“I wasn’t quite sure how you were going to manage it, but once I saw Geoffrey begin to move in your direction, I knew that whatever the plan was, it would succeed.” Roscoe smiled at her, then turned to Geoffrey. “I asked Prudence to come to my office after the funeral, and not to let her stepmother know we were meeting. You do know one another, don’t you?”
“I’m Prudence MacKenzie,” she said formally, as if Geoffrey did not already know. “I’m grateful for your help. It means a great deal to me.”
Geoffrey bowed over her hand. “Charles spoke of you often, Miss MacKenzie. Always with great admiration. Allow me to express my condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m afraid you give me too much credit, Mr. Conkling. There was no plan, at least not on my part. I just didn’t like seeing Miss MacKenzie being bullied. Charles wouldn’t have liked it either. So I acted on the impulse of the moment, hoping I was right to do so.”
“It was the absolutely correct thing to do, Mr. Hunter,” Prudence said. “I knew who you were. Charles had a photograph of the two of you together at Harvard. You’re both wearing white sweaters with an enormous letter H on the front.”
“We were barely nineteen or twenty years old when that was taken. It was the day of the first Harvard-Yale football game. No idea how to go about it, but we both played just the same. It’s already become a tradition, you know, the Harvard-Yale game.”
“Who won?” Prudence asked.
“We did. Harvard. Though I have no clue how we managed it. Charles and I were so badly beaten up, we swore off football then and there. Harvard hasn’t won against Yale since.”
“What did you put in the casket? I saw you slip something out of your pocket when you leaned over.”
“It was a playing card.”
“The ace of spades. Charles told me it was your secret signal to one another.”
“We were like brothers.”
“He told me that, too. He told me so many stories about the two of you that I can’t feel we’re strangers.”
Prudence laughed, a tinkling sound like silver bells; her gray eyes flashed a bit of green. She was really quite a beautiful young woman at that moment, somber in the flowing black veils and skirts of mourning, but with a glint of brightness as of sunlight breaking through dark clouds.
Not yet, Geoffrey decided. He wouldn’t tell her yet that Charles had died with that special, precious card in his hand.
“Is it safe to leave now? Geoffrey, will you take a look?” Conkling asked.
“The funeral procession is gone, and I think the last of the mourners hurried off as soon as it began to rain.” Geoffrey stepped out into Trinity Church’s venerable cemetery, scanning its pathways and headstones. “The sky is clearing, at least for the moment.”
“Let’s go then. Prudence, my dear, take my arm. It’s just a few steps to my office.”
She hesitated. “Mr. Hunter, will you come with us?”
“I don’t like to intrude.”
“Please.”
“You did a number of commissions for Charles and his father, didn’t you, Geoffrey?” Conkling asked.
“I did, sir.”
“It may be that Miss MacKenzie will also need your services.”
Geoffrey Hunter’s face froze into the impassive mask of a professional man of secrets. It changed him. The intensely dark hair and eyebrows communicated threat, an implacable menace strong enough to warn off any adversary. His jaw tightened, the strong, even lines of mouth and slightly arched nose became more pronounced; the eyes that were a warm brown in sunlight deepened to black. He was as tall as Conkling, well over six feet, but he seemed to gain inches by the sheer force of what he willed himself to become.
Prudence lowered her veil and glided past Charles’s best friend. She held tightly to Conkling’s arm as the trio approached the United Bank Building, intensely aware of the protective bulk of a man she had not known until an hour ago. A man whose presence seemed so right and inevitable that she did not think to question it.
“I’ll have Josiah make coffee,” Roscoe said as he settled Prudence into the office’s most comfortable chair. “I think we could all do with a bit of restorative.”
Prudence looked up, half-removed gloves forgotten, the quick movement of her head like the questioning stare of a startled doe.
“It’s not quite that bad, my dear,” Conkling reassured her. “But it’s not entirely good news either.”
