Smith felt the need to defend herself. “I believe the Judge and I may be seen as equals, if you compare our past indiscretions. I don’t think you should be so quick to dismiss me as a candidate, Freddie.”
Hagood shrugged, he didn’t like Smith and never had. “How about a show of hands, let’s see how others feel about the choice. William?”
Bird agreed and as there were no objections he started the process without pause. “Your nominated candidates are Caroline Smith and Judge Freeman. I’ll call the name. Raise your hand if you support that person for Chair. Those in favor of Caroline Smith?”
Junior and Smith raised their hands, but they were alone.
“That’s two votes for Caroline Smith. Those in favor of Judge Freeman, raise your hands.” Dennis and Janice Elliot raised their hands simultaneously, joined by Larry, Winnie and Betty Freah. Ron Freeman raised his own hand as William counted. “That’s six votes for the Judge. Those in favor of another candidate, raise your hands.”
Freddie raised his hand and looked at the two sisters, who had not voted. Bethany raised her hand and looked at Camille, who raised hers after a quick smile at her sister. William recorded the vote. “Three for another candidate. You have no majority. I recommend you find an alternative candidate for your three votes. When we have a full roster, you can vote again. The person with the lowest count will be eliminated in each round until you reach a super-majority.”
William took charge to steer them toward the next step. “So who will you nominate? Freddie, Bethany and Camille, you voted for an alternate choice. Who?”
Beth looked at Camille, and a look of understanding passed between them. Bethany addressed the others. “I think Freddie should get the job. He turned out to be a true friend to my father, I trust him.” Camille added her agreement.
William turned to Hagood. “Freddie, do you agree? Do you wish to be considered for the Chair?”
Hagood accepted the sister’s nomination with a gallant nod of his head. “Do you need to vote again, or will you accept the results of the last vote, with the three votes for an unnamed candidate being given to Freddie? If you don’t repeat the vote, Caroline will be eliminated and there will be a choice between Freddie and the Judge.”
Junior began to object but caught a look from Smith and fell quiet. She knew they were beaten and did not want Junior’s mouth costing them more goodwill. “I accept the results of the first round, I concede. Proceed with the second vote.”
William was grateful for any unpleasantness Smith had averted. “Thank you Caroline. You now have a choice between Freddie Hagood and Judge Freeman. Nine votes are required for a decision. Those in favor of Freddie, raise your hands now.”
Camille, Bethany and Freddie raised their hands again, but no-one joined them. William counted and announced the result.
“Three votes for Freddie. Those in favor of Judge Freeman, raise your hands.”
Eight hands were raised, the original six plus Junior and Caroline. William sighed. The situation was predictable but tedious. Junior would never support Freddie after his humiliation and Caroline would vote with Junior every time. They had come to an impasse.
“Eight to three, there is no super-majority. Do you need a break to figure this out?”
Freddie coughed looked at the sisters. “Ladies, I appreciate your trust, but I think it is in our best interests to move on. Let’s start this off right with a unanimous vote for the Judge. I think he may be a decent man who was caught in terrible circumstances. He has everyone else’s support. If I change my vote to support the Judge, will you join me?”
Bethany knew they had lost. Eight to three was too large a gap to overcome. What Freddie recommended was an elegant way to proceed. It built a bridge between the two factions instead of increasing tensions. She agreed and was joined by Camille.
William was impressed by Freddie’s offer and acted before any dissent could break out. “Let’s make it formal, those in favor of Judge Freeman for Chair, raise your hands.”
Eleven hands rose in unison and a half-hearted cheer went up from Freddie, which drew a laugh and broke the tension as William announced the result. “It’s a unanimous decision. Judge Freeman, congratulations sir, you have the Chair.” The Judge was surprised by a spontaneous round of applause. He realized every person wanted a quick resolution to the day. They had spent too much time in this room, under too much pressure.
“Thank you. Especially to Mr. Hagood, Miss Bethany and Miss Camille. Thank you all for your trust. I will attempt to wrap up our business as quickly as possible. I suggest we first agree there will be no attempts to remove a person without a share?” He looked at each face with trepidation, but saw no one willing to start a fight on the matter and was pleased. “Good, then I think we stand an excellent chance of finishing before the midnight penalty. I’m sure we all approve of that goal.”
Junior was furious, but dared say nothing in case he further damaged his cause with the group. He needed to get to Bethany and persuade her to work with him to secure a suitable share of their father’s money. He knew Caroline would support him. If he added his sister and she brought along the French girl, he would control a powerful alliance.
Junior could achieve none of this without some private time and for that he needed a break, but not yet. He risked raising the ire of the others if he called for a break just as the Judge was getting settled as Chair. The Judge was talking. Junior listened and adopted an air of relaxed indifference. “There are eleven of us, and we need nine to approve a final decision. I recommend we consider equal shares, it was an idea defeated yesterday, but I submit that what happened yesterday is no longer relevant.”
Junior watched the reaction to the Judge’s speech. Too many people were in agreement that equal shares were a good idea. He had to say something, he would not allow servants share equally in his inheritance. It was inconceivable. “No. No one agreed anything of the sort. I insist the family gets most of the wealth. It seems only proper that our father would want us to be well taken care of.”
