Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (12 page)

He frowned up at her. “Are you cross with me, Mama?”

“Are you a male?” When he looked perplexed, she laughed, reached over the table, and brushed back his fair hair from his brow. “It’s a joke,” she said. “A girl’s joke. You have to be a girl before you get it.”

“Girls!” said Mark, and made a face.

Laughter and giggles came from the other side of the door. Gwyn got up. “I’ll just make sure Maddie locks up after she sees the plasterer out,” she said.

Mark watched his mother go. He had been on the point of telling her that he wasn’t the one who had asked a lot of questions today. It was the plasterer, Harry. So it wasn’t only boys who were curious.

Cousin Jason had been curious, too, when they’d waited for Mama to come home from the library, and later, in that drive in the curricle. But he didn’t mind Cousin Jason’s questions because he was family.

He thought about Cousin Jason for a long time. If he had his curricle with him, and he didn’t offer to take him up in it, then he’d know Cousin Jason couldn’t be trusted, not like he could trust Mama.

He’d just have to wait and see.

Mr. Armstrong’s office in Pall Mall was right above a cobbler’s shop, and was not at all what Gwyn expected. Though the address itself was superior, the rooms were dingy and cluttered. There was only one clerk, a young man, barely out of adolescence, who interrupted himself at every sentence to either sneeze or blow his nose into a large, white handkerchief.

“Dust,” he said by way of explanation.

Jason was waiting for them, but Mr. Armstrong, the clerk said, was delayed though expected at any moment. The clerk ushered them into the inner office and shut the door.

Gwyn felt awkward and slightly resentful of Jason’s
obvious ease. He complimented her on her green pelisse, remarked on the weather, and invited her to be seated.

He’d left off his winter coat and that made her feel less conspicuous in her summer pelisse. Jason’s garments, of course, were made by a master tailor. His dark jacket molded his shoulders like a second skin. When he held a chair for her, she couldn’t help noticing how his sleek muscles moved across his arms and shoulders.

Suddenly realizing where her thoughts had taken her, she blushed. Just like Maddie, she blushed! And when she saw Jason’s brows going up, questioning her, she became flustered.

It was Mark who, unconsciously, came to her rescue. “Why is this office in such a mess, Mama?”

“I don’t know.” Grateful for an excuse to avoid Jason’s eyes, she looked around at the books and papers that littered every surface and part of the floor. “Some people don’t notice untidiness, I suppose.”

“In Mr. Armstrong’s case,” said Jason, “I think it’s a lack of interest. The clerk was telling me that our attorney is an itinerant preacher and spends more time touring the counties than he does in London.”

“What about his clients?” asked Gwyn, not liking the sound of this.

Jason shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough. I think that’s him now.”

And Mr. Armstrong it was, a plump little man with pink cheeks, a shining pate, and bubbling over with good humor. “Ah,” he said dramatically, pausing on the threshold. “How do you do? I am Benjamin Armstrong, and you must be Mrs. Barrie, Mr. Radley, and Master Mark Barrie.”

He rubbed his plump hands together as he seated himself behind his desk. “There is nothing I like better,” he said, “than to bring families together.”

If Mr. Armstrong had been a neighbor or an acquaintance, Gwyn would have liked him on sight. There was something appealing about his openness and friendliness. But as an attorney, he left something to be desired. She nodded to Mark, who immediately got up and excused himself.

“No, no,” protested Armstrong. “Stay right where you are, Master Mark. The terms of this legacy apply to everyone here, and since this concerns your future, you are entitled to hear what I have to say.”

Gwyn felt a ripple of alarm. She looked at Jason. He shrugged, indicating his ignorance, and stretched out his long legs. He wasn’t smiling, but she suspected that he was highly amused.

“Mama?”

Mark’s all-seeing eyes were on her. She nodded and he took his seat again.

Mr. Armstrong beamed at each one in turn. “I don’t have to read the document in question,” he said. “The terms are quite simple. The interest on the legacy of ten thousand pounds is yours for life, Mrs. Barrie, then the capital passes to your son outright.”

Gwyn leaned forward slightly. “I don’t want the interest for life. I’d like the capital to pass to Mark when he comes of age.”

Armstrong shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of my hands.”

“Couldn’t we,” she darted a glance at Jason, hoping for his support, but he was staring at his boots, “couldn’t we persuade this anonymous benefactor to change the terms of the legacy?”

“I’m afraid not. My instructions are quite clear. My client wishes to remain incommunicado. That means, he or she does not want to be approached for any reason.”

“But …” Gwyn smiled appealingly. “Couldn’t I write to this person, if only to thank them?”

“No.” Armstrong clasped his hands and rested them on his desk. “You’d like to know who your benefactor is. That’s only natural. My advice is to leave it alone. Don’t speculate. When someone wishes to remain anonymous, in cases like this, it usually means they don’t want the beneficiary of their generosity to feel beholden to them. If you reverse your positions, I think you’ll see what I mean.”

Gwyn didn’t know how to answer this. “Jason?” she said, prompting him.

“What? Oh!” He straightened in his chair. “What I’ve been wondering,” he said, “is what happens to this legacy if Mrs. Barrie refuses to accept it?”

Armstrong’s brows rose. “That’s not likely to happen, is it?”

“No, indeed,” said Gwyn. She shot Jason a frigid look. This was no time for jokes. She smiled at Mr. Armstrong. “Go on, Mr. Armstrong. You were saying?”

“Ah, yes. When the donor of your legacy deems the time is right, he or she will make themselves known to you. So you see, you have only to contain your curiosity for a little while longer.”

Gwyn sat back in her chair. “A little while? I don’t understand. Why wait? Why not tell me now?”

