Davenport House 3: A Mother's Love

by Marie Silk

  York County, Near Davenport House.

  Price: $25,000

  Sharp Agency Phone 555-Y

  Clara gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Her heart felt as though it was beating in front of her and sinking into her stomach at the same time. Worried that her mother or Mary might see the listing, Clara removed the page and smoothed the newspaper neatly on the desk to look as though it had not been touched. She folded the page in her shaking hands and placed it in her dress pocket. “Fiona?” she called as she saw Fiona walk past the double doors of the library. “Tell Stuart that I wish him to bring the car at once.”

  Mary sighed as she lay on her bed, staring dreamily at the ceiling. She felt that even with everything that had happened the day before, she could not stop smiling. Abigail knocked on the door and entered the room. “Good morning, Mary,” she said, sounding surprised. “I wondered if you might like me to order breakfast to your room today.”

  Mary sat up with a smile. “Not today. I will go to the dining room. I feel quite cheerful after dinner with William last night.”

  “You look quite cheerful,” Abigail giggled. “What did William say about it?”

  “Oh…just that he can see the resemblance. William was acquainted with Mrs. Smith when he was younger. He also told me that he fell in love with me the moment we met.”

  Abigail gasped. “It was an eventful dinner, indeed! Perhaps I should have been there to chaperon for you,” she teased.

  Mary giggled. “I am glad that we had no chaperon, because then William might not have kissed me again.”

  Abigail laughed, then took a small pillow from the fainting couch and playfully tossed it at Mary. “Why have you been kissed three times now, when I am the one who is engaged, and have never been kissed at all?”

  Mary laughed. “Should I have a word with my brother about it?”

  “Oh Mary, I am relieved to hear you speak this way. I was so worried for how you might react to the letter.”

  “I was overwhelmed for certain. I did not know what to think, but after the things that William said to me last night, I wonder if it may turn out for the better.”

  Clara arrived at the Sharp Agency in Yorktown. She marched into the office, holding the newspaper page in her hand and was ready to give Franklin Sharp a piece of her mind. The secretary showed Clara to Franklin’s office. “Miss Clara Davenport to see you, Sir,” she announced.

  “Come right in, Clara,” Franklin Sharp greeted cheerfully. “You are fortunate to see me before my first appointment.”

  “Fortunate?” she demanded. “You call this fortunate?” She slammed the page on his desk.

  “My, you’re a feisty one, ain’t you?” he laughed.

  “You tricked me!” Clara cried indignantly. “My land was worth three times what you paid! I want it back. I will buy it back from you.”

  “Too late for that, unless you have twenty-five thousand in that little purse of yours. Eh, you’re a woman. I don’t expect you to understand how business works.”

  Clara’s mouth hung open. “It cannot be legal to do such a thing!” she persisted. “I will hire a lawyer.”

  “Hire a lawyer if you want, but I’ll save you some trouble by telling you that what I did was legal. In America we call it ‘business’. If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t be in business,” he replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have an appointment. About this very posting, as a matter of fact.”

  “Then I will warn your client not to deal with you! You are a snake!” Clara exclaimed.

  Franklin Sharp was unaffected. He only laughed as if he found it funny to watch Clara being upset. The secretary came to the door. “Mrs. Margaret Davenport to see you, Sir.”

  Clara looked in horror as a tall woman in a long black dress and black gloves entered the room. It was the woman who had made Clara’s life more difficult than it ever should have been. “Clara,” Mrs. Davenport greeted. “I cannot say that I am surprised to see you here, considering the newspaper this morning.”

  “She was just leaving, Mrs. Davenport,” Franklin Sharp assured her.

  “No, please stay here, Clara. We may be able to help each other out,” Mrs. Davenport said in a friendly tone.

  “You—you want me to stay here while you speak with Mr. Sharp, Madam?” Clara could not believe her ears. She sat down before her knees buckled underneath her.

  “Now tell me, Dear. How much did this snake offer you for my husband’s land?” Mrs. Davenport asked her.

