Page 67 of Daisy and the Duke
“This is all well known,” Lady Rutherford said. “What need to bring it up now, after poor Daisy has already endured such a trying day?” She stood up. “We shall take our leave. Bella, walk with Daisy.”
“Everyone will remain exactly where they are,” Tristan declared. “Lady Rutherford, sit down.”
Eyes wide, she sank into her chair once again.
“Kemble, continue.”
“I was curious about the apparent details of the baron’s will,” Mr. Kemble said. “So I investigated the matter, seeking assistance from several colleagues in London. In particular, I wished to see a copy of the will. However, I discovered that no such document existed in the pertinent records. In fact, a very different will had been filed only a few weeks before his death.”
“So Papa did make a new will at the end?” Daisy asked.
Kemble pulled a document from his leather case. “He did, and it’s very clear that his only blood relation, his daughter, Margaret, was his sole heir to both the title and the estate. He made provision for his second wife to live at the estate for the rest of her life, if she chose. And he designated a thousand pounds a year to her, instead of the five hundred previously allotted. But that is all. She has no more claim to the title of baroness. She is the dowager baroness, and her daughter is Miss Bella Merriot, nee Dunley.”
“Mama, tell them it cannot be true!” Bella said, her voice small and frozen in the vast room. “You’re a lady. You’d never do such a thing. It would bewrong.”
Lady Rutherford refused to look at her, and did not answer.
“However,” Kemble went on. “For some reason the new will did not get filed properly. Why that is, we’ll never know. Possibly it was mere oversight, or possibly someone was paid to make the mistake. I do not accuse the dowager baroness on this point.” Kemble’s nonaccusation hung in the air, more damning than if he’d yelled it from the rooftops.
Kemble pulled out another document, and he went on, “I do makethisaccusation. The woman calling herself Lady Rutherford produced a forged document written expressly to benefit herself and her own daughter at Margaret Merriot’s expense.”
“But that’s impossible!” This comment came from a horrified Lord Dallmire in the audience. “Any such will must be signed and witnessed! Who would have put their names to any document that they could not be sure was genuine?”
“Excellent question,” Lady Rutherford said, high color in her cheeks. “Of course the will was signed and witnessed. Lord Fothergill did us the honor. The baron, rest his soul, and I visited the Fothergill estate to take care of the matter.”
“He passed away later that same year,” one of the townspeople noted. “He was very ill for a long time. There is no way to question him, either to confirm or deny what happened.”
“True, he is no longer alive, and thus cannot give evidence here today. But the current Lord Fothergill is here.”
A young man sitting in the third row stood up, and Daisy recognized him as the heir, the grandson of the man in question.
“Your grace,” he said bowing. “Should I take my seat at the witness stand?” He seemed to regard the whole interlude as a slightly odd diversion. He was happy to help, but he clearly didn’t think he had much to add.
“Yes, my lord,” Tristan said. “If you would, please answer the questions this man asks.”
Kemble then showed the young lord the document in question, asking if he could confirm the signature and date.
“The signature is…well, I can’t rightly say. My grandfather’s health affected his writing as well, and his signature may have been very shaky.”
“And the date?” Mr. Kemble asked, not at all perturbed by this lack of confidence.
“It says 28 June,” the man said. “No, that must be incorrect! By late May, my grandfather had taken to his bed. His visitors were very few, owing to his weakened state. He certainly would not have been able to sign a document at the end of June. He could not even sit up in bed, and he was scarcely aware of his surroundings. He lapsed into a coma and passed away not long after.”
“You are mistaken, young man!” Lady Rutherford nearly shouted.
“With respect, ma’am, I am not. I spent every day at home that summer. A visit from the Baron Rutherford and you would have been an occasion I and the servants surely would have remembered. No such visit ever occurred.”
The noose was tightening, and Lady Rutherford clearly knew it. One by one, her excuses failed. Bit by bit, her carefully constructed lies fell apart. She looked around the room for friendly faces, and found none. Even her daughter sat silent and shocked.
“This is all nonsense,” Lady Rutherford shouted (even though Lady Rutherfordnevershouted). “Lies and deceit! I will not bear it. I will return to my home until reason shall prevail. Good day, my lords. Bella, come along, girl.”
Bella Merriot’s expression was ashen, but she rose on shaking limbs and wordlessly followed her mother.
Daisy watched them go, her mind overwhelmed by what had just occurred.
“My goodness, Lady Margaret,” Lady Weatherby said, relishing the new mode of address. “What a scandal. And you must be so upset.”
“I don’t know what I am,” Daisy said slowly.
