Chapter Two
The next period passed in a blur. Titus sat with Miss Whitecross, holding her hand, feeling the spasmodic twitches of pain.
Her broken body was failing despite her indomitable will, and the doctor’s draughts made very little headway against her physical agony.
She muttered about the Laxtons, father and son, and made Pilcrow swear he’d never give Matthew Laxton anything.
“Not a penny to the murderer, hear me? Promise!”
He promised, and talked to her soothingly about anything he could think of, until a very ruffled clergyman came in with a curate in tow, shepherded by lawyer and butler. Mr. Carnaby left the parson to speak to Miss Whitecross, and took Titus outside for a low-voiced talk.
“I know she’s pushed you into this. I can assure you it will be worth your while.”
“Surely Mr. Laxton will object,” Titus pointed out. He’d been thinking a lot about that. “Could he not challenge the marriage in court?”
“Not if I can help it. I’ve drawn up a will, to be witnessed as soon as the marriage is solemnized, in order to confirm her wishes.
The vicar is speaking to her alone now, to be sure she’s in her right mind and not coerced.
I’ll make this watertight.” He grinned ruefully at Titus.
“She’s a dreadful, bullying old harpy, and my favourite client. ”
“I like her too. Oh Lord.”
“She’s had a good run,” Mr. Carnaby said briskly. “Let her die as she lived—dictatorial and malicious—and she’ll go happy.”
“Yes, but—Mr. Carnaby, about her accusations—”
Mr. Carnaby made a face. “Mr. Laxton came to visit yesterday afternoon. He asked her to show him some picture, of his mother, I think, and they went upstairs. And then—well, the servants heard a scream and a crash. They came running, and saw Mr. Laxton hurrying down the stairs to her. She was very distressed and confused and in a great deal of pain. And, unfortunately, she insisted on summoning the coroner.”
“The coroner?”
“Quite. She explained to him that she had been murdered, which he took as evidence she was not rational.”
It would do that, Titus thought. “But if she was tripped and dies of the fall, surely that is murder?”
“When she’s dead, absolutely. But she isn’t dead yet, and the coroner is not used to discussing murders with their victim, or to the victim calling him a blinkered fool. With profanity.”
“Oh dear.”
“Thorpe sent for me, but I was out. I wish to heaven I had been in,” Mr. Carnaby muttered.
“To make a short tale of it, the coroner spoke to the household, and with no witness to support her claim, he concluded that Miss Whitecross’s account was unreliable.
She is old, unbalanced by pain, and casting blame unfairly.
That was his conclusion last night, and I doubt he will change it when she is dead. ”
“Do you believe her?”
Mr. Carnaby hesitated, then spoke carefully. “She had a very painful, shocking fall. I have seen her take against people many a time, and she harbours a great dislike of her nephew. With no evidence, and no witness, I very much doubt there would be any use pursuing the matter further.”
That wasn’t what Titus had asked. “Do you believe her?” he repeated.
Mr. Carnaby exhaled, long and hard. “It is not a matter of what I believe. Matthew Laxton knew she was discussing marriage with the intention of cutting him out—”
“She was going to marry? Really?”
“She has been considering it on and off for years. This was the first time she had gone so far as to obtain a licence. One might wonder if that seemed significant to her nephew, who I believe has heavy debts. I could not possibly say he killed her, but it is fair to observe that he stood to lose a great deal by her marriage.”
“Then surely—”
Mr. Carnaby shook his head. “No jury will hang a man on the basis of motive alone, and all we have otherwise is an unsupported accusation by a dead woman. It won’t fly.”
“Then he has, or will have, got away with murder,” Titus said. “Surely we cannot tolerate that. If I am to—to inherit, I have a duty.”
“A praiseworthy sentiment,” Mr. Carnaby said, almost without irony.
“And don’t let me stop you trying, but it won’t change a thing.
I am not saying this lightly, Mr. Pilcrow; I don’t want to see him get away with it either, but I very much doubt there is anything I can do about it.
You, however, can go through with this marriage and snatch his prize. That will be something.”
