Chapter 11 #2
Cook all but scuttled down the room; Stokes held the chair beside Violet for her, and Cook sank onto it gratefully.
Violet patted Cook’s hand. “Don’t worry,” she whispered.
“Very good.” Montague glanced at Entwaite. “Everyone is present, I believe?”
Entwaite nodded. “Indeed. We may proceed.”
Montague raised the will, transfixing the attention of every member of the family.
In a clear, steady voice, he read the preamble, then passed on to the clauses giving effect to the distribution of the estate established under Sir Hugo’s will, followed by the provisions detailing the disbursement of Lady Halstead’s personal property.
Although he had read the will earlier in the day, he still had to pay attention to the words. He used the pause after each clause to quickly scan the faces turned his way.
There was nothing in the will to cause consternation; as expected, the combined wills of Sir Hugo and Lady Halstead stipulated that the bulk of the estate, being the residue after all disbursements to the minor beneficiaries, be divided equally between their four children.
Said children heard the news, and—as might be expected of the Halstead brood—each appeared disappointed that their mother hadn’t somehow favored them over their siblings.
Also as Montague had anticipated, the entire family paid close attention to what Lady Halstead had willed to others; when he named the sum of the annuity left to Violet—enough, if properly managed, to see her through the rest of her days in quiet but genteel comfort—the family threw darkling glances her way.
The smaller annuities left to Tilly Westcott and Cook—Mrs. Edmonds, as she proved to be—elicited several mutters.
He ignored the grumbling but took a moment to confirm aloud that, as Tilly had died after Lady Halstead, all that Lady Halstead had left to Tilly would pass on to Tilly’s heirs.
Entwaite helpfully capped the comment by stating that he had located Tilly’s brother, who was her legal heir.
Montague inclined his head in thanks. He scanned the family’s faces once more, but as had been the case throughout, they all appeared faintly disgruntled, dissatisfied, but also detached; none appeared greatly exercised by anything they’d heard thus far.
Raising the will, he continued reading, listing the last of the bequests.
Lady Halstead had—very sensibly in Montague’s view—divided her jewelry piece by piece, naming which family member should receive each item.
At the end of the list, her ladyship had left what she’d described as tokens of her affection to the three members of her household—a pearl choker to Violet—and that news made Cynthia Halstead suck in a quick breath through her teeth—a pearl brooch to Tilly, and a pearl ring to Cook.
Montague looked at Cynthia Halstead, wondering if she would protest, but although her face had set in lines of deep disaffection, her lips had compressed to a thin line, and she made no move to open them.
He was about to announce that that was the conclusion of the reading when Caroline Halstead said, “There’s no sense in giving a pearl brooch to a dead woman, much less to her laborer brother.
” Fixing Montague with a stare every bit as arrogant as her aunt’s, she stated, “As my late grandmother’s only granddaughter, the brooch should instead come to me. ”
Montague had hoped—all but prayed—that someone would protest something. Caroline’s objection gave him the chance to say, “If you wish to insist on such a redirection, you will need to contest the will, which, of course, will delay probate.”
Mortimer frowned at him. “Delaying probate—what will that mean for the rest of us?”
Montague arched his brows. “In effect”—he cast his gaze over the faces turned his way, focusing on the men as he said—“not a penny of the estate will be paid out to anyone, not until the disputed matter is decided by the court and probate is finally granted.”
As there was a good chance the murderer needed his share from the estate, Montague had hoped to jolt a telling reaction from the villain. Instead . . .
Cynthia swung to face Mortimer and shrilly declared, “I won’t have my share held to ransom by your greedy daughter!”
Maurice half rose, his gaze locked on Caroline. “Don’t be daft—it’s just a brooch, you silly chit!”
William growled, “Have you lost your mind, girl?”
Camberly looked peevishly disgusted. Even Constance turned an appalled face to her daughter.
Who was already cowering under her father’s black glare.
“We,” Mortimer declared, his tone sharper, his voice harder than Montague had previously heard it, “are not going to hold up probate over a paltry brooch.”
Caroline all but shrank into her seat and subsided.
Nothing more was said about the brooch.
Clearing his throat, Montague declared the reading of the will concluded.
He handed the document to Entwaite, then looked blandly at the family.
