by Janet Woods
Edgar had travelled back to Perth, then on to the town of Fremantle, where he checked the shipping records. John Kern’s name didn’t appear on the passenger lists. It took time, but he did the rounds of the hotels. He was looking for a man called Angus Edwards.
He found him clerking in a lawyer’s office.
‘John Kern. Yes, I remember him. My employer was away on business and he wanted the will witnessed in a hurry, so I notorized the signature myself. He told me he was going to Melbourne on business. I offered to travel with him, since I was taking time off to visit my mother. However, he was vague about the sailing time and said they didn’t coincide since we were booked on different steamers.’
‘Did you read the will?’
‘No, sir.’ The man hesitated. ‘As I recall, he told me he was leaving everything he had to his niece. The document was sealed and notorized in the office.’
‘This niece . . . did you see her?’
‘She wasn’t with him. He said he didn’t want her to know about it. He seemed like a nice man, but I thought he looked ill. I did see him around town a couple of times afterwards, but he was always alone, and inebriated.’
‘Thank you. You have a good memory, and I’m obliged to you.’ He repeated the request he’d made to the Coolgardie shopkeeper. ‘If you ever see Mr Kern, perhaps you would ask him to contact Grimble and Sons.’
In Melbourne, a fine city which had taken his fancy at first sight, he’d discovered two men with the name of John Kern. He was in no hurry to leave his surroundings, even though neither man was the John Kern he wanted. The first one made boots, and the second one was a gentleman sheep farmer.
Invited to dinner by the latter, Edgar met a young lady called Amelia Rose Wallace. She was sweet-tempered and fair, and they fell instantly in love. Edgar was offered a position by her father, who was a wine merchant and they were married four months later.
After the honeymoon Edgar resumed his quest when he saw a notice in an old newspaper about John Kern’s death, and he realized he’d been in the country for several months without word to his father. It was already June. Duty called. He contacted the coroner’s office and the newspaper in Perth, in time receiving a copy of the report, plus further news about the escape of the convicted killer, Flynn Collins. The man had not been caught.
Resisting the sweet nothings his wife whispered in his ear, he sent her to bed on a promise one night, then pulled the inkwell towards him and began to write.
Melbourne Australia. June 1898
Dearest Father,
I’m sorry to have taken so long to report back to you, but my search has been as thorough as I could make it, as I will detail in the pages to come.
First I must tell you of the most pleasant and happy event. I have married the most wonderful girl in the world and have decided to settle in Melbourne, which is a fine city. Your new daughter-in-law is Amelia Rose Grimble (née Wallace) Her father is a wine exporter. I’m sure you will approve of her, and adore her as much as I do when you meet, which will be the year after next on a visit to England, if all goes well. In the meantime I have enclosed a photograph taken on our wedding day.
I intend to use the legacy from my esteemed grandmother to open a solicitors’ office. I thought I might call it Son of Grimble. I do hope you approve, and will, of course be available for any soliciting business you wish to conduct in the colony.
As for that other matter. I’ve been thorough and checked back to the Coolgardie goldfields in the west. Sarette Maitland’s story holds true in every respect. There are people there who remember them both, and the circumstances by which Miss Maitland was taken into the care of John Kern. So there is no need to doubt the young woman’s story.
Now for the bad news. I’m sorry to have to tell you this father, because I know that your friendship with John Kern was dear to you. It appears that he is . . .
Bournemouth
‘Dead! John Kern is dead?’ Ignatious sank into a chair. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Gerald had been reading the coroner’s report, and said gravely, ‘It appears that he was shot in the heart through the back. It would have been instant and he wouldn’t have seen it coming, if that’s any consolation. The murderer was sentenced to death, but escaped before the deed was carried out. Good Lord! It happened while Sarette was still on the ship. No wonder we never got any correspondence from him.’