“I don’t entirely understand the situation,” Titus said. “Why must she marry?”
“Humphrey Whitecross had two daughters. He left each of them a life interest in half his fortune, that plus half the capital to go to their husbands on marriage, or to their nearest male relative on their deaths as spinsters. The elder Miss Whitecross married John Laxton and repented it bitterly; our Miss Whitecross observed her sister’s marriage and declined to open herself to similar abuses. ”
“Surely she could have found a decent man.”
“When you have that much money, there are no decent men,” Mr. Carnaby said.
“Or so she believes. But if she dies unmarried, Matthew Laxton gets the fortune and there is no way to prevent it. So she has been torn between her dislike of men in general and her loathing of Laxton in particular. I did think her latest candidate would get her up to scratch by sheer effrontery, but he has missed his chance, and here we are. She can snatch her wealth from Laxton at the last gasp, if you help.” He gave a wry smile.
“You’ll live rich and she’ll die happy.”
“Yes, but, wait,” Titus said. “Could she annul the marriage, if she recovers?”
“Indeed she could, unless you consummate the union, which—”
“I’m not joking. If this is what she wants, I will take my good fortune and be grateful. But if she recovers and regrets her decision, I will make no claim whatsoever on her money. I want her to know that.”
“Noted and respected,” the lawyer said with a nod. “Thank you, sir. But the issue will not arise: I doubt she’ll see out the day. Ah, here we are.”
The door opened and the curate popped his head out. “Gentlemen? Mr. Green is ready for you. Miss Whitecross wishes to proceed.”
So they did. Titus stood by his withered bride’s bedside, holding her hand as the clearly uncomfortable clergyman hurried through the service, slipping a ring Mr. Thorpe gave him over her thin finger.
Miss Whitecross made her responses with all the strength and determination at her command, and when it was done, Titus planted a very awkward, exceedingly light kiss on her papery hand, rather than her torn and bruised cheek.
“Flatterer,” she said, in a thread of a voice but still with a gleam of satisfaction. “He has it all now, don’t he, Carnaby?”
“The Whitecross fortune passes absolutely to your husband in accordance with the provisions of your father’s bequest.”
“And my property too. Where’s the will? Read it.”
Mr. Carnaby produced a document. “Mr. Green, if you will confirm for me that I am giving a faithful reading.” He waited for the Reverend Mr. Green to stand by him, then read out the provisions.
A generous sum to Thomas Thorpe, her faithful butler, and as much again to her housekeeper, Mrs. Matilda Thorpe.
Multiple small bequests to her other servants, and everything else of which she died possessed to—
“Titus Caesar Pilcrow? Caesar?” she croaked.
“My father was greatly interested in Roman imperial history.”
“Imbecile. Go on, Carnaby.”
The rest of which she died possessed was bequeathed absolutely to her lawful husband, Titus Caesar Pilcrow, with the exception of one pound to Matthew Laxton, her sister’s son, in recognition of all the love Miss Whitecross bore him.
“In those words,” she said querulously. “And why must I leave him anything?”
“Only so he can’t claim he was forgotten,” Mr. Carnaby said in soothing tones. “Are these your wishes, Mrs. Pilcrow?”
“Mrs.—ha. Seventy-eight years without a dratted man in my life and now this tomfoolery. Yes, that’s my wish. Everyone hear me? Pilcrow has it all.”
The reverend, the curate, the lawyer, the doctor, and the butler all nodded. She raised her clawed hand, took the pen, scrawled ink on the document, watched with sharp eyes as the two clergymen signed as witnesses, and gave a long sigh. “That’s done. And I’m sorry, Pilcrow.”
“Excuse me?”
“The money was a curse to me, and it will be a curse to you. Laxton drained my sister dry for it. I’ve spent my life surrounded by leeches, waiting for people to turn on me because they only want one thing.
And they always turn, you’ll find that out yourself.
