63 
A Caller

News of events in the Mediterranean had still not reached Heathersleigh when a stranger arrived at the door of Heathersleigh Hall.

“Lady Jocelyn,” said Sarah at the door of the sun-room, “you have a visitor.”

Jocelyn glanced up as she began to rise.

“How did he come?” she asked. She had been absorbed in the book in her hand and had heard nothing.

“By car, ma’am—here is his card.”

Jocelyn took the card and glanced over it. The name meant nothing to her. She followed Sarah out of the room toward the front door.

She approached to see a man standing in the entry where Sarah had left him.

“Good morning, Lady Rutherford,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Bradbury Crumholtz. I am a solicitor from Exeter. I wonder if I might speak with you about a matter that may be of some importance.”

“Of course . . . come in, Mr. Crumholtz,” replied Jocelyn. “Would you care for some tea?”

“Yes, thank you, that would be very nice.”

“Sarah,” said Jocelyn to the housekeeper, “we will have tea in the east sitting room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jocelyn led the way. The solicitor followed.

“You are no doubt unaware of it,” began Crumholtz when they were comfortable, “but my firm has had some previous dealings with the Heathersleigh estate.”

“No,” replied Jocelyn shaking her head, “—you’re right, I know nothing about them. My late husband was accustomed to employing a solicitor in London.”

“Yes, I am acquainted with Mr. Hastings,” nodded Crumholtz. “The matters I speak of, however, did not concern you or your husband directly.”

He went on to explain in general terms that his firm had been called in to represent certain Heathersleigh interests many years before during the time of Crumholtz’s father and uncle.

“Most recently,” he went on, “I represented Mrs. McFee, whom I understand is a close friend of your family, in the matter of her will.”

“Yes, now I remember your name,” nodded Jocelyn. “—Excuse me, Mr. Crumholtz, would you mind if I asked my two daughters to sit in on our conversation?”

“Not at all.”

“We have been thinking a great deal about our future lately. You see, my husband died at sea last year.”

“Yes, I was aware of it. I am very sorry.”

“Thank you. That is why I would like my girls to know about whatever you have to say.”

Jocelyn left the room briefly. When she returned, Amanda and Catharine walked into the room at her side. As she proceeded to introduce them to the solicitor, Sarah entered with a tray of tea things.

“Maggie—Mrs. McFee—told us about her visit to you,” said Jocelyn as they prepared their cups, “and of her request regarding the disposition of the cottage.”

“Ah, I was not aware you knew,” said Crumholtz. “Perhaps that will simplify things. At that time Mrs. McFee was most concerned about confidentiality. I should perhaps speak with her further. Be that as it may, there is another matter that has arisen, and about which I confess I find myself most concerned. That is why I have come, notwithstanding her request. That confidentiality, it seems to me, is precluded by these new circumstances.”

“I am afraid I do not follow you,” said Jocelyn.

“Right. Let me explain . . . you know, I believe, a certain Gifford Rutherford from London?” asked Crumholtz.

“Yes . . . he is my husband’s first cousin,” answered Jocelyn.

“So I have been given to understand.”

“What does he have to do with it?”

Crumholtz did not answer immediately, but glanced down, apparently marshaling his thoughts.

“Just this,” he began again after a few moments, “—Mr. Rutherford came to me some months back to employ me in a most curious manner. The more I delved into it, the more I could not, in good conscience, proceed without speaking to you. Tell me, are you aware of any dispute to the title of your late husband’s estate?”

“None,” replied Jocelyn, concern registering in her voice. “I am certain my husband knew of nothing either. Why?”

“Mr. Rutherford—Mr. Gifford Rutherford, that is—employed me to initiate proceedings against your claim to the title.”

“What!” said Jocelyn.

“I knew I didn’t trust him!” exclaimed Catharine fiercely. “Do you mean he is trying to take Heathersleigh from Mother?”

