The Major and the Country Miss. Dorothy Elbury
elderly retainers who had also been present.
Jeremy Fenton caught up with them as they reached the door to the drawing-room and, grabbing his cousin by the arm, he said urgently, ‘Got some bee in his bonnet, hadn’t he—brain probably gave up at the end, shouldn’t wonder. Think he’s really changed his will, coz?’
Maitland shrugged. ‘It’s of very little interest to me what he’s chosen to do with his money, Jerry—but no doubt you’ll hear soon enough if you care to curb your impatience.’
‘Yes, you can mock,’ Fenton exclaimed hotly. ‘Always the blue-eyed boy! Sucking up to him all these years…!’
‘Allow me to remind you that I’ve been out of the country for the past five years,’ returned Maitland drily, handing his mother into a seat. ‘I haven’t laid eyes on Uncle Roger since Aunt Jane died—so I’d say you’ve had a pretty clear field, if you’d a mind to curry favour. And, in case you had not noticed, I hasten to draw your attention to the fact that, unlike your own azure orbs, dear coz, my eyes are merely a nondescript shade of grey.’
‘But I’m the eldest, by God!’ Fenton scowled. ‘My mother is the last of the Billinghams—this lot—’ he gestured to the rest of the group behind them ‘—they’re only distantly related through marriage.’
‘As I, myself, am,’ Maitland pointed out, with a grin. ‘Aunt Jane having been my mother’s sister.’
‘Precisely!’ returned Fenton triumphantly. ‘Nary a blood relative present, apart from Mama and me—surely the old skinflint won’t have left it out of the family?’
‘Let’s hear what Hornsey has to say, shall we? He seems very eager to begin.’
Fenton swivelled round to fix his eyes on the elderly man of law, who was purposefully shuffling a sheaf of papers in his hands, apparently waiting for the subdued hum of conversation to cease.
‘Well, get on with it, man!’ he snapped, flinging himself into a chair. ‘Are you going to sit there all day?’
Mr Hornsey eyed the heir-presumptive sourly, experiencing at the same time a feeling of unholy joy at the prospect of bringing the arrogant young dandy to his knees.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he said primly, adjusting his half-spectacles. ‘I shall endeavour not to detain you any longer than necessary.’
Then, having declaimed that the document he held was, indeed, the last and completely valid testament of one Roger Billingham, Esquire, he proceeded to disburse generous annuities to Billingham’s long-time servants and assorted bequests to the parcel of distantly related cousins who were also in attendance.
‘—to my sister Baroness Eleanor Fenton, I leave our family home, Fetterfield, to dispose of as she sees fit, and to my sister-in-law Mrs Marion Maitland I pass on all of her sister Jane’s jewellery, in grateful thanks for the loving care she devoted to my dear wife during her final illness.’
Here the lawyer paused and, after clearing his throat, he laid the set of papers down on the desk and looked over the top of his spectacles at the still expectant faces in front of him.
‘At this point I am required to clear the room of all persons present, apart from the following…’
Then, in clear and precise tones, he proceeded to name Lady Fenton and her son Jeremy, followed by Marion and William Maitland. Then, having waited patiently until the last member of the departing group had vacated the room, he once again picked up his papers.
No one had spoken during this interval, Maitland merely raising his eyebrows questioningly at his mother, only to receive a puzzled shake of her head in return. Fenton, rapt in his own deep study, stared moodily about the room, impervious to the concerned expression on Lady Fenton’s face as she attempted to catch her son’s eye.
‘This part of the proceedings becomes somewhat unusual,’ Hornsey then continued. ‘Mr Billingham has put me in possession of certain facts, which he wishes to be kept within this small family circle. It concerns the rather delicate matter of his niece and ward, Melandra Billingham, now deceased, and the possible survival of the young lady’s child.’
‘Dear God!’
Lady Fenton let out a gasp and Hornsey’s professionally impassive face suddenly became the focus of attention of four pairs of astonished eyes.
‘Mr Billingham has required me to set in motion a thorough search to establish this child’s existence. He apparently felt himself responsible for having abandoned it at birth and has left instructions that the bulk of his wealth shall be passed to this child should it prove to have survived…’
‘No! No! I will not permit it!’
Fenton had risen to his feet, his face ashen.
‘I shall contest it! The old man must have been insane!’ Thrusting off his mother’s attempts to restrain him, he strode forwards and tried to wrench the paper from Hornsey’s hands.
‘It is quite legal, I assure you, sir,’ said Hornsey, savouring the moment. ‘My client was perfectly sane—his own physician has borne witness. Do you wish me to continue?’
Fenton threw himself down on to his chair and glared at the lawyer.
‘What does it matter—if we’re not to inherit!’
‘There are certain conditions, which may well affect you,’ Hornsey was quick to point out. ‘If the child is not discovered within a twelvemonth of today’s date, the money is to be divided equally between yourself and Mr William Maitland.’
‘And otherwise the damned brat gets the lot!’
‘Not at all. He will receive, as I said, the bulk of the fortune—which I believe now stands in the region of some £500,000, not including the revenues from the plantations—but if you are prepared to make yourself instrumental in the search for the child’s recovery you are to be awarded a one fourth share, as will your cousin Major Maitland, who, I understand, has already given his promise to assist in the search.’
He bowed his head towards Maitland, who smilingly nodded his acquiescence.
Fenton’s eyes narrowed as he considered the lawyer’s words.
‘What you are saying, then,’ he finally managed, ‘is that I stand to get a quarter if this bastard is found now and a half if he isn’t—but for that I will have to wait a whole year—is that it?’
‘That is more or less correct, sir,’ Hornsey said, enjoying this fleeting sensation of power. ‘I believe Mr Billingham was anxious to atone for his having abandoned his young ward in her—how shall I put it—hour of need.’
‘Never mind about that!’ interrupted Fenton. ‘Where is this child now? Good God—hardly a child—it’s over twenty years since Melly ran off with that French tutor chap! D’you mean to tell us that he’d put her in the family way?’
‘Since we’re discussing the possible existence of a son, that would seem to be a fairly obvious conclusion,’ his cousin pointed out, good-humouredly. ‘However, I, for one, would be most interested to hear something of the story—if you could just forbear from interrupting at every turn, Jerry!’
He motioned Hornsey to continue, but the lawyer shook his head dolefully and indicated the single sheet of paper in front of him.
‘Sadly, there is very little known of Miss Billingham’s movements after she absconded with her tutor—Mr Billingham apparently received a plea for assistance some months later. I understand he would have ignored this had it not been for his late wife’s insistence…?’
Seeing both Lady Fenton and Marion Maitland nodding at one another at this point, he invited her ladyship to elucidate.
‘Both Roger and Jane adored Melly,’ she said, ‘not having children of their own. They had brought the girl up since Henry—our older brother—and his wife Patricia were