Rachel Lindsay - Mask of Gold

by Rachel Lindsay

  For a moment Carolyn was nonplussed, but as she realised the implication of his remark, anger swept over her. 'How dare you talk to me like that? I married Peter to give Piotr a home and because he didn't want the boy to be cared for by people who didn't want him. I knew nothing about the money.'

  'That's difficult for me to believe.'

  'I don't care whether you believe it or not. It happens to be true.' She blinked back tears of temper. 'So that's why Airs. Nichols and Jeffrey hate me! If Peter had died without marrying me, they'd have been Piotr's guardians.'

  The man nodded. 'Perhaps you can understand now why they feel so bitter.'

  'I'm afraid I can't. I wasn't brought up to worship money. As far as I'm concerned they can have the lot!'

  'A commendable statement,' came the dry reply, 'but aren't you forgetting the main clause in the will?'

  'What clause?'

  'That the money and interest cannot be given to anyone other then Piotr and his legal guardian.'

  'I see.' Her anger abated and she turned away, forcing herself to think of the future with some semblance of calm. No matter how much she disliked Mrs. Nichols and Jeffrey, the money had been left to Piotr by the unknown Aunt Agatha, and she herself had no right to disinherit him from it—even if she could.

  She turned back to face the pale, contemptuous gaze of the man in front of her. 'If what you say is true, then I have no choice. But at least I need not stay here. I'll make arrangements for Piotr and myself to return to Canada as soon as possible.'

  'A commendable decision, Mrs. Kolsky, but I'm afraid you're forgetting another important clause in the will.'

  'You'd better explain that remark too,' Carolyn said stiffly.

  'It's simple. Piotr only gets the money if he lives here until he's twenty-one. If he leaves this house, everything goes to a home for cats.' The man moved to the door. 'You won't be able to work your way out of that one, Mrs. Kolsky—though no doubt I'm sure you'll try.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Carolyn lay half way between waking and sleeping, a chord in her subconscious registering a strange absence of noise. Like a swimmer rising to the surface, her mind became aware of the sounds that were missing: the creak of the boat beneath her and the lap-lap of the waves. She sat up sharply and instantly remembered where she was. Daylight seeped in through the curtains, picking out the shape of the furniture ranged along the wall.

  She leaned over the bed. Piotr was still asleep, his face buried in the pillow, and stealthily she slipped out, felt for her slippers and pattered into the bathroom. In the daylight the bath and sink looked even dingier than they had the previous night. The ceiling above the geyser was black with smoke and the oilcloth on the floor had worn through to the boards.

  She sat on the edge of a cork stool and wondered what to do. The memory of last night returned with painful force. After the episode with the unknown Alvin she had gone into the dining- room to speak to Mrs. Nichols and Jeffrey, but that had led to an even more unpleasant scene, culminating in Mrs. Nichols losing her self-control and rushing from the room.

  'It's an impossible situation,' she reflected as she began to dress. 'The only thing is to see a lawyer and find out if Piotr can keep the money without living here.'

  Piotr was still asleep by the time she was ready to go downstairs, and she returned to the bedroom and pulled back the curtains. The rusty hooks screeched against the brass rod and Piotr stirred and flung out his arms. Carolyn walked over and kissed him. Surely no grandmother could refuse to love a child like this—he might be Peter's son, but he was also Rosemary's.

  'Is it morning already?' Piotr asked sleepily.

  'I'll say! It's half-past eight and we've overslept.'

  'What do I have for breakfast in this country?'

  'The same as you get at home.'

  He scrambled out of bed and pranced around the floor. 'Do I wear the same as yesterday?'

  'Yes. We're not going to unpack for the moment.'

  'Aren't we going to stay here, Caro?'

  'Don't ask so many questions, darling. And put your slippers on or you'll catch cold. Now hurry, or I'll go down without you.'

  The threat was effective, and in a short while the two of them went downstairs. There was no one in the drawing-room and the table in the dining-room was bare.

  'Is this a palace?' Piotr asked in an awed voice.

  'Not so you'd notice! Come on, let's go exploring.'

  They crossed the hall and in the stairwell saw a green baize door; pushing it open, they walked down a long corridor which terminated in a butler's pantry lined with glass-covered cupboards. Facing them was another door and they opened it and entered a large, bright kitchen.

