Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Mr. Granger cleared his throat.
“You mentioned Mrs. Todd’s coherent moments,” Minerva said, pulling her thoughts back to the conversation.
“She had fewer and fewer of those of late, by her own account. A terrible thing to realize your mind is not right in the moments when it is right.”
Minerva’s heart twisted at his words, for what he described sounded dreadful. “How long did she suffer with this brain congestion?”
“Four years that I know of. Perhaps longer,” Mr. Granger said. “The way she told it, in the beginning, she was mostly herself except for brief periods when she was not. And recently, she was mostly not herself, except for brief periods when she was.”
“How terrible,” Minerva whispered, imagining the terror and dismay her cousin must have endured.
“She had a sense of humour about it, though. She said that the saving grace was the fact that she could meet new people every day, though she had known them for years.”
Minerva stared at him.
He cleared his throat. “Because she did not remember having met them before…”
“I do not know that I see that as a saving grace,” she murmured.
Returning her attention to the pendant, she studied the smaller teardrop that sat against a larger one, two tiny hinges nearly hidden by the filigree.
She used the edge of her nail to pry it open and gasped.
Dark hair. Green eyes. The woman who looked back at her from the tiny painted miniature within was one she knew well, one she loved and missed with all her heart. “Mama,” she whispered.
“That is your cousin, Catherine Todd,” said Mr. Granger. “She was a fine figure of a woman in her youth.”
Minerva glanced up at him, then back at the miniature. Yes, she saw it now. The resemblance to her mother was uncanny, but there were differences, too. The jaw was squarer, the cheekbones higher, the style of dress from decades past.
“You favor her,” the solicitor said.
Minerva wet her lips, the comment unsettling. Why? She had always known she looked like her mother, and hence she looked like Catherine Todd. She could not say why the solicitor’s remarking upon it made her uneasy.
Again, she heard a whisper, the shape of a sound, faint and reedy. She knew she did not hear it, not in truth. It was a conjuring of her anxious nature, just as the shapes she had recently begun to see lurking in the shadows late at night were.
“You will need to come to my offices tomorrow,” Mr. Granger said. “There are details to be discussed and documents to be signed.”
“I…” Minerva hesitated. She studied the pendant.
“Perhaps I ought to sell it,” she murmured.
It would fetch enough to offer her a tiny bit of security.
But the thought of parting with it was accompanied by an unexpected pang of regret.
She felt as though the piece was hers, as though it belonged with her and no other.
“Sell it…?” Mr. Granger’s brows drew together. Then his expression cleared and he smiled a little. “You misunderstand, Miss Ashworth. You did not merely inherit a locket, but a house.”
Minerva stared at him. “House?”
“Your cousin left you a house in Cornwall and a nice income.”
“I—” Minerva’s thoughts danced between disbelief and hope.
“You are Catherine Todd’s heir,” he said gently.
“I thought that meant I inherited a locket. But a house, an income…” She exhaled in a quick huff. “I can barely imagine it.”
“You did not know,” he said, clearly surprised. He pressed his lips together then frowned, looking as if he wanted to say more.
“No, I did not know. I never met her.” She hesitated, the fragmented memory of her mother’s drawing room making her doubt her own assertion. “I corresponded with her—”
“Well then, you knew her through her letters.”
Minerva shook her head. “I corresponded with her only once. Right after my parents died. She was not… quite right, I think.”
“I see.” Mr. Granger clasped his hands at the base of his spine and paced three strides across the room then back again. He shook his head. “I was under the impression she had written to you often in recent years.”
Minerva considered that. Maybe her cousin had written to her during periods of lucidity, and the letter or letters had never reached her because—
“I was no longer at the same address,” Minerva said.
“I was forced to leave my home. She did not know where I was.” The certainty arrived with quiet recognition.
Catherine, in the moments when her mind was her own, might have wanted to reach out long before now and had simply not known where to find her.
“It is likely,” Mr. Granger said, “that she knew only the address you had written from. And when she wrote to you after that first letter, it had long since ceased to be your home.” He glanced around the small office. “Now, Cornwall will be your home.”
Minerva considered that. A part of her had always yearned for travel, for new sights and sounds and surroundings.
And that part of her had longed for the sea, though that made little sense for she had never seen it.
As a child, she had clung to her father’s every word when he described distant cities he visited on business: Dublin, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Brighton.
