Death Among Rubies (14 page)

I
n the morning, the Rolls-Royce was dispatched to Morchester station to pick up Henry “Hal” Wheaton, Esq., and Frances was in the foyer to greet him. He wasn’t wearing one of the smart, elegant outfits he favored in his off hours, but the old-fashioned black suit from another generation. “My older clients seem to expect it,” he always said with a sigh. But today, his hair was a little ruffled by the wind and there was no disguising the merriment in his eyes.

“I am very pleased to see you, of course,” she said. “But I am sorry to interrupt your busy schedule. When I called you yesterday, I assumed you’d offer to send a junior.”

“But this sounds like a fascinating situation, and you know my interest in architecture, so I always wanted to see Kestrel’s Eyrie.” He looked around to see that they were alone. “And I’ve missed you.”

“Then let’s take care of business,” she said with a wink. “And just maybe we’ll have time for a private walk around the gardens.”

Gwen and Tommie were waiting for them in the solar, and a maid was just serving tea and sandwiches.

“Miss Kestrel, Miss Calvin, this is Mr. Henry Wheaton, the Ffolkes family solicitor and advisor to the House of Seaforth.”

“A pleasure to meet you, and my deepest sympathies on the loss of your father, Miss Kestrel.”

Hal sat down and put his case on the table. He gave a reassuring smile to Gwen. “Now, Miss Kestrel, did Frances explain to you why she asked me to come?”

Gwen looked a little hesitant. “She said you could help me—that is, with my money and things. But I was a little unclear, because Mr. Small has always been our solicitor. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Hal began to explain things immediately. That was one of the wonderful things Frances liked about him. He was always clear but never condescended.

“Yes, Miss Kestrel. Mr. Small represented the estate. That is, Mr. Small is in charge of the house, the lands, and all the money your father has left you. It is yours, but Mr. Small manages it. However, Miss Kestrel, I will represent you personally. I will not replace Mr. Small, but I will make sure that he is managing the estate in your best interest and represent you in discussions with him. I will charge a fee, but you are allowed to have your own solicitor, and Mr. Small must pay my fee out of your estate.”

“I see. Thank you.” She paused. “Is it acceptable for me to ask my friends for their advice?”

“I hope you will. That is why I asked Frances to make sure she and Miss Calvin were present while I spoke with you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” She looked around. “Is this a good idea?” she asked her friends. Tommie smiled.

“Yes. Franny knows about these things, and Mr. Wheaton is very distinguished.”

“Very well then, Mr. Wheaton.” She gave her golden curls a toss, and tried to look sophisticated. “You will be my personal solicitor.”

“Excellent. There are just a few papers to sign, which I have here.” He showed her where to sign. “And for now, to make it official, money must change hands. I just need a small coin—do you have a shilling?”

Yes, she had a shilling, and Hal slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. “And that should be all for now. I am ready to pay a call on Mr. Neville Small and obtain an accounting of the estate you’ve just inherited.”

“Do you need me to attend, Mr. Wheaton?” asked Gwen a little fearfully.

“You may attend, but do not have to. As your solicitor, I have the power to examine any documents on your behalf and report back to you.”

“That will be fine,” said Gwen, relaxing again. “But oh, why don’t you take Franny with you? She’s so clever, and I know you have to return to London soon, and this way Franny could discuss it with me at her leisure.”

For the first time, Hal’s face fell. “I see your point, Miss Kestrel, but by law, only you or I, as your solicitor, can view the documents.”

“But that’s not entirely true, is it?” said Frances. “In London, you have your clerks reviewing documents.”

Hal felt a mix of admiration and annoyance at that. “True, Frances, but you’re not a clerk at my firm.”

“But she could be, Mr. Wheaton. Franny is so smart and has been to university. Everyone admires her in our suffrage group and she knows all about money—” Tommie laid a gentle, restraining hand on Gwen, but Frances beamed at the compliments.

“You could make me a clerk, couldn’t you, Mr. Wheaton? And I could help you?” She smiled sweetly.

“Your logic is irrefutable,” said Hal, giving in with good grace. He pulled Gwen’s shilling out of his pocket and handed it to Frances. “Congratulations. Welcome to the firm.”

