Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) (15 page)

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she read aloud. "What did she mean?" Belinda wondered. "What was she trying to tell me?"

And then it came to her in a flash of insight. Mrs. StaffordSmyth was not demanding that she stay in the house--had not even expected her to do so. She had left the house and funds to Belinda so she would put it to some good use.
Of course! It would be selfish--and foolish--to let this huge home and all the rooms sit idle and empty when so many people need a roof over their heads. There is some way--there has to be some way--that it can be used to help people.

Belinda couldn't help but smile as a new excitement burned in her heart.

"I need to have a good talk with an attorney," she said to herself. "I'm going to need lots of ideas and help to get this going properly."

Belinda felt she should share her ideas with the household staff. After all, their future was involved in her plans, as well. She called them together again after the evening meal.

"Sarah found a letter this morning while cleaning Madam's rooms," she began. "It was addressed to me, but I think you all deserve to hear it," and Belinda proceeded to read the message. She skipped a paragraph or two, since those sections were personal and were not pertinent to the mandate she--and they-- had been given.

The staff listened attentively while Belinda read, but it didn't look like any of them felt there were any new revelations. Belinda was forced to explain--as she had known she would-- her understanding of the line about the "albatross" and the "means for ministering."

"Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had no intention of my keeping this beautiful big house to waste on my own comfort," Belinda

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informed them. "She wanted me to use it to help others."

Questioning eyes turned toward her. She hurried on. "Now, I have no clear idea how to do that at present. I'm going to need the help of a law firm to discover just what can be done and what would be advised. I just wanted you all to know that I plan to find some way to share the manor with others."

Expressions of both interest and consternation filled the faces arrayed in front of Belinda.

"I want you to know, too," she continued, undaunted, "that I won't make any final decision until we have discussed it together. It is your home, too. I want you all to be in agreement with what is done here."

The ones who were anxious looked a bit relieved by the time Belinda dismissed them. She could imagine that there was a good deal of discussion once they reached the back rooms.

Belinda was weary . . . very weary. There had been so much happening in her life in the last few weeks. And now she had to begin a serious search of Boston for the proper attorney. She dreaded the ordeal, but she would start first thing in the morning.

Belinda had Windsor take her directly to the law firm that had represented Mrs. Stafford-Smyth. Windsor had phoned ahead for an appointment, and Mr. Dalgardy, who had visited the manor with the will, greeted her in his office.

"And how may I serve you?" he asked graciously.

"It's concerning the will of Mrs. Virginia Stafford-Smyth," Belinda began.

"Yes. I assumed it was," the learned man nodded.

"Well, I--that is, you see the will--it doesn't say that I must

keep the house. It just says that I have been left the house." "I don't understand," said the man with a frown.

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"Well," Belinda went on, "I also have a letter, you see . . ." "Could I see the letter?"

"Well, I . . . I didn't bring it with me. It was a personal letter," stammered Belinda.

"Was it from the deceased?" asked the gentleman, "or some other party?"

"Oh, the deceased--for sure. I recognized her handwriting at once."

"I will need to see the letter, I'm afraid, if I am to verify that," the man replied distantly.

"Well, it doesn't change the will any. I mean . . . it just . . . it just explains some things . . . to me," Belinda hastily explained.

The man just continued to frown.

"Well, what I mean is . . . I don't think Mrs. StaffordSmyth expected me to just . . . just live at the manor . . . all alone and . . . and selfishly. I think she meant for me to use it in some way. . . to help others."

Mr. Dalgardy looked doubtful, but he nodded for Belinda to go on.

"Well, I . . . I need to know what one could do with such a house. How one could put it to good use without . . . without destroying what . . . what it is now. And the staff. . . they still need to be able to carry on there as before, you see."

"You want it turned into a public museum?" asked the man.

"Oh no. No, not at all. I don't think Aunt Virgie--Mrs. Stafford-Smyth--had that in mind at all."

"Then, what did she have in mind?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. But it would mean helping people. . . I
am
sure of that. But I don't know what possibilities there are. That's why I need direction ... advice. I need to .

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know what the city would allow . .. what options one would have."

"I see," said the gentleman, shaking his head slowly. Belinda was confused. His lips seemed to be saying one thing and his head quite another.

He rose from his chair and cleared his throat. "If you wish the house used to support charity," he began stiffly, "you can always sell it and donate the proceeds."

"But that wouldn't include the staff, you see," Belinda argued.

"They could be given an adequate pension," he maintained. "Oh, but the house is their
home . . .
has been for ever so many years. I don't think--"

"I'm sorry" the attorney interrupted, standing, "that's the only way I could help you."

Belinda realized she was being dismissed.

She rose shakily to her feet. "I . . . I see," she murmured as she straightened her skirt and lifted her parasol. She was almost out the door before the man called after her, "If you decide you'd like to sell, I might be able to find a buyer."

Belinda lifted her chin and sailed out the door.
Over my dead body,
she fumed inwardly.
I'll never sell Marshall Manor right out from under the entire staff There must be something else. . . .

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FOURTEEN

The Task

Keen disappointment colored Belinda's voice as she relayed to Windsor the news of her visit with the attorney. She didn't know where to turn next. But Windsor did not seem to be daunted.

"Did you ask Mr. Dalgardy if there was another law firm he might recommend?" he asked Belinda.

She shook her head. "I didn't even think of it," she admitted. "I guess I was just too . . . too upset when he talked of selling Marshall Manor. Why, I shouldn't be surprised but that he had his eye on it himself," she said somewhat indignantly.

