by Three Graces
“In order, yes. But for whom?” Thalia was also frowning.
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind, Aggie. Perhaps Mr. Gaines was right. We should wait until the will is read. Come, let us see if Cook has managed to make us lunch today, or if she still has the vapors.” And with this, Thalia strode out of the room. Her sisters followed more slowly, looking concerned.
***
The group that gathered in the library at two for the reading of the will was not a large one. Besides the three sisters and Mr. Gaines, there were only Miss Hitchins, Cook, and the two maidservants. No one counted the six cats; they were everywhere.
Mr. Gaines sat at the wide desk, spectacles on his nose and papers spread before him. He seemed to have some difficulty beginning. He cleared his throat twice, adjusted his neckcloth, shuffled the papers, and finally picked up a document and held it before him. His expression held both distaste and disapproval.
“I shall now read the last will and testament of Miss Elvira Hartington,” he began. “This document was drafted by me some fifteen years ago and signed in my presence and those of reliable witnesses. I may say at the start that I believe it to be perfectly legal and binding.” He cleared his throat again. “‘I, Elvira Hartington, being of sound mind and body, do hereby…’”
He droned on through several paragraphs of legal introduction, and the three girls were just being lulled into a kind of drowsiness when he read, “‘Therefore, having no direct dependents in need of my fortune, I hereby bequeath all money and property remaining after certain small bequests to a trust to be set up for the care and benefit of my beloved cats.’”
Mr. Gaines paused and cleared his throat once again. Everyone stared at him incredulously.
“She is leaving all her money to the cats?” blurted Euphie.
“I fear so, Miss Hartington.” Mr. Gaines shook his head. “I told her time after time in the last ten years that she must change her will now that she had taken you into her home. She always agreed with me. I know she meant to change it. But, the fact is, she didn’t.”
Euphie stared at him, stricken. “Everything to the cats? Nothing to us?”
The solicitor grimaced. “You see, miss, you were babies when this will was written. And your father, the baron, Miss Hartington’s brother, was quite well off. She couldn’t know that he would die without providing for his children. Or indeed that he would not have a son to break the entail on his estate. She did leave five hundred pounds to be divided among his offspring. Thinking, you see, that you would require nothing, but wanting to leave a token. And… and a choice of the current kittens, miss.”
Euphie couldn’t speak for a moment; then she said, “Aunt left us each a hundred and sixty pounds and a kitten?”
Gaines nodded. “More precisely, one hundred and sixty-six pounds—”
“Well, I don’t want a beastly kitten! Let them stay here with their wealthy friends!” And Euphie got up and ran from the room.
The solicitor shook his head. “Outrageous,” he murmured. “I said so.” He looked around the room apologetically. “I must go on.”
Aggie and Thalia nodded.
“Of course, please do,” said Miss Hitchins.
Gaines cleared his throat a third time. “Yes, ah, where was… oh, yes, ‘enumerated below. I appoint my good friend Eugenia Hitchins to administer this trust, knowing as I do that her feelings and mine are in harmony on the subject of animal nurture and protection.’” He read on, through a series of small bequests to the servants and the one to the girls themselves, but they scarcely heard. Miss Hitchins, who had started visibly at the mention of her name, seemed lost in a pleasant daydream. And Aggie and Thalia were stunned. They had been cared for by their aunt since they were children, and it had always been assumed that she would provide for their future. Finding that she had not, they were momentarily lost. What would they do?
Mr. Gaines finished reading and began to roll up the document. He looked at the two girls sympathetically. “I wish I could offer you some hope or consolation,” he said to them. “But as I mentioned, this is a valid will. I do not think it can be broken.”
They simply looked at him.
“Ah, yes, well, I must be going. Miss Hitchins, you will call on me at my office when convenient? Yes. Well, good day, ladies.” The solicitor left the room hurriedly.
Aggie and Thalia turned to stare at each other.