Armstrong laughed. “If I told you that, I’d be going against my client’s wishes. Just be patient, and all will become clear to you.”

The door opened and the clerk entered. “The title to the Barrie legacy, sir,” he said.

“Thank you, Thomas.” Armstrong quickly scanned the two-page document. “As I said, it’s all quite clear and quite simple. Mr. Radley has agreed to serve as your trustee.” He looked at Gwyn and she nodded. “And as your guardian, Master Mark.”

Mark said, “Cousin Jason will be my guardian?” His face registered his delight.

Gwyn was stunned, then she was furious. She leaped to her feet. “I am my son’s guardian,” she cried out. “I’m his mother. I know what’s best for him.” She whirled on Jason. “Is this your doing?”

Jason rose slowly and faced her. Deadly calm, he replied, “You know me better than that. If I’d known about it, I would have told you.”

“My dear Mrs. Barrie,” Armstrong interposed soothingly, “you didn’t allow me to finish. I meant, of course, this would be a courtesy title and only if there is no male relative whom your husband appointed to be Mark’s guardian.”

There should have been, but Nigel had made no provision for Mark of any description. She wasn’t going to explain her private life to anyone. “Nigel … Nigel and I didn’t think it was necessary. There’s no property or estate for Mark to inherit. Only the wealthy need guardians.”

“Well, then.” Mr. Armstrong smiled. “All my client intended was to ensure that Mark’s closest male relative would have a role to play in the boy’s upbringing. And the roles of trustee and guardian are practically inseparable.” He looked at Jason. “I’m sure I mentioned it when I spoke to you, Mr. Radley.”

Gwyn didn’t hear the exchange that followed. She felt as though a great pit had opened up before her. She had just escaped from one tyranny. She wouldn’t, couldn’t accept another. There wasn’t enough money in the world to tempt her to share the care of her son. And Jason was the last person she wanted to be close to Mark.

“No,” she said, rudely interrupting Mr. Armstrong. “You may tell my benefactor that the terms of the legacy are unacceptable. Mark, come along. We’re leaving.”

“But Mama—”

“It’s all right, Mark.” Jason reached over and
grasped Gwyn’s wrist. “Your mother has had a shock, that’s all. Let me talk to her. Excuse us, Mr. Armstrong.”

It was the look on Mark’s face that made Gwyn bite down on her tongue. Nor did she complain when Jason propelled her out of Armstrong’s chambers, past the startled clerk, and into the corridor. But as soon as they were alone, she let the words fly.

“A trustee is one thing, but a guardian, even a courtesy guardian, is something else. Mark is mine,
mine
, and no one is going to tell me what is best for my son.”

His anger was equal to hers. “You frightened Mark with your outburst in there! And what is so bloody awful about my having a say in Mark’s upbringing? He’s a Radley, isn’t he? I’m a Radley. And I’m the head of our house.”

His hands grasped her shoulders, making her flinch, and he went on, “I should have been named as his guardian, or Mark’s uncle should have been named in your husband’s will. Are you estranged from all your relatives? Or is it just me? What did I ever do to you to make you hate me?”

It wasn’t anger she felt now, but cold stark fear. “Nothing,” she said quickly, “nothing at all.”

“That’s not how it sounded in there. I’m sure Mr. Armstrong thinks you consider me unfit to have a role in Mark’s life.”

She was a better actress than she knew she was. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “It’s not you. It’s anyone. Men always assume that a woman is incapable of managing her own affairs. Well, I’m not incapable; I’m very capable, and I resent anyone implying the opposite.”

The hard look on his face gradually softened. When he let her go, she resisted the urge to rub her arms where his fingers had dug in. She didn’t want
him to feel guilty. She didn’t want him to apologize. She just wanted to get out of there and away from his watchful gaze.

He spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “You’re spouting Lady Octavia’s ideas, aren’t you? Is that what you’ve picked up at the Ladies Library, that men can’t be trusted?”

“No, Jason. What I learned from Lady Octavia is that men don’t trust women. If they did, they would change the laws.”

He smiled then, fleetingly, but it was still a smile, and some of the tension went out of her.

He said, “You would give up the legacy on principle?”

She hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. But he’d given her a way out, and she seized it. “I feel I must.”

He shook his head. “Gwyn,” he said, “be reasonable. Go back in there and tell Armstrong that you accept the terms. It’s only a courtesy title. You’ll still be in charge. Nothing will change except that I’ll expect you to consult me on any major decision you make, and keep me informed of Mark’s progress.”

The picture dismayed her. That’s how it would begin. But where would it end? “I’m sorry,” she said, “but my mind is made up.”

“Then you leave me no choice.”

She regarded him warily. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll go to court and apply for legal guardianship of Mark.” He paused to let his words sink in. “And they’ll give it to me Gwyn, because, fair or unfair, I’m a male, and I’m Mark’s nearest male relative. Now what is your answer? Do I go to court, or do you accept the terms of the legacy?”

Not only did they go to Gunther’s for the promised ice, but afterward, they drove to Richmond Park
in Jason’s curricle. Though there was still a chill in the air and Gwyn was wearing her light summer pelisse, she didn’t feel the cold at all.

She was seething, and nursing her wrath to keep it warm. She’d had no choice but to accept Jason’s terms, but that didn’t mean she had to be gracious about it. Her arms were folded over her breasts. She stared straight ahead. She spoke only when spoken to.

Now that Jason had got his way, he was all charm, pointing out things of interest, trying to draw her into the conversation. She kept her replies short, almost to the point of rudeness. Mark was so thrilled to be with Jason in his curricle that he did not notice her anger.