Jewel of Gresham Green (41 page)

On the Thursday morning of the twenty-first of August, Aleda unlatched her garden gate and set out on the path. Notices were posted all over Gresham, asking villagers to act as witnesses to the reading of Squire Bartley’s will. Unnecessary, for all Mr. Baker would have had to do was inform Mr. Trumble in the hearing of some of his customers.

She pushed back her sleeve to look at her watch. Half past nine. The meeting was to begin at ten o’clock. There were no signs of Elizabeth and her crew as she passed their cottage. She would hurry to the vicarage and walk over with her parents, if they had not left.

Dismissing Horace Stokes would be his first action, Donald thought as the coach rumbled down Church Lane. He already had buyers interested in the cheese factory. He would even make it a condition of the sale that Horace not be rehired. He would rue the scene he made twenty-one years ago over attempts at innocent fun.

The horses were slowing in preparation for Bartley Lane when he spotted Aleda Hollis. She turned her head to send a puzzled look his way. When the coach was even and his eyes met hers, she held up her fist in an unladylike manner.

Go on, behave like a pig
, he thought, scowling at her through the glass. Just before her image slid from sight, he noticed a glint of metal at her upheld wrist.

Uneasily he thought,
But how did she get it back?

Most probably, this was a new one. She should never play with cards, if that was her bluff, he thought, propping hands against the seat on either side as the coach turned.

Just because he was bound to his uncle’s agreement with Miss Hollis didn’t mean the person to whom he sold the estate would be bound to it. Another condition of sale.

It was good to have power.

And Reese had even returned last week, as if able to smell that power in the air. All the suffering Donald had been through made this victory all the more sweet.

Mr. Baker rose from a library chair as Donald entered.

“You’re late,” Mr. Baker said, not offering his hand.

Donald shrugged. This little old man could no longer intimidate him. In fact, he would hire another solicitor to handle disposing of the property.

Power.

A document that appeared to be the will, and one other page, lay upon the polished oak table before him.

Which was surprising. His parents had only owned a house, bank account, and some stocks, and he had spent an hour signing papers.

“We must do this quickly,” Mr. Baker said as Donald pulled out a chair.

“Why aren’t the others here?” Donald asked, barely daring to hope. Had his uncle left out the servants? It did not seem fair, for many had worked there for decades, and deserved at least small legacies. But who was he to argue with his uncle’s wishes?

“They will be leaving soon to the village hall for the other reading.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your uncle has left you five hundred pounds.”

The words assaulted Donald’s ears like a curse.

“You jest.”

“I’m aware you had hoped for more, but if you’ll pay off your debts and invest the remainder, you may live in modest comfort for the rest of your life.”

Modest comfort?

“You’ll do even better if you find some sort of profitable employment.”

Donald sneered at him. And do what? Dig ditches? He was a gentleman, from a long line of gentlemen whose forebears had had the wisdom, or craftiness, to be on the right side of some king or another. Labor was for peasants.

“There is a mistake here. Surely he didn’t leave the rest to the servants?”

The solicitor uncapped a pen. “I’m not at liberty to say until all other recipients have been informed. I assure you, everything is in order with the courts.”

Donald’s chair fell backwards with a
thud
. He shot to his feet and pounded his fist upon the table. “You’ve cheated me, you old snake!”

“I understand your disappointment. You may, of course, retain your own attorney to look over the will.”

“I shall do just that! You’ll not get away with this!”

Mr. Baker brushed the insult off as if it were a piece of lint. “Two small but significant liens have been filed against your inheritance. I can deduct them from the cheque I am about to write, or you may battle it out in court.”

“And who are these two people?”

“Miss Aleda Hollis and Mr. Amos Perkins.”

Donald barked a laugh. “Let them take me to court.”

“Very well.” Mr. Baker began gathering papers.

“Wait. You mean I can’t have the cheque until it’s settled?” “That’s exactly what it means, Mr. Gibbs.”

Grinding his teeth, Donald snatched the pen from his hand.

There would be a battle over this whole fiasco. But not today. Not when he had to make the five-o’clock express to fulfill his promise to Reese of a night out on the town.