Windsor made no reply, just nodded in agreement.

"Well, I suppose we must just go from law office to law office," the butler said matter-of-factly. "I know of no shortcuts."

Belinda sighed.

The day was getting hot. She was glad she had brought her parasol.

"Will we need appointments?" she asked uneasily. "If we have to make an appointment with each law firm, we could be at this for months."

"Usually," Windsor replied, "but they might give some information. At least we could get the name of whom to call from the secretary."

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Belinda nodded. "How shall I do it?" she asked.

"Well, m'lady, if you like, I will take those two offices across the street. You try the one at hand. I will ask for information on your behalf, and you could ask if this one is interested in governing your affairs."

Belinda nodded. It sounded simple enough. She gathered up her skirts for the long climb up the stairs to her assigned firm. She could see their sign: Browne, Browne and Thorsby, Barristers and Solicitors.

By the time she reached the office door, she was breathless and perspiring. She paused long enough to wipe her brow, regain her composure, and then tapped on the door.

"Come in," a male voice invited.

Belinda trembled slightly as she approached the large, littered desk. She tried to remember how Windsor had suggested she express her case, but she couldn't.

"I'm Belinda--Miss Davis," she said. "I am looking for a barrister--an attorney who will help me . . . with the . . . the administration of an estate."

"Do you have an appointment?" the man asked curtly, peering sternly over his glasses.

"No . . . I . . ."

"We do not accept off-the-street business," the man informed her firmly.

"But I ... I. . ." began Belinda but stopped at his frank stare.
Off the street!
she murmured to herself. It sounded so coarse--so vulgar. For one moment she returned the man's bold look and, her face hot, spun on her heel and left the office.

Down, down the long stairway she descended, her flush heightening with each step.

What a crude way of responding,
she muttered to herself.
I do hope Windsor is treated with more respect.

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But Windsor had fared no better. It was a discouraging report he brought to Belinda.

"I think we'd best go home, m'lady," he advised. "We will need to spend some time sorting this through if we are to gain admittance."

Belinda agreed. She was hot and tired. And she was in no mood to be patronized and put down any further today.

She did not even notice the beauty of the fall day as the carriage wound its way through the city streets and back to the grand home sitting in the well-to-do section of town.

And maybe you are wishing to make sure that you and your church stand in favorable light,
Belinda thought but did not say. She quickly chided herself for even thinking such thoughts. After all, he was a man of the cloth, and it was due to his sermon that Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had made peace with her God before her death. He was, Belinda admitted, preaching from the Holy Scripture, even if his application was ineffectual, to her way of thinking.

She nodded silently, waiting for the man to go on.

"We at the church just want you to know that, as Mrs. Stafford-Smyth before you, we value you as a member of our congregation. And if there is ever any way we can be of service--"

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"As a matter of fact," Belinda interrupted on sudden impulse, "there might be a way. I am in need of an attorney. As you can imagine, this . . . this house and estate . . . well, they involve a great many decisions. And . . . well, I'm not really used to making such judgments on my own. I feel the need for a good attorney to help me in such matters. Would you know of anyone who might be interested in helping me?"

"I . . . I think I might be able to help you," he said with only slight hesitation. "I'll do some inquiring and see what I can discover."

Belinda thanked him sincerely, and the parson went on his way

And so it was that three days later there was another caller at Marshall Manor.

Windsor opened the door and waited while the man gazed around himself admiring the wonderful face of the building, the lovely lawns, and the flower beds. Windsor cleared his throat, and the man produced a card. "The Reverend Arthur Goodbody informed me that the lady of the house is seeking legal advice," he told Windsor, and Windsor nodded, stepped aside, and ushered the man in.

"I shall call M'lady," he said. "You may wait in the library" The attorney smiled, followed the butler, and accepted a seat as indicated.

Belinda could hardly believe the good news Windsor brought to her as he handed her the attorney's card.

"The parson has sent him, mlady," he explained.

"Oh, bless his soul!" exclaimed Belinda. "I had most given up," and she hastened to the library to meet the gentleman.

When Belinda entered the room, she could feel her face was flushed from her rapid descent of the stairway. The attorney

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was sitting in the chair and staring at the thousands of books displayed on the shelves, looking appropriately impressed. He rose to his feet as manners dictated, but then a frown replaced the expression of admiration.

"I'm Belinda--Miss Davis," Belinda said with a smile. "And you are"--she referred to the card in her hand--"Keats, Cross and Newman," she read out loud and then smiled again. "Which one?" she asked frankly.

"The . . . the Keats one," the man answered haltingly. "Anthony Keats."

"I'm so pleased you have consented to offer your services," Belinda began and then realized they were still standing. "Please be seated," she said, then walked behind the big oak desk and sat down in the chair.

The man looked bewildered, but he sat down.

"I guess I should explain--briefly," Belinda went on. "I want to put this property to good use. But I don't know how to go about it properly. And I don't know my options--my limits. I need legal aid--advice--to help with some major decisions."

"I see," returned the gentleman, but he didn't sound as if he saw at all.

"It's a large house--very big. I haven't even counted the bedrooms," Belinda continued, feeling embarrassed. "Of course some of them are needed by the staff. The staff is to stay on," she hurriedly explained. "This . . . this is their home, too."

The man nodded.

"Of course, I won't be here. I plan to go home just as soon . . . just as soon as I can get this all settled."

"Could I speak with the homeowner?" the man asked cautiously

Belinda felt her cheeks grow warm again. "I am the owner," she maintained. "That's why I have called you here."