Frances was thrilled. First she was engaged as a consulting translator for the Metropolitan Police Service, and now as clerk to one of the most distinguished firms in London.

Hal sighed, taking another sandwich, and Gwen smiled. “If you’d like, Mr. Wheaton, I can have a maid show you to where you can refresh yourself before you call on Mr. Small.”

“Thank you. I will do that and then, Franny, you and I will go.” Gwen rang for a maid, and a few moments later, the three women were left alone to finish the tea.

“He is very, very nice, your Mr. Wheaton,” said Gwen.

“Yes, he is,” said Tommie. Frances looked up. There was something in her friend’s tone, and those gentle eyes of Tommie’s looked amused. “He is . . . a friend of yours? He called you ‘Frances,’ not ‘Lady Frances,’ and once he even called you ‘Franny.’ But I’m sorry—I’m prying.”

But Frances had to smile. “Well, yes, he is more than a solicitor. He is a friend . . . and I suppose by way of being a suitor.” She blushed.

“Well, he is very handsome,” said Gwen. “I don’t blame you.”

“Neither do I,” said Tommie. “Even briefly, it was clear that he’s a man of intelligence and sensitivity and kindness. But I daresay there are those in your family who had hoped that as the daughter of a marquess you’d make an aristocratic match.”

“By this point, much of my family would be so grateful that there’s a man left in London whom I haven’t offended or scandalized, they’d forgive him for—horrors!—being of the middle class.”

And they all laughed.

After Hal returned, the chauffeur drove them to the office of Neville Small, Esq. His suite was handsome in an old-fashioned way, much like Hal’s office in London, with lots of dark leather, wood, and well-shined brass.
What was it about solicitors that made them feel that they were stuck in the 1860s?
wondered Frances.

Hal handed the secretary his card. “I’m a solicitor down from London, recently engaged to represent Miss Gwendolyn Kestrel, and wish to speak with Mr. Small. As you can see from these papers, she has signed over full power of attorney to me.” And a few minutes later they were ushered into the inner office, where a very surprised Neville Small greeted them. Surprise for Henry Wheaton, that is, and irritation for Frances.

“Since I have long represented the Kestrel family and am sole trustee of the estate, I cannot think why she thought she needed additional representation.”

“Lady Frances suggested that I review the estate papers on Miss Kestrel’s behalf.” Hal smiled, but Mr. Small looked daggers at Frances. He shuffled his papers, checked the power of attorney letter, then cleared his throat.

“Very well, Mr. Wheaton. I will show you to an office and have my clerk give you the general accounts. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Perfectly,” said Hal.

“And you, Lady Frances? There’s a pleasant tea shop in town for you to wait for Mr. Wheaton to complete his examination.”

Hal cut in before she could reply. “Lady Frances will be staying with me. She is employed by my firm as a confidential clerk.” He smiled blandly as the color drained from Mr. Small’s face.
Was this a joke? Were they trying to make a fool of him?
He cleared his throat again.

“I understand that the most prestigious firms in London can boast of their many aristocratic clients. But your firm must be the most distinguished of all to actually employ members of the nobility. My secretary will see you properly set up.”

“Excellent. And one more thing—I assume Miss Kestrel has a will, and it was deposited with you? I’d like to see that as well.”

With little further ado, they were set up with pens, paper, and ledgers in what appeared to be an unused storeroom. The rickety table and chairs showed that this was not a room clients ever used.

“Let’s look at the will first.” Hal opened it up and began reading it. “These country lawyers may be old-fashioned but they’re thorough. This will was drawn up as soon as Miss Kestrel came of age—not strictly necessary, of course, but very prudent. Of course, she was probably just living off an allowance from her father, but tell me, Franny, what do ladies from wealthy families have to call their own?”

“I’m not only clerk, but expert witness? Very jolly, Hal. We all have a little put by. An elderly cousin who knew you as a little girl leaves you a bit in his will. A favorite aunt sends you something on Christmas, and your godfather remembers you on your birthday. And don’t forget—Gwen’s mother was dead. That means it’s likely all her jewelry came to Gwen, and with a rich man like Sir Calleford, that could be a very nice collection indeed.”

“Shrewdly reasoned, my lady. Now this will is interesting. Our Mr. Small was careful. Everything is spelled out. Also, Miss Kestrel may have more of a backbone than we gave her credit for. Did you know anything about her will?”

