'It's been in storage,' Miss Mackenzie put in quietly.
'It will fill a gap in the gallery,' said the Countess.
Bradley resumed reading. ' "To Lavinia, Countess of Burford, in recognition of her numerous kindnesses over many years, I give and bequeath my Georgian sterling silver tea service, which I hope will supplement the similar dinner service she already possesses." '
Lady Burford beamed. 'It certainly will. That is most generous.'
' "To my great-great niece, Lady Geraldine Saunders, who has always brought a sparkle into my life, I give and bequeath the diamond bracelet, which was my beloved husband's wedding present to me." '
Gerry's face lit up. 'She showed me that once. It's beautiful. Oh, thank you, Florrie, I'll treasure it always.'
Bradley continued: ' "To my great nephew, Timothy Saunders, I give and bequeath the seventeen volumes of the first edition of the complete works of Charles Dickens, in the sincere hope that it will encourage him to read something other than law books." '
For the first time that day, Timothy's sculpted-like features seemed briefly to soften. 'How splendid. I have always been meaning to read Dickens through from beginning to end, but to do it from the first edition of the collected works . . . more than I could have hoped.'
' "To my great-great niece, Penelope Saunders, I give and bequeath the pearl necklace which was my husband's gift to me on the occasion of our thirtieth wedding anniversary, trusting that the husband she is so ardently seeking, and whom I am sure she will find very soon, will wish to give her a gift she will value as much as mine when and if she reaches her thirtieth anniversary." '
For a split second Gerry thought that Penny looked a little disappointed, but she quickly covered it up. 'Pearls? Oo, I haven't got any pearls. That's lovely.' Her lack of any other reaction to the rather involved syntax of the paragraph suggested that she had not really grasped its meaning.
'You must take great care of them, Penelope,' said her father. 'Only wear them on very special occasions. They must be kept in the safe the rest of the time.'
' "To my great nephew, Gregory Carstairs," ' Bradley started, but at that point came to the end of the page and he paused for a moment. Gregory was staring at him rather in the manner of a dog hoping against hope that he was going to be taken for a walk.
Bradley continued from the next page, ' ". . . knowing of his deep interest in political history, I give and bequeath the Chippendale desk, which has for many years occupied the study of my late husband, and which was previously owned by both William Pitt the Elder and the Younger, and whose wisdom will I hope, through it, be communicated to him." '
'Oh. Ah. Yes.' Gregory's words came like a series of little explosions. 'Most interesting. Great historical connections. I'm sure I'll be the envy of many of my colleagues. Capital.' But his face looked rather grim.
' "To Miss Jean Mackenzie," ' Bradley went on, ' "in gratitude for many years' devoted friendship and loyalty, I give and bequeath the sum of two thousand five hundred pounds, free of duty, together with the furniture from the room which she has occupied in my house and ten other pieces of furniture of her choice." '
Jean Mackenzie gave a gasp. 'Oh, how generous! How very generous! I never imagined . . . It will ease so many worries.'
Stella, sitting next to her, patted her hand.
'The Testator adds two comments,' Bradley said. 'Firstly, "I am putting her on her honour to give none of this bequest to any medium or psychic and warn her that if she does so I will have a serious bone to pick with her when we next meet, which I trust will not be for many years yet." '
'How typical,' Jean Mackenzie said. 'Yes, indeed, I promise, Florrie.'
'Secondly, the Testator says: "Thank you for not peeking." ' Jean's mouth fell open. 'I - I - how did she know?'
'My client foresaw that question. I was to say to you: "By your face, when you handled the envelope." '
'Oh, what an amazing woman she was! I'm so glad now that I didn't. So glad.'
' "To my great nephew, Thomas Lambert, I give and bequeath—" ' Bradley cleared his throat. He seemed decidedly embarrassed. Tommy was leaning forward expectantly. ' "I give and bequeath precisely nothing. He is a worthless young scoundrel, who doesn't deserve a penny." '
There was a gasp round the table. Tommy's expression did not change, but his face drained of colour.
It was Penny who was the first to speak. 'Oh, Tommy, darling, how awful! I'm so, so sorry.' She put her hand on his. For practically the first time in his life Tommy was unable to speak. He just gulped and looked down at the table.