More disbelieving exclamations and discussion followed. As Catharine grew more and more heated by the news, Amanda remained strangely quiet and calm, almost smiling to herself at the irony of it. Jocelyn saw her reaction and knew what she was thinking.

“I still do not see exactly why you have come to us, Mr. Crumholtz,” said Jocelyn at length. “If you represent Gifford, are you not bound to do as he has employed you to do?”

“The matters of confidentiality and conflict of interest are rather murky, I admit,” he answered. “But I am bound by higher laws.”

“What laws, Mr. Crumholtz?”

“The law of right,” he answered. “I felt there may have been something untoward in what I was asked to do. The moment he came to me, I knew something to be amiss. Complicating the matter further, my firm represented a certain bishop Arthur Crompton many years ago—”

At the name, all three of the women glanced at one another.

“—which fact additionally obscures my loyalties in the case.”

Crumholtz now removed from his coat a sealed envelope, obviously old.

“This envelope,” he said, “presumably containing a document of some kind, has not been opened in more than sixty years. It was entrusted to my firm for safekeeping along with Bishop Crompton’s will, with instructions that it not be read until such time—”

Here Crumholtz paused, then cleared his throat.

“The matter is a bit awkward,” he said, “as you shall see, but as I read the instructions left me by my father and uncle, this envelope is to be opened at the death of the last remaining living relative of a certain Orelia Moylan, to whom, as you know, the bishop deeded the property known as Heathersleigh Cottage . . . which, as I see it, would indicate the death of your friend Mrs. McFee.”

The room fell silent. Catharine, Amanda, and Jocelyn all glanced at one another again.

“But . . . Maggie is alive and well,” said Jocelyn at length. “Surely . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes, I realize, as I said, the awkwardness of my bringing up such a matter,” rejoined Crumholtz. “But after Mr. Rutherford’s request, I felt something was afoot I did not care for. Therefore, to get to the bottom of it, I am willing to suspend the bishop’s request and open his letter now. But I do not feel I should do so without the permission of Mrs. McFee, since she is the last living heir spoken of in his will and the instructions to the transfer of the deed to the property. Yet you are also deeply involved, as you are the owner of the estate to which the cottage originally belonged. You can see, I think, my predicament, and why, as I say, the case is extremely complex.”

“Mother,” said Amanda, “Grandma Maggie would do whatever you say.”

Jocelyn thought for a moment.

“No,” she said, “we must respect Bishop Crompton’s wishes.”

A long silence followed.

“I think I know what is in the envelope, Mother,” said Amanda at length.

Crumholtz glanced toward Amanda, surprise evident on his face.

“It is proof of what happened that night,” Amanda added.

“You may be right,” agreed Jocelyn. “But we must still act on the truth we know, even without the letter. I think our plans must proceed without reading it.”

Jocelyn paused, then looked toward the solicitor.

“We appreciate your coming to us very much, Mr. Crumholtz,” she said warmly. “However, it may be that the entire matter may be resolved without further action on your part, and without the need of opening Bishop Crompton’s letter prematurely.”

“How, if I may ask?” inquired the solicitor.

“Let me ask you a question,” returned Jocelyn.

“Certainly.”

“Do your present, uh . . . obligations with respect to Maggie and my husband’s cousin . . . do they preclude you from representing us in a matter we would like you to handle for us?”

“In ordinary circumstances, perhaps,” Crumholtz replied. “But these are not ordinary circumstances. It would, of course, depend on the exact nature of the matter you have in mind. Is it possible for you to be more specific?”

Jocelyn waited several moments before replying. At length she spoke.

“It is this, Mr. Crumholtz,” she began, “—my daughters and I—that is,” she added with a smile, glancing toward Catharine, “—one of my daughters—we are still working on Catharine, aren’t we, my dear—even prior to your visit we had come to the realization ourselves that Gifford’s suspicions, of which we had some idea, were indeed accurate.”

“You cannot—” began Crumholtz.