  A woman turned round from the gas-stove. 'Good gracious, what are you doing here?'

  'I've come in search of breakfast. I'm Miss - Mrs. Kolsky.'

  'For land sakes! It's the little sitting-room you'll be wanting. Miss Agatha always had breakfast there. The rest of the family have it in their rooms. If you'd like yours sent up, it's easily done.'

  'We'd rather come down, thank you.'

  The woman's pink face grew pinker and she came over to Piotr and knelt down beside him. 'So you're my Rosemary's boy?' she crooned. 'I never thought I'd live to see the day.' She clasped him close. 'Land sakes! You've got the same black hair and the same smile. I was cook here when your mummy was a little girl. She'd come into my kitchen every day and ask for something special.'

  'Can I have something special too?' Piotr asked.

  'Of course you can. Any time you want anything, just tell me and I'll make it for you.' She wiped the edge of her apron across her eyes and got up. 'I'm all of a flutter. Rosemary's son in my kitchen and poor Miss Agatha not here to see him! That's ail she used to talk about towards the end.'

  'Did she never see him?' Carolyn asked.

  'Only in a snapshot. She kept it in her prayer book and spent her time looking at it in chinch.' The cook smiled gently. 'She was a real card, was Miss Agatha. Miss Rosemary was the only person she cared about, and when she ran off…' The woman threw up her hands in an expressive gesture and turned back to the stove. 'You'll be hungry, no doubt. Is there anything special you'd like?'

  'Muffins and maple syrup,' Piotr said.

  'Muffins I can arrange for tomorrow, my lad, but I don't know what you mean by maple syrup.'

  'It comes from the maple tree.'

  'Well now, does it really? I can see there'll be quite a lot of things you'll have to tell Cook, but all in good time. What can I get for you, Mrs. Kolsky?'

  'Coffee and rolls, please. And some fruit for Piotr—orange juice and an apple if you've got one. If you'll tell me where they are I can fix it myself.'

  'That's what I'm here for.'

  Carolyn flushed. 'I'm sorry, but I've been used to getting things for myself.'

  'Well, you needn't any more. You just tell me what you want and I'll see you have it.'

  Carolyn was too touched to reply, for it was the first gesture of kindness she had received since her arrival in England. 'That's very sweet of you. If you could tell me where the sitting- room is…'

  'Back through the corridor and second door on the right. It's a sun parlour really, and lovely and bright at this time of day.'

  Following the woman's instructions, Carolyn had no difficulty in finding the room. It was far warmer than the rest of the house, and furnished with an intimacy that suggested loving care. Breakfast arrived as soon as she and Piotr had settled at the small table in the sun-filled alcove, and she was just starting on her second cup of coffee when Mrs. Nichols came in. 'I thought you were having your breakfast in bed.'

  'I only have it in bed when I'm ill,' Piotr piped up. 'Did you have yours upstairs?'

  "Yes. I always do.'

  Piotr stared at her intently, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. 'I was afraid of you last night, that's why I cried.'

  'There's no need to be afraid of me,' Mrs. Nichols said coldly. 'I won'
t hurt you, child. I'm your grandmother.'

  'Why?'

  'Because your mother———- ' Mrs. Nichols paused, 'your mother was my daughter. Did she never speak of me?'

  'I don't remember. But my papa did. He said—- '

  'Now run along, Piotr,' Carolyn interrupted quickly.

  'Where to?'

  "The kitchen. Ask Cook if she'll wash your hands.'

  Piotr slid down from the chair, rubbed his hair with one sticky hand and disappeared.

  For a moment there was silence, then unexpectedly Mrs. Nichols spoke. 'I can hardly believe Rosemary's dead. She should never have had any children. She wasn't strong enough.'

  'She had Piotr,' Carolyn said gently.

  'All the more reason not to have any more. It was tempting fate.'

  'But Peter loved her,' Carolyn protested. 'He would never have wanted her to have another child if he'd thought it was dangerous.'

  'Wouldn't he?'

  Mrs. Nichols' tone was too icy to be ignored. 'What exactly do you mean by that?'