He heard a snort from Larry MacLean. “Junior, you still don’t get it, do you? If Johnston had wanted you to get more, he would have bequeathed it to you in a Will, but he didn’t. You and Beth are trying to salvage what you can, like the rest of us. Considering what we all heard earlier, I can’t say I’m surprised. It seems to me his family was the cause of more heartache for Johnston than the rest of us combined.”
“Well, you’d know something about causing father heartache Larry. I don’t think you’re in any position to point fingers.” Junior’s retort was out of his mouth before he had time to think and only Bethany’s interruption saved him from saying more.
“Stop it. Both of you, just stop.” Bethany’s voice trembled. She was angry and could not bear to listen to them bicker for a moment longer. “Most of us could be accused of abusing my father in one way or another. Only a few of the people around this table told secrets that did not reflect badly on them, and of those, even fewer could claim to have been noble.”
She glanced at Dennis, the one man who had acted selflessly to help his employer. He’d broken the law to do it and had even involved his wife. She imagined he had not even considered refusing her father’s request for help. Bethany looked at Freeman. “Judge, can I ask for a show of hands for who might support the family’s claim to the largest share? I don’t mean an official vote, just an indication?”
The Judge glanced at William, who shrugged. “Nothing says you can’t do an informal poll, it’s your call.”
The Judge called the question and Bethany’s heart sank as she saw eight people keep their hands in place, the only raised hands were hers, Camille’s and Junior’s. Freeman sounded conciliatory as he read the show of hands. “I think you have your answer. There is no support for your claim.”
She was prepared to make another suggestion, but her brother interrupted. She recognized the anger in his voice and closed her eyes, dreading what he would say. “You i
ngrates. You leeches. You took and took from my father, all of you were into him for something, and now you stab us, his family, to get your grubbing, greedy fingers on a few more dollars of his money.” Junior’s face was crimson and his mouth twisted into a vicious expression of hate.
Bethany feared he would go too far and risk getting voted out with nothing if he upset them all too much. She tried to calm him, but he turned on her. “Don’t try and shut me up, sister. I’m speaking for you here, not just me. Sure, we’re not perfect, we have flaws. But damn it, we’re his flesh and blood. We carry his name, and sure as shit we should get most of his money.” He pointed at the others, moving an accusing finger at every person, his rage barely contained. “Not one of you can tell me you’re worth more than me, the son who bears his name. I am worth more than all of you put together, just remember that.” He sat down, and his chest heaved as he struggled for breath through his rage.
“Or what, Junior?” Janice was flushed with fury. She had suffered at Junior’s hands and was not prepared to let him have the last word about his perceived worth. “What are you going to do if you don’t get your way? Cry?”
There was a twitter of laughter from Betty, who was not silenced by the look of pure venom Junior shot her. Janice pressed on. “Come on, big man, what are you going to do if we don’t give you what you want? Tell us, we want to know.” Janice taunted him, and Junior’s face turned to its darkest shade of red. It signaled danger, but she kept baiting him.
“We’re waiting for an answer—”
Junior rose and balled his fists as a red mist filled his vision, but Judge Freeman cut him off before words came to his strangled throat. “That’s enough. Quiet down. Everyone just be quiet, this is not going to get us anywhere. I should not need to remind you that we have a deadline. I’m calling a break. I strongly suggest you calm down and start thinking about how we are going to resolve this impasse. It’s almost four, we’ll return to our business at five. I want everyone back here, ready to make decisions in an hour. Do what you have to do to calm down, talk to whom you must about how to proceed, but be here and ready to deal at five. Now, go.”
Junior was already exiting the room as the Judge finished his sentence. He needed to be alone, his head hurt with the fury he felt at the Elliot slut. How dare she talk back to him? He thought he’d shown her who was the boss last night, but it seemed she had already forgotten her lesson.
After only a few moments, the Judge and William were alone. William felt encouragement was called for. “You did well Judge, they might have gotten out of control had you not stepped in. You know a bunch of them want to make alliances again, and you gave them time to go do it. Well done.”
Freeman grunted. “I meant what I said about trying to have everyone take something away, you know. I don’t want to see another person tossed aside like I was and as Philip Thurwell has been. I have all the reason in the world to detest that boy, but to throw him out was an error. It raised tensions that might get in the way of an agreement.”
William had sympathy for the Judge’s opinion but could do nothing about it.
“I had no choice, my orders are non-negotiable. He didn’t tell the required truth, and there was only one possible outcome. If it makes an agreement hard, so be it. Philip is out, and he’s not getting back in. Sorry if it messes up your day, but there it is.”
William left the Judge, he needed to get his papers under lock and key and go foraging for a box in the boathouse.
Chapter Twenty-Two
William looked out of his office window and noted the fading light. Dusk came early this time of year and the late afternoon gloom’s dull pallor made even the fresh snow look gray. He collected his cashmere overcoat and a pair of rubber overshoes from his closet. He hoped he would not need any tools or he’d have to find Jeremy, and he preferred to keep this mission to himself. He scrabbled around in the bottom drawer of his desk until he found one thing he knew he’d need, a small plastic flashlight.
