Dawn's Prelude (3 page)

Mitchell stood. “It is, but I hardly see the purpose of this.”

“Please be seated, Mr. Gray,” Mr. Robinson requested. Mr. Sterling appeared rather upset and refused to look Mitchell in the eye. It was this small but important action that caused Lydia to take interest. Something wasn’t right.

Robinson continued. “The purpose, Mr. Gray, will become apparent.”

Mitchell looked at Marston, then took his seat. “Very well, please continue. But do remember the delicacy of my sisters. They needn’t be burdened with comments about identifying the dead.”

As if on cue, Jeannette began to sob. Lydia wanted to be sick. The girls had no more love for their father than she had.

Mr. Robinson lifted his papers again. “I have the same type of signed statement on behalf of Mr. Rockford, which in addition includes the papers that were completed by the hospital officials, where he was taken after the accident. As you are aware, Mr. Rockford died on April fourth. Given this and the obvious fact that Mr. Rockford outlived Mr. Gray,” Mr. Robinson stated, pulling his spectacles from his face, “Mrs. Lydia Rockford Gray is the sole heir of her father’s fortune.”

Mitchell looked aghast. “That is hardly legal.” He turned to Sterling. “It isn’t legal, is it? Mr. Rockford’s property was to go to our father.”

Mr. Sterling shifted uncomfortably, not even attempting to answer.

Mr. Robinson peered over his wire-rimmed glasses at Mitchell. “Yes, that had been part of the agreement. However, as I stated, the will reads that your father would receive Mr. Rockford’s properties should he survive Mr. Rockford. Given that he did not, but rather died two days prior to the death of your stepmother’s father, the will clearly passes the inheritance to his only direct descendant, Mrs. Lydia Rockford Gray.”

“Is this right?” Marston demanded, staring hard at Mr. Sterling. “Our father shared a profitable business with Mr. Rockford. They owned the venture in a fifty-fifty share. Are you telling me that, even though she had nothing to do with the growth and development of this industry, Lydia will now inherit half of what we’ve worked so hard to build?”

“I think it would behoove us to hear the contents of your father’s will before this discussion continues,” Dwight Robinson declared.

Lydia felt a strange sensation of confidence rush over her. She had never held any power over these men, and now she did. Now she was truly free from their demands and desires. She sat a little straighter and nodded at Mr. Robinson. “Please do continue.”

Marston glared at her, but Lydia was unmoved. In her mind, she began to plan for her future. She would go immediately to live with Aunt Zerelda in Sitka. She had posted the letter that morning. She would simply enlist the help of her father’s lawyer and leave Kansas City forever. She wouldn’t even pack her clothes—those ghastly provocative fashions chosen by her husband. There was nothing, save her violin, that she would even want to take into her new life. Giddy with the weight of oppression lifted from her shoulders, it was all Lydia could do to keep from giggling out loud.

Mr. Sterling began. “ ‘I, Floyd Gray, upon my death do hereby bequeath my worldly possessions to my partner, Zachary Rockford. Should he not survive me, then my goods are to be divided equally among my children as follows: To my daughters, Jeannette and Genevieve, I give equally the properties of their mother, including all jewelry, china, house furnishings, furs, and the like. To my sons, Mitchell and Marston, I leave all business ventures, investments of stocks and bonds, and the entirety of my bank accounts, which are detailed in this document.”

Mitchell and Marston smiled at each other. Lydia could see they were pleased with the outcome. Knowing her stepsons as she did, Lydia surmised they were already making plans for their inheritance.

Mr. Sterling cleared his throat nervously and stood. “I find this most awkward and difficult,” he began. “I must admit I have not ever been placed in this position before, and hope never to see myself here again.”

Lydia couldn’t imagine what he was rambling about. She wanted only to get up and leave the stuffy office. She looked at Mr. Robinson, who gave her a reassuring nod.

“What are you going on about?” Mitchell demanded. “I want to know if Mr. Rockford’s will is going to be honored and the business turned over in complete to our handling.”

Mr. Sterling met their gazes with a most panicked expression. “I’m sorry. You must understand that the terms of your father’s will are legal and valid. I have already made inquiries on your behalf, and there is nothing to be done.”

“Perhaps Lydia will sell you her portion,” Eve called out from behind her brothers.

Lydia heard Evie’s husband quiet her, but not before Marston gave her a withering look. He then turned back to the lawyer. “What exactly are you saying, Mr. Sterling?”