  Clara almost felt relieved to hear Franklin called a snake by someone else, but she was also embarrassed to declare the amount she sold it for. “He offered me eight thousand, Madam,” Clara answered nervously.

  Mrs. Davenport turned to look at Franklin sternly. “It is the same amount that I will offer today.”

  “Just a minute now, Mrs. Davenport. I ain’t running a charity here. I gotta make money. I have other clients who will pay at least twice that today.”

  “I see. And did any of your other clients see you at Mr. Schneider’s Christmas Party? Perhaps with Mr. Schneider’s wife?” Mrs. Davenport asked daringly.

  Franklin slumped his shoulders. “I expect not.”

  “Interesting,” Mrs. Davenport responded, pulling a document from her handbag. “I have a Bill of Sale just here. I only need to fill in the amount which I will do now. Eight…thousand…” she said aloud as she wrote on the contract. “Take it or leave it, Franklin. You are not out a nickel from this transaction. Consider yourself fortunate.”

  Franklin grumbled as he signed his name to the Bill of Sale and handed it to Mrs. Davenport. “Now leave my office. I have other appointments—ones that won’t waste my time.”

  Mrs. Davenport counted out the money for him and turned to leave. “Thank you, Clara. Why don’t you walk in town with me for a moment. The shop down the way has just received a delivery of new items today.”

  Clara was bewildered, but wished to leave that office as soon as possible anyway. Before she knew it, she was walking past the shops with Mrs. Davenport, who seemed friendlier than usual. “I am glad you were there today,” Mrs. Davenport laughed. “I nearly offered him fifteen thousand. I never dreamed you could have sold it for less.”

  Clara’s face turned red. “I suppose I should have spoken to my mother first. She did not want me to sell at all.”

  “Let’s face it, Clara. Your mother is a housekeeper, not a land steward. The price for farmland is at its peak now. You made the right choice to sell, only you did not know an appropriate sale price. I’m afraid that with the way your mother and Mary are running things, they will drive the estate into the ground.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Clara.

  “The price of the land will drop soon, and the land they could have sold now will be near worthless. I don’t imagine the house will be able to keep functioning in another five years the way it has in the past.”

  Clara looked worried. “Then we should lessen our expenses,” she suggested.

  “It won’t be enough to merely lessen your expenses. The estate must be made sustainable with the valuable plots sold now while the price is high. Clara, do you know why the estate and house flourished while my husband was alive?” Clara shook her head. Mrs. Davenport continued, “It is because I was the land steward. With the way your mother is managing the estate, Mary will be left a pauper and the servants will be out of work. I expect it can only go another ten years at most.”

  Clara began to panic. “How terrible! Mary must be made aware of this right away!”

  Mrs. Davenport laughed. “Mary will not listen to a thing you or I say. But if you will listen to me now, I do know of a way we may save the estate.”

  “ ‘We’?” asked Clara. “What has this to do with me?”

  “There are things you do not know about Mary’s past. Things that would mean that Mary should never have received an inheritance,” Mrs. Davenport said mysteriously.

  “I don’t understand. Mary inherited
everything once Richard was incarcerated,” Clara replied.

  “Not exactly. My husband wrote in his Will that his daughter should inherit. He did not specify Mary’s name.”

  “But Mary was the daughter he meant, of course,” Clara said.

  “You are correct. However, the law will not see it that way.”

  Clara continued to look confused. She wondered why Mrs. Davenport was telling her these things in the first place. She was always under the impression that Mrs. Davenport hated her. “What reason could the law have to say that Mary should not inherit?”

  Mrs. Davenport laughed again. “The reason is simple. Mary was never my husband’s child. However, you are his child. His only daughter.”

  Clara looked aghast. “Who is her father?”

  Mrs. Davenport shrugged. “No one knows. I took Mary in when she was an infant. Her mother was probably some wayward woman who could not care for a child. My husband and I raised Mary as our own, but she was never adopted through the court. That is why I say the law will not see her as the daughter named in the Will. Claim your inheritance, Clara. If you let me work as the land steward once more, I will see to it that your estate is well profitable.”