“No, I just assumed that Mr. Small pushed some papers in front of her and told her to sign, and that Gwen didn’t care or even remember.”

“Come look at this, then.” He passed the will to Frances, and she read it herself. Gwen had left one hundred pounds to the suffrage group and one hundred pounds to the soup kitchen where Franny volunteered and served as treasurer. All her jewelry was left to Tommie.

“I can’t see our Mr. Small being thrilled with that,” said Franny. “But Gwen must’ve insisted. I am surprised—and pleased.”

“Yes. And note how it’s worded. Those few pounds and her jewelry were probably all she owned when the will was drawn up. A lesser lawyer might’ve just done something like, ‘all my property to Thomasina Calvin, except for these small sums to charity.’ After all, it was very little. But Mr. Small had her specify it. Now look at that last line.” Frances read it: all other property to Mr. Christopher Blake.

It was clear now. Without that line, a simple “all my property” might’ve made Tommie, with Sir Calleford’s death, next in line to inherit the Eyrie. “All my property” meant nothing a few days ago—now it meant a vast fortune.

“So even then, when Sir Calleford was in good health, Mr. Small wanted to make it clear that even if he suddenly
died, there was no chance the estate would accidentally end up outside the family,” said Frances.

“Exactly. Christopher Blake was always to be next in line if Gwen had no husband or children. The eventuality was always taken care of. And I imagine that was common knowledge.”

They thought about that in silence, then Hal folded the will and put it back in the envelope. “I’m just a simple solicitor,” he said. “You’ll want to consider those implications.”

“You’re not simple, and you know the implications as well as I do,” she said. “I will talk to Gwen about that later.”

“Very well, Lady Frances,” said Hal heartily. “But now comes the boring part. You want to be a legal clerk; you are going to work like one.”

“I am sure you will find me a most satisfactory employee,” she said, and indeed he did. Frances had learned well from her work as a treasurer for her charitable group. Hal told her it would take a team of solicitors and chartered accountants weeks to check every detail of such a large estate, but meanwhile he told her how to look for a sign of something suspicious.

They worked in quiet, poring over the ledgers. Mr. Small unbent enough to send his secretary in with tea and biscuits.

“I think I’ve found something,” said Frances eventually. “There’s a spike here in the cost of cottage maintenance. See here, this entry for Lavender Cottage. I was there actually.” She explained about the widows cottages and having tea with Mrs. Sweet, the current occupant.

“The thing is, that cottage looked to be in good condition with no recent work. And yet, this sum of money is almost large enough to build a new cottage, and it’s just a few weeks ago.”

“Good catch, Frances! I was beginning to despair—our Mr. Small may be pompous but his ledgers have been predictable and ordinary, until now. If you’re looking for a reason for Mr. Small to be reticent, this might be it.”

He tucked the ledger under his arm, and he and Frances asked the secretary to see them back into Mr. Small’s office.

“I trust that you found everything in order, Mr. Wheaton?”

“Very clean books, Mr. Small. I congratulate you.”

Mr. Small looked pleased with himself. “We may not have your London polish, but we do our best,” he said.

“Just one question,” Hal said, and showed Mr. Small the entry for Lavender Cottage. “I don’t think that’s for repairs. It’s too large, and major capital repairs should have been listed separately.”

Frances watched him closely. He was thinking what it could be. No—he knew. He was thinking of an explanation. A lie.

“If you’ll wait one minute, I can find the related disbursement slip.” He left the office, and returned a few moments later with the counterfoil of a check. “It was paid directly to the tenant, Mrs. Genevieve Sweet.”

“That’s very unusual, isn’t it? A personal payment hidden in a business account?”

“It’s perfectly legal and regular, if unusual. Perhaps it was for household repairs.”

“That much? You could almost build a new cottage for that fee.”

Mr. Small shrugged. “I just followed Sir Calleford’s orders. I have no idea what the money was for.”

Now that’s definitely a lie
, thought Frances. Solicitors like this knew where every single penny went.

“Ah, well. I’m sure we can follow up with Mrs. Sweet herself.”

“That’s your right, of course,” said Mr. Small. “It may seem to be large for cottage repair, but considering the size of the estate, this amount wouldn’t seem worth your time.”