Chapter 37

More children than usual played on the green, for only adults were invited to the meeting in the village hall, in the interest of chair space and decorum. Older children or maids minded the few younger ones toddling about.

Claire and Samuel sprinted toward Julia, Andrew, and Aleda, with John following patiently.

“Grandmother!” Claire chirped, throwing arms around Julia’s waist. “Father says Aunt Aleda is going to sell her book and be rich!”

Samuel, caught up into Andrew’s arms, naturally opened his mouth. “And Mother hopes she’ll buy some decent clothes!”

“Samuel!” John scolded with an apologetic look to his aunt.

But Aleda was howling with laughter. Julia and Andrew laughed, as well.

Inside the hall, Mr. Sykes shifted over in the second to last row so the three could sit together. Elizabeth sent a wave from across the aisle. The hum of conversations faded to silence as Mr. Baker stepped up to the platform. Only the sounds of children at play came through the open windows, but they were not intrusive.

With no preamble besides introducing himself, the solicitor got down to business: “Squire Bartley leaves the manor house with its outbuildings and orchards and parks, and the sum of one thousand pounds sterling, to Mr. and Mrs. Horace Stokes.”

Stunned silence, then gasps and chatter filled the hall, followed by applause. Julia lifted a bit in her chair and followed other gazes toward Horace and Margery, weeping profusely in each other’s arms. She felt the sting of tears herself. So the orphans would have room to romp and grow. And knowing the Stokes, there would surely be more of them now.

Andrew, smiling, but with a worried dent between his brows, turned to Julia and said, “But what of the squire’s servants?”

“Perhaps he left them some money?”

He did better than that, for the next item was the enormously profitable cheese factory. As Mr. Baker read the names of the servants, there were whoops of joy, and happy sobs.

It was a matter of fact that the squire was wealthy. But the vastness of this wealth surprised Julia as Mr. Baker continued reading.

Cheese factory workers were left the cottages that housed them in the three rows, a stone’s throw from the factory, as well as forty pounds each for improvements. Dairy farmers were left their farms; villagers who had leased from the squire, their cottages. Two thousand pounds went to the parish mission fund, and one thousand to Saint Jude’s charity fund.

Gipsy Woods was left to the whole village, with the exception of an acre surrounding the gamekeeper’s cottage, which went to Aleda along with the cottage. Julia patted her back as her daughter wiped her eyes.

There were various smaller amounts. One hundred pounds for each school. Twenty pounds for the archery team. Thirty pounds for the subscription library. Ten pounds for a signboard to be erected at the entrance to the village reading
Welcome to
Gresham. Home of Anwyl Mountain Cheeses
.

The latter brought laughter. Leave it to Squire Bartley to carry entrepreneurism to the grave.

The celebration spilled out onto the green, while individuals or heads of families stayed to sign legal documents. Andrew, representing Saint Jude’s, took up the last spot in the queue that had formed, with Julia at his side.

They were in no hurry. They had questions.

“When was this will drafted?” was Andrew’s first.

“Squire Bartley expressed the desire to change his will during one of my regular visits in early May,” Mr. Baker replied. “Due to his wish for secrecy, I brought up two legal clerks from Shrewsbury four days later to witness the signing.”

“But it was in early June that he asked me if it would be moral to break his promise to his sister. Just hours before he was struck ill.”

“I’m not surprised. He was tormented over what he had done, as much as it pleased him to help so many deserving people. He clearly wanted absolution from you. But for having
done
it . . . not for planning to do it.”

Mr. Baker paused. “How did you respond?”

“I suggested he give it all away beforehand,” Andrew replied, “except for however much he would wish to leave to Mr. Gibbs.”

“Clever. You would make a good attorney.”

“He makes a better vicar,” Julia said, taking Andrew’s arm. And she voiced her question. “Was Mr. Gibbs left anything?”

“I’m allowed to tell you, now that he’s been informed. Five hundred pounds. Squire Bartley could not bring himself to disown him. He did love his sister. But if anything remains of it a year from now, I will be the most surprised man in England.” Conversation over supper at the vicarage centered around the squire’s legacy to Gresham.

