‘I regret, however, to inform you this afternoon that there are complications, great complications in the testamentary dispositions of the late Mr Eustace. It is unlikely that there can be any satisfactory resolution to the problems today. I may have to take further advice. I may have to go to London.’
Powerscourt thought he made London sound like Samarkand or Timbuktu. But Augusta Cockburn was out of her stall faster than a Derby winner.
‘Complications?’ she snapped. ‘What complications?’
Oliver Drake did not look like a man who was used to interruptions on such occasions. Powerscourt wondered how he would manage if Augusta Cockburn gave him the full treatment, rudeness, insolence and insults all combined.
‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Cockburn,’ he said icily, ‘if you will permit me to continue my explanation without interruption, the position will become clear.’
Powerscourt felt it would take more than that to silence Mrs Cockburn. He was right.
‘Perhaps you will be kind enough to inform us of the nature of these complications.’
Oliver Drake sighed. Outside the morning sun had been replaced by heavy rain, now beating furiously against the Georgian windows.
‘To put it very simply, ladies and gentlemen, there is more than one will.’ There were gasps of astonishment from around the table. The Dean stared open-mouthed at Drake. Augusta Cockburn muttered, ‘Impossible!’ to herself several times. The twin brother, his face heavily blotched from regular consumption of American whiskey, looked as though he needed a drink. Now. Powerscourt was fascinated.
‘I think it may be helpful,’ Oliver Drake continued, rummaging in a file of papers in front of him, ‘if we take these various wills in time order.’ He glared at his little audience as if daring them to speak. Powerscourt was temporarily lost in a very fine watercolour above the fireplace which showed a brilliant sun setting behind the minster, bathing its buildings in a pale orange glow.
‘Will Number One dates from September 1898. I remember it because we wrote it together in my office downstairs. Apart from a number of bequests to his servants,’ Augusta Cockburn shuddered, ‘the main beneficiaries are twenty thousand pounds each to his brother and his sister, fifty thousand pounds to Dr Blackstaff’ – Augusta Cockburn glowered significantly at Powerscourt when the doctor’s name was mentioned – ‘and the remainder to the Cathedral of Compton, for its use and maintenance in perpetuity.’
Powerscourt thought he detected a faint hint of a smile crossing the features of the Dean.
‘Forgive me, Mr Drake,’ Augusta Cockburn interrupted again. ‘Please excuse a simple housewife and mother for asking a simple question. How much money are we talking about? How much was my brother worth?’
Powerscourt thought you could actually hear the greed.
Oliver Drake was ready for this one. ‘Mrs Cockburn, that is, of course, a very sensible question. But it is not susceptible to an easy answer. Until the will is proved it will be difficult to establish the entire pecuniary value of your brother’s estate.’
‘But you could make a guess, could you not, Mr Drake?’ She sounded like a small child who had been given a bag of sweets only to have them snatched away.
‘It is not the business of country solicitors to make guesses, Mrs Cockburn, but I feel I should give you an approximation.’ He paused. The logs were crackling in the grate. A hooded crow had come to perch in the tall tree opposite the window. Perhaps the crow felt it deserved something too. ‘I expect the value of the estate, including Fairfield Park, to be well over one million pounds.’
Still Augusta Cockburn would not give up. ‘How much more?’
‘It could be a million and a quarter, it could be a million and a half. But I feel we should return to the main business in hand.’
‘Forgive me, Mr Drake, could you just set my mind at rest?’ Augusta Cockburn had been doing some arithmetic on a small pad in front of her. ‘In the case of the first will – and I don’t believe it to be the real one for a moment – when you take the various other legacies into account, does that mean that my brother and I would receive twenty thousand pounds each and the cathedral,’ she paused as if she could scarcely believe her calculations, ‘the cathedral,’ the scorn and incredulity formed a toxic mixture, ‘would have received almost one million pounds?’
Oliver Drake looked at her solemnly. ‘That is correct. The second testament dates from March of the year 1900.’ Something about his tone made Powerscourt suspect that Drake didn’t believe this will was genuine. ‘Your brother made this will when staying in your house, Mrs Cockburn. He entrusted it, you say, to your husband for safekeeping. Your husband, in his turn, put it under lock and key at your family solicitors, Matlock Robinson of Chancery Lane. They in their turn forwarded the document to me.’
Oliver Drake held up a typewritten document, less than a page long. The Dean was peering at it with great interest. Now Powerscourt was able to pinpoint one of the areas where Augusta Cockburn hadn’t told him the whole truth at their first meeting. Little had been said about this will, drawn up in her house less than a year ago.
‘In this document,’ Powerscourt wondered why he used the word document rather than will, ‘there are no bequests to the servants at all. Fifty thousand pounds for the twin brother, fifty thousand pounds to the Cathedral, the residue, including the house, to his sister, Mrs Winifred Augusta Cockburn, of Hammersmith, London.’
‘Nothing for the servants?’ asked the Dean. ‘Nothing at all? I think that is very uncharacteristic’
It was the first time Powerscourt had seen Augusta Cockburn smile. For a few moments at least, she was rich.
‘The final will, in terms of time, is very recent. It was written in January this year. It too has some unusual features.’ Powerscourt wondered what he meant by too. One of the other wills? Both the other wills? ‘For a start,’ Drake went on, ‘it was not supervised by me or by any member of this firm. It was done in Homerton, about fifteen miles from here, at the local solicitor’s. The terms are identical to the first one, bequests to the servants, fifty thousand pounds for the doctor, twenty thousand pounds each for the brother and sister. But there is no mention of the cathedral at all. The residue, the sum of almost a million pounds, goes to the Salvation Army.’
‘The Salvation Army?’ said the Dean and Mrs Cockburn in unison. ‘Why should a man,’ the Dean simply talked over Augusta Cockburn, ‘who has served the cathedral for the best years of life, who has promised on a number of occasions, in my hearing, to leave the cathedral a large bequest, why should he then turn round and leave it to people in pretend military uniforms who try to look after drunks and beggars? I cannot believe he wanted to leave his fortune to a soup kitchen!’
‘Please forgive me.’ It was the first time James Eustace, twin brother of the deceased, had spoken. The accent was still English, with just a faint transatlantic twang.
‘I don’t have a will to put before you. But I do have a letter from my brother which I believe has a bearing on things. He wrote it to me after his visit to New York last July. Perhaps you’d like to read it out, Mr Drake?’
Drake’s role as a conjurer of wills was over, Powerscourt felt. To produce three in one afternoon was pretty impressive going.
‘“Dear James,”’ read Oliver Drake. The Dean was leaning across to inspect the handwriting. ‘“It was very good to see you, even if your circumstances were a little distressing. I hope the money I have left for you will be sufficient for your needs and that you will soon be back on your feet. Please rest assured that if you need any further financial assistance I shall be only too happy to assist. Your loving brother, John.”’
The Dean snorted. Oliver Drake coughed. Powerscourt wondered if the twin brothers had had identical handwriting. Outside the window the crow flew off noisily to a better perch.
Oliver Drake took a large white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. The fire was warm this afternoon. ‘So there we have the current position, ladies and gentlemen. I feel that I myself am somewhat constrained in that I am named as the executor in the two wills drawn up locally. I feel that some of you may also wish to take independent legal advice. I have had my clerks prepare copies of all the wills for you to take away if you wish. I propose that we reconvene here ten days from now. That should allow time for consultations. Are there any final points before I declare this meeting closed? Mrs Cockburn.’