Chapter 11
First thing the following morning, still scowling, David climbed out of the carriage and walked directly into the solicitors. Having failed to catch the man in the park, he was all the more determined to discover his identity through other means.
I shall have to speak plainly to Frederica this afternoon, he thought to himself, his mouth pulling into a thin line. She will need to tell me the truth about it all. I do not know what is holding her back from it, but it cannot go on.
“Lord Hampshire, good morning.” David was quickly ushered into the solicitor’s office, the scent of leather drifting towards him. “Please, do sit down.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bolton.” David seated himself in the chair opposite the solicitor’s desk, eyeing the man carefully.
Mr. Bolton was an older fellow, with sharp grey eyes and a pair of pince-nez perched carefully on the end of his nose. “I have come to speak with you about one of your solicitors. I am afraid I do not know his name, but he was the solicitor for the late Lord Cheltenham.”
Mr. Bolton frowned. “I am not certain of whom you are speaking, I am sorry to say. I was Lord Cheltenham’s solicitor, and now, I am yours also when it comes to all matters of his estate and the like. I am grateful for your ongoing requirement of our services, of course.”
David hesitated, then went into a further explanation of the man he had seen.
Perhaps Mr. Bolton did not understand what he meant.
“When I say that this man was Lord Cheltenham’s solicitor, I mean to say that he is now dealing with matters pertaining to Miss Longleat specifically.
He met with her recently, I understand – or was going to, before my presence interrupted it. ”
Mr. Bolton’s expression eased in an instant. “Ah, of course. Forgive me, I quite forgot. You must be referring to Mr. Rathbone?”
Hearing the man’s name brought David such a great relief, he sighed and dropped his chin, nodding. “Is that his name, then?”
“He is no longer employed here, however,” Mr. Bolton continued, making David’s eyebrows shoot high.
“That instruction came from the late Lord Cheltenham, shortly before he died.” He paused, his expression briefly troubled.
“It was a difficult business. Mr. Rathbone had been with us for some years and was, in his own way, capable. He had lost his wife some years past, I am told, and was left with young children.” Bolton adjusted his pince-nez, as if the recollection had cost him something.
“I confess the matter sat uneasy with me at the time.”
“I do not understand.” David sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. “Lord Cheltenham directed you to end the man’s employment? How could he have such sway?”
Mr. Bolton shifted in his chair, his eyes darting away.
“He – he informed me that Mr. Rathbone had behaved somewhat inappropriately during one of his meetings with Lord Cheltenham. This was at a time when Mr. Rathbone had been summoned to the house here in London, you understand. We work for many upstanding families, Lord Hampshire, and I did not want to risk injuring our own reputation. Therefore, I did as was instructed.”
“Do you remember when precisely this was?” David asked, feeling more and more unsettled. Mr. Rathbone appeared to be a somewhat unsavory character, and yet, for whatever reason, Frederica had been willing to meet with him. “When was he asked to quit your employ?”
Hesitating, thick grooves drove themselves into Mr. Bolton’s forehead as he frowned. “I think – I think it would have been about the same time as news reached us of Miss Longleat’s engagement,” he said slowly. “Yes, it would have been at that time, I think.”
David pressed his thumb against the bridge of his nose. “At the same time as the codicil was given to you?”
Mr. Bolton blinked. “Codicil?”
“Yes, the codicil.” David frowned. “Lord Cheltenham informed me that he had added a codicil to his will. I presume you know of what I am speaking?” When Mr. Bolton’s expression did not change, David threw up his hands.
“I am well aware that the will has not been read as yet, but surely you can admit to something that both you and I are aware of.”
“Except I am entirely unaware of it,” Mr. Bolton said, slowly, rising from his chair, his hands planted flat on his desk. “Are you quite certain of this, Lord Hampshire? Are you certain that Lord Cheltenham spoke of adding this codicil?”
“Yes, I am quite sure.” David’s heart was beating so hard and so loudly that it was difficult to make out the sound of his own voice over the top of it.
“The night he spoke to me, he informed me that he had very recently added a codicil to his will – in fact, he said to me that he had done it the day before our meeting, so it was very recent indeed!”