  'Only that it didn't take him long to marry someone else!'

  Carolyn turned red. 'I'd like to tell you about that, Mrs. Nichols.'

  'There's no need. You're Peter's wife and my grandson's guardian. That gives you everything you and Peter must have schemed for. But at least I'm glad he's dead and can't take advantage of it!'

  'Don't say that!' Carolyn burst out. 'Peter knew nothing about the will. I swear it. Otherwise he would have told me.'

  'Don't expect me to believe that he didn't,' came the answer. 'I'm not a fool.'

  Carolyn sighed, realising that words were useless; only action could help. 'I'd like to go and see a lawyer. There must be some way of getting round this damn fool idea of us all having to live here together. Is there anyone you can suggest?'

  'There's the family solicitor. At least if you go to him it will keep all this unsavoury business quiet. It's Jefferson and Arnold in Chichester, and the man to ask for is Mr. Arnold.'

  'Right. I'll go this morning. Believe me, I can't leave this place quickly enough. I've never stayed any place where I wasn't wanted.'

  'For heaven's sake be civilised about it!'

  'I'm trying to be. It's you that should try a bit harder.' Carolyn swung on her heel and ran down the corridor into the kitchen. The cook had perched Piotr up on the draining board and he was watching her peel some potatoes.

  'Do you want anything, madam?'

  'I was coming for Piotr. I have to go into Chichester.'

  'Why not leave him with me? It's all of eight miles into town and there's no need to take him.' She glanced at the clock on the wall. 'The next bus goes on the half-hour, so you'd best hurry.'

  Carolyn looked at Piotr. 'Would you like to stay here, honey, or do you want to come with me?'

  'I'll stay with Cookie.'

  'Cook, darling, not Cookie.'

  The woman smiled. 'He told me a moment ago I was good enough to eat. That's why he calls me Cookie! He's got the gift of the gab—just like his mother had.'

  'Did you know Piotr's mother well?' Carolyn said quietly.

  'That I did. She came to live here with her mother and Master Jeffrey when their father died. She must have been about six at the time…' She stopped and looked at the clock again. 'I don't want to hurry you, but if you want to get the bus…'

  'I certainly da Where does it leave from?'

  'Go down the drive and walk left along the lane for about five yards.'

  It was cold and miserable walking down the drive for yellow and brown leaves were soggy underfoot and long branches dripped over her head. The grey sky and low-lying mist blanched all colour from the landscape, and used to the magnificent Canadian elms and maples, she saw no beauty in the acacia and hawthorns growing along the hedgerows.

  She reached the bus stop and stood in the shelter of an oak. There was no one else waiting and at the end of ten minutes she wondered if she had misunderstood the cook's directions. Just as she had given up hope there was the chough-chough of an engine and a single-decker bus drew to a stop beside her.

  'Do you go to Chichester?' she asked the conductor.

  That's right. 'Op in.'

  Carolyn sat down on a seat by the door. The bus was crowded with women carrying shopping baskets, and though one or two of them smiled, no one spoke to her. It was only when they reached the outskirts of the town that she realised she did not have the address of the solicitors.

  The conductor was leaning against the bar at her side and she looked up at him hopefully.

  'I don't suppose you happen to know where I could find a law firm called Jefferson and Arnold?'

  'I know every place in Chichester, miss. Born and bred here.' He pointed through the window. 'See that copper? The firm you want is in the office just behind him.' He caught her arm and propelled her to the door. 'We're stopping for the lights. Quick, off you get!'

  As the bus began to move again Carolyn jumped on to the pavement. The door immediately facing her was open and she entered a passage and climbed a narrow flight of stairs to a dingy door with the name 'Jefferson and Arnold' engraved on it. Inside, she gave her name to a middle-aged typist who looked at her doubtfully before she disappeared into an inner sanctum. She came out after a moment, her expression veiled.

  'Mr. Arnold can see you in a moment. Would you like to sit down?'

  Carolyn perched on the edge of a chair, but no sooner had she done so when a buzzer sounded and the typist indicated the door behind her.

  'Go straight through.'

  Carolyn entered a room slightly dimmer but not as dusty as the one she had just vacated. Bookcases lined the walls and a large desk almost covered a faded blue carpet.