'My client's next words: "It's all right, Tommy, that was a practical joke - one that you richly deserved to have played on you." '
Tommy jerked his head up as Bradley continued. 'I should explain that the last three sentences are not part of the will, but which Mrs Saunders insisted I inserted at that point.' He held up a sheet of notepaper. 'I now revert to the will proper. 'To my ever-entertaining great nephew, Thomas Lambert, I give and bequeath the sum of fifteen hundred pounds, free of duty, in the hope if not the expectation that he will use it wisely." '
Tommy gave his head a shake. His colour was returning. He managed a sickly grin. 'The old b— the old dear. She really got me, there. Suppose I did deserve it, though. I really get fifteen hundred quid?'
'Of course you do, silly,' Penny said. Bradley nodded.
'Gosh, that's hunky-dory.' He seemed already to have got over the shock. 'She needn't have worried. I've got some absolutely spiffing ideas.'
' "To my great niece, Stella Simmons," ' Bradley continued, ' "I give and bequeath the sum of fifteen hundred pounds, free of duty. It was a regret to me that I never visited the United States, but her most interesting letters over a number of years, and the stories she has entertained me with since her return, have made me feel that I really do know New York." '
Stella looked delighted. 'Oh, how swell of her! Unless this is a practical joke, too?'
'Most definitely not, Miss Simmons. I will continue. "To my daughter-in-law, Clara Saunders, I give and bequeath the sum of one hundred pounds, free of duty. I give and bequeath the remainder of my property—" ' He broke off, for a strange sound had come from the direction of Clara. It was a sort of strangled squawking, like a person who had been gagged trying to call for help. Whereas Tommy had gone white, Clara's face had assumed a decided shade of puce. Her hands on the table had formed two bony fists and her eyes were bulging. Dorothy took her arm. 'Mother, it's all right,' she said urgently in a low voice. 'Calm down. There's more to come. Please, Mother.'
Clara raised one fist and for a moment Gerry thought she was going to hit Dorothy. But she merely brushed her hand off and, with what was clearly an immense effort of will, managed to get control of herself.
Bradley resumed hurriedly. ' "I give and bequeath the remainder of my property jointly to my two beloved granddaughters, Agatha Saunders and Dorothy Saunders absolutely, feeling certain that in the event of their stepmother's present source of income ever proving inadequate, they will take care of her in whatever way they see fit." That is all, my lord, ladies and gentlemen. The will is correctly signed by the Testator and witnessed by my two clerks.'
He sat back and mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He seemed to have found the last ten minutes something of an ordeal.
Dorothy was looking dazed. 'That's - that's very nice,' she said. 'But, I'm afraid I don't understand: what does 'the remainder of my property' mean?'
'It comprises cash, shares, the house in Walton-upon- Thames and the rest of her personal possessions, not otherwise bequeathed. I calculate the total value to be in the vicinity of sixty-five thousand pounds.'
Dorothy's eyes grew so big that it looked as if they were going to take over all her face.
'By Jove!' muttered the Earl.
Gregory whistled softly and even Timothy looked startled.
Dorothy, who now looked on the verge of fainting, tried hard to speak. 'Six — six - sixty
-five?'
'At a conservative estimate.'
'Congratulations, my dear,' said Lady Burford warmly. 'I am so pleased for you both.'
'Yes indeed,' added the Earl. 'I must admit I had no idea . . .'
'I doubt any of us had,' Timothy said dryly. 'Allow me to add my congratulations.'
All the rest then joined in, surrounding Dorothy, shaking her hand, or kissing her. The others had momentarily forgotten about Clara, who had not moved a muscle since Dorothy had last spoken to her. So it was a shock when she suddenly jumped to her feet, at the same moment shrieking at the top of her voice: 'It's a conspiracy!'
It was like a volcano erupting. She stood there, quivering, and Gerry would not have been surprised to see smoke coming out of her ears. Then she started to speak, loudly and so quickly it was difficult to follow her.
'How dare she! One hundred pounds! To her own daughter- in-law! The woman who brought up her granddaughters, single- handed! It's an insult! But I know what's behind it. Her mind was poisoned against me, by all of you. You've always hated me. And you made certain I wouldn't get what was rightfully mine. Well, you'll regret it, eminent ladies and gentlemen. I know things about all of you, that I've kept secret — some for years, some just for weeks. Things that would make your reputations mud. Well, don't think I'm going to keep quiet about them any more. You just wait! You'll soon regret what's happened today.'
And jostling aside those who were gathered round, Clara practically ran to the door and out of the room.
There was a stunned silence. It was broken by the sound of Dorothy sobbing. She looked tearfully round. 'I'm so sorry. I'm so terribly sorry.'
'You have nothing to apologise for, my dear,' Lady Burford told her firmly. 'You have done absolutely nothing wrong.'
'But for Mother to talk to you all like that . . .'
'Your stepmother is plainly overwrought.' The Countess put a marked emphasis on the first syllable. 'Obviously she did not mean what she said.'
Dorothy got awkwardly to her feet. 'I'm very much afraid she did,' she said quietly. 'Will you excuse me, please? I must go to her.'
And stumbling slightly, she hurried from the room.
Gerry glanced round at the ring of faces. Was it her imagination, or did most of them at that moment look decidedly apprehensive?
'Poor girl,' Lady Burford said, as the door closed behind Dorothy.
'Not exactly poor, Mummy,' Gerry said. 'Half of sixty-five thousand, after all . . .'
'You know what I mean. Anyway, let us hope that the money will enable her and her sister to gain their independence now.'
'I am not at all sure that it will,' Timothy said. 'The woman seems to have a psychological hold over her. I know nothing about Agatha, but I fear Dorothy at least may have difficulty in breaking it. I would not be at all surprised if a good part of the estate found its way into Clara's hands before long.'
'Oh, that would be terrible.' The Countess looked at Bradley. 'Can nothing be done to prevent it?'
'I'm afraid not, my lady. Inevitably, in view of the fact that they are no longer young girls, the bequest was made to them absolutely, not in trust. They can do precisely as they wish.'
'Can you not put them in touch with a good financial adviser?'
'By all means, if I am asked to do so. But I am not the young ladies' legal representative.'
'I think you're worrying unnecessarily,' Gerry said. 'From what I gather, Agatha has a good head on her shoulders and is a lot tougher than Dorry. I think she'll take control now.'
'I'm just staggered by the size of the estate,' said the Earl. 'I was always under the impression that Florrie wasn't all that well off. I never liked to ask her, but I did tell her on a number of occasions that if there was ever any help of any kind I could give, she only had to ask. I imagine she knew what I meant.'
Miss Mackenzie cleared her throat in a ladylike manner. 'If I may say so, Lord Burford, I am sure she did know. Your kindness used to please her very much. But she never needed to take advantage of it.'
'I wonder where it all came from. I always understood that Great Uncle Bertie made some pretty disastrous investments.'
'I think Mrs Saunders — Florrie - would like me to explain. She would not want people to imagine that her late husband was financially incompetent. He did make some unwise investments, it is true, but apparently he also made some extremely shrewd ones. Moreover, she told me that he took out a very large life insurance policy soon after their marriage. So all in all she was well provided for. In addition, she herself had been investing, very cleverly, for a great many years. She seemed to have a real flair for it. Though, of course, even I did not know quite how big the estate was.'
Tommy gave a guffaw. 'I bet old Scary Clara would have been camping out on Florrie's doorstep for years, if she'd known just how much she was worth. Probably thought she was only going to leave a thousand or two, all told. Must admit I was hoping for a hundred quid at the most. Weren't you, Stella?'
'I had no idea what she was going to leave me. I'm just very touched to be remembered at all. After all, I hadn't seen her for eleven years, until a few months ago. She looked at Bradley. 'What would fifteen hundred pounds be in dollars?'
'About seven thousand, five hundred.'
'How sweet of her.'
The Countess said: 'I think it's time for tea.'
* * *
When tea was over, Bradley had left and most of the guests had dispersed to their rooms or elsewhere, Dorothy reappeared. She handed the Countess a folded sheet of notepaper. 'From Mother.'
Lady Burford unfolded it and read:
My dear Lavinia.
Please let me offer my most sincere apologies for what must have seemed my extremely insulting words to you. Cousin George and Geraldine following the reading of the will. I wish to make it abundantly clear that it was not my intention for one moment to include you in the accusations which I made. Needless to say. I know nothing remotely detrimental about any of you. with whom I have always felt the closest friendship.
I regret that circumstances make it impossible for me to leave Alderley tonight. However, as it would be undoubtedly embarrassing for all concerned if I were to come down to dinner. I shall remain in my room for the rest of the evening. Perhaps. if it is not too inconvenient, a light meal might be served to me here. You may, if you think it necessary, inform your servants that I have an acute headache, which is indeed true.
With repeated apologies. I remain, your friend.
Clara
Lady Burford looked up. 'Please tell your stepmother that what she wishes can be easily arranged. I will also send some tea up immediately. And ask her if she requires aspirin.'
'Oh, she has some, thank you. I'll tell her what you said.' Dorothy scurried out again.
Lady Burford passed the note to her husband, who read it. 'Well, at least she's got the decency to apologise to us, but doesn't say she's sorry for causing the rumpus in the first place. And you notice she doesn't withdraw a thing she said about the others.'
'That's very noticeable. Do you suppose it's true, George?'
'What, that she knows their guilty secrets? I've no idea. Not likely, but I suppose it's possible she knows some. But that they all conspired together is obviously nonsense. However, I'm not going to worry about it. I reckon they're all quite capable of looking after themselves. By the way, didn't know Clara was your friend.' He passed the note back.
'It's news to me, too, George.'
* * *
Jean Mackenzie sat in her room and tried to think of her inheritance and what she would do with it. But a nasty, nagging little worry spoiled her full enjoyment of the prospect. It was those last words of Clara's. At first, she had not associated them with herself. But going over them again she had remembered that Clara had said 'I know things about all of you.' All of you. Could the woman possibly know the awful thing that she, Jean, had done? It didn't seem possible. Unless Florrie had said something to her on Clara's one relative
ly recent visit. But that was highly unlikely. Florrie had thoroughly disliked Clara and told her as little as possible. But it could have been Agatha - Florrie could have told her and Agatha could have passed it on in all innocence to Clara.
Suppose Clara did know what she had done, and why she had done it? It didn't bear thinking about. It would, in Clara's rather vulgar phrase, certainly make her reputation mud. It must not be allowed to happen. She had built that reputation - for probity, honesty, truthfulness — over many years. She could not lose it now.
How, though, could she stop Clara? Would offering her money work? Two hundred pounds, perhaps, or three? It would be a big lump out of her inheritance, but worth it if it silenced Clara for good. But could she be sure it would? Suppose Clara came back for more? That's what blackmailers did. She might bleed her dry. And anyway, how could she approach Clara in the first place? 'I'll give you two hundred pounds if you promise to keep quiet about' - when, perhaps, all the time, Clara did not know about it. Jean would be giving her the information.
Oh dear, why had she done that awful thing? She would surely be punished. However, it was no good crying over spilt milk. The important thing was to decide what was she going to do now.
Jean thought deeply for several minutes and eventually came to a decision. She gave a firm nod. Yes, she was going to go ahead. She was not going to back out now. Whatever the cost.
Chapter Sixteen
The menu at dinner that evening was superb: chilled watercress soup, poached salmon, roast saddle of venison, with redcurrant jelly, and summer pudding, containing strawberries, raspberries and black cherries, served with cream. Nevertheless, the meal was a strained occasion. Perhaps it was the presence of Dorothy, who sat low in her chair, merely picking at her food, and when spoken to answered in monosyllables. Lady Burford had to resist a strong urge to order her to sit up straight and answer nicely when addressed. Of the others, Gregory seemed sunk in gloom, Stella distrait; Timothy at the best of times did not excel at light, dinner-table conversation, and Penny was preoccupied and apparently making valiant and unaccustomed efforts to think something through. Miss Mackenzie seemed decidedly nervous and was probably, the Countess thought, feeling rather out of place among a group of people who were all, however distantly, related to each other and all, as she would have described it, her social superiors.
3 The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks Page 9