CHAPTER 5
“I’d like you to stay, Josiah,” Roscoe Conkling directed. “It may be wise, under the somewhat unusual circumstances, to have a record of what is said here today, even if only for ourselves. Do you have any objection to my secretary’s presence, Prudence?”
“None at all.” She smiled warmly at the small, immaculately dressed man who had spent more than half his life seeing to Mr. Conkling’s lawyerly needs and staunchly defending him against criticism.
Unlike his employer, Josiah Gregory always looked slightly unwell, as if he were courting a fever or skirting consumption. Yet he prided himself on never missing a day’s work. He kept chocolates in his desk, combed and brilliantined his thinning brown hair over the top of his balding skull, and took Pitman shorthand notes faster and more accurately than any agency-referred expert. He wore dark gray suits, embroidered waistcoats, stiff collared white shirts, and a massive gold pocket watch whose heavy chain and fob were his only jewelry. He wasn’t married, and never mentioned parents, siblings, or cousins. Josiah’s entire life circled around Roscoe as reliably as a small planet orbited the constant sun.
Thomas Pickering MacKenzie’s will lay atop four neatly stacked dark brown cardboard folders, each of which was tied with a strip of black silk ribbon. “All of your father’s directives,” Conkling explained, one hand atop the paper remains of a life. “Notes, initial drafts, executed documents, everything that came into this office pertaining to the Judge. Josiah also made copies of anything that left.”
“Haven’t I seen everything, Mr. Conkling? I remember the will being read and then later both you and Charles explaining some of it to me.”
“Exactly how much do you remember, Prudence?”
She had taken off her damp hat and veil so that her soft brown hair gleamed with gold highlights in the flattering glow of the office’s three oil lamps. Electricity was leaping into businesses as fast as wires could be strung, but women who caught a glimpse of themselves in its stark brightness quickly avowed they preferred candles or oil.
“The important points, of course. My father made sure I knew how to craft a will and Charles insisted I be clear on the essentials.” Prudence glanced at Geoffrey Hunter’s unreadable face, down at her hands lying clasped in her lap, up again at Josiah as if he could or would come to her aid. When it became obvious that she was floundering, Conkling took pity on her.
“I think you believe you remember, Prudence, but I’m not sure you actually do.”
“The laudanum,” she whispered. “No matter how hard I tried to concentrate, the laudanum got in the way. I couldn’t remember what my father had spent hours teaching me.”
“The laudanum,” Conkling confirmed. “I don’t think Dr. Worthington meant you any harm; in fact I know him well enough to be certain he didn’t. He saw a young woman who had just lost her only living parent and he wanted to give you the gift of some relief from the pain you were suffering. A very temporary respite. He never intended it to be anything else.”
“Victoria.”
“What about your stepmother?”
“I wept so much those first few days. I went into my father’s study and threw things. Books from the shelves, papers from his desk, the cigars he kept in a box above the fireplace. I was like one of those madwomen you read about, screaming and destroying whatever falls into their hands. I remember feeling I had to break something or I would lose my mind. I made it easy for her. How else could she control me except with the laudanum Dr. Worthington gave her?”
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“She was warned. I know he lectured her. He cautions all his patients.”
“I wasn’t supposed to dose myself. I remember him telling her that, warning her that accidents had been known to happen with laudanum. A few days later she gave me the bottle and told me to measure out whatever I needed. She never said a word when the bottle was empty, never asked how much I was taking. She handed me another one of those corked brown bottles and said I shouldn’t worry about running out. There would always be more.”
Josiah’s pencil stopped moving when Prudence fell silent. Neither Conkling nor Geoffrey Hunter said a word. The minutes ticked by, each second loudly punctuated by the Ansonia Parisian Mantel clock that Gregory wound once every eight days.