“You’ve heard the will for yourself.” He cleared his throat again and picked up the papers he’d left on the table. “I’m afraid the situation is not what any of us expected. Your father created this provision, not only as a part of the marriage contract he and Mr. Rockford agreed upon, but he solidified the terms by putting them also in his business papers of partnership and his last will and testament. Therefore, upon his death, his possessions . . . everything . . . went to Mr. Rockford, who survived him by two days.”

Lydia blinked hard at the words. She was beginning to see exactly what the man was saying. Her heart raced as she looked again to Mr. Robinson. Mitchell jumped to his feet in the same moment.

“Now wait just a minute,” he declared.

“What’s wrong?” Jeannette suddenly joined in. “What is going on?” She pulled at her husband’s sleeve.

Marston glowered at Lydia. He knew exactly what was happening, just as she did.

Mitchell continued to rant. “Are you telling us that our inheritance was passed to Mr. Rockford, and in turn, he passed it to her?” His eyes shot daggers at Lydia, but instead of it causing her to shrink away as once she might have done, Lydia merely returned his angry glare.

“That simply cannot be,” Jeannette declared. “It isn’t possible.” Her shrieking voice grew louder. “That can’t be what he means.”

Marston folded his arms and matter-of-factly replied, “That’s exactly what he means.”

Robinson met Marston’s fixed stare. “Your brother understands it correctly. Mrs. Gray’s father outlived your father. The carriage accident took both lives, but not at the same time. There is no disputing that Mr. Rockford survived your father in death.”

“But he never regained consciousness,” Mitchell protested. “That’s not any kind of living, as far as I’m concerned.”

“But legally, he was not dead,” Robinson said. “His death did not come until two days after Mr. Gray, and therefore, he was Mr. Gray’s survivor.”

Mr. Sterling had taken his seat. He seemed only too happy to give the argument over to his fellow lawyer.

“I won’t stand for this. She is not stealing our inheritance,” Marston said, getting to his feet. “She was nothing to my father. He hated her. She made his life unbearable.”

Lydia steadied her nerves and listened to the Gray children argue with the two lawyers. She wanted to smile at the uncanny manner in which the situation had played out. It was a sweet revenge. The fates had not been pleased with her circumstance, after all. Her mother would have said that God had looked out for her, but Lydia didn’t believe God even cared about such matters. He especially didn’t care about her. If He did, then He had some explaining to do as to why He would allow her such a heinous existence for twelve years of her life.

Marston and Mitchell, along with their sisters’ husbands, had moved to the front of the room to discuss the news with the two lawyers. Lydia felt lightheaded by the knowledge that she now held control of the Gray and Rockford fortunes. Never again would any Gray man impose his will upon her.

She frowned as ugly memories came back to haunt her. Floyd had been a terrible husband without any affection or compassion. And while Lydia had grown used to his lack of concern for her comfort or interest in her desires, she had never been able to reconcile his brutal abuse in exercising his husbandly rights. When word came about the accident, she was unable to muster any concern whatsoever for his condition. When told that he had been found dead beneath the carriage, Lydia didn’t shed a single tear. The shock of her liberty—her sudden freedom from the unbearable misery that had been her fate—was more than she could withstand. She had fainted dead away.

“Are you all right?” Evie whispered in her ear. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Lydia replied. Evie had never allowed her siblings to see her get too close to Lydia, so her act of kindness was unexpected.

“Have nothing to do with her, Genevieve,” Jeannette snapped and pulled her sister away.

“Then we will simply investigate the matter on our own,” Mitchell declared, turning away from the table where the lawyers had delivered the bad news. He came back to his chair and took up his walking stick. “We will not allow our inheritance to be stolen from us. We will reconvene at my house.”

Marston came to Lydia as Mitchell bounded from the room. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sign everything over to us and be done with it. Otherwise, you will never know a moment’s peace.”

Lydia got to her feet, pushed past him, and went to Mr. Robinson. “Would you please take me home? I find the day has been most taxing and would like very much to consider all that has happened.”

“But of course.”

She could feel the gaze of every other person on her as she moved across the room to the door. Mr. Robinson quickly caught up and took her by the elbow to lead her into the hall.

“You know they will torment you over this,” Robinson whispered.

Lydia smiled ever so slightly. “They will certainly try.”

“I’m not about to sit by and watch Lydia take advantage of this family,” Marston declared to the small audience seated in Mitchell’s parlor.

“What do you suggest we do?” Jