by Burnett, May
Chapter 6
“What can I do for you, my lord?” Henry Beecham, an up-and-coming young solicitor who had been recommended to Jeremy by a friend, looked at him inquiringly. They were in Beecham’s chambers. The solicitor had offered to come to Jeremy’s house, but he did not want his father to run into him and ask why he was not using their usual staid law firm.
“I need advice on a highly confidential matter.”
“It goes without saying that anything you tell me will go no further.” Beecham was still in his twenties, personable enough, and had an excellent mellow speaking voice. Surprising that he had not become a barrister. He was clearly intelligent, and did not betray any impatience at Jeremy’s hesitation.
“Very well then. Let’s imagine a hypothetical case. A rich man was married and wrote a will within days of the wedding. He died very soon afterwards, quite suddenly. Nobody knew about the will, he was thought to have died intestate. The entailed estate went to the nearest male relative, the rest to his widow.”
“Why was the will not executed?” the solicitor asked. “Did it somehow go astray?”
“Astray,” Jeremy repeated. “Yes, that is a good way to put it. It would seem that the will was sent to someone who was to receive a legacy of … well, a considerable sum, presumably to ensure he or she would have a vital interest in the will’s validity. Yet this person has not produced the will. Instead he is trying to bargain with the widow, who would lose a fortune if the will was upheld.”
“Oh. She would presumably be tempted – I am glad that this is merely a theoretical discussion. If I were to advise this widow, I would tell her to be very careful. Destroying a valid will is a serious matter.”
“But never having seen the will, she cannot possibly know if it is at all valid.”
“As you are not a widow, my lord, may I ask what your interest in the matter is?”
“I am merely a friend who would like to help. She is understandably reluctant to seek legal advice herself. There is something else … though nobody has yet seen the will, a family member found an unsigned draft among the dead man’s possessions, which may give some indications of the provisions. That draft itself is no longer in existence.”
“As long as it was unsigned and clearly invalid, that should not cause any problems. What did it say?”
“The bulk of the fortune was to be dedicated to a silly purpose that would be of no benefit to anyone. More to the point, aside from provisions regarding the fortune the draft document contained lengthy and scurrilous rants impugning the honour of several well-born ladies, and dripping with anger and scorn against womankind in general. Would that make it possible to claim that the will was written while of unsound mind, and thus invalid? Without also invalidating a wedding which took place only days earlier?”
The solicitor looked grave. “An interesting question. I fear I cannot give a useful assessment without seeing the document itself. Was it properly witnessed? In the absence of the draft, it might be possible to maintain that the will is a forgery, if it turns up so long after the testator’s demise. However, from your description, the problem is not merely with the way it disposes of the inheritance but with the slanderous contents. A dead man cannot be asked to retract his statements. If he knew he was going to die – for instance, from a fatal sickness – that may give his statements even greater credibility. Or lesser, of course, if the sickness was such as to affect his mind.”
“He did not really expect to die.” Jeremy nearly added, “I killed the scoundrel myself,” but refrained, for then the young solicitor would immediately guess the identity of the widow in question. He had only killed one man in his life. “There were some rumours about his state of mind at the time, as his behaviour had become erratic and aggressive.” Maybe they should have put Fenton in Bedlam rather than force that duel on the man. But no, as long as he was alive he would have remained a danger to Susan and Milla.
“A properly witnessed testament is not easily set aside,” the solicitor said. “From your description, it would be best if this poorly thought out document never surfaced, or turned out to be a forgery. I cannot in good conscience advise you how to prevent its appearance, but please tell the widow, and whoever else is involved, to be extremely careful and not to put anything incriminating in writing. Depending on the wording of the will, if it is presented after all, there might be a case against it – but from your description, even if it could be invalidated it might do incalculable social harm. One has to wonder at the character of a man who would put his signature to such a last will.”
“He was an unmitigated villain, eaten up with hatred and thoughts of revenge,” Jeremy said. “Had you been acquainted with him, you would not be so surprised.”
“Then you knew this man personally? I would repeat what I said before, please be very careful.”
Jeremy nodded morosely. As the man who had killed Fenton, he really should not be involved in the matter at all. But he could not allow Fenton’s lies about his sister to affect her good name. If only he knew exactly what the Viscount had claimed in that will. Fenton would not admit, probably not even to himself, that he had committed rape. In his rabid mind this unspeakable act would seal his claim on Susan’s body … he had not known, to the end, that he had mistaken his victim and harmed Abigail in her stead. After Susan’s herculean efforts to suppress the damage to both ladies’ reputations and prospects, Fenton must not be allowed to damage them from the grave.
“Though I cannot advise you further until I see the document in question, I wonder if you would not be better served with an experienced enquiry agent? I could recommend one who is both efficient and discreet,” the solicitor offered.
Jeremy nodded. “That might actually be a good way to find this forger,” he said heartily. “For all we know, the fellow does this regularly, preying on rich heirs with a recent death in the family.”
“Just so. The man I usually employ for sensitive missions is called Hendrickson, John Hendrickson. Shall I tell him to wait upon you, my lord? If he is currently available?”
“Yes, at his earliest convenience. You vouch for his discretion, then?”
“Indeed, but his fees are fairly high, as such services go. He knows how to keep his mouth shut, but would not do anything illegal.”
“Don’t tell him what this is about, just that I am in urgent need of his services.”
The solicitor promised to do so, and Jeremy took his leave. Well, that had not advanced him much – hopefully the enquiry agent would be more useful. At least the solicitor had impressed him as discreet and would not leak any details he had learned, even if he guessed the identity of the principals. Given how notorious that duel had been, it would not take a genius to put two and two together.
***
Hendrickson, a massive blond fellow who looked vaguely Scandinavian but from his speech was a native Londoner, waited upon Jeremy in the late afternoon. Jeremy was supposed to go driving in the park with Miss Rowan, but had sent his excuses. Until he had dealt with this emergency, he had no heart for social chit-chat. And if he was not going to offer for the girl it might be best to step back now, before her hopes were raised any further. He felt a little guilty at the short notice, but then he could not have foreseen this contingency.
Barnaby came to his study to talk over some business matter just as Hendrickson was announced.
“If it is something personal I can come by later,” Barnaby offered, but his eyes gleamed with speculation.
“You might as well stay.” Jeremy had already decided to take his brother into his confidence. Barnaby leaned against the walnut panelling and crossed his arms expectantly as Jeremy gestured Hendrickson towards a sturdy chair.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “You may not have heard, but two years ago I killed a man in a duel – Lord Fenton, who had insulted our sister some time previously.”
“Almost everyone in England heard of it,” Hendrickson said drily, while Barnaby looked sharply at Jeremy.
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“Yes, well, it seems that Fenton had some associate – friend – maybe gambling crony, by name of B. Chatteris. We don’t even know if Chatteris is a man or woman, but we need to find this person urgently, regarding a legacy that Chatteris claims was left to him by the sixth Viscount. Once you find him, report to me but on no account approach or spook the man. Whatever details you can find out about his circumstances, and the nature of his association with Fenton, would be of interest.”
“Chatteris,” the agent repeated. “Pardon me, my lord, but if this person moved in the same circles as you and the late Lord Fenton, would you not have heard of him at some point?”
“Indubitably,” Barnaby said. “The ton is by no means numerous; we all know each other at least by reputation.”
Jeremy nodded agreement. “It might be some kind-of hanger-on, or a former servant. But the current Lord Fenton and his predecessor’s widow have never heard of Chatteris, so do not waste time looking there.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about the quarry?”
“Chatteris claims to be in a temporary embarrassment, and in need of money.”
“Who isn’t?”
“He may have been away from London, or his usual haunts, since the duel in 1817. But that is only a vague possibility.”
“A long time,” Hendrickson said dubiously. “I’ll get on it right away, Sir.”
Jeremy paid the man’s retainer, twenty-five pounds, and gave him the few details he knew about Fenton’s haunts – his club, and a couple of friends. Barnaby said nothing until the agent had been shown out by their stolid butler, but cocked his head inquisitively.
Maybe two heads would see more than one. Jeremy quickly described the problem of the will, and the steps already taken, keeping Abigail out of the story. He only mentioned in passing that Milla had brought a companion.
“Good Gad,” Barnaby said when he ended. “How did you get involved in this? Do you mean to say that Lady Fenton asked for your help, when you are the man who killed her husband?”
“It concerns us too, if that cursed will truly contains slanderous references to Susan. Besides, though I have no great love for the widowed Lady Fenton, she is the sister of our brother-in-law and thus a family connection. I got to know her when I stayed with Susan and North in Cornwall before the duel, just after her wedding to Fenton.”
Barnaby’s brows were still creased. “But you killed her husband! You cannot associate with that woman. It would be social suicide for both of you! Never mind the remote family connection.” He paced up and down the study, agitated. “I suppose she is young and pretty, and lovely when she cries? You are too soft-hearted for your own good, Jer.”
Jeremy snorted. “Milla does not easily resort to tears. And she is beautiful rather than merely pretty, although not my style at all.”
“It is still surprising she would have asked for your help, or confessed the matter of the will to you of all people. Not at all the thing. She should have sent for North, asked her brother to assist her rather than you.”
“North is in Cornwall, and there is no time to lose.” Jeremy was irritated. “So, are you willing to help or not? Remember, we are doing this for our sister rather than Lady Fenton. You could ask for this Chatteris around the hells Fenton used to frequent – the ones that are still in existence.” Gambling establishments did not tend to last for many years; most were of decidedly fly-by-night nature.
“That sounds like fun,” Barnaby said with a grimace of distaste. “Of course I’ll do what I can. I shall set my valet on the chase too; he may find out something via the servants’ grapevine.”
“Yes, good idea.”
“I wonder how much of Lady Fenton’s inheritance this Chatteris is going to grab at,” Barnaby said thoughtfully. “He would be a fool if he asked for less than two or three thousand, under the circumstances. Has she that much ready cash available?”
“If necessary I shall help out,” Jeremy said. “She should not have to pay him more than the original five hundred guineas, it seems to me. This concerns our sister’s reputation as much as Milla.”
“I’m not clear why,” Barnaby said. “Fenton wrote in the will that he lay with Susan before her marriage? Can there be any truth in it? I vividly remember how he interfered in Susan’s wedding, tried to stop it at the last moment. And that story of hers that she had to marry quickly, because she was with child… Can it be the child was Fenton’s?”
“No, it was not,” Jeremy said crossly. “But if you immediately jump to such a conclusion, everyone in society will do the same. Susan’s husband would stand by her, but I don’t want either of them, or their child, to be subject to livelong gossip and doubt.”
“Our nephew was born nine and a half months after Susan’s wedding,” Barnaby continued, paying no attention to his brother’s assurance. “But in a remote spot like their Cornwall castle, I suppose it would be easy to falsify the date.”
“Enough!” Jeremy was beginning to regret that he had taken Barnaby into his confidence. “I know the whole story, and you will have to take my word that Susan’s son is her husband’s. She married in part to escape from Fenton’s machinations, but the fellow never managed to lie with her, though he tried. Fenton was obsessed with Susan, imagining things that never took place.” Jeremy’s voice was firm. He could not betray Abigail, who had been caught up in this unsavoury affair as an entirely innocent victim.
Barnaby stared at Jeremy. “You knew all that? And never told me?”
“Once I had killed the villain, what would have been the point?”
“I suppose I would have done the same,” Barnaby said after a few seconds’ thought. “Remind me never to get on your bad side. I am glad you rid the world of Fenton. But you still should not have anything to do with his will and his widow. Don’t refer to her as Milla, even to me. In fact, leave any further contact to me. You had better go and court Muriel Rowan, – weren’t you supposed to drive with her today?”
“Yes, but this affair takes precedence. I sent my excuses.”
“You need to keep up your normal activities and routine, Jer, now more than ever. If this scandal erupts you will be under scrutiny too.”
“I’m still hoping that it won’t.” Barnaby’s warning sounded uncomfortably similar to the solicitor’s earlier in the day.
“You always were too optimistic, Jer. It is one of your endearing qualities. I take it we do not say anything to Father?”
“It would only worry him unnecessarily. We don’t want him to suffer a stroke.”
“I agree. And he’s so busy getting that bill through the Lords, he does not need the distraction.”
Chapter 7
Despite the newspaper notices, the next communication from B. Chatteris arrived at the Bonnard Hotel early the subsequent morning, addressed to Milla. It had been brought by messenger, and once again contained no return address.
Dear Lady Fenton,
It was hardly necessary to put advertisements in the papers, or involve third parties in what should be a simple transaction between the two of us.
I own I am curious to see you face to face. Please walk in Hyde Park this afternoon between four and five in the afternoon, without veil. I may approach you or not – I make no promises. No need to bring any money yet, but it would be advisable to have a large sum ready in cash, in some safe place, against the actual exchange.
Eagerly looking forward to our acquaintance, I remain,
Yours sincerely,
B. Chatteris.
“I hate dancing on this fellow’s string like a puppet,” Milla said angrily. “Who is he to dictate where I walk, and when, and whether I put up my veils? It is not to be borne. But as long as he has that letter, I see no other choice.” For security’s sake, they had agreed to refer to the will as a ‘letter’, even in private.
“I fear you are right. We’ll have to reschedule the fitting at Mme Charisse’s,” Abigail said.
Milla still looked mutinous.
“Why does this fellow want to see me unveiled? I would not mind, but is it suitable for me to walk thus in the park?”
“As long as you are in mourning colours, and with respectable company, I see nothing untoward in it,” Abigail said. “But there will be gossip, and your anonymity will be gone for good. Maybe that is the real reason behind this strange request.”
“Request? More like an order. Once I have destroyed that, um, letter, I shall make this fellow suffer for his impertinence,” Milla vowed. “Do you suppose Chatteris will approach us in the park, or is this just some sick game to drive me to distraction?”
“If he were truly in such financial embarrassment as he implied, surely he would not waste time like that. On the other hand, he found us in this hotel after only one full day in London, and the suggestion to have the money ready indicates a desire to conclude the deal. On the whole I would say this development is positive rather than ominous.”
“I hope you are right. Are you going to inform Lord Barton? The two of you are thick as thieves.”
Abigail hoped she was not blushing. “He was very kind to me, escorting me to Cornwall to visit Susan, and looking after me after I was hurt in a carriage accident,” she said as calmly as she could. “He is the brother of my best friend. Nothing more than that.”
“You could have brought him up to scratch then, when you had him all to yourself.”
Abigail pressed her lips together. She could indeed have married Lord Barton, but had not cared to. It irked her that Milla assumed she had never had the chance. But what did it truly matter? There was a great deal Milla did not know about her, despite their close association. It was better so.
“I’ll send him a copy of the note and suggest that Lord Barton or somebody he trusts shadow us and keep an eye out for this mysterious Chatteris,” she said. “We’ll take one of our maids too, walking behind us. Since none of us have the least idea what Chatteris looks like, we won’t catch him unless he makes some stupid mistake. But it’s still worth trying. We may at least compile a list of suspects that can be shortened the next time.”