“I think Victoria wanted to make me so dependent on laudanum, I wouldn’t be able to think for myself. And she very nearly did,” Prudence finally said, pale skin flushed with the embarrassment of being forced to reveal something so personal and so discomforting. “I don’t know what her motive was, but she almost succeeded. It was a near thing. A very near thing. Once I realized what was happening to me, I began to refuse the drinks Victoria prepared, and then I stopped taking any laudanum at all. And when I did, when I wasn’t sleepy and confused all the time, I began to be afraid of her, afraid of Victoria. I can’t tell you exactly what I feared, but I let her think I was still taking the laudanum. I even filled the bottles with strong tea and counted out the drops in front of her. The day of the blizzard I remember looking out the window at the snow and deciding to talk to Charles about my suspicions. I felt so strong.
“But then he died. I stopped fighting and started giving in again until Mr. Conkling came last Friday. I remember you telling me we had work to do together, important work. We stood by the window looking out at Fifth Avenue until Victoria and Donald came into the room and ordered the curtains closed. You told me to come to your office after the funeral. I knew you meant more than that because of what you said about my father despising weakness.” Her eyes sought and held Conkling’s; strength seemed to flow from the tall, garishly vested, full bearded former senator into the slight, black-clad child-woman who sat the width of a desk away from him. “I’m grateful to Mr. Hunter for helping me after the funeral, but I promise you, Mr. Conkling, I would have gotten here somehow even without his assistance. I may have shown weakness these past few months, but I really am my father’s daughter. Tell me again what the will says. I give you my word I’ll understand every line, every provision, every codicil.”
There was another long silence, broken this time by the soft waterfall sound of coffee being poured, of silver spoons clinking lightly against china cups. Josiah sat down again and picked up his shorthand notebook.
“We’ll address the major issues first,” Conkling said. Shocked beyond words at what Prudence accused her stepmother of doing, he needed time to consider the implications. Over his years in Congress and now in the private practice of the law, he’d met human wickedness in so many of its manifestations that he’d thought nothing could surprise him. He’d been wrong. Cui bono? Who benefits? He needed time to think this through, to decide whether the woman he had always thought of as merely venal was truly evil. And what he was going to do about it if she were. In the meantime, Prudence was waiting, clearheaded and determined. He owed it to the Judge to explain her new situation and to make it as palatable as possible.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” The secretary cleared his throat.
“What is it, Josiah?”
“Mrs. MacKenzie, sir. Since she is a named inheritor, should she not be present?”
“It may be custom, but there is no binding legal requirement.” Conkling rattled the papers he held as if he would use them to rap someone’s knuckles. “The Judge’s will was properly probated at the time of his death. If certain of its provisions are nullified now and others come into force due to changed circumstances, that may leave various bequests and their administration open to some interpretation. Let her get her own lawyer.” One hand flew to his chest, as if to push more air into his lungs. His face went suddenly red and every breath he struggled to take became a wheeze.
Hunter was pounding on Conkling’s back before Josiah could reach him. Within moments Roscoe’s face, what could be seen of it above the bushy black beard, returned to its normal color, and his breathing eased.
“Perhaps we should do this another time?” Prudence had seen her father fight for breath in the last few days before his death.
“No, no, I’m perfectly all right.”
“If I may be permitted, sir, your chest doesn’t sound at all good.”
“Are you a doctor now, Josiah? I wasn’t aware you’d been admitted to medical school along with every other half-wit who can pay the fees. I may have taken a bit of a chill last Monday, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. Now, if we can all take our seats again, I’d like to begin. Prudence needs to know how her life will be changing.
“Your father, my dear, much as I admired him and counted him a close friend, wasn’t always as judicious and farseeing in his private life as he was on the bench. After his marriage to Victoria, he rewrote large portions of his will; I argued with him as a friend, but as his lawyer I was bound to do as he asked. I’m sorry, Prudence.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Conkling.”
“Your father didn’t expect to die before you and Charles were married.”
“What difference could that make?”
“It’s all in the wording. When he appointed Charles Linwood trustee of your estate, he was very precise. He identified him by his relationship to you as your husband and he specified Linwood, and no other, by name. He knew Charles would never do anything without consulting you, that you would, in effect, be your own trustee.”