Mr. Bolton shook his head, then came around his desk and gestured to the door. “If you will excuse me, I will go and make certain of that. I will need to fetch the key for the cabinet here. Might you wait for a few moments?”
David laced his fingers behind his head and let his head go back, staring up at the ceiling and letting out the breath that was presently twisting around inside him.
How could this be? He had believed his uncle without question, had trusted that this talk of the codicil had been authentic.
Could it be that Lord Broadford had been correct? Was there an absence of something real?
“Thank you for your patience, Lord Hampshire.” Mr. Bolton hurried back into the room, his fingers clasping a key.
Without another word, he strode to the tall cabinet on the far wall of his office and fitted the key into the lock.
David rose to his feet, his entire body stiff, and he held his breath, lungs burning.
Every second was painful, stretching out in front of him as Mr. Bolton opened the cabinet and then began to search for the particular document.
Each bundle of papers was within its own container, tied with ribbon, making David wonder how long it would take the fellow to find the required piece.
It did not take as long as David had expected. With a nod to himself, Mr. Bolton ran his fingers along one shelf and then, reaching up, took out a contained collection of papers.
“If a codicil was written, it would be here,” he stated, taking the sheaf of documents back to his desk and laying it out carefully. “As I have said, I do not recall anything being written, but mayhap my memory fails me.”
David moved towards the desk, coming around it to stand directly beside Mr. Bolton.
It was not what was expected, but he did not care, unable to simply stand and wait.
His palms were damp, and he could feel sweat beading at his temples.
A strange, crawling sensation began to work its way up his spine as he let out a jagged breath, seeing Mr. Bolton’s slight shake of his head.
Mr. Bolton picked up one piece of paper and then another, sliding one sheet aside and moving to the next with careful precision.
The minutes dragged, and with another shake of his head, Mr. Bolton lifted his head and looked directly at David.
“It is not there.” He spread out his hands. “I have never heard of the codicil in question, Lord Hampshire. Your uncle did not supply me with one.”
The words were like sharp blows to David’s chest, making him reel back. He stared at Mr. Bolton, who was beginning now to set the papers back on top of the others, making certain that this codicil was not among them – but David needed no further proof.
“No codicil,” he whispered, the words tasting like freedom on his lips.
The noose that had been around his neck ever since his uncle had demanded this marriage from him slowly began to loosen, allowing him to breathe deeply for what felt like the first time in a long year.
A dizzying sense of relief swept over him, warm but unwelcome at the very same time.
Yes, he might be free of this requirement, free to pursue Nora just as he had always wanted, but at the very same time, there was the sharp, twisting pain of betrayal.
Setting one hand to his forehead, David looked down at the floor at his feet and brought the memory back to mind.
His uncle had been determined that the wedding would take place, had emphasized the codicil and the way it was now secured to his will.
There were to be consequences for Frederica if they did not marry, he had been told.
At the time, he had thought his uncle cruel and callous, but now…
now what was he to think? That he had been lied to, manipulated, and coerced by a man whom he had thought cared for him?
Lord Cheltenham had meant for him to think it all to be true and to accept it without question?
Why had he manipulated him so? Why do such a thing?
“I do hope I have not concerned you, Lord Hampshire. Might I ask what you were expecting?”
“I was expecting there to be a codicil,” David gritted out, heat creeping up his neck as a sense of anger and injustice settled in him. “One that I have believed to be true for over a year now, one which has altered the steps of my life and would have directed my future also.”
Mr. Bolton frowned. “I apologize for that, my lord. The Viscount may have had the intention of having a codicil written and placed beside the will, but mayhap his ill health prevented it.”
“That can be the only explanation,” David returned, his thoughts tangling and twisting together.
“I – I shall take my leave now. Thank you for all of your assistance in both the matter of the codicil and of Mr. Rathbone.” Turning his steps towards the door, he looked back at Mr. Bolton, who was standing by the desk, the papers now in his hands, ready to be put away.
“If you hear from Mr. Rathbone, I would appreciate it if you might have word sent to me at once. It is of the greatest importance that I speak with him.”