He half rose from the desk. And then he saw his wife's Last Will and Testament. He lit more candles and sat down to read it with a fast-beating heart.
The spasm of fury that consumed him was so intense that he thought his heart would burst through his chest. He looked at Bessie Redhill's signature and then at John Tremayne's mark. The head groom was illiterate, and perhaps the maid had not read what she was signing. And what was this about the Channing jewels? What jewels?
The earlier will, leaving everything to him, reposed downstairs in his desk in the library.
He must burn this one, and then see if he could quiet those servants. He picked up the will and carried it over to the fire. But the fire had burned very low. He threw on some coal and eagerly waited for it to burst into a blaze.
The door opened and Benson, the lady's maid, walked in.
Mr. Palfrey thrust the will into the pocket in his coattails.
Benson was staring in anguish at the still figure on the bed.
“My beloved wife is dead,” said Mr. Palfrey. He thought again of that will, and tears of rage spurted out of his eyes. Benson said afterward she had never until that moment realized how very much Mr. Palfrey had loved his wife.
Chapter Three
Felicity's courage appeared to vanish with the death of her mother. She was crushed down under a load of grief.
Her stepfather cried a great deal as well, but Felicity had noticed the strong smell of onion coming from his handkerchiefs and knew he was acting, but she did not even have the strength to become angry.
There was some comfort for her in the arrival of her sisters for the funeral. She was able to share her mourning and found a great deal of solace in noticing that not only Penelope and Emily appeared happy with their husbands, but that Maria was content with her bishop. He was a large man with a hectoring manner and a booming voice, but Maria appeared to hang on his every word. There was something to be said for arranged marriages after all, thought Felicity. Marriage to Lord St. Dawdy would at least mean having a home of her own.
Despite her grief, she could not help hoping the baron might ride over to attend the funeral, but Mr. Palfrey said Lord St. Dawdy detested funerals, and Felicity thought the baron must be a very odd man indeed to stay away from his intended bride's family mourning.
All too soon, Mr. Palfrey managed to fuss the sisters and their husbands out of the castle, which settled back into its usual deadly glacial quiet.
Felicity and Miss Chubb decided to go out riding the day after the Channing sisters had left, although the sky was darkening and there was a metallic smell of snow on the wind.
John Tremayne saw to the saddling of their horses himself. After he had helped Felicity up, he stood with his hand on her stirrup and looked up anxiously into her face.
“I do not wish to distress you, Miss Felicity,” he said, “but has the will been read?”
“Yes,” said Felicity curtly, putting a hand down to pat her little mare's neck, for the animal had sensed her sudden rush of anger and had begun to fidget. “It is as I expected. Everything goes to Mr. Palfrey.”
“But, miss, you remember when you came for me the day Mrs. Palfrey died? You told me to find another loyal servant because Madam wanted two witnesses? I took the maid, Bessie Redhill, with me. Madam gave us a piece of paper with writing on it to sign. I can't read nor write and though Bessie can, she said she didn't have time to see what was on the paper.”
“So, Mama did write that codicil,” said Felicity slowly.
“What… what was it, that thing you just said?”
“Look, John. I shall tell you and Miss Chubb, but you must keep it to yourselves and not ever tell anyone, not even Bessie. Tell her only that the piece of paper was nothing important. You see, I believe my stepfather found that codicil which left mama's jewels to me, and burned it. But I know where they are hidden, and I am not going to tell him!”
“I promise, miss. I'll never tell a soul, and if Bessie mentions that piece of paper, I'll deny it, that I will. It'll be her word against mine, and I think master'll be more inclined to believe an old servant.”
At that moment, a groom came running up and said John was wanted in the castle by Mr. Palfrey.
“He probably wants to ask you where I am,” said Felicity. “Stand clear, John. Come along, Miss Chubb. Off we go!”
John made his way slowly toward the castle.
Bessie, who had also been summoned, arrived outside the library before him. She had hugged the knowledge of that other will to herself. Surely Mr. Palfrey would pay, and pay well, to have it kept a secret.
Mr. Palfrey had an extensive wardrobe. He had changed into the coat he had been wearing on the day of his wife's death. It was the first time he had worn it since then. He was sitting down at his deck in the library when he heard the crackle of parchment from the pocket in his tails. He drew out his wife's last will, cursing that he had not destroyed it before this. When he had found the coat that morning, it had been folded in a chest with some papers in his bedchamber, and he had forgotten why he had thrust it there. It was as well he had not put the coat with his others, or his valet would have found the will when he cleaned out the pockets. Why on earth had he been convinced he had already destroyed the will? He had drunk long and deep on the night of his wife's death. His memory of thrusting that plaguey will between the bars of the library fire must have been a drunken dream. It must be got rid of at once! He bent over the library fire.
Then he heard Bessie's heavy footsteps approaching across the hall and crammed the will back into his pocket.
He eyed Bessie carefully as she walked in. She seemed a pleasant, motherly woman. Probably there would be no difficulty in dealing with her.
“I am afraid I must give you your notice, Bessie,” said Mr. Palfrey. “With the ladies married and my poor wife in her grave, there is no longer any need to maintain such a large staff.”
“You're getting rid o’ me because I know the missus wrote a last will leaving everything to Miss Felicity.”
“Nonsense!” said Mr. Palfrey, turning a muddy color.
The door opened, and John Tremayne walked in.
Bessie looked at John triumphantly. “I was just telling Master that we signed a will that Mrs. Palfrey wrote-the day she died, it was.”
John looked at her stolidly. “I never signed anything,” he said.
“That you didn't,” said Bessie scornfully, “you not being able to write. But you made your mark!”
Had Bessie told him that the will was one leaving everything to Felicity, John would have changed his tune. But he thought it was only that bit about the jewels he had witnessed, and Mr. Palfrey must never know about the jewels.
“I neither made my mark nor know anything about any will,” said John firmly.
Color began to tinge Mr. Palfrey's cheeks. He had been about to fire John as well, never having liked the relic of the Channing dynasty who had come to the castle as a little stable boy when old Mr. Channing was still alive, but the fellow was obviously beautifully stupid, and just what he, Mr. Palfrey, needed.
“There you are,” said Mr. Palfrey pompously, beginning to stride up and down. “You may pack your things and leave this day, Bessie.”
Bessie looked from one to the other, appalled. Without John to back her, she had no proof there ever was a will.
John started. “I did not know you were getting rid of Bessie, Master,” he said. “She is a good maid, and ‘tis hard to find work hereabouts.”
“That is not my concern,” said Mr. Palfrey, fortifying himself with a pinch of snuff.
John hesitated, almost tempted to tell the truth, because the dismissal of Bessie had shocked him. But two things, apart from loyalty to Felicity, made him stay quiet.