The Jane Austen Society(53)

Andrew saw, out of the corner of his eye, the young house girl Evie make some kind of motion to Dr. Gray, then go and lean against the mantel of the mammoth stone fireplace with her head bowed down.

“‘Finally, in recognition of their support and care of me in my final years, I bequeath the following gifts: an annual stipend of fifty pounds to Miss Josephine Barrow, and annual stipends of twenty pounds each to Miss Evie Stone and Miss Charlotte Dewar.’”

Andrew cleared his throat one last time and said, while folding the paper back up in his white-knuckled grasp, “‘This document has been signed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of the following witnesses and at my request, being Mr. Andrew Forrester, Esquire, of Alton, Hampshire, and Miss Harriet Peckham of Chawton, Hampshire.”

There was a terrible, awkward silence in the room. Everyone knew that Miss Frances should be the first, if any, to talk, yet everyone knew that she would not say a word.

Finally, Dr. Gray came over to stand next to Andrew, who remained sitting on the sofa. “Miss Frances, Mr. Forrester asked me to be here today for several reasons. You must have questions about your father’s state of mind at the time of execution only two months past.”

Frances silently shook her head. After a few seconds, she looked up at Dr. Gray and smiled bitterly. “To the end, my father knew exactly what he was doing.”

Everyone else in the room was taken aback. It was the most assertive and complete statement they had heard her make in years.

“He may have done, but there are grounds, just so you know. If you want to pursue—”

Frances stood up and put her right hand slightly out as if to stop him. “No, I don’t want to pursue anything. It is what it is. The care he received from the staff has been recognized. That is what I cared about most.”

After all the distress of the past two days, this was too much for old Josephine to bear. She could be heard behind them sniffling into her handkerchief, before hustling the two house girls out of the room alongside her.

“Frances—Miss Knight—wait,” Andrew finally said, and he stood up, too. “As executor, in my experience it may take some time to determine the legitimate heir. During that time, you will be permitted to reside in the Great House and—who knows—perhaps beyond that. Should the courts not be able to determine the proper male heir within a reasonable time, you can petition to inherit on the grounds of being Mr. Knight’s immediate next of kin.”

Frances shook her head dejectedly. “I really can’t think about any of that right now. Just prepare a landlord notice to the tenants in the steward’s cottage—I will take the first available flat at the least amount of inconvenience to any of them.”

Dr. Gray stepped forward. “I know that Louisa Hartley is planning to move to Bath soon, to be nearer her son once her recent surgery has healed.”

“Fine,” Frances said flatly. “If Mr. Forrester could please make the legal arrangements. And thank you, gentlemen, both of you, for delivering this news. It cannot have been easy.”

She left the room. Dr. Gray went and shut the drawing-room door behind her, then he and Andrew both slumped back down onto the sofa.

“Good God,” sighed Dr. Gray.

Andrew opened his lawyer’s bag and shoved the will inside before angrily snapping the straps shut.

“She was always pathologically stoical,” Dr. Gray added. “Even as children—remember?”

“I hope stoic is the right word for it. I shudder to think what else one might call it at this point.”

Dr. Gray had a sudden realization. “So this is why you were so concerned about joining the society. . . . I’d never have guessed. If it’s any consolation, not once did you betray knowing any of this. Your legal advice, as always, was irreproachable. Still, it seems so ironic that the old man would tie up the cottage in this way, given our own recent plans for it. We haven’t even had a chance yet to run that ad in The Times.”

Andrew got up and walked over to the sideboard, turning his back to Dr. Gray. “I’m not sure how coincidental any of this was.”

“How so?”

“Ben, why did you fire Miss Peckham in the end?”

Now it was Dr. Gray’s turn to squirm a bit. “She was just too intrusive. I felt like I was under surveillance by an enemy camp. Always making suggestive remarks about the ladies.”

Andrew turned back to him and smiled ruefully. Dr. Gray’s status as the lonely widower was a mainstay of Chawton village life—Andrew suspected several local women to be pining after his old friend.

“I get that, Ben—but I’m afraid she might have done far worse. I fear she may have tipped the old man off to your and Adam’s initial plans for the cottage. We all know how disinterested—even peevish—Mr. Knight was about the whole Austen legacy. Having buses of tourists traipsing into town to check out a museum in her honour would have been the last thing he’d want. And now he’s arranged it so perfectly, with Frances losing her one place to live if the cottage ever gets sold outside of the family.”

“She’s certainly been boxed into a corner by the old man this time. Crikey, I need a drink,” growled Dr. Gray.

Andrew started to pour out two whiskies from the drinks tray always set up on the sideboard. “She’s lived her whole life in that box, though. Literally and figuratively. When was the last time she even left the house? Evie had quite a time of it, I understand, getting her out on Christmas Eve.”