“So if you put it all together,” Amanda was saying, “and read only the faintly underlined portions, in order, from the family Bible, it reads . . .” She paused and glanced at one of the papers. “‘ . . . there were twins in her womb. And the first came out . . . daughter: . . . the elder was . . . And after that came . . . brother out . . .’”
She set the paper aside and pulled Maggie’s Bible toward her, with the sheet on which she had written its clues.
“And then, if you read the words underlined in your Bible, Grandma Maggie,” Amanda went on, “in the sequence that I looked them up, the same message is repeated in more detail: ‘An inheritance may be gotten hastily at the beginning; but the end thereof shall not be blessed . . . we have none inheritance in the son . . . It is false . . . If a man die . . . ye shall give his inheritance unto his daughter . . . thine elder sister.’”
Amanda stopped and glanced around the table at the other three.
“Do you see it?” she said. “I think the message is as clear as can be. Cynthia was really the first born of Henry Rutherford’s twins, and Daddy’s father, Ashby, was born second.”
The words sank in around the table, though seemed to strike no one with as much force as Amanda had expected. None of the others yet appreciated where the revelation was leading.
“Exactly as I thought,” said Maggie, nodding her head after a moment. “I knew the vicar had been paid off for something. That must have been it, and he helped cover it up.”
“But why?” asked Jocelyn. “Why reverse the birth order?”
“Because old Henry didn’t want a daughter to inherit,” said Maggie, her blood beginning to run hot.
“They falsified the order so that Henry’s son could inherit,” added Amanda. “You almost had it solved, Grandma Maggie, just not this one final piece.”
“It was no secret how old Henry came to hate his wife,” Maggie went on. “He wanted a son; everyone knew it. I thought there was something suspicious about the old villain. So he inverted them in the parish register, just like Jacob and Esau, switched the birthrights even as his wife was dying, and got the vicar to be part of his lie with him, leaving his true heir, Cynthia, out of her inheritance. It was a scoundrel thing to do.”
“But who left all these clues?” said Jocelyn again.
“Maggie’s grandmother, who attended to the birth and would have known what happened better than anyone,” answered Amanda. “Afterwards she must have wanted to leave some clue that would point to the truth. That’s when I think she made these notations in the family Bible.”
“But how did she get to the Bible in the Hall?” asked Catharine.
“I think I can answer that,” said Maggie. “She had been there often with her father, who was the carpenter for the lord of the manor. With her lifelong connections to the place, she could easily have got in, written down that reference in the birth record and underlined those words that you found, Amanda, then hidden the Bible in the secretary she knew about because it was just like her father’s.”
“What about the parish record?” asked Catharine.
“The handwriting looked different to me,” said Amanda.
“That clue must have been left by Crompton—the initials A.C.,” said Maggie. “What did you say was the date?”
“July 16, 1855.”
“Just a year before his death, when this cottage was transferred to my grandmother.”
“It is puzzling,” said Jocelyn. “Why would he make that notation so many years later?”
“And what I haven’t been able to understand,” added Amanda, “—if he was going to alter the parish record, why he didn’t simply change the original entry?”
“And why didn’t my grandmother just tell someone what had happened,” added Maggie, “such as my mother, or even me?”
“We may never get to the bottom of some of the mysteries about Heathersleigh,” said Amanda.
As she spoke Jocelyn glanced over and saw that Maggie had grown pale and was clutching the table.
“What is it, Maggie?” she said in alarm.
“Nothing, dear,” replied Maggie, her breathing shallow. “I think the excitement over old Henry wore me out, that’s all. I am still not myself. I get tired too easily. Sometimes I think I am—”
“Nonsense,” interrupted Jocelyn. “You just need a little rest. Let me help you over to the divan and you lie down. You will be able to hear everything we say.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Amanda rose from the table. “Would you like some water, Grandma Maggie?” she asked.
“Yes, dear . . . thank you.”
“I wish Charles were here,” sighed Jocelyn a minute or two later, once she had Maggie comfortably resting on the couch. “I wonder if he knew anything about all this. Even with all you have discovered, Amanda, we still have no actual proof all this is what happened.”
“But don’t you think it is likely . . . more than just likely—undeniable?”
“It does seem so,” replied her mother. “I admit it is difficult to put any other construction on those underlined passages, even though such deductions as you’ve made would probably not stand up legally or in court.”
A long silence followed.
“This is all very interesting,” said Catharine at length. “But what difference does any of it make? Cynthia and Ashby have been dead for years. Who cares who was born first? What do legalities and courts have to do with it, for heaven’s sake?”
Amanda and Jocelyn looked at one another. Jocelyn had at last begun to apprehend a portion of why Amanda was so serious and why she had been crying earlier. She thought she knew what Amanda’s thoughts were pointing toward, though she did not yet see all that had come to Amanda in the prayer wood.
“I think Mother was referring to what might be the consequence if news of what we have discovered fell into other hands,” replied Amanda to Catharine’s question.
“Whose hands?—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Catharine. “Who would care about any of this anyway?”
