I am aware that you have been a loyal daughter to your father, and that since his death you have conducted yourself with good sense and courage. You are able to work with pride for your living, and this is a trait I admire.
I have thought more than once of asking you to come to Thunder Heights for a visit, so that the two of us could become acquainted and so that you might forgive an old man for his sad mistakes of the past. It may already be too late.
Recently I have had a severe shock, and it may be that this time I shall not recover. Those who live under this roof with me I do not trust. I know now that the things I have built and worked for must not go into their hands, to be wasted and flung aside. What I have built is sound and good. I want it to remain with someone of my own blood who will be loyal to me.
You are the only possible answer to this desire of mine. For this reason I am changing my will. Thunder Heights will be yours. Restore it, my dear. Make it what it was in your mother’s day. I have no wish to turn my two elder daughters out of this house, so I must ask you to keep them for the rest of their lives. And Hortense’s adopted son, Booth, as well, though I have no personal liking for him.
Keep my daughters loyal to this house and to their name. Give neither of them anything if they move away. On this point I am adamant.
The business problems are large ones—I lack the strength to go into them now. We will talk about all these matters, and I will explain my distrust, my hopes, my fears to you. Then you will be armed and guided when the time comes.
By the time you read this, I hope we will have long been good and trusted friends. I will be able to go in peace, knowing that what I leave behind rests in responsible hands. Do not fail me, Granddaughter.
Your loving grandfather,
Orrin Judd
Camilla read with a growing sadness and with an increasing sense of being trapped. The will she might put aside and refuse to consider. This letter—the last wishes of a man whom she had learned, even in so short a time, to love and respect—must be considered solemnly.
Folding the letter, she put it back in its envelope and looked out again upon the swirling mist. The brown grass below the veranda was wet, but she went down the steps and across it with little heed for shoes and skirt hem. She walked between the old elms that bordered each side of the wide lawn, noting that leaf buds were showing along every limb.
She paused at the rim of a steep hill that dropped away in a thick stand of trees, concealing the steel ribbons of railroad track below. Here she turned about so that she could look up at the house and at the dark mountain towering behind. How grim the structure looked—as grim and forbidding as the stony cliff above. The weathered gray of the house seemed dingier than ever with wet mist clinging to its towers. The weed-choked clumps of thin grass added to the picture of woeful neglect.
How could her grandfather, who loved the house, have let it go like this? He must indeed have been driven far along a road of despair and hopelessness. Perhaps in writing his letter he had tried in some degree to retrace his steps, to mend what he himself had broken. If the weeds were destroyed and grass planted, this might again become a beautiful lawn. The house cried for repairs and fresh paint to make it once more a showplace on the Hudson.
An odd, unexpected excitement ran through her—almost a sense of exhilaration. It lay within her power to make such changes if she wished. The realization was sudden and heady. What if she accepted her grandfather’s trust? What if she set about bringing the house out of its bad years and back into such glory as it had once known long ago? Might this not be a splendid and satisfying thing to do? Orrin Judd had wanted Althea’s daughter to breathe new life and hope into Thunder Heights. He had believed that she could do this very thing.
Could she? Did she dare accept not only the trust, but the challenge?
Someone came out of the house and stood upon the veranda, watching her. It was Letty Judd. She wore black today, but the material was soft and light, and a silk scarf about her shoulders softened their thin contour. Her injured arm was held tight across her body. Standing there at the head of the veranda steps, she seemed strangely of a piece with the house—a part of all the mystery it stood for. Letty Judd was a woman filled to the brim with secrets.
But though Camilla’s sudden vision of her in that moment was clear, she refused to be daunted. She lifted her skirts so they would clear the wet grass and ran back to the steps, her face glowing and eager.
Letty saw the look and held out her hands in pleading. “Don’t stay here at Thunder Heights. Let the house go. Let all of us go. That’s the only wise choice, the only safe choice.”
Camilla hesitated at the foot of the steps as distrust flicked through her mind. If she gave up this fortune and went away, Letty would inherit half, along with her sister Hortense. Yet Letty had disclaimed all interest in the money, and Camilla put the thought away almost as swiftly as it had come. This, she knew, was one of the dangers of accepting such a fortune—that she might become suspicious and distrustful, as her grandfather had been. And she did not want that.