  Mr. Arnold stood up to greet her, his plump, pink face beaming a welcome. 'Delighted to see you. Delighted.'

  'I hope you don't mind my coming on the spur of the moment?'

  'Most certainly not. I had intended calling you myself later in the week, but I wanted to give you a chance to settle down first.' He ushered her to a shiny leather armchair and resumed his seat behind the desk. 'I take it you've come to hear the details about the will?'

  'Yes. I'm afraid I don't know more than a sketchy outline.

  Mrs. Nichols wasn't very——— ' Carolyn hesitated and then said in a rush: 'She was obviously most angry and upset at the J whole thing.'

  'Hardly surprising,' Mr. Arnold said dryly. 'The whole thing was somewhat childish.'

  'I never knew there was any money involved,' Carolyn explained. 'It came as a shock when I found out.'

  'A pleasant one, of course.'

  'I'm not sure.'

  'Not sure?' The question was so full of incredulity that Carolyn realised she would have to explain her position more fully. As briefly as she could she recounted the events that had led her to her marriage with Peter and her subsequent realisation that she herself would have to take care of Piotr, not only emotionally but financially too.

  'So you see,' she concluded, 'I only decided to come to England as a last resort. I'd no idea I would benefit in any way. I just thought it would be best for Piotr to be brought up by his own family—especially as I couldn't afford to look after him properly on my own.'

  The solicitor thrust his thumbs into the front of his waistcoat. 'So you had no knowledge of the contents of the will?'

  'None at all. Miss Nichols only referred to it in one of the letters she wrote to her niece.' Carolyn opened her bag and took out an envelope. 'Here it is. The first paragraph's the important one. She says she's made her will and refers to a previous letter. But I didn't find it in the deed box. I suppose Rosemary didn't take it seriously and burnt it.'

  'Or else didn't want her husband to find out,' came the shrewd reply. "Peter Kolsky was not the sort of man to accept favours from anyone—particularly from someone whom he regarded as an enemy.' Mr. Arnold leaned forward, thumbs still hidden. 'I take it Mrs. Nichols has told you the main terms of the will?'

  'I kno
w I have to remain at Royston in order for Piotr to inherit the money.'

  'That was the clause Miss Nichols emphasised most strongly. She was determined Rosemary should come home.'

  'I guess that's why Rosemary destroyed the letter. She probably didn't want Peter to know. He made no secret about loathing the entire Nichols family!'

  'He had some justification for it,' Mr. Arnold answered. 'But they had some justification too.'

  Unwilling to enter into the merits of who was right, Carolyn changed the subject. 'Was Miss Nichols in the habit of making wills?'

  'It was her favourite occupation! Every month or so she'd have another pet charity to add to the list or another person to take off it! At one time Jeffrey was the sole heir, then it was a cat's home, then Rosemary, then Jeffrey again.'

  'No wonder Rosemary didn't tell her husband,' Carolyn burst out triumphantly. 'She knew it would lead to an argument and she probably destroyed the letter and forgot about it. Or else decided to wait and see if her aunt changed her mind again before she died.'

  'It seems a reasonable supposition, Mrs. Kolsky, eminently reasonable.'

  'If you believe me, why can't the others?'

  'When judgement is clouded by emotion, it becomes irrational. Besides, I never said I did believe you!'

  'But what do I gain by playing dumb? I could stay at Royston without bothering to make any pretence.'

  'Only a completely hard woman would not mind appearing' —he searched for the right word—'appearing as if they were a gold-digger! And on your own admission you did not love Air. Kolsky when you married him.'

  'I told you why I became his wife. Because I didn't want Piotr to be alone.'

  'The child had a grandmother and an uncle,' Mr. Arnold intervened.

  'But at the time I didn't know,' she protested. 'I tell you I didn't know!'

  'Please don't be upset at what I'm saying, Mrs. Kolsky. I'm merely trying to clarify the position. You are the boy's legal guardian and as such you have control of the income from an exceptionally large amount of capital. It's all invested in gilt- edged securities and after tax you will still have a considerable sum.'

  There was silence; broken only when Carolyn decided that curiosity outweighed pride. 'How much do you call considerable?'