The Dutiful Daughter

by Vanessa Gray

Edward turned. “Strange that you should say that, Chloe, although I must once again deplore your mischievous sense of humor.” He held the letter in his hand, tapping it against his open palm. Waiting until all eyes were on him, and clearly enjoying his sense of importance, he said, “Chloe, here is a letter from some attorneys in London. It is addressed to you.”

  She reached out her hand for it. He appeared not to see her gesture. “I must say,” he added, “it is a surprise to me. I had no idea —”

  Chloe took a firm stand. Interrupting him with decisiveness, she said, “Edward, let me have my letter.” Obediently he handed it over. She saw the seal was broken, and said, with a near approach to crossness, “Edward, you’ve read my mail. I do wish you could restrain yourself.”

  She was immediately sorry, for a wounded look passed across his face. She opened the letter and read its contents. Edward was saying, as she read, “As your trustee, I thought that it was my duty to see what the attorneys had to say.”

  She finished the letter and started again at the beginning. Edward, unable to wait any longer, informed the rest of the family of her surprise. “Chloe has received a legacy,” he said with as much importance as though he himself had been able to gain it for her. “From her great uncle, on her mother’s side. Mama, you remember old Bradford.”

  “Bradford!” exclaimed his mother. “I thought he was dead long ago.”

  Sophy, fastening upon the one point of interest, cried out, “A legacy? How much?”

  “Old Bradford has left Highmoor — his property — to his niece Chloe. No other family left, so it seems. An attractive country residence, I dare say — quite a windfall for her!” he beamed.

  In the meantime, Chloe, dropping the letter to the table, stared into space, totally stunned. The one word she could say, and that hardly above a whisper, was “Highmoor.” It was like a dream, and she shook her head, thinking she had slept too late and perhaps had even taken some of Cook’s laudanum.

  She looked pitifully at Edward and said, “Is this real? Is it a cruel hoax?”

  Edward smiled benignly, and said as a kindly godfather might, “Highmoor. I remember hearing the house has a pleasant prospect. The old man was something of a miser, wasn’t he?”

  Chloe shook her head in bewilderment. “I really don’t remember him. Once my mother took me to Highmoor to visit. I couldn’t have been more than two, and all I remember is a vast beard and a brocade waistcoat.” Her voice trailed away and then she abruptly recalled, “And a great white wig!”

  Lady Rothwell said, to no one in particular, “I must say, I was glad when powdered wigs went out of fashion. A nasty habit, I always thought, shedding over everything.”

  Little by little the news sank into the thoughts of each Rothwell. Even Lady Rothwell’s ruminations turned inward. While a spectator might have assumed that her thoughts revolved entirely about herself, he would have been wrong. Lady Rothwell had a strong sense of family. To see her children advance upward on the ladder of society was her dearest wish.

  While she had long since become accustomed to thinking of Chloe as her daughter, yet the early days, when Chloe was only a pixie-faced child without a mother, still lay strong among Lady Rothwell’s secret thoughts. She could remember the pangs she felt when Lord Rothwell enjoyed playing with his daughter, and Lady Rothwell herself had hastened to present him with an heir. But while she would have defended her feeling for Chloe as being all that a maternal feeling should be, her reaction to Chloe’s legacy was tinged with certain other less sterling considerations. Foremost among her considerations was that Chloe’s legacy must not escape the family coffers to repose in someone else’s strongbox.

  Chloe cried, “I can’t take it in! I don’t think I’ll really believe that Highmoor is mine until I see it. Edward, when can I go? How far is it? May I have the coach?”

  Chloe felt that until she held the legacy in her hands she would not quite believe it. Her fancy allowed her to walk through dimly remembered halls, to gaze upon furnishings that she did not remember, and yet ringing through her mind was the cry, “It’s mine! I have a place of my own!”

  Edward turned serious. “I am sorry to tell you, sister, that I don’t believe it is wise just now.”

  Hopes dashed, Chloe protested. “Whyever not?”

  “Well, for one thing, it is too far away. It would take a two-day trip, for we could not go and come back in a day. I doubt that the house is habitable just yet, for after all, old Bradford was sick a long time before he stuck his spoon in the wall.”

  Chloe had to admit the force of all these arguments, but it did not make her happier. This was not the first time that her wishes had been thwarted, nor would it be the last. But yet, this disappointment ranked higher than all the rest. To be kept away from something that was her very own, was outside of enough.

  Lady Rothwell was cudgeling her memory, also, and now produced the results. “I remember having heard about Highmoor,” she began, “although I never had the privilege of visiting there. Lord Bradford was not what one might call an expansive host. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember anyone who ever had been there. But I understood it was a handsome place, with a fine prospect.” She turned thoughtful for a moment and then added, “I have always heard it said that it had very fine grapes. Francis is very fond of grapes.”

  She fell silent, and Edward flashed her a puzzled look. He was not sure what his mother had in mind, and like most men, uncertain of their womenfolk, eyed any deviation from the norm with suspicion.

  Lydia jumped up from her chair and cried out, “Chloe, I am so happy! Just fancy! You have your own place now! Too bad it isn’t a house in town, for we would all go to London and we would have such a fine time!”

  Sophy, averse to being left out, said, “Where is this place, Chloe? Is there pots of money?”

  Suddenly Chloe became too overset to answer questions hurled at her head like so many buzzing bees. Later she realized that there was no need to worry about answering the questions, for Lydia and her mother had taken it upon themselves to discuss the fine prospect of traveling to London, if only Chloe’s house had been on Belgrave Square.

  “But perhaps there is a chance of renting a house,” suggested Lady Rothwell. “We could stay with my sister Hensley while we looked about for just what would suit me — I mean Chloe.”

  Making an excuse, Chloe hurried out of the room. She got as far as the foyer before she could not restrain the tears any longer. Edward came upon her thus, sobbing, and was immediately touched. Patting her shoulder awkwardly, he soothed her with words that were wide of the mark. “Now then, Chloe, it’s not that bad. You’ll never have to leave Rothwell Manor. Nobody’s sending you away or even sending you to London. As a matter of fact, I don’t know what you’d do in London now.”

  Chloe, recognizing his sincere need to help, managed a watery smile and said, “You mean I’m past enjoying myself in London? Well, Edward, perhaps you’re right.”

  Edward, covered with confusion, attempted to make the situation better. “You are so much valued at Rothwell, truly I cannot imagine how we would get along without you.” He continued in this vein for some moments, not realizing that he sounded very much as though he were giving a testimonial to a valued servant.

  At last she wiped her eyes and said, “What a fool I am! Imagine weeping over good news!”

  Edward decided the time had come. He needed to make his own position quite clear, and he said, turning her gently, “Come into the library with me. We have much to talk about.”

  2

  Alone in the library, the door closed behind them, Edward suddenly found himself without words. Chloe sat in a chair near the desk and thought of small things, for she could not quite realize yet the big thing.

  She noticed the box of books standing in the middle of the floor, awaiting the pry bar that would open the wooden crate, the desk where her father had sat so many times, and the shelves lined with books of a previous age. Edward was not a
collector and felt himself out of step with the present literary age. Chloe had only pleasant memories of this room, for her father had rarely scolded her.

  Edward found his voice. “There is no need for me to tell you how happy I am for you,” he began. “It has always been a source of regret for me that our father left no provision for any of his daughters. Had it not been for your mother’s dowry, there would be little enough for you.”

  “My mother’s trust?” Chloe asked.

  Edward said, heavily, “Your trust has prospered under my management, and the income has improved. It is a small enough amount, but I don’t try to conceal from you, a welcome addition to the family funds, and I appreciate your unselfishness in turning the income over to me. For the family, of course. But now, with this legacy —”

  He left the words dangling in the air. Chloe felt herself required to answer, but all she could say was a plaintive, “What shall I do, Edward?”

  He smiled approvingly. “I knew you would deal with this good fortune in a sensible, down-to-earth way. I must look into this for you. I hardly know where to start, but first I will write a letter to the attorneys. On your behalf, of course.”

  Chloe’s thoughts circled like a hound trying to pick up the trail and come once again to the point. “Why may I not go to Highmoor?”

  Edward allowed a nettled expression to cross his face. “I explained that to you, Chloe,” he said. “It would be a most rash proceeding. We do not know what condition the house is in, we do not know what servants would be available, we cannot simply hare across country like a breakneck rider after a fox.” He was pleased with this rare flight of fancy. He went on, in a more serious vein. “I shall let you know what is best to be done. I will need, of course, your power of attorney, as you have already given it to me in the matter of your mother’s trust.”

  Surprisingly, Chloe hesitated. “I do not think I am ready —” Then, seeing the look of hurt cross his features, she amended her remark. “Did the lawyers’ letter say that Highmoor was entirely mine?”

  “Yes,” said Edward, “you read it.”

  “I should like to look into my legacy myself.” She was nearly as astonished as Edward to hear such rebellious words issuing from her lips. Like a cautious swimmer testing the water and finding it too cold, she drew back. “All right, Edward, whatever you say. But — why did you open my mail?”

  He looked surprised. “I always do,” he told her. “I am responsible for everyone under my roof.”

  Then, possessed of a need to convince her, he pulled from a drawer a fat folio containing the records of the trust account left to Chloe by her mother. More to appease him than because she wished to know, Chloe began to peruse the balance sheets. Her rebellion was already gone, and good riddance, she thought, for it was an uncomfortable feeling. While she was looking over the trust accounts, he was busy with pen and paper making out a power of attorney.

  Chloe had no head for figures, but it was clear from following through the simple columns of figures that Edward was telling the truth when he said he had kept her money intact for her. She had not expected otherwise. She said as much to him. With appropriate expressions of gratitude, she succeeded in smoothing his ruffled feathers.

  Chloe signed the document. Handing it back to him, she said, “I know this is just a formality, Edward, for you always do what is best for us. I believe I have not thanked you sufficiently for your care of the small amount my mother left me, but you know I am grateful.”

  The door opened suddenly and Lydia burst into the room. Edward chided, “We are engaged in business matters, Lydia. Have you no sense?”

  Lydia, always ready to wrangle with her brother, chose not to this time. Instead, she hurried across to Chloe and cried, “Chloe, I can’t wait to talk to you! What are you going to do with your fortune? Won’t we have fun spending the money? What will you do first? I know you won’t want to go to London until later this summer, but we’ll be in good time for the Little Season, and they say London is beautiful in the autumn.”

  She prattled on, but Edward cut across her chatter with a heavy warning. “We do not know yet how big this fortune is.”

  Lydia turned and, with supreme disregard for logic, cried, “The attorneys wrote, didn’t they? They don’t do that for just nothing, do they? Edward, you’re so fuddy!”

  Turning back to Chloe, she coaxed, “Come on and let’s talk about this. I vow, I have nothing else in my mind!”

  She tugged at Chloe’s wrist and pulled her up. Edward, seeing the conversation getting away from him, began to remonstrate with Lydia. It was not long before the two were engaged in a fruitless wrangle. Chloe, to her own surprise, was conscious of a wish to have her own fortune to herself, for just a little bit. She had never had such great news, and she needed to have time to think what it meant.

  Feeling herself greatly daring, she slipped out of the room. Neither one of the two combatants saw her go.

  Chloe’s attempt to escape proved unsuccessful at first. Lady Rothwell had been lurking in the hall, waiting for Chloe to emerge from Edward’s book room. She had quelled Field with a glance, and caused him to remember urgent business elsewhere. Upon catching sight of Chloe, she cried, “Ah, there you are, Chloe! I think I failed to tell you how shocked I am by this news, shocked in a perfectly delightful way, of course! How rare it is that any good fortune comes to us! I vow that in my late husband’s time, life was much more exciting. You must excuse us, Chloe, if we make overmuch of this! I am sure that any amount of good fortune will not change your disposition in the least. And you will have me to help you. If I notice that your behavior reflects an immodest sense of gloating, of what I may call an unbecoming attitude of authority, simply because you have fallen heir to a fortune, through no virtue of your own, I shall be glad to point out any lapses on your part. You are my dear daughter, you know, and I feel your interests are so close to my heart that whatever I do will be understood in the best light. Although I do not anticipate that you will for a moment forget your duty.”