“Don’t you understand, Catharine?” said Amanda. “The inheritance, even perhaps the title itself—though I’m not sure it would have passed to Cynthia rather than Ashby—but in any event the bulk of the inheritance followed the wrong family line.”
“What do you mean, the wrong family line?” asked Catharine with a puzzled expression on her face. “What are you saying?”
“That had the inheritance come down through the years from Henry as it should have,” Amanda continued, “—that is through his eldest daughter, Cynthia—Heathersleigh Hall would now belong to Cousin Gifford, Cynthia’s son. In other words, Father would never have been lord of the manor at all.”
“What!” exclaimed Catharine.
“That is what makes all this so important,” replied Amanda, her voice now growing soft.
The silence which fell around the table this time was long and reflective. It almost seemed dishonoring to the memory of their beloved Charles to imply that he had been an unwitting usurper to a title and estate that should never have belonged to him. The moment the words left Amanda’s mouth, they fell like chilly icicles into the hearts of all these women who had loved him so deeply.
“I don’t like it,” said Catharine at length. “You make it sound as if Daddy did something wrong.”
“That’s not how Amanda meant it, dear,” said Jocelyn. “Your father could not have known.”
“Well, I don’t even like the sound of it,” rejoined Catharine. “I don’t want to think about it. Besides, none of it matters now anyway. It’s too late. It’s all over and done with.”
“It might not be completely over yet, Catharine,” said Amanda.
Catharine glanced toward her with a look of question. She did not like the tone in Amanda’s voice.
“What do you mean?” she returned a little sharply. “Daddy’s dead. And like Mother said, there is no proof.”
“Perhaps the only proof we ough
t to need is what we know is the truth, not whether it could be legally disputed or not.”
“But why?” insisted Catharine.
“Catharine,” Amanda began, then glanced over at her mother, “don’t you see what we have to do?”
“No, I don’t see it at all,” rejoined Catharine testily.
“If Heathersleigh is not rightfully ours, and never should have been, then we have no other alternative.”
“Alternative than what? You’re not implying—” began Catharine, at last giving in to her mounting disbelief.
“I feel we should give up Heathersleigh,” said Amanda. Her voice was soft but firm. “It should rightfully belong to Cousin Gifford’s side of the family.”
“Amanda, you can’t be serious!” exclaimed Catharine.
Amanda did not reply.
“Even if it is true,” Catharine continued, “what good will possibly be accomplished by revealing what you have discovered? You can’t be suggesting actually turning Heathersleigh over to Gifford! I don’t believe what I am hearing!”
More silence followed.
“Mother,” said Catharine after a moment, “tell Amanda this is absurd, that what she is thinking won’t help anything.”
“I don’t know if it is a question of helping anything, Catharine,” replied Jocelyn. “What Amanda is saying is that we should perhaps consider it because it may be the right thing to do.”
“But it is ridiculous! Isn’t possession supposed to be nine-tenths of the law or something?”
“I think I agree with Amanda.”
With an imploring look, Catharine now glanced over at Maggie.
“Your sister is speaking from the Lord’s heart, dear,” said Maggie. “I think you should listen.”
“Mother . . . please!” Catharine said, turning back toward Jocelyn.
“Though many years have gone, that does not undo a wrong,” said Jocelyn, “restitution and truth still have to be sought no matter how long it has been.”
“Actually,” Amanda now said again, “one thing you said is true, Catharine—I don’t suggest turning it over to Gifford.”
“I am relieved to hear that!”
“I think the right thing to do might be to place Heathersleigh in Geoffrey’s hands rather than his father’s.”
“Oh no—it goes from bad to worse!” cried Catharine. “Geoffrey! How does that help matters?”
“I am not sure I understand you now, Amanda,” said Jocelyn.
“It is nothing I can put my finger on exactly, Mother,” replied Amanda. “But not only must we do what is right, we also must be good stewards of what has been placed in our hands, even if originally by deceit. I don’t think giving Heathersleigh to Gifford would be wise stewardship over the estate, which is the Lord’s more than it is any of the rest of ours. I have the feeling he would misuse it, maybe even sell it.”
“What makes you think Geoffrey would be any better?” asked Catharine.
“I don’t know, just a feeling I have. I think Geoffrey is changing. If we follow through with this and undertake to transfer the estate to him, I have the feeling he would take it very seriously.”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing! Don’t tell me his proposing to you went to your head. You’re not thinking of . . . marrying him, are you!”
“Catharine, that was years ago. This has nothing to do with that. No, I’m not thinking of marrying him. I’m not thinking of marrying anyone.”
Catharine said nothing.
“But that has nothing to do with the fact that there is no denying that Geoffrey is the true heir to Heathersleigh in the next generation, not you or me.”
“I don’t believe this,” exclaimed Catharine, suddenly jumping up from her chair. “Who do you think you are? You are always wrecking everything. You made Mum and Daddy sad all the time. And now you come back and try to turn our lives all upside down!”
She stopped and stood in horror at what she had said.
“Oh, Amanda . . . Mother—I am so sorry!”
