The Jane Austen Society(78)

He wondered how long she could resist doing the same when it came to her son. Wondered if the idea of the wealth waiting for Adam would triumph over her misgivings, for however faltering the estate was, it still yielded thousands of pounds in revenue a year. Dr. Gray would be lying if he did not acknowledge, at least to himself, that he was extremely keen to see the entirety of the estate go to a man like Adam, with his commitment to Austen’s legacy and to the town of Chawton in general, if it couldn’t go to Frances.

Dr. Gray shifted a bit in his seat. He had waited until today before saying anything because he had hoped all along that Frances would end up the heir.

“Why are you here now?” Mrs. Berwick asked, as if she could read his mind.

“I just thought it was time.”

“But you’ve known for weeks. Adam told me you were at the reading of the will.” She stared at Dr. Gray aggressively. “Longer, even, I suspect, with the likes of Harriet Peckham working for you.”

“I can’t speak to any of that. As a patient of mine yourself, I am sure you understand my need for discretion. But things have changed recently and so dramatically, as I first said—and I always thought it best if you came to this decision on your own. I will respect what you decide to do, either way, I can assure you. But you are running out of time, now that Mr. Knatchbull has appeared. And I wanted to be absolutely clear with you on that.”

“My boy won’t want any of it.”

“I think you are wrong.”

“I know I am right. Everyone will know, and it will be his shame as much as mine, and all the land and money in the world won’t be worth it to him.”

“I know that is how you feel, otherwise you would have also told Mr. Knight himself when you had the chance. You didn’t tell him or Adam for a reason, even with Mr. Berwick gone for so many years. But please, please think about what your reasons really are.”

With that, he got up while she remained seated, staring ahead. He left the cottage feeling some degree of relief. He had done what he could for Adam without breaching any patient confidentiality—otherwise his hands were tied. He was also relieved that the old woman had not pursued more of a connection between his speaking up now and the interest of the society in the little cottage down the lane. Dr. Gray was aware of his own self-interest in all of this, and he had spent weeks trying to manage it. But he consoled himself with the fact that, in all the years he had known Adam Berwick, he had never seen him more engaged, or alive, or happy. Dr. Gray knew that the Jane Austen Society was a huge reason why, and he knew that it had been Adam’s dream first to try to acquire the cottage as a monument to his favourite author. And that as a result it was no longer Dr. Gray’s secret, or Mrs. Berwick’s, to keep. Adam deserved the truth, to make of it however much or however little he would.

Early the next morning Liberty Pascal, wearing an even brighter shade of lipstick than usual, appeared in the doorway to Dr. Gray’s office. She often had this funny way of leaning against the doorframe, as if hankering for an invitation to come in and take a load off. He mused once again at the likelihood of his unknowingly hiring someone so connected to Adeline, as well as the misfortune of its being someone with such a competitive view of her.

“Yes, Miss Pascal?”

“Adam Berwick is here to see you. I didn’t see his name in your appointments book.”

“That’s alright. Please, send him in.”

Dr. Gray rarely got emotional at his job—he prided himself on this. But he was suddenly overcome by the idea of Adam having to revisit the few certain and pleasant memories of his distant past, and having to integrate those memories with the reality of what had really been going on. No one ever wants to know that things were not as they seemed.

A few seconds later Liberty reappeared with Adam lingering behind her. He took off his cap as he entered the office, and Dr. Gray noticed Liberty flash him an extra-wide smile and give the slightest curtsy before leaving the two men alone.

“Adam, come in, please.” Dr. Gray got up and closed the door, then sat back down behind his desk.

“I don’t want to talk much about it,” the bewildered man began.

“Of course, Adam, I fully understand. You must take care of yourself, and your mother. It had to have been extremely difficult for her to tell you. I can’t imagine.”

Adam was gripping his cap so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were turning white. Dr. Gray’s heart was breaking a little for the poor man—he never could get a break. Yet there he was, trying to connect with people like Dr. Gray and Adeline and Evie, trying to build something outside of his tiny world. It all took so much guts and nerve for a man like him. That terrible First War and its numbing degree of loss had deprived Adam Berwick of something essential years ago—an understanding of hope—an understanding of how sometimes it is all we have. But how hope can also sometimes be just enough.

“I didn’t want you to know just so that the society could get the cottage. I need you to know that, Adam, as your physician and your friend. You are a strong man—look at what you have survived. You will survive this, too, and put it in its place, whatever you decide to do. But you are the one who should get to decide all that.”

“My father . . .”

Dr. Gray could hear the pain in Adam’s voice as it trailed off.

“I know—again, we don’t have to talk about it. But as a doctor, let me just say this: For all the ties of blood and birth that I see about me, each and every day, and the babies delivered, and the tears of the parents, I only ever remember the love. You were loved, Adam—you are loved. Your father loved you, and you cherish his memory, and that is all that really counts. And you get to safeguard that memory however you choose.”