“Are you also a lawyer, Mr. Hunter?” Prudence asked. She had caught his swift glance, read comprehension and concern in the dark eyes.
“I am, Miss MacKenzie. Among other professions at which I’ve tried my hand.”
“Good.” She opened the black purse that was too small to hold more than a handkerchief, smelling salts, and a few coins. She handed him a greenback, smiling when he folded it into one of the pockets of his vest. “Do you agree to represent me at law?” she asked formally.
“I do,” Hunter replied. “It shall be my honor and my pleasure.” He bowed over her ungloved hand. “A contract now exists between us. As does confidentiality. Your interests are mine.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean you’ve fired me, Prudence,” teased Conkling.
“If one lawyer is a good thing, then logic dictates that two must be better.” She’d heard her father say that one lawyer spawned a host of others like rats in a sewer. Nobody liked or trusted lawyers, but nobody could do without them, either. It was the great triumph of the profession to make themselves indispensable.
“As I was saying, every time the Judge specified Charles Linwood by name and identified him as your husband, he automatically invalidated that clause should Linwood die before the marriage. Which he did. The problem is in one of the final codicils your father added shortly before he died.”
“Which states?”
“He came to see me here at the office, Prudence. With Mrs. MacKenzie. Do you remember, Josiah?”
“I do, sir. I had to add it to the will that very afternoon so it could be signed and witnessed before they left. Mrs. MacKenzie was very determined about that.”
“And the Judge?” Hunter asked.
Josiah shrugged. “He seemed willing to go along with what she wanted.”
“The codicil states that if Charles Linwood is unable, for any reason, to fulfill any of the offices or duties specifically given or assigned to him, then the offices and duties pass immediately to Mrs. Victoria Morley MacKenzie. When Charles died in Union Park, she became the sole trustee of your entire estate, Prudence.”
“Until my thirtieth birthday?”
“Until your thirtieth birthday. I am named as advisor to the
trust, but I am not a trustee. Which means that I can and must continue to counsel your stepmother on financial and other matters, but she is not in any way obliged to heed or follow my advice.”
“The house?”
“Was to have gone to you and Charles upon your marriage, but now it’s essentially hers, along with everything else. Furniture, carriages, horses, investments, funds on deposit in banks.” Conkling saw her reach for the ebony mourning brooch that he knew contained miniatures of her parents and locks of their hair. “Even your late mother’s jewelry, Prudence. Everything that is held in trust for you is under her control for the next eleven years.”
“Including me.”
“Including you.”
“I don’t suppose there is any way to break the will, to invalidate the codicil?”
“I drew it up, Prudence. Your father dictated some of the wording. The two best legal minds in New York City wrote as watertight a document as I’ve ever seen. We boxed you in. I’m so sorry, my child.”
“What did the widow inherit in her own right, Mr. Conkling?”
“You’re quite right to ask, Geoffrey. I should have summarized the Judge’s wishes more completely than I did. He left half of his estate in trust to his widow, Victoria, with the proviso that upon her death, what remained should pass to Prudence. The other half he placed in trust for his daughter, naming Victoria sole trustee until Prudence’s marriage to Charles Linwood, at which time Linwood was to become trustee until Prudence attained the age of thirty and was of proven mental competence.”
“He didn’t believe I could manage my own life.” There was no trace of tears or the mawkish sentimentality fueled by laudanum in Prudence’s voice. It snapped with anger and something else, something last heard when her father had delivered judgments from the bench. Implacability. She had pronounced her own verdict and there would be no appeal.
“I asked him, whenever Victoria was not at his side, what he meant by tying you up so tightly and putting the reins in Victoria’s hands. He would never answer. Told me to mind my own business or he’d find someone else to represent him. Said he trusted Charles to see to your welfare. He left envelopes to be delivered after the marriage. One for Charles, one for you, Prudence.”
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