  “I could never take Mary’s inheritance from her,” Clara said quietly. Her head was spinning. She could not believe the conversation she was having with the woman who was once her enemy.

  “How very noble of you. I understand that you wish to be loyal to Mary, but the estate will still be taken from her. It is only a matter of time. The servants will be left on the streets…you, your mother, even Mary will need to find work to make ends meet. You must not view it as taking the estate away from Mary, but rather saving it from the management that will mean its ruin.”

  Clara reasoned that Mrs. Davenport made a convincing argument. “But how would I prove the circumstances of Mary’s birth to the trustee?”

  Mrs. Davenport smiled. “That is where I come in. The necessary documents can only come from me, and I am sure that you don’t expect me to provide them for free.”

  “You want me to—pay you for the documents?” Clara stammered.

  “My husband nearly left me destitute with an income of only one hundred dollars a year. It might as well be a servant’s wage. I want five thousand dollars. Surely you have that left over from your sale.”

  Clara looked horrified. “Five thousand for a piece of paper? But in the agent’s office, I saw that you had money in your handbag.”

  “I did have money in my handbag, but sadly it is not mine. I was forced to borrow from my friends just to be able to undo the mess you made with the sale,” Mrs. Davenport answered bitterly.

  “Oh, I see. But five thousand dollars is almost all the money I have left, Madam. I do not know that I could pay such a sum for only some documents.”

  Mrs. Davenport shrugged again. “You are forgetting that you could receive what is left of the estate, including the house. I will not force you to make the decision now, Clara. I am not a snake like Franklin Sharp. Just come to me when you realize that I am right. You know where to find me.”

  In the dining room that night, Mary, Clara, Abigail, and Mrs. Price were having dinner. Everyone seemed quiet again. Clara decided that she must speak up. “Mary, have you thought about selling land from the estate in the near future?”

  Mary was surprised to hear this question from Clara. “I have discussed it with your mother, and we believe it is best to keep ownership of the land. Father used to tell me of the importance of owning land for financial security.” Mary hoped that her reply did not sound snobbish, considering that Clara no longer owned any of the estate.

  “Perhaps you should discuss it with your own mother,” Clara remarked.

  Mary was aghast at Clara’s suggestion. Mary had been estranged from Mrs. Davenport and felt that Clara should have known better than to mention her now. “Why would you say that?”

  “She was the land steward after all. If anyone would know when to sell and when to keep ownership, it would be her,” Clara answered.

  “Have you—spoken to my mother?” Mary asked in disbelief.

  “I saw your mother in town. She mentioned that now is the time to sell for the best price.”

  Mary felt herself becoming flustered. “She is the last person I would wish to speak to about finances, Clara. I do not believe she can be trusted.”

  “You might be surprised, Mary. She has been kind to you over the years, perhaps even more than you know.”

  “I cannot listen to this anymore!” Mary cried emotionally. “I will never trust a word that comes from that woman!” Mary rose from her seat and hurried out of the dining room.

  “Clara, now is not the time to speak of such things,” Mrs. Price said firmly.

  “I disagree. If we do not sell for a good price now, we may never have the chance again,” Clara responded.

  Abigail went to Mary’s room to try to console her. “I am sorry, Mary,” she told her softly. “Clara does not know what she says.”

  “I felt so strange when Clara spoke of my mother. I know who she meant of course, but in my mind I could only think that my real mother is dead. All this time I have thought that my father was dead and my mother was living, but now I discover that it is the other way around. I am confused. I do not know what to think.” Tears ran down Mary’s face as she explained her thoughts. Abigail listened compassionately.

  “Mary, have you spoken to Mr. Smith at all? I wonder if it might help. You may feel as though you have lost both of your parents, but there is one who remains, and he is a good man,” said Abigail.

  “I have been afraid to even think of doing so. What would I say? Does he even wish to see me now?” Mary continued to cry.

  Abigail put her arms around Mary. “I will ask him for you, if you wish.”