“You are welcome to stay and help me here,” said Miss Hitchins. “I will of course keep this house. The cats will prefer to stay in a familiar place. And there is so much room; we can add many more to our little family.” She bent down and reached for a yellow cat who sat near the corner of the desk. “Can’t we, Socrates? We will be ever so happy and free.” The cat turned pointedly away and began to lick its front paw.
“No,” said Thalia involuntarily. Then she stopped and looked at her older sister. Their eyes held for a moment.
“No,” agreed Aggie. “We thank you for your offer, Miss Hitchins, but… but I really think we must make other arrangements.”
“But what can you do? I daresay your aunt meant you to stay. Otherwise, she would have changed the will.”
Aggie’s eyes widened. She looked both shocked and hurt.
But Thalia merely raised her eyebrows and said coolly, “I shall teach. And I daresay my sisters can find other occupations better suited to their talents and interests. You will, of course, allow us some time to pack our things and make arrangements.”
This was not a question, and meeting Thalia’s frosty green eyes, Miss Hitchins quickly agreed. “Of course, of course. As long as you like.”
“Thank you. And now, if you will excuse us, we have much to talk over.”
As if irresistibly drawn, Miss Hitchins rose to her feet “Yes, indeed. I must be going.” She gathered up her shawl and reticule and turned, then paused and said, “I had nothing to do with this, you know. I knew nothing about it. I am terribly fond of the cats, of course, but otherwise…”
“It’s all right, Miss Hitchins,” said Aggie.
“Yes, well, it’s what your aunt wanted, I suppose. But I didn’t wish you to—”
“Not at all,” interrupted Thalia. “Good day.”
“Yes, good day. I will see you… well… good day.” And she went out.
When she was gone, the two sisters sat down again. At first, there seemed to be nothing to say; they merely stared at each other, trying to adjust to this sudden change in their fortunes. Then Thalia said, “Mr. Gaines was right. It is outrageous.”
“She meant to change the will,” offered Aggie.
“I should hope so indeed. But she did not, Aggie. And that is outrageous. We have no training, few skills with which to support ourselves. And Aunt never gave us any hint that we would need them. Insupportable!”
“But you have, Thalia. You can teach, as you said. Any school would be lucky to get you.”
“Possibly,” replied her sister dryly. “Whether I would also be lucky is another question. My studies have always been a cherished recreation. I never thought to earn my bread with them.”
“No.” Aggie looked forlorn. “And I have no skills at all; you are right in that.”
“You have the finest skill, a perfect character,” retorted the other. “You are much nicer than I.”
Aggie laughed briefly. “Even if that were so, one isn’t paid for one’s character.” Her head drooped. “Oh, Thalia, what are we going to do?”
“Right now, we are going to find Euphie. Then, we are going to plot.” She held out a hand and raised her sister to her feet. “Have no fear, Aggie. We will think of something!”
***
A month later, the Hartington sisters stood together in the early-spring sunshine in front of their aunt’s imposing house. They were dressed for traveling, and each held a wicker basket over her arm. Three carriages also waited there, pointed in different directions. One, Aggie’s, was to go into Hampshire, to the home of a we
althy couple with two small children, whose nursery governess she was to become. The second, Thalia’s, would head north to Bath, where she had been offered a post at a very exclusive girls’ school. Euphie’s vehicle was pointed south, toward London. With great reluctance, the youngest girl had accepted a place as companion to an old
lady there.
“I can’t bear it,” blurted Euphie. “I have been with you all my life. I shall miss you horribly.” She gripped the two older girls’ hands.
Tears started in Aggie’s eyes. “I know, dear. I feel the same. But we shall write very often. And perhaps visit at holidays.”
“We’ll save every penny,” added Thalia with an attempt at gaiety, “and travel together, a pack of curious spinsters.”
But this only made Euphie’s mouth droop the more. “I can’t bear it,” she said again.
“We must,” replied her oldest sister, though tears now ran down her cheeks. “There is nothing else we can do.”
“But it isn’t fair!”
“Don’t expect fairness, Euphie,” said Thalia very seriously.
