by Blythe Baker
Selina and I did not return to the dining room, as the meal had nearly concluded anyway. She and I headed up the stairs to ready Mrs. Montford’s dress for the rest of the day, as she would surely want to change out of what she had worn to breakfast for the reading of the will.
Selina pulled the black dress from inside the wardrobe. Far more Mrs. Montford’s style, long in the skirts and high in the collar, it had been purchased for the funeral of her sister two years before. She’d had it made especially for the occasion and asked us to pull it out for her so that the silk could rest.
As Selina withdrew the stockings from her drawer, I walked over and laid my fingers against the silk of the skirts.
I looked over at Selina. “This dress really is beautiful,” I said. “The stitching along the sleeves alone is worthy of admiration. It is a pity that she has not worn it to a more enjoyable affair.”
“Yes, I know,” Selina said, coming to join me. She, too, picked up the skirt and ran her thumb over the soft, watery fabric. “And the more often she wears it to such sad events, the more troubled she will become when she sees it.”
“I had not considered that,” I said.
I moved to the wardrobe to locate the shoes Mrs. Montford would want to wear; something comfortable yet acceptable to pair with her dress. Selina, however, continued to ponder the dress.
“That story you told Mr. Jerome,” she said in a small voice, which carried in the quiet room. “Was it true? About your father?”
I hesitated. The memories came flooding back, unbidden.
The river. The struggle. My father’s face. The splashing waters.
“Yes,” I said. “I have always suspected that those dreams are fragments of my real memories. I cannot know for certain. For all I know, it may simply be my mind’s way of making sense of what happened all those years ago and may not be true at all.”
Selina nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said. “I apologize for becoming as upset as I did. Had I known that you were struggling with this, perhaps I never would have been as dismissive of your nightmares.”
She looked at me and gave me a small smile.
“I knew they troubled you, but I always assumed they were nothing more than a result of exhaustion, as they always seemed to occur whenever something strenuous happened at the estate.”
“It’s true,” I said. “I believe you might be right. Exhaustion certainly does seem to bring them on.”
“Why did you feel as if you needed to tell Mr. Jerome all that you did?” Selina asked. “Do you think it wise? You hardly know him. It surprised me that you were as open as you were.”
I nodded. “It surprised me, too. You heard what he said. He wondered why I seemed to know something was to occur the morning of the Colonel’s death.”
“And you attribute it to the same feeling you had the morning your father died?” Selina asked.
I nodded. “It is all I can remember of that day. Even at such a young age, I could sense something was wrong. Father had quite a regular routine. When it would change, there was always a reason for it.”
“And when you woke the day the Colonel died…” Selina said.
“I felt the same way,” I said. “As if something was wrong.”
“Well, the day certainly did not begin the way anyone had hoped,” Selina said.
“Indeed,” I said. “And from what Mrs. Montford said, the Colonel had run into some sort of trouble that morning, though she did not have the chance to speak with him about it before he…”
Selina looked down, her own expression somber.
“It is still very hard to believe that he is gone now,” I said. “Just three days ago, he walked these halls.”
Selina let out a sigh. “There is no use dwelling on it. We cannot change the past.”
“No, we cannot,” I said. “I do wish there was something we could do to help Mrs. Montford. These next weeks, I imagine they are going to be difficult for her.”
Selina tilted her head, considering. “Perhaps not,” she said. “Perhaps the future will surprise us, and she will find moments of joy.”
“I certainly hope so,” I said. I suppressed a small shiver. “This whole affair with the will… I hope that it will be the very best outcome for her. Regardless of what anyone else in the family might be expecting.”
Selina frowned and shook her head. “Those sharks,” she murmured. “I hope they do not get anything.”
The clock on the wall struck eleven, and Selina straightened.
“I must go to Mrs. Carlisle,” she said. “She expected me to help the other housemaids prepare the dining room for dinner. She expects we will still have as many guests.”
“Very well, I shall wait for Mrs. Montford here,” I said.
“Do not forget the Colonel’s medal,” Selina said as she hurried from the room. “Last I knew, it was still in its box on the shelf in his study.”
“Right,” I said, and followed her out into the hall.
The medal was right where Selina had said it was, up on the second shelf closest to the window. The wooden box, slightly sun faded, remained closed. It took little effort to open, though, and with the flip of the small brass latch, I found the glistening silver badge lying within on the velvet cushion. With gentle hands, I scooped the box off the shelf and carried it back toward Mrs. Montford’s room.
Footsteps behind me caused me to slow and turn to look over my shoulder.
I was surprised to realize it was Mr. Jerome, his eyes fixed firmly upon me.
I paused and dropped into a curtsy. “Mr. Jerome,” I said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I had hoped to find you,” he said. “I know that my aunt is on her way, and I should like to be scarce by the time she gets here.”
I took a few steps back toward Mrs. Montford’s room. “My apologies, Mr. Jerome, but I must return to her quarters, as I am preparing her dress for the trip into town—”
“It was not Mr. Barnet,” he said quickly, speaking over me.