She turned and ran from the cottage.
Maggie and Jocelyn were quietly weeping, not for the possible loss of their beloved home, but for what Amanda had become, and for her willingness to relinquish what would have eventually become hers.
57
Argument
The expensive dinner laid out across the white linen tablecloth in a secluded corner of an exclusive Paris restaurant had been sitting untouched ever since the appearance of the piece of paper Ramsay Halifax still held in one hand.
“Look, Adriane, I have no choice,” Ramsay was saying, glancing toward the message he had received that afternoon. “These people are serious.”
“I’m tired of it,” replied his irritated mistress, Adriane Grünsfeld, alias actress Sadie Greenfield. “You’re always leaving, and I never know when or where I’ll see you again . . . or if I will see you at all.”
“There is a war on. Certain sacrifices have to be made.”
“Not by me. I’m not interested in this war.”
“I’m being well paid, darling. Surely it is worth it so that we can have a good life after the war. And it won’t be much longer. I’ll carry out this one last assignment and then tell them I’m through.”
She laughed, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm.
“And your mother and that man Barclay—I cannot stand the sight of him when he gives me the evil eye. Are you going to tell them you’re through?”
“I can handle them.”
“Like you’ve handled them till now?” she rejoined, laughing again with disdain.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you always do their bidding. You’re twice the man Barclay is, but you always cower around him like he’s got some power over you. I hate him.”
“I’m doing all right for myself,” snapped Ramsay, all the more annoyed with her comment in that he knew there was a certain degree of truth in it.
“All I know is that if you don’t get that mess with the English girl resolved so that you can marry me, I’m through.”
“Soon, I promise . . . just let me take care of this one last assignment, then you and I will settle down together.”
“Settle down . . . where! That hardly sounds like you, Ramsay. All of Europe is at war. I have the feeling you like it. Where is someone like you ever going to settle down?—Vienna, here in Paris, the States, perhaps . . . or back in England with—”
She paused abruptly. The comment hadn’t been planned. But now that it had nearly escaped her mouth, after a second’s hesitation she let it come.
“—with your wife.”
“Leave her out of it!” snapped Ramsay testily.
“How can I?” she snapped back. “What am I supposed to think?”
“She means nothing to me.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that? You married her.”
“I had to. She’s probably dead by now anyway.”
“And maybe not. Before we go any further, I want her taken care of. I refuse to marry a married man.”
“You haven’t objected to being with me before now.”
“That’s different,” said Adriane in a huff.
“Relax, darling,” said Ramsay, trying to calm her down. “I’ll look into it.”
Adriane glanced around and made a halfhearted attempt to stab a piece of cold veal with her fork. She was beginning to wonder what she’d gotten herself into.
58
Two Visitors
The three Rutherford women walked slowly and thoughtfully back toward Heathersleigh Hall. As she thought about it, Catharine found the discussion at Maggie’s no more agreeable now than when she had first realized where her sister’s thoughts were leading. It was the closest she had come to actually being angry with Amanda since she had returned home. She had let out some steam and was sorry, but it still wasn’t resolved. She walked a little way apart from the others, silently nursing her stunned disbelief.
As t
hey went they saw a tall figure walking across the meadow toward them.
“I do believe that looks like—” began Jocelyn.
“Terrill—I mean . . . it’s Lieutenant Langham!” exclaimed Catharine, breaking into a half run. In an instant the cloud over her countenance disappeared.
As she hurried toward their visitor, she saw Betsy now running out from the Hall to join the party.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” said Catharine, slowing the same instant Betsy scampered by.
“Hello, Miss Rutherford,” he replied, glancing to his right as a blur dashed past them. “Who was that!” he laughed.
“Where did you all go?” cried Betsy, reaching Amanda and Jocelyn. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“We had to go see Grandma Maggie, dear,” laughed Jocelyn. “Hello, Lieutenant Langham,” she added, glancing behind Betsy where Catharine and the lieutenant now approached.
“Lady Rutherford . . . Miss Amanda,” said Langham, nodding first to Jocelyn, then Amanda. “It seems my timing is always a bit off. You are out every time I call. At least on this occasion there are no streams to leap over and geese to tackle!”
They all laughed, glad for the lighthearted memory to replace, even if temporarily, the heaviness of the matters concerning their future which had been occupying them before the lieutenant’s unexpected appearance.
“We are glad you are here, Lieutenant,” said Jocelyn. “I would say your timing could not be better. It is nearly teatime.”
“Thank you, Lady Rutherford,” he went on, “but we do not have a great deal of time.”
“We?”
“Lieutenant Forbes is with me. He hopes to speak with you for a moment too. But we are on naval business.”
“Then we shall hurry right in and get tea on the table,” insisted Jocelyn. “—Betsy, how would you like to go visit Grandma Maggie for a little while? I was planning to return to the cottage, but if you would like to, it would be a big help to me, and I know she would like to see you.”
“Yes, I’ll make her tea,” replied Betsy. “She always asks me to read to her out of the Bible.”
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