Jocelyn nodded. “We believe, Mr. Crumholtz, that the envelope you are holding actually contains proof substantiating his claim.”

“I see. This is most unexpected,” replied Crumholtz slowly. “I confess . . . this is not at all what I had anticipated.”

“I had planned to speak with Mr. Hastings soon,” Jocelyn continued. “But as you have already had so much to do in the situation, I think it would be best if you and he worked together.”

“I will be happy to talk to him on your behalf. I have to be in London next week. What do you want me to do, then?”

“We would like you to begin drawing up papers for the transfer of Heathersleigh Hall to my husband’s nephew.”

The solicitor, though he said nothing, was clearly stunned by Jocelyn’s words.

“As I said,” Jocelyn concluded, “we are convinced the letter that was left in your possession supplies proof that it should have belonged to his family all along.”

“And you wish to begin proceedings even without that proof?”

“We have all the proof we need, Mr. Crumholtz.”

“And the cottage . . . the McFee cottage?” he asked.

“As I understand it, the cottage was legally sold when Bishop Crompton purchased it,” replied Jocelyn. “As it has not been connected to the estate since that time, I see no reason why it should be included in the transaction. It will, therefore, remain in the hands of Mrs. McFee as long as she is alive.”

“What will you and your daughters do, Lady Rutherford?” asked Crumholtz, still reeling from this unexpected twist in developments. “Surely you want to make some provision for yourselves.”

“The Lord will provide for our needs, Mr. Crumholtz,” replied Jocelyn. “Nor do I think Geoffrey will object, as you suggest, to some modest provision being made for my daughters. I am sure you will advise us accordingly as we work out the details.”

“But as to accommodation and . . .” the solicitor attempted to continue. But he hardly knew what to say, and his question trailed off.

Jocelyn was silent a moment. She appeared to be turning something over in her mind.

“You said you wanted to talk with Mrs. McFee?”

“Yes,” answered Crumholtz.

“We will take you to her.—Amanda, will you ask Hector to hitch the large carriage?”

Amanda nodded and left the room.

————

When Maggie opened the door of the cottage twenty-five minutes later, her astonishment at having visitors was all the greater at seeing her own solicitor standing beside Jocelyn and the girls. Perplexed, she invited them all in, hobbling in front of them toward the sitting room, with the four following slowly.

“Mr. Crumholtz has some matters to discuss with you,” said Jocelyn as they sat down, “and so do we. We have told him to begin proceedings to transfer the house and grounds to Geoffrey.”

The news did not come altogether as a surprise. Jocelyn had spoken about it several times with her aging friend.

“And the cottage?” said Maggie, not exactly afraid of losing her beloved home—she could be happy anywhere—but a little sad for the news she thought must surely be the purpose of the visit, that she was to be told she needed to vacate this place where she had spent most of her life.

“The cottage will not be included in the transaction to Geoffrey,” replied Jocelyn.

Maggie glanced at her in confusion.

“Mr. Crumholtz asked what we were going to do,” Jocelyn went on.

“What do you mean, do?” asked Maggie.

“What did you mean, Mr. Crumholtz?” said Jocelyn, turning toward the solicitor.

“Where will you live, how will you provide for yourselves?” he said. “It still seems to me, I confess, that you have not adequately considered all the implications of the action you are contemplating.”

Jocelyn smiled and turned again toward Maggie. “What the girls and I have been thinking,” she said, unable to keep from being amused at the solicitor’s consternation over their other-worldly method of resolving a dispute most of his clients would have kept quiet about, “is this—since you plan to will the cottage to Amanda and Catharine eventually . . . we wondered if you would have us now?”

“Have you . . . what can you—” began Maggie.

“Would you like us to come live here at Heathersleigh Cottage with you as soon as the Hall is Geoffrey’s?”

“Oh, I cannot believe my ears!” exclaimed Maggie, already beginning to shed tears of happy disbelief. “I cannot think of anything more wonderful!”