I stopped and blinked at him. “It was not?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “After you left, the conversation shifted. Miss Maryanne’s words were nothing more than what appeared to be a jest.”
My eyes narrowed. “A jest? Why?”
“Well, she did not believe it to be, but Henry Montford put her in her place,” Mr. Jerome said, a small smile curling up the side of his face. “In fact, it seems that Mr. Barnet has recently become free of his debt, and Miss Maryanne only heard part of his conversation.”
My heart sank, and at the same time, the relief of an answer settled the tumult within me.
“According to Henry Montford, it seems that Mr. Barnet later broke down and cried like a child and said how much he would miss his evenings of cards with the Colonel. His sorrow could have been feigned, of course, but I am inclined to believe it genuine.”
I nodded. “That seems more like the Mr. Barnet I am acquainted with.”
“I thought you might be pleased to hear that news. However, this means we are back at the start, without a culprit and still yet a question that needs to be answered.”
My resolve faded away, despite what I had said to Selina earlier. All at once, my determination to keep my focus on my work was swiftly replaced with new curiosity, and a new sense of righteous anger.
My hand tightened over the Colonel’s wooden box, his badge resting within.
“What now?” I asked, feeling myself giving in to the curiosity.
He folded his arms, scratching the side of his face. “That I do not know.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs. “Allow me some time to think. And you should take time as well. Perhaps later we can reconvene, after the will has been read.”
He gave me a small wave and then turned and made his way back toward the stairwell.
I watched him go, uncertain what I could even say to him in reply.
I stepped into Mrs. Montford’s room, closing the door
behind myself.
What was it about him that caused me to listen to him? To want to trust him? Surely, it could not be solely because I found him rather attractive.
If that were true, then how shallow was I?
I walked across to the vanity table and gently set the Colonel’s badge box down upon it.
I began to think over the suggestions Mr. Jerome had made to me up to that point. He had offered up two different people who might have benefitted from the Colonel’s death, one of whom I had half suspected myself, though never entirely settled upon. Both of those men now appeared to be innocent. Or rather, Mr. Jerome had changed his mind about both of them.
But perhaps that was not evidence of their innocence? It was not as if the Colonel’s nephew had access to any more information on the subject than I did. I must rely on my own instincts and not allow his suspicions to determine mine.
Mrs. Montford appeared at the door, and I jumped as if I had been caught behaving foolishly.
She gave me a firm glare as she strode across to the vanity.
“You must control your nerves, girl,” she said, taking a seat in front of me. “Otherwise, they will be the death of you.”
12
The drive into town seemed to pass far more quickly than I might have hoped.
The courthouse was not such a terrible place. I had passed it on the few occasions that Mrs. Montford would send me into town for something for her. That would only occur when Mrs. Carlisle was too busy and many of the other maids were tied up in their own duties. It was a handsome building with stone pillars, tall windows, and a white, painted brick exterior. I stared up at the columns that towered over our heads as we passed through the front doors, the late afternoon raindrops streaming down like a thin waterfall.
We were not alone, Mrs. Montford and I. No, the rest of the guests from the household accompanied us in their own cars, and even more of the Colonel’s family greeted us just inside the doors of the courthouse. Many offered their support, of course, saying they were simply there as a means of helping my mistress, but I knew better. While they were quite free to be there, it sickened me that they would not allow Mrs. Montford and those she desired to accompany her to be the only ones who would be meeting with the solicitor.
Mr. Jerome came, as well, with his mother to hear the reading. I wondered what he hoped to learn. He said nothing to me, barely acknowledging me apart from apologizing for stepping in front of me as we ascended the stairs. I did my best to avoid looking at him altogether.
Uncertainty whirled within me, and I could not help but feel that this reading could not happen soon enough. I wanted it over and done with, and in a way, I only partially cared about vengeance for the Colonel at all any longer.
The solicitor had a startled expression on his face when it was not only Mrs. Montford and I who entered the room, but the others as well. He did his best to offer seating to everyone who came through the doors, though the two chairs in front of his desk and the small settee along the back wall filled up quickly. He tucked the other attendees into the corners, along the wall, and beside the window, before resuming his seat at his own desk.
“There, now,” he said, looking over at Mrs. Montford. He gave her a small smile, and I noticed a rather substantial gap between his two front teeth. “I am glad that you have come today. I certainly wish it were under better circumstances, but I hope you know the Colonel spent a great deal of time doing the best he could to ensure that you were taken care of.”
Mrs. Montford nodded.
The solicitor, named Mr. Williams, fetched a leather folder. He opened it up, and I heard a few seats creaking behind me. No doubt the others who had accompanied us were looking toward the folder, wondering if their futures would lie upon those pages.
I stood dutifully beside Mrs. Montford, feeling rather strange right in the middle of the room. I knew not what to think. I could sense eyes passing briefly over me and wondered if any of the gazes belonged to Mr. Jerome.
“Well…let us begin, then,” Mr. Williams said, lifting a few pieces of paper from within the folder.
He cleared his throat and began to read.
