Reluctant Widow by Georgette Heyer

Author:Georgette Heyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2010-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

Eleven

There was nothing amongst Eustace Cheviot’s papers to occupy the two executor’s minds for long, and it was soon agreed between them that the first step towards winding up his estate must to be ascertain the exact number of his obligations. This task the lawyer took in hand, sighing, and pulling down the corners of his mouth, and saying that he feared the half of them were not yet known. He perused Cheviot’s Will in a disapproving way, but although he audibly tut-tutted, and shook his head sadly, he allowed that it was sufficiently well drawn up to serve. ‘But, my lord,’ he added severely, ‘I must not be understood to say that this document is drawn up in quite such terms as I should have used, had I been called upon to serve my late client in this matter. However, it appears to be valid, and I shall apply for probate directly.’

He then tied such papers as he proposed taking away with him with a piece of tape; excused himself from remaining at the Hall that night, as he was civilly invited to do, on the score of having already hired a room at the inn at Wisborough Green; assured Carlyon that he would not fail to be present at the inquest on the following morning; and bowed himself out.

He had hardly been gone ten minutes when the door into Carlyon’s study was again opened, and his brother John walked into the room, rubbing his hands together, and exclaiming against the inclemency of the weather.

‘My dear John!’ Carlyon said. ‘I did not expect to see you until tomorrow!’

‘No, well, I thought I might arrive too late if I put off the journey, and so applied to Sidmouth for leave to absent myself immediately. I found him in a good humour, and so here I am,’ John replied, walking over to the fire, and bending over it to warm his hands.

‘I am extremely glad to see you. Did you come post?’

‘No, I drove myself, and damned cold it was! How has all gone since I saw you? Where is Nicky?’

‘Nicky is at Highnoons, with a hole in his shoulder,’ replied Carlyon, going over to the table on which the butler had set out a decanter and some glasses. ‘Sherry, John?’

‘Nicky is what?’ demanded John, straightening himself with a jerk.

‘It’s not serious,’ Carlyon said, pouring sherry into two of the glasses.

‘Good God, Ned, cannot Nicky keep out of trouble for as much as two days?’

‘Apparently not, but he cannot be blamed for this adventure. Sit down, and I’ll tell you the whole: I fancy it should interest you.’

John cast himself into a deep chair by the fire, saying caustically: ‘You need not tell me you do not blame him! Well, what mischief is he in now?’

But when he had heard Carlyon’s matter-of-fact account of the happenings at Highnoons he abandoned his sceptical attitude, and stared at his brother with his brows knit. ‘Good God!’ he said slowly. ‘But –’ He stopped, and appeared to sink into deep abstraction.

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