Gerald picked up the photograph of his brother with Amelia Rose and smiled to himself, even though the matter at hand was nothing to smile about. This was typical of his headstrong younger brother, but he hoped he would be happy. ‘I admire Edgar’s taste. She’s a pretty little dove.’
‘She’ll need the disposition of an angel to deal with him,’ Ignatious snorted. ‘Son of Grimble, indeed! Typical of Edgar to think up such a ridiculous name. He hasn’t even got his articles yet.’
‘I’m sure you can arrange that. Edgar was a quick learner and always managed to engage the finer points of law. He would make a fine barrister, one with flair.’
‘Yes, I suppose he would. All my sons are well taught as well as gifted.’ Ignatious Grimble couldn’t quite hide the pride in his voice. ‘I should have sent you, not Edgar. You’ve got much more common-sense.’ He gazed at the photograph. ‘A wine merchant’s daughter, eh. I suppose he could have done worse.’
‘He might have married the innkeeper’s widow.’
Ignatious shuddered.
‘What are you going to do about John? Magnus will have to be told as soon as possible.’
Ignatious sighed. ‘But not Sarette. John was adamant that she must finish her education with Iris Lawrence before she meets Magnus.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought she’d need any more. She’s been there for nearly a year and appears to be socially acceptable to me, and thoroughly delightful.’
‘Yes, I suppose she is. Oh dear . . . I’ve been dreading this day.’
‘Serves you right,’ Gerald said, trying not to laugh. ‘Your devious nature was bound to catch up with you sooner or later.’
‘This is John Kern’s deviousness, not mine.’
‘The pair of you have always been like-minded. Honestly, father. Magnus might growl a bit, but he was close to his uncle and he’ll understand his way of thinking over this once he gets over his shock. It might take him a while though.’
‘You think so?’
His father looked so dubious that Gerald wanted to laugh. ‘Would you prefer me to tackle Magnus?’
‘No, it’s a duty John has charged me with. We’ll go together. Then we’ll go on to Weymouth. You can take the girl out of the way while I inform Mrs Lawrence what has happened.’
‘I’ll go and tell Amos he’ll be in charge of the firm for the day, then.’
Eight
Magnus Kern added a splash of brandy to the coffee he’d ordered for them. His face reflected the sorrow he felt at the news. ‘I can’t say this comes as a complete surprise. My last letter to my uncle was returned and I wondered.’ Though he’d hoped his uncle had moved on. ‘You must bill me for Edgar’s expenses.’
Ignatious nodded. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’
‘What killed him? Heart? He seemed quite healthy when he left here.’
‘He was shot, Magnus.’
Magnus’s hand jumped and his cup rattled on the saucer. ‘Shot?’
‘In the back. Death was instantaneous.’ He handed over a copy of the newspaper cuttings and coroner’s report.
The men were silent while he read the papers, then Magnus glanced over at father and son. ‘At least he didn’t go into a pauper’s grave. I should have thought to look for him myself.’
‘Your uncle was strong-minded, Magnus. He wouldn’t have liked either of us to interfere in his life . . . or oppose his will come to that.’
Magnus’s eyes darkened as his glance slid over Gerald – who was examining his fingernails – to narrow in on those of Ignatious Grimble. There was a suspicion forming
in the back of his mind and he said, ‘Oddly, you took it upon yourself to do both. You must have had a very good reason for that. What was it?’
Gerald cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with his father, who nodded.
‘There’s a girl involved,’ Gerald said.
‘So my uncle had a lady friend. What of her? Pay her off.’
‘Not that sort of lady friend, Magnus. John Kern took a destitute child under his wing and he’d made her . . . his responsibility, and he left her a bequest from his remaining estate. It was his wish that her welfare be passed over to you.’
‘The devil take him! Where is this girl?’
The bland smile Gerald offered him gave nothing away. ‘She’s at . . . school. We’re to deliver her into your care when we decide its expedient to do so. We will need your assurance that you’ll do as your uncle wishes.’
