77 
Farewell

As 1918 opened, and with the United States now fully mobilized and involved on the side of the Allies, there were signs throughout Europe that the war was at last winding down. Though its allies were nearly exhausted from the fight, Germany launched a final all-out offensive on the western front that represented the dying gasp of a losing cause. The smaller countries allied with Germany and the Central Powers, however, had had enough and began throughout the year to sue for peace.

Geoffrey prepared to move ahead with the Milverscombe branch of the Bank of London. He made several trips back into the capital and returned one day in February with the news that his proposal had been approved. He opened the following month in a small store space while plans were being made to construct a new building. Sufficient capital was provided for him to begin making a few loans and teaching the country folk of the region how to do business with a bank. He hoped to open the doors of the new building by August of that year.

The managers of the Bank of London hired a construction firm from Exeter to build the new bank in Milverscombe. Within weeks construction was under way on the building to be situated across from the train station. Because many young men in the area were overseas with the war, Geoffrey made certain that those who were available and needed work were hired as laborers, including Rune and Stirling Blakeley. Through the spring months they were at the cottage early, usually by seven in the morning, where they worked for three or four hours before returning to the village for the afternoon.

Letters continued to arrive from Hope and Betsy.

Though Jocelyn, Amanda, and Catharine had all been mentally making themselves ready for the worst, nothing could actually prepare them for the loss of their beloved Maggie. Their ministrations for eight months had been almost continuous, as she had been bedridden since the day of the stroke. Even though she had not spoken a word again since that day, it was still sudden when the time actually arrived.

When Jocelyn entered the room for the first time that August morning, she knew immediately from the pale, vacant look on Maggie’s lifeless form that her dear friend had departed for another world during her sleep. Jocelyn could not have wished for a more peaceful passing, yet she burst into tears at the sight.

Slowly she approached and reached out to touch the beloved face. Maggie’s skin was cold. She had been gone several hours. It had been such a quiet departure, thought Jocelyn, without even the chance for a final farewell.

“Good-bye, Maggie,” she whispered in a choked voice. “We all love you so much!”

Jocelyn turned and left the room and immediately went to find Catharine and Amanda, then sent for the undertaker.

The next day, even before funeral arrangements could be made, Jocelyn boarded the train for Exeter. She must see Bradbury Crumholtz. She knew Maggie’s passing had implications he must be made aware of.

Upon learning the news, Crumholtz made immediate plans to attend the funeral. He would bring the appropriate documents, he said, and open them with Jocelyn and her daughters after the service.

People for miles around attended the funeral. That Maggie had been loved late in her life, almost to the point of being considered a saint, was clear from the outpouring of affection expressed by everyone throughout the day.

That same afternoon, in the cottage whose mysteries were at last to be brought fully to light, with Timothy and Geoffrey also present—an hour or so after the gathering in the village had at last broken up—Bradbury Crumholtz explained the provision of the deed to the cottage that had resulted in its being transferred to Maggie’s grandmother at the death of Bishop Arthur Crompton. He then opened and read Maggie’s will, which passed on the cottage and whatever of her worldly possessions might go along with it to George, Amanda, and Catharine Rutherford.

“As you know,” he went on after completing the will, “several documents were left for safekeeping with our firm, the deed and the will I have just read being of a legal nature. There was also a personal letter by Bishop Crompton, to be opened at the death of the final living heir of Orelia Moylan. As that time has come, I will now open the bishop’s letter.”

He opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. He glanced over it a moment and then began to read.

“To whomever it may concern,” he began, “I write the following to testify to certain events concerning the births of twins, a son and a daughter, to Henry Rutherford, lord of the manor, Heathersleigh Hall, by his wife, Eliza, births attended by me to which I gave false witness at the time.”

He went on to read of the events of that night.

“As through the years,” the letter concluded, “my conscience made me more and more ill at ease with what I had agreed to, I went back to the parish registry during a visit to my former church. I felt that to alter the entry I had made earlier would be to compound my sin. Therefore, I added a marginal reference to Genesis 25 and Psalm 27, adding my initials beside them, in hopes that someone would one day unearth the deception and perhaps do more than lay in my power at that time to right the wrong. I further sought to make it right with this letter, explaining what had happened, so that the truth, should this ever be read, would be clearly known.”

Crumholtz set the papers aside and glanced around the room.

“It appears Amanda was right,” said Jocelyn. “This confirms her conclusions exactly. It seems that we did the right thing . . . as we were already certain of.”

Geoffrey sat listening in silence, amazed anew at what they had done. The fact of this proof now coming to light in no way changed the enormity of the fact that they had given him the estate voluntarily.