One of the coachmen leaned down to say, “We’d best be starting, miss. It’s a long drive.”
Aggie nodded, unable now to speak. And the three sisters cast themselves into one another’s arms. “You will write to me every week, at the least,” said Thalia fiercely. “Promise, Euphie. You are a terrible correspondent.”
“Every day!” insisted the younger girl.
They stood back.
“G-good-bye,” stammered Aggie.
Thalia turned and began to climb into her carriage. “We’d best get this over,” she said. “It won’t get easier.”
Slowly the other two followed her example. The coachmen whipped up the horses, and the three vehicles moved off. Euphie leaned out to wave frantically for minutes after the others were out of sight.
I.
AGGIE
One
When Aggie alighted after a journey of a full day and a half, she felt very tired and dispirited. The Hampshire house she found herself facing was a pleasant one, of mellow red brick, surrounded by lovely gardens. And the butler who admitted her was kind. But she already missed her sisters very much, and she felt apprehensive and alone.
The butler took her to the housekeeper’s room, on the ground floor at the back, and there she was introduced to Mrs. Dunkin, a large smiling woman in black bombazine.
“Come in, come in, my dear. Sit down,” said this lady. “You must be tired out after your long ride. I’ll order you some tea.” As she talked and bustled about readying tea, the housekeeper eyed Aggie curiously, and the girl was immediately conscious of her sober gown, schoolgirl bonnet, and uncropped hair. But Mrs. Dunkin seemed rather to approve than to criticize her unfashionable appearance, and gradually Aggie relaxed. “Here we are,” said the older woman, offering a cup. “Nice and hot and just what you need. Drink it all, now.” She sat down opposite and took her own cup. “The mistress was that sorry she couldn’t be here to welcome you herself,” she went on comfortably. “She promised to spend the day with her mother before we knew just when you would arrive. But Miss Anne, or Mrs. Wellfleet I should say, will be home to dinner. I was with her mother’s household, you know, and I can’t seem to get in the way of calling her by her married name. She seems a child to me still.” Mrs. Dunkin smiled at Aggie, who responded rather shakily. “Your mother was a great friend of the Castels’, I believe? Miss Anne’s parents, that is.”
“Yes,” responded Aggie. “Yes, she was. She and Mrs. Castel were at school together. My family used to live nearby, you know.”
Mrs. Dunkin nodded. “I do believe I recall your mother. It was years ago, of course, but I think she visited the Castels’ house. A lovely woman, she was. You have the look of her.”
“I have been told so. I hardly remember her. She died when I was very young.”
“So she did, poor thing. And your father not many years after. Grief will do that to a man. Tch, tch.”
Aggie, remembering her gay laughing father and his death on the hunting field, said only, “The memory of their friendship led me to write to Mrs. Castel when I was looking for a position.”
“Indeed. So you and your sisters are thrown on yourselves?” Mrs. Dunkin’s curiosity was clear, but not at all malicious. She was obviously a woman who enjoyed a good story.
“Yes. The… the recent death of our aunt has left us… that is, has made it necessary for us to earn our own way.”
“Tch, tch. And your father’s great estate lying empty while the new baron gambles it away in London, or so we hear. Disgraceful, I call it.”
“The estate was entailed to the male line.” Aggie shrugged. She had never expected to inherit her father’s property, and so she did not feel the loss of it. Her aunt’s will had been a far greater blow.
Mrs. Dunkin nodded. “I never understood such things, and I never shall. A man’s children should get what’s his, not some distant relation no one’s ever seen.” Noticing that Aggie had finished her tea, she added, “You’ll be wanting to see your room and all. I’ll take you up.”
She escorted Aggie to a large airy bedchamber on the third floor. Though clearly not one of the most elegant apartments in the house, it was comfortably furnished and had a lovely view out over the gardens from three dormer windows.