Magnus wondered if the girl was a child his uncle had fathered. John had been in Australia for long enough to have met some woman on the ship and got a child on her. She wouldn’t be older than four years, at the most. Rather young to be in school.
Pushing back his chair Magnus went to the window and gazed out over the pleasant garden. But he shortened his gaze and observed the reflection of the two men in the glass. ‘When you decide? If the child is to become my responsibility, it’s I who will decide. How long have you known about this girl?’
It was Ignatious who answered. ‘It’s eleven months since she stepped off the boat and her female chaperone handed her over to me.’
‘And you didn’t do me the courtesy of informing me?’ Magnus said silkily.
‘I was acting under your uncle’s instructions.’
‘The instructions of a dead man.’
Gerald stepped in. ‘According to the dates, John Kern was still alive when the girl left Australia. We sent Edgar to check on the veracity of the signatures on the will, and to seek your uncle out. As soon as we received news we brought it to you. The girl is a pretty little thing. I’m sure you’ll like her.’
‘Do you have a copy of John’s last will and testament with you?’
‘We do.’ Ignatious opened the briefcase he’d brought with him, because it contained the legacies for the staff. He then took out a handkerchief and hastily mopped his brow. ‘Before you read it I’d like to run through one or two points that need clearing up.’
Magnus turned. He noticed the perspiration on the old man’s face and shrugged. Surely he wasn’t that frightening. ‘I can see from your faces that I’m not going to like the contents of the will. I’d rather you just left it on my desk. I’ll call on you later in the week and we can discuss the finer points then. I might as well tell you that if he has left this girl his Bournemouth house, I intend to contest it.’
‘Which might end up costing you more than the house is worth, but that will be up to you, of course,’ Gerald said, and smiled, which immediately put Magnus on alert.
‘I don’t like that smile. Gerald. What else?’
‘I thought you wanted to read the will yourself.’
Gritting his teeth, Magnus forced out. ‘Stop looking so damned smug. What else, dammit!’
Throwing a wad of papers on to the desk, Gerald said, ‘My condolences on the death of your uncle. A pity you didn’t learn some manners from him, but like all the Kerns, you always were an arrogant bastard.’
‘Enough,’ Ignatious said quietly. ‘A man who was a good friend of mine has died in a tragic manner at the hands of a coward. Let us at least recognize that fact and act with the dignity this deserves.’
‘My apologies, gentlemen,’ Magnus immediately said, and held out his hand first to Ignatious, then as the older man began to leave, to Gerald. ‘You caught me at a bad moment, and I’d forgotten how good you are at needling me.’
‘Any time, Magnus. I really am sorry about your uncle. The world will be a less colourful place without him.’ He lowered his voice. ‘How’s Isabelle these days?’
Magnus gave him a dark look. ‘Don’t you already know?’
Gerald smiled. ‘A gentleman never tells what he knows, but I’m not one of her confidants. A tip to the wise, Magnus. I do know that you’d be better off without her, and the sooner the better?’
After they took their leave Magnus poured himself a stiff brandy and opened his copy of John Kern’s will. His uncle had left the servants the princely sum of two hundred guineas each, along with his profound thanks for their faithful service. The money was in the form of cash, provided by Ignatious, and placed in sealed envelopes with their names on it.
To Sarette Maitland I leave my house in Bournemouth and the income from my annuities, as listed.
Magnus whistled. He’d known nothing about the annuities, and the total was quite a staggering sum, enough to maintain the Bournemouth house with plenty left over.
To my beloved nephew Magnus Kern. The estate and monies already transferred to his name. In addition, I request that he takes responsibility for the girl named Sarette Maitland – that he should provide her with a roof over her head – keep her, and do his best to secure for her a good marriage where she can be nurtured in a safe and loving environment. To this end the management of annuities and the house in Bournemouth known as Smuggler’s View, will be placed in his hands, the income to provide for her welfare until such time as Miss Maitland reaches the age of twenty-two years, when both house and income shall revert to her, unless . . .