“I, Colonel Patrick Montford, hereby do present this, my last will and testament.”
Mrs. Montford sniffed.
I resisted the urge to hand her a handkerchief, knowing she would not wish me to fuss over her.
Mr. Williams glanced up at Mrs. Montford over the top of his spectacles, before he continued on.
“To my dear wife, I leave my estate, my belongings, and my fortunes that have been safely secured at the bank, as we have discussed. The key remains in her possession, as it always has, and will continue to do. The precise amount and all included earnings have been written on the following page for clarification.”
An icy ripple passed through the room. It should not have come as a great surprise to those in attendance that the Colonel had left a great deal of his wealth to his wife. While it may have been a bit unorthodox to leave her everything, including the estate—instead of passing it to the next living male heir—it was not entirely unheard of these days.
“To my cousin, Mr. Henry Montford, I leave my prized horses, Rocco and Thunder. To him, I also leave my collection of astronomy books, as my darling wife will care little for them, as well as my telescope.”
I heard the clearing of a throat behind me and turned ever so slightly to see Henry Montford looking down, his hands balled into fists on his knees. His expression was impossible to read but I thought perhaps he was moved by the gift.
“To my cousin, Mr. Barnet, I leave the deck of cards with which we played on his visits, along with the crystal decanter that holds his favorite brandy. The chessboard and the globe in the drawing room are his, as well.”
A click of the tongue, clearly a sound of annoyance, drifted up to me. It could only have come from Miss Maryanne, who sat in one of the squished spots on the settee behind me and to my right.
“To my sister, Mrs. Townson, I leave our father’s hand-carved clock, as well as mother’s silver medallion necklace. And to my nephew Jerome Townson, I leave my collection of hats from my service in the military, as well as the sword which fascinated him as a boy.”
“That’s it?” I heard a whisper hiss out from behind me. “That’s all he is leaving you? His own sister?”
Murmurs permeated the room, and the unease grew like the coming tide.
“Lastly, for reasons known to her, I bequeath to my wife’s faithful servant Anna Fairweather a sum of money, mentioned on the following page for clarification, that will be kept in a trust at the bank until her twenty-fifth birthday, as well as the gold cufflinks in the top left drawer of the desk in my study. This is on the condition of her continued service for the remainder of my wife’s life.”
It was as if I had been shoved off a precipice. My stomach dropped and I suddenly felt weightless, lost in time and space.
The room had fallen silent. I could feel every pair of eyes upon me—even Mrs. Montford’s, though she did not seem surprised as much as curious about my reaction.
“Her?” A whisper reached me. Whoever spoke cared little if they were heard. “Why in the world would he leave anything to a maid?”
“What in the world was he thinking?” said another.
“Perhaps they were lovers,” hissed a voice I knew could only belong to Miss Maryanne. “I suppose that would explain why Mrs. Montford always kept the girl so close.”
I turned crimson, my face burning as hot as the late afternoon sun. I hoped Mrs. Montford hadn’t heard that particularly insensitive suggestion. Did they not realize that I was even more surprised than they?
“Is that all?” came the harsh voice of Mrs. Townson.
“Indeed, it is,” Mr. Williams said in a curt tone. He tapped the papers on the desk, getting them in order once again, before tucking them into the folder. “Mrs. Montford, do you have any further questions for me?”
The clack of heels on the floor drew m
y gaze over my shoulder, and I managed to just see the edge of Miss Maryanne’s dress swinging as she strode toward the door.
She was not alone. A few of the other attendees followed after her, including Mrs. Townson.
I could just make Mr. Jerome out, still standing near the settee, out of the corner of my eye.
“I have no questions,” Mrs. Montford replied, apparently unruffled by the cold exodus of almost everyone in the room. “Thank you, Mr. Williams. You have been very helpful.”
He opened the folder. “The amounts are specified here on this last page, just as described.” He pointed to it and allowed her a moment to look over the page.
I was close enough to chance a quick look over her shoulder. My eyes glancing down the page rapidly found my own name written there and, beside it, the sum of money that was left to me.
It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. It was no fortune, certainly, but it would be enough to keep me in modest comfort into old age. My mind raced to remember the solicitor’s words from a few moments ago. My inheritance was to be kept in trust until my twenty-fifth birthday. That was three years away yet.
Before I had time to read further, the solicitor closed the folder up and handed it to Mrs. Montford.
Her smile tight, she gave him a firm nod. “Thank you. I will be sure to examine everything more fully later.”
“I wish there was more I could say,” Mr. Williams said. “He was a shining example to us all.”
Mrs. Montford rose from her seat, and I stepped aside to allow her to pass.
As we left the room, the others who had remained followed after us as well, including Mr. Jerome.
“I realize this will mean little, given my mother’s behavior,” he said, coming up to fall into step with his aunt. “But I was greatly honored that he would leave me what he did.”
Mrs. Montford looked up at him and her expression softened. “You are a good boy, Jerome. I suppose I cannot fault your mother. She hoped her brother would have thought more highly of her, though I imagine she will be pleased about reclaiming some of her parents’ items.”