“Here we are. The children’s nursery is down the hall there. They’re out with their mother just now. Sarah, the nursery maid, will get you anything you need. You can ring for her there. She can help with your unpacking if you like. Mrs. Wellfleet will be home in an hour or two, I suppose, and she’ll want to see you then. If there’s anything you want, just tell me.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much, Mrs. Dunkin. I can’t imagine that I shall. This is a lovely room.” Aggie realized that she was getting special treatment because her family had been friends with Mrs. Wellfleet’s, and she wanted to show that she was properly grateful.
The housekeeper smiled. “Well, I am glad you like it. And I hope you’ll be happy here with us, Miss Hartington. You’ll want to rest now, and I’ll leave you alone. Don’t forget to ring if you want anything.”
“Thank you,” said Aggie again, and Mrs. Dunkin went out.
When she was gone, the girl walked over to one of the windows and sat down in the window seat. She looked out over the garden, where the first spring flowers were just visible, and the countryside beyond. It brought back vivid memories of her childhood, lived not far from this spot. Even the scents which rose from the grounds below seemed vaguely familiar. Aggie smiled slightly. This hint of familiarity somewhat eased her longing for her sisters. Perhaps it would not be so bad, living in this house alone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden vigorous scratching sound, followed by several sharp mews. Aggie started up and hurried over to her luggage, which had been piled in one corner of the room. On top sat a wicker basket, and it was from this that the protesting sounds emerged.
“Yes, yes, Brutus, I’m coming,” said Aggie. She quickly opened the clasp on the basket, and a sandy kitten jumped out and rolled onto the floor. “I forgot you. How could I?” continued the girl. “Are you all right?”
Brutus, who had received his name from Aggie’s aunt at his birth, got up, shook himself, and proceeded to ignore his mistress as he explored the boundaries of his new home. Satisfied that he had thus shown his disapproval of his treatment so far, he then returned to the girl and began to bite at her ankles playfully.
Aggie laughed. At that moment, she was very glad that she and her sisters had decided to take their aunt’s bequest of kittens, in spite of their resentment over the rest of the will. “Stop that, sir,” she said. “You will ruin my only pair of silk stockings. Go and sit down, and after I unpack my things, I will take you to the kitchen and see about some milk.”
Brutus stared up at her briefly, then went back to his pursuit of her ankles. And it was only when she began to walk about the room, putting away
her things, that Aggie was able to discourage this pastime. Then, disgusted, Brutus went to lie in the window, watching the movements of a family of sparrows with considerable interest.
At six o’clock Aggie was summoned to the drawing room to meet her employer and her charges. In the interval, she had arranged her small possessions to her satisfaction, successfully introduced Brutus in the kitchens, and taken a turn around the garden. She was very glad to be called downstairs; she was eager to see what sort of people the Wellfleets were.
But when she entered the drawing room, it at first appeared to be empty. Aggie looked from one side of the well-proportioned chamber to the other, but saw no one. Then, a charming giggle from the direction of the long front windows caused her to look more carefully and notice a pair of very small boots protruding from under the blue velvet hangings. “Hello,” she said then. “Is anyone here?”
This produced a gasp from farther down the room, and suddenly a slender blond woman burst from another window embrasure, looking embarrassed. “Oh, how silly you will think me,” she said in a soft breathless voice. “We were playing hide-and-seek, you see, and I quite forgot the time.”
Aggie surveyed her with interest. Mrs. Wellfleet, for this must be she, was a small and very pretty woman with pale golden hair and large blue eyes. Her clothes were in the first style of fashion, of a wispy green material that became her extremely.
Mrs. Wellfleet pushed at her profusion of curls and called, “George, Alice, come out. The game is over. Come and meet Miss Hartington.”
There was a pause; then a tiny girl emerged from behind the sofa before the fireplace. She was dressed exquisitely in pink and was the image of her mother.
“George,” repeated Mrs. Wellfleet.
There was no reaction.
Aggie smiled and cocked her head in the direction of the small boots visible under the curtain. Mrs. Wellfleet did not seem to understand at first; then she followed Aggie’s gaze, dimpled, and nodded. Aggie walked quietly across the carpet and pulled back the hanging. “Found!” she called out.