  Chloe, in her turn as speechless as Edward had been, scarcely knew what to say. In the end, Chloe managed to escape by the fortunate recollection that she must inquire about Cook’s tooth.

  “By all means,” encouraged Lady Rothwell. “I cannot understand what has happened to the lower orders. They think nothing of inconveniencing the entire household with an illness of their own. I should not dream of inconveniencing everyone simply because my tooth gave a twinge now and then.”

  Chloe, her mind recalling Cook’s face swollen to twice its normal size, forbore to answer. With a quick excuse, she slipped out of the foyer and disappeared behind the stairs into the kitchen wing.

  Cook was in the kitchen, her head tied up in a rag, holding a hot poultice on the offending cheek, and mumbling without moving her jaw. With some difficulty Chloe urged her back to bed and straightened out the upset routine in the kitchen. At length, she slipped up the back stairs to her room.

  Emerging from the wooden stairs onto the carpeted hallway on the bedroom floor, she hurried soundlessly to her room. Opening the door, she surprised her younger sister standing at the dresser on the far side of the room. Sophy jumped, startled, when Chloe entered. Turning, quickly, she said, “I was waiting for you.”

  Chloe said, dryly, “Not precisely waiting, I think?”

  Sophy was not crestfallen in the least. It was obvious that she had been going through Chloe’s possessions, and she did not try to hide her activity. “Well,” Sophy said, “at least now you’ll be able to have some real jewelry. All you’ve got is your mother’s pearls.”

  “That’s all I need.”

  “Now you can have grand jewels!” Sophy pointed out. Chloe said, repressively, “Grand jewels would be most unsuitable for a spinster.”

  “You won’t stay unmarried long. Mama says as soon as the news gets out you’ll have offers in plenty.”

  Chloe, laughing, said, “In that case, I won’t need any grand jewels. My fortu
nate husband can furnish them!” Sophy, enjoying herself as the bearer of gossip, was not to be diverted. “Well, of course, there’s no use in having a legacy unless people know it. And how better than to —”

  “Drape it all on myself, around my neck?”

  Sophy renewed her attack from a different angle. “Well, of course I don’t mean that! But as soon as the news gets out, Mama says, you’ll have offers in plenty.”

  This time Sophy succeeded in shocking Chloe. “You mean that your mother says that I have no charm except for whatever money I might have?”

  Sophy, at last, was cowed. She had never seen Chloe’s gray eyes with such sparks in them, and she slid off her chair. “Mama didn’t say that.” In a conciliatory tone, she added, “But you must remember, so Mama says, that in your London Season you didn’t take.”

  Chloe said, “That’s because I had to come home before I got started, because our father died.”

  Suddenly Chloe realized that she was wrangling with Sophy on what was after all a problematical question on a juvenile level.

  Sophy tendered an olive branch, saying, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She sidled around the room and out the door.

  Suddenly Chloe realized that she had had too much. The news of the legacy, and all the conversation about it since then, had the same effect as a duck nibbling at watercress — more than she could stand.

  The homely comparison somewhat restored Chloe’s good humor. The thought of Sophy and Lydia and Edward all with fat ducks’ bills nibbling away at her almost made her laugh aloud. This was the flaw in her character, she thought, among many. She had often been reproved for the mischievous sense of humor that came from her mother’s people.

  She sat down in the chair recently vacated by Sophy and contemplated her recent behavior. Selfish, that’s what she was! She wanted to keep her legacy to herself. To consider that her family’s good wishes for her flawed the legacy in some way was totally unworthy. Suppose it had been otherwise? Suppose that they had paid no attention to her legacy, and not even asked her what she would do with it? That would be far worse.