The boathouse was not far from the main building. In the summer, it was a pleasant walk under shade trees to the waterside. It was not so easy in January, and William found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other through the deep snow. The grounds keepers had not cleared the pathway to the boathouse, the lake was frozen over, and they’d been told no one would be skating this week.
Bird cursed, the snow was over knee height, and he had to throw his legs in the air in an exaggerated stride to get a decent step forward. He was only halfway to the boathouse when he lost his left overshoe and regretted its loss immediately. He had snow in his socks, but it made no real difference to his progress, which was glacial in its pace.
The trip would wreck his thousand dollar shoes and he wished he’d called on Jeremy for a pair of boots. The dark shadow of the boathouse rose in front of him as he breathed hard and pushed though the snow drifts. Branches rested on its roof, weighed down with snow to form a dark canopy over the wooden door.
William fumbled with the flashlight but dropped it as he tried to switch it on. He cursed and went after the light. It was easy to find, it had lodged a foot down in the deep snow, but his fingers felt biting cold snow as he retrieved it. Snow had found its way into his sleeve and now William wished he had gloves in addition to boots.
He shone the flashlight into the gloom and trudged to the door, hoping it wasn’t locked. He need not have been concerned, there was a bolt, but no padlock secured it. He pushed the door open and stumbled into the boathouse, glad to be out of the snow and on a firm wooden floor.
William had been to the boathouse many times, but never when the light was so poor. He had to pause to remember the layout of the place as he cast around with the flashlight beam. He soon found the old wooden chest and picked his way carefully through the dark to it. He sat down, he could at least take the time to empty his shoes of snow before he retrieved what he’d come for.
He tipped piles of snow onto the dry wood floor and was surprised by how much powder had jammed into his footwear. He slipped his shoes back on and stood to look at the chest. It looked heavy and had not been moved in a long time.
William would have to slide it away from the wall. He was just able to slot his fingers into the gap between the wall and the chest when he bent to move it. He braced himself and gave the chest a strong pull. It moved an inch and stopped. William expelled a loud breath and cursed, the chest was stuck.
He needed to find something to lever the chest aside. He shone the flashlight around until he found the oar rack, still loaded with stout wooden oars. He collected one of the strongest-looking oars and slid the blade into the gap between the wall and the chest, standing on it to get the blade as far down as possible.
He dusted his hands off and braced his feet for good balance and gave a hard pull on the oar. He staggered back as the chest slid easily away from the wall, the oar worked better than he expected. He bumped into the doorway as he fell backward, but the frame stopped him from tumbling back out into the snow.
He propped the oar against the doorframe and returned to the chest. He knelt on the smooth lid and used the flashlight to inspect the exposed floor. He saw one board with a knothole just large enough for a fingertip. It had to be the board that hid the box. He leaned down lower, jammed his finger in the knothole and lifted the board out of its place. It came up easily, and he felt triumphant, he had been right not to bother Jeremy for tools.
He peered into the void, it was deeper than he expected, and he was forced to stretch until his fingers found a shape. He grabbed what felt like string and pulled it up. When he could see what he had recovered, he saw a ribbon neatly tied around a small metal box. He’d found what he came for. Bird placed the box on the chest and gave it a shove to put it back in its place. The chest moved easily now it had been disturbed, and he was pleased to see it return as if it had never been moved.
He bent to pick up the box but was startled by a voice behind him. “Billy Bird the turd, what are you doing i
n here, I wonder?”
William knew the voice even before he turned to see Philip Thurwell standing in the doorway. The lawyer dropped the box into his overcoat pocket and hoped the other man hadn’t seen it in the gloom. “Philip, what are you doing here?”
Bird was confused, what reason did the young man have for being at the boathouse? “I believe I asked first, Bill. Why don’t you tell me what you found scrabbling back there?” William cursed silently, Philip had seen more than he would have liked.
“It’s none of your concern what my business is here, Phil. Let’s go back to the house, shall we?”
He approached the door, but stopped when Philip reached and took the oar William had left by the doorway. Something in the manner Philip hefted the oar made Bird afraid. It was heavy, and if Philip decided to use it as a weapon, he could maim or even kill him. The young man stepped into the boathouse, swinging the oar as he moved it from one hand to the other.
“Better start talking, Bill. I saw you get something back there. Maybe it’s valuable. You know, it occurs to me if what you have in your pocket is worth anything, I might as well take it. After all, I won’t be getting any of my father’s money. Will I, Bill?”
William’s mouth was dry, he was scared. Philip’s voice was quiet, but he could hear simmering fury in it. William had disinherited him, and now he had the lawyer cornered alone in the remote boathouse. Philip had admitted murder only hours earlier, and a deep chill went down William’s spine.
“Now, Phil, wait a minute. Those were the instructions your father left, I just followed them. It was nothing personal.” William hated the fear in his voice but could not hide it. He knew Philip could knock him unconscious or worse and just take the box from him. Philip snorted, and the lawyer knew his appeal had been heard and denied. He reached into his pocket and felt the small box next to the flashlight when a desperate idea occurred to him.
The Philanthropist's Danse Page 23