She had begged him to take her to Cardiff on his next trip, and he had ruffled her hair and said, “Someday, little one. But not today.”
Someday had never come. She had long ago stopped believing it ever would.
Now, it appeared that someday had arrived.
Should she travel to Cornwall? Or should she sell her cousin’s house, sight unseen? Her first instinct was to sell it. She had never seen the place, had no connection to Cornwall. Selling was the sensible choice. And the past three years had taught her that sensible choices were safe.
The solicitor cleared his throat as Minerva remained silent.
Then he said, “I feel I should prepare you for the nature of what you are inheriting. The house has a certain reputation in the village.” He paused.
“The locals consider it haunted. Your cousin considered it haunted. She lived there for almost forty years, regardless.” Another pause, longer than the first. “I mention this not to alarm you but because the decision you will be asked to make tomorrow is a significant one, and you should have all the relevant information before you make it.”
“What decision?” Minerva asked, looking at him steadily.
“The terms of the will are quite specific,” he said. “I ask that you come to my offices tomorrow where we may discuss them at length.”
A flicker of wariness chased through her. He did not sound like a man preparing her for a pleasant surprise.
Again came the shape of a sound, brushing past her ear like a breath.
And then it was gone, leaving her certain—almost certain—that she had heard nothing at all.
It was the storm, she told herself. Or perhaps the girls in the front room were whispering. Yes. Of course. There was the explanation.
Minerva got to her feet. The edge of the pendant dug into her palm as she clenched her fists.
“I will be at your offices tomorrow,” she said. “Eleven o’clock, if that suits.”
Mr. Granger’s expression shifted, a mix of relief and apprehension. “That suits very well, Miss Ashworth.”
“I believe I—” Minerva broke off and turned as a loud oomph came from just beyond the doorway.
The door swung fully open.
A body tumbled forward and fell to the floor.
Kitty looked up at them from where she had landed. She pushed out her lower lip and exhaled a puff of air that sent the wayward blonde curls flying from her forehead.
“So sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I was angling to hear better, but Mrs. Barlow was in my way, so I edged around her and, well—” She swept a hand before her, palm up. “You see how things proceeded from there.”
Minerva bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
From the floor, Kitty glared at Mr. Granger and said, “Min’s not alone in the world. She has me.” She tipped her head to one side. “Mrs. Todd didn’t die in the house, did she?”
Mr. Granger looked nonplussed. “No. She died in the ocean after a fall from the cliff.”
“And the ghosts? They don’t live in the house, do they?”
“I don’t…that is… I…” He exhaled sharply. “There are no ghosts.”
“So you say,” said Kitty, her tone implying that she knew better.
She scrambled to her feet and looked at Minerva.
“We’ll spread salt around the house if we decide to go.
The threshold…the lintels… Mam taught me that’d chase out ghosts.
Besides, a ghost sighting often just means there’s a visitor coming.
” She shot Mr. Granger a withering look.
“They aren’t always malicious, you know. ”
“We?” Minerva asked, her lips curving in a faint smile, her heart lightening with hope.
Tipping her head, Kitty settled one hand on her cocked hip. “You don’t think I’d send you off to Cornwall alone, do you?”
Kitty had not left Minerva to face anything alone in the three years since they had met at the shabby rooming house they both called home, nor had Minerva left Kitty to face the world alone.
“The thought never crossed my mind,” Minerva said, hooking her arm through Kitty’s. “I have made no decisions yet about Cornwall. Only that I will go to Mr. Granger’s offices tomorrow and hear the terms of my cousin’s will.”
Mrs. Barlow stepped through the door, no longer trying to conceal either her presence or her curiosity. Four people in the small office made for cramped quarters, indeed.
Mrs. Barlow heaved a sigh and said, “You’ve gone back to being a lady, have you? I suppose I’ll have to find a new girl, won’t I?”
“I—” Minerva hesitated. She had no idea of the scope of her inheritance yet, but from what Mr. Granger had said, she no longer needed to work as a seamstress. The thought should have freed her, but it only made her wary. “Perhaps not. I have made no decisions yet,” she said at last.
“Mmm,” said Mrs. Barlow. Then, ever the businesswoman, she offered a sly smile. “When you do decide, you’ll be needing new dresses to match your new situation.”