Everyone is out for what they can get. All of you, grasping vultures—”
“If you want to annul the marriage now, you may,” Titus told her. “Or do it when you wake up hale and hearty tomorrow; I shan’t object. But those paints I made up are downstairs, and I will insist on payment of that four-guinea bill, madam, so don’t think you’re getting away without.”
Her lips parted, then twisted upward. “Ha! There’s an honest man. I should have married a shopkeeper long ago.” She fumbled for his hand. “Swear to me, Pilcrow. Laxton will come at you for money, but he shan’t have a penny. Swear.”
Titus pressed her fingers very gently. “I won’t give him anything.”
“Your oath!”
“You have my word.”
She let out a long hiss, and subsided back. “Good. Good. Now get out, all of you; I have dying to do. Not you, fool,” she added to Mr. Thorpe, and reached for him. He took her hand with a fond look.
Titus retreated downstairs with the lawyer, who rang for sherry in a decisive manner, remarking when the drinks came, “You look like you need it.”
“I’m not quite sure what I’ve just done.”
“Helped a good old soul die easy. An evil-tempered, thoroughly pigheaded, good old soul.” Mr. Carnaby raised his glass; Titus raised his own. “She’ll end easier for this. Whereas, as she indicated, your problems are just beginning.”
“Er—”
The lawyer gave him a wry look. “In that you’re about to be a very wealthy man.”
Titus wasn’t quite ready to think about that yet. It didn’t feel real. He’d come here with destitution hanging over him, and now he was to be rewarded, just for being the man on the doorstep at the right moment?
“I should thank Mr. Thorpe,” he said aloud.
“He has certainly done you a good turn,” Mr. Carnaby agreed. “For Miss Whitecross’s sake, but very much to your benefit. I hope you won’t hold it against him.”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“Some might. You probably want to know how wealthy you have become.”
“No,” Titus said swiftly. “Not now. It’s her money until—well, until it’s not.”
Mr. Carnaby tipped his head. “How did you make her acquaintance?”
They talked, about Miss Whitecross’s hobby and the business of paints, and Mr. Carnaby’s work, and his four fine children, and anything else they could think of.
They had another glass of sherry. Mr. Carnaby went upstairs once more, and then home to his family.
Titus stayed, because he felt he had to.
A maid came to get him as the sky outside was darkening. He went up to see Miss Whitecross—he could not think of her otherwise—lying still with Mr. Thorpe and a plump, comfortable-looking woman, both wet-eyed, by her bedside, and the doctor standing. “Is she—”
Mr. Thorpe beckoned him over, and he saw she was breathing, very shallowly.
He took her hand with care. “Miss Whitecross? It’s Pilcrow.
” He didn’t know what else to say to this woman to whom he was married, so he simply sat with her, and wasn’t quite sure when her limp fingers became dead weight in his.
The doctor moved to pull up the sheet. The plump woman let out a sob, and Mr. Thorpe embraced her with a familiar, loving support that suggested she was Mrs. Thorpe. Titus waited awkwardly until they moved apart and then offered the butler his hand. “I’m very sorry. This is a sad day for you.”
“I will miss her, sir. In her service since I was seven years old. She attended our wedding, even bought Mrs. Thorpe’s dress as a gift. So fine it was. She was the envy of the street.”
“She’d say, A pretty penny I paid for that dress, and look at you now!” Mrs. Thorpe added with a wobbly smile. “It was her way. But she was so very kind to our Alma in her trouble— Oh, Tom.”
Mr. Thorpe’s mouth spasmed; then he hauled back his professional composure. “Thank you for making her end easier, sir. You put her mind at rest, and I’m grateful.”
“We all are,” Mrs. Thorpe agreed, wiping her eyes. “Now, will you be dining here? It is all at sixes and sevens, of course, but we can serve you something within the hour. And shall I have a room made ready for you tonight?”
“I will let the staff know,” Mr. Thorpe added. “You will want to meet them, I daresay, but perhaps tomorrow would be best.”
Titus blinked. “Sorry—dinner? Room? Here? Why would I—” His throat dried.
Mr. Thorpe gave him a look of something like compassion. “Yes, sir. It’s your house now.”