“I doubt anything like this has ever been done,” Jonathan said, and turned to Aleda. “You should write a story about it.”

Aleda shook her head. “I can’t. Fiction has to be believable.”

Mother gave her a perplexed look. “Shipwrecked seamen battling pirates and giant lizards is more believable than something that actually happened before witnesses?”

“I’m afraid so, Mother. Readers are willing to accept all sorts of fantasy, as long as the story line follows the basic laws of God and nature. For example, I can’t have my characters defy gravity and float out of harm’s way . . . unless they were written about as some sort of cosmic aliens or elves with those powers already mentioned.”

“How many squires in history have left fortunes to their villages?” Elizabeth asked.

“None before midcentury,” Father said. “The laws of sucession were quite restricted: male heirs or the Crown.”

“What a pity that it’s so rare as to be unbelievable,” Jonathan said.

“But we’re happy for Gresham, aren’t we, Mother?” John asked. He alone represented Elizabeth and Jonathan’s children. Perhaps it was her pregnancy that caused Elizabeth to realize she could not coddle the twins forever; thus the servants would be feeding them and tucking them into bed.

As much as Aleda loved Samuel and Claire, she relished this opportunity to converse without background reminders not to slurp or complain about the food.

Elizabeth smiled at her son. “You’re excited about the new archery equipment, aren’t you?”

He smiled and nodded, but Jonathan’s face at the mention of archery equipment betrayed the greater excitement.

Even Dora and Wanetta glowed as they served the meal; Wanetta because the cottage she and Luke had rented was now theirs, and Dora, because her parents now owned their modest dairy farm.

“It’s a shame Jewel wasn’t included with the manor house servants,” Mother said.

“She wasn’t employed there when the squire drafted the will,” Aleda explained. “And the servants were listed by name.”

“They all say she took tender care of him the brief time she knew him,” Father said.

Aleda smiled to herself.
Jewel may not own part of a cheese
factory, but her future—and Becky’s—seems very promising.

Chapter 38

Jewel could barely contain her excitement as the train squealed into Paddington Station on the twenty-fifth of August.

“This is where the queen lives,” she said to Becky.

Becky pressed her face to the window. “Will we see her when it stops?”

“I’m afraid not, mite,” Jewel said as Miss Hollis covered a smile.

Mr. Patterson met them on the platform, all smiles and embraces. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I didn’t expect you to meet us yourself,” Miss Hollis told him.

“Are you serious? I’ve planned this for days.”

They sent each other meaningful looks, and suddenly Jewel felt as if she and Becky were intruding. There was clearly some unfinished business between the two. But on the bright side, it seemed her prayer for a miracle was being answered.

With porter in tow with the luggage on a cart, he escorted them to his coach. The driver, a compact man with light brown hair, opened the door.

“Hello, George,” Miss Hollis said, as Mr. Patterson tipped the porter.

He doffed his cap. “Good morning, Miss Hollis. Got yourself a fancy book deal, I hear.”

“Well, it’s not set in stone yet.”

“That ain’t what Mr. Patterson says.”

She raised hopeful brows at Jewel. Jewel smiled back.

Finally, the coach joined the stream of traffic leaving the station. Mr. Patterson had kindly insisted she and Becky take the forward-facing seat so that they could see through the windows. For a few minutes, he and Miss Hollis spoke of the coming meeting, while Jewel and Becky looked from side to side. London seemed very much like Birmingham, with its buildings and masses of humanity riding and walking in all directions. But not nearly as sooty.

“What do you think of our city, Becky?” Mr. Patterson asked.

She looked up at Jewel.

“Go on,” Jewel said with a smile.

“There are too many people, sir. And we haven’t seen the queen. She wasn’t in the big hotel Vicar Treves took us to, either. Is she hiding?”

Jewel winced and opened her mouth to apologize. Before the end of the day, they would have to have a chat about tact.

But Mr. Patterson’s laughter filled the coach. He leaned forward. “I’m afraid you’re probably not going to see her . . . and, no disrespect to Her Royal Highness . . . but I can show you monkeys and tigers and elephants.”

Becky pressed her hands together. “Please, Mr. Patterson. May we see them?”