“Subsequent to Mr. Runcorn’s murder, at the behest of Scotland Yard I currently hold, and will continue to hold, the Halstead financial records in my firm’s vault until such time as you, via Mr. Entwaite, inform me whom you have appointed to deal further with the estate. ”
The family all blinked at him, then Mortimer frowned and said, “You seem capable—can’t you deal with it?”
He could, especially as he’d decided to keep Pringle on, but he was far too experienced to touch clients like the Halstead brood with a double-length beanpole. “Sadly, no. My firm’s client list is full. You will need to appoint some other man-of-business or similar agent.”
With an abbreviated nod, he turned away and exchanged bows and farewells with Entwaite, then, leaving the solicitor gathering his papers, he walked down the room to where Violet and Stokes still lingered.
Cook had already scurried out of the room, back, no doubt, to the relative safety of her kitchen.
Behind him, the arguments had already commenced.
Halting before Violet, still seated on her chair, Montague met Stokes’s gray gaze. “I didn’t detect anything—nothing that might point to one man over the others.”
Stokes grimaced. “Nor I.” He shifted so that, while appearing to converse with Montague, he could look past him to the family conclave raging before the fireplace. “Entwaite’s getting out as fast as he can, although none of the family seem to be paying him any heed.”
Violet shook her head. “They’re already too engaged in arguing over how to divide the estate.”
The three of them loitered, listening; in their usual manner, none of the family thought to temper either the substance or the level of their utterances.
Along with Montague and Stokes, Violet heard the four Halstead children rapidly agree, somewhat amazingly, that none of them wanted any part of the two Halstead properties.
That, however, was the limit of their consensus; Mortimer and Maurice were of the opinion the properties should be sold and the funds divided, while Cynthia and William, whether from true belief or simply to oppose the other two, insisted that they would be better served by leasing both properties.
After another three minutes of nothing but more argument, Stokes shook his head. “We’re not going to learn anything useful here. Barnaby, Penelope, and Griselda were going to circulate among the guests and see what they could learn. I suggest we join them.”
Violet nodded. Montague offered his hand, and she took it and rose.
Stokes stayed them with an upraised hand. His gaze had once again gone down the room. Violet followed it and realized he was looking at Caroline, predictably sulking, a bad-tempered glower on her face as she watched and waited for her parents to finish their arguments.
Glancing back at Stokes, Violet saw him exchange a look with Montague, then Stokes met her gaze.
“I suspect it would be a wise idea for you, escorted by Montague, and perhaps Penelope and Griselda, too, to go upstairs to Lady Halstead’s room and remove the bequests—the pieces of jewelry her ladyship left you, Tilly, and Cook. ”
Violet blinked, then glanced at Caroline.
“I believe you’re right.” She looked at Montague.
“I’ve written to Tilly’s brother—he’ll call at your office when he comes to town to fetch her body.
” She pushed the thought of Tilly’s body away; she couldn’t afford to dwell on that now, not here.
Raising her chin a notch, she went on, “If you could send him on to me, I’ve already got Tilly’s belongings, so I can add the brooch to them, and I’ll give Cook the ring before I leave. ”
Both Montague and Stokes nodded.
“Come.” Montague offered his arm. “Let’s find Penelope and Griselda, then we’ll go upstairs.”
Stokes fell in behind them. “I would head upstairs sooner rather than later. The instant they stop arguing, they’ll be up to sort that jewelry—you can count on it.”
Knowing he was right, Violet quashed the impulse to look after what were, in effect, her ladyship’s last guests—to cover the hostess gap neither Cynthia nor Constance had thought to fill—and instead allowed Montague to gather Penelope and Griselda, and escort the three of them up the stairs and into Lady Halstead’s room.
She and Tilly had tidied the room on the day before Tilly had been murdered .
. . Violet ruthlessly forced her mind back to her task and refused to allow herself to think beyond that.
Crossing to the dressing table, she drew out the second drawer on the right.
“Lady Halstead kept her pearls in here.”
“Best to let me.” Montague bent and drew the drawer fully out.
Straightening, he set it on the table, then met her gaze.
“If the Halsteads inquire—as they might—I can truthfully say that, as her ladyship’s appointed agent and acting in accordance with her will, I took the pearls and gave them to you. ”