His uncle had thought of everything, including distribution of the estate should the child die. Conscience pricked, Magnus smiled. After all, there was plenty of money to go around, and it wouldn’t cost him a penny. His uncle had a generous heart and it wouldn’t hurt him to do as he asked with regards to the child. ‘Sarette Maitland,’ he murmured. ‘A pretty name.’
He called the staff in and told them the bad news. The cook burst into tears, which set a couple of the maids off sobbing as well.
What was it about his uncle that commanded such loyalty? he thought grumpily, then felt ashamed of himself.
He followed it up with the good. ‘John Kern has bequeathed to each of you the sum of two hundred guineas, and his thanks for your loyalty to the Kern family. He said it will be the means to escape my service, if you so wish. Naturally, I’m hoping for the opposite.’
‘God love the master, where else would I go?’ the cook said in a watery voice, and without his permission, the butler got a bottle of sherry out of the cupboard and they drank a toast to John’s departure, followed by one to their good fortune.
Magnus left for the stables, and he supposed they’d drink half his cellar, and his dinner would be late. Saddling his horse, he sprang into the saddle and rode down to the cove. The tide was in so he cantered along the cliff top, then brought the horse to a halt.
If he had a child to bring up, then she’d need a woman to look after her. Isabelle? He’d been on the brink of proposing to her once, now he shook his head. Gerald had given him good warning. He was going to London in a couple of weeks’ time, leaving his partner in charge of the chambers. He’d intended to take Isabelle with him, now he decided it would be better to bring their association to an end before he left.
While he was away someone could come in and refurbish the nursery rooms, and the child could move in as soon as they were ready. The girl could go to a school nearby when she was older. He’d make his intentions known to Ignatious Grimble by letter, and leave his instructions. A woman could be hired to look after her. After all, he didn’t want her running around and getting underfoot.
As for the house in Bournemouth, he must think seriously about that. He already had more than enough money for his own needs. But if he married he’d have children, he thought, and would have to consider the possibility that he’d need the house and the annuities for his own family.
But then, he argued, it was more than likely that the little girl had been fathered by John Kern. Why else would he have brought her into the family? From a moral standpoint, Sarette wo
uld be entitled to something from her father’s estate, and he’d make sure that she did. After all, that’s why she’d been placed in his keeping. His uncle had trusted him to do the right thing and had provided the girl with a good dowry. It was too big, and would attract all the wrong sorts, of course. Money always talked. Perhaps he would find a good woman in London, marry her and provide the child with a mother.
He grinned. ‘No wonder Gerald had looked so smug when they’d told him about Sarette.’ Magnus certainly hadn’t expected to have such a responsibility foisted on to him.
Idly, he wondered if Gerald was taking anyone to the Legal Association Christmas Ball. Gerald usually had good taste in women, and Magnus felt the need to give as good as he’d got . . . or better.
Sarette was attached to Gerald’s arm and strolling along the seafront. For August the day was cold, with a persistent wind driving the sand hard up on to the shore with a rushing sound. There were very few people about, some hardy adults and children building sandcastles and digging holes. A couple of old people struggled against the wind, their coats billowing. Others huddled in the shelters.
The bathing machines were high above the tide mark. The Queen’s Jubilee clock kept watch over the Esplanade, its base rooted in the sand. One of its other two faces gazed down King Street and the other out to sea.
Sarette’s carefully arranged hair soon loosened itself and went flying in the wind.
They seated themselves in a shelter and she attempted to braid it.
‘Allow me.’
Gerald’s hands were wonderfully gentle and she closed her eyes, shivering a little.
‘Cold?’ he asked, knotting his handkerchief around the end of the braid.
‘A little. It doesn’t feel much like summer.’
‘You’ve been used to a warmer climate. Shall I take you back home?’
She sighed. ‘What was so important that I be got out of the way for a while?’
‘I thought you were so enamoured by my charm that you didn’t notice.’