  After the awkward dinner and disapproving glances from her mother, Clara quietly left the dining room and summoned Stuart from the servants’ quarters. Clara told him that she wished to be driven to a cottage that was situated a short distance from the house. She did not wish to walk, now that she had a car to take her, but more than that she did not wish to go alone. The sky seemed darker than usual that evening as Clara approached the small cottage near the estate. Even in the dark, the structure appeared to be in need of repair, and Clara could hardly believe that a lady of an important family was living in such a house. A coyote’s howl echoed mournfully in the distance, causing Clara to jump and look around her in fright. She looked back toward the car where Stuart was waiting, but Clara could hardly see him or anything else.

  The headlights illuminating the path in front of the car were nearly quenched by the surrounding darkness. Clara turned back to look at the windows of the cottage, most of which showed cracks in the glass or had been boarded up altogether. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach and nearly lost her nerve with every step she took. Clara slowly lifted her hand to knock on the door, but froze in that position as she contemplated why she was there. She thought better of it and returned her hand to her side, abruptly turning on her heel to leave. Before Clara could break out into a run toward the car, she heard the door of the cottage creak open behind her.

  “Clara,” called the voice of Mrs. Davenport. “I have been expecting you.”

  Chapter 8

  Clara was not at breakfast the next morning. Mary decided to make an announcement to Mrs. Price and Abigail. “I have decided that I will tell Clara today. It does not seem right to keep such a secret from her. I am doing my best to come to terms with it, myself. Although I do think this is a subject that we should only keep within the family.”

  Mrs. Price nodded in agreement. “I believe it is wise to do so.”

  “I plan to go for a ride today,” Mary stated. “What do you say, Abigail? It has been so long since we took the horses out. They must worry that we forgot about them.”

  Abigail smiled when she thought about seeing Ethan. “I would like that very much,” she answered.


  Clara arrived in Yorktown at the office of the trustee who used to manage Mr. Davenport’s affairs. It was he who distributed the estate to Mary after Mr. Davenport passed away. The trustee’s secretary led Clara down the short hallway to Mr. Morgan’s office. “Miss Clara Davenport to see you, Sir,” announced the secretary.

  Mr. Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Good morning, Miss. Do we have an appointment?”

  “I am sorry that I did not make an appointment in advance, Mr. Morgan. I only have some documents to show you. It involves the estate of the recently deceased Mr. Davenport. You see, I am his daughter.”

  “You are a daughter of James Davenport?” Mr. Morgan asked in surprise. “I have already closed the estate after settling distribution on Miss Mary Davenport.”

  “I understand that, Mr. Morgan,” Clara persisted. “But I have here a letter from his widow and an affidavit that explains how Mary was never their natural born daughter.”

  Mr. Morgan looked puzzled as he read the affidavit. “How peculiar. Mrs. Davenport never said a word of this when I represented the estate. Why did she not mention you at the time? Are you not her daughter also?”

  “I am not, Sir. My mother—she was the housekeeper. She was engaged to my father long before Margaret Davenport.”

  “Was your mother ever married to your father?” asked Mr. Morgan.

  Clara frowned. “They were never married, Sir.”

  “I see. Miss Davenport, I will need to look into my records to learn how to move forward. It may not be today, but I will send you a post when I have an answer for your claim,” explained Mr. Morgan.

  “You need not send a post. Davenport House has a telephone now. Let me tell you the number.”

  Mary and Abigail felt a renewed sense of strength as they rode over the fields with Ethan alongside them. The three of them wondered why they had not been riding sooner. They leisurely made their way back to the stable. Throughout the ride, Mary was gathering the courage to speak with John Smith for the first time since reading the letter. Mary explained that she would do so while Ethan put the horses away. She disappeared up the staircase behind the stable to see if John was in the apartment. Abigail and Ethan remained in the stable and found a haystack for a seat. Ethan held Abigail’s hand in his, and they smiled at each other, grateful to have this moment alone. They were quiet for a long time until it was clear that Mary would not be returning for a while.