She went up the steps and took Letty’s hands in her own. “This is your home, Aunt Letty, and you shall live in it as long as you like, and with everything you need or want. Help me to make something good out of Grandfather’s wishes.”
Letty regarded her sadly. “You’re going to stay, aren’t you? I was afraid you might. You have the look of your mother about you—of Althea when she had a notion between her teeth and meant to carry it through, no matter what. No one ever changed her mind when she looked like that. It’s a dangerous trait to inherit, my dear. It won’t be easy for you to stay here.”
Camilla smiled at the thought that she might indeed have a notion between her teeth, and that she might even like it.
“Come back to the library with me,” she said, and drew Letty into the house.
No one had stirred in the walnut-dark room. Mr. Pompton stood with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him under lifted coattails. Hortense sat bolt upright on the sofa, her fingers intertwined in her lap. Booth leaned beside her with an air of being faintly amused, as if nothing of consequence hung in the balance. Ross seemed again wholly absorbed in books on a shelf and he did not turn when Camilla entered the room.
She could feel the warmth in her own cheeks, sense the brightness of excitement which must stamp her appearance.
“I’ve made my decision,” she told Mr. Pompton. “I’m ready to accept my grandfather’s legacy and his stipulations. I shall remain at Thunder Heights.”
EIGHT
A log on the fire crumbled into ash, throwing up sparks as it fell. For a moment there was no other sound in the room.
Then Mr. Pompton began to gather up his papers with a dry rustling that betrayed neither displeasure nor approval.
“Exactly,” he said, as if he had expected all along that she would make no other choice.
“My grandfather’s letter—” Camilla began, but Hortense interrupted her by standing up. She looked pale and stricken.
“Help me to my room,” she said to Booth, and he gave her his arm and led her to Letty, who stood watching in the doorway.
“Aunt Letty will take you upstairs, Mother,” he said, and came back into the room.
In the face of Hortense’s precipitate exit and Mr. Pompton’s remote and impersonal manner, something of Camilla’s first exhilaration had begun to fade. But Booth, at least, spoke to her kindly.
“I’ll admit that I hadn’t exp
ected matters to go in this direction,” he said. “Forgive us, Cousin, if we don’t seem altogether happy. It’s rather a shock to my mother to find herself in the position of being dependent upon a niece she hardly knows. I only hope we can accept Grandfather Orrin’s wishes with good grace.” He smiled wryly. “As a matter of fact, you’ll probably do better justice to the handling of Grandfather’s fortune than my mother would. Certainly better than Aunt Letty. Or, for that matter—Booth Hendricks. So, for whatever it’s worth, you have my support, Cousin Camilla.”
He held out his hand and she put her own into it, touched and surprised. She had not thought that Booth would react like this.
Ross Granger shoved his book back on the shelf and looked around at them. There was nothing of conciliation or acceptance in his face.
“This is all very touching,” he said. “But you must admit that the situation could hardly be more ridiculous.”
“You might explain that remark, Granger,” Booth said.
Ross threw him an irritable look. “Do you mean you don’t find it ridiculous that all of this”—he waved a hand to encompass the Judd fortune—“has been left unequivocally in the control of an inexperienced girl of twenty-three?”
“You can always resign, you know,” Booth put in, his eyes brightening as though he enjoyed this moment of clash.
For an instant Ross stared at the other man wrathfully. Then Booth shrugged, smiled at Camilla and went out of the room. Before Ross could speak again, Mr. Pompton cleared his throat and addressed Camilla.
“If you are willing, I’ll come to see you as soon as I have things somewhat in order. There are various legal matters we must go over together. In the meantime I’ll say good day. If you wish, I can make a statement to the press on my way out and take the reporters off your hands.”
She thanked him, and when he had gone she looked uncomfortably at Ross. He appeared thoroughly angry, and she had no idea what to say to him, how to deal with him.
“I’ll make no pretty speeches,” he said curtly. “You have my resignation, of course. I’m sure you’ll have other advisers who will work for you more cheerfully than I would. I’ll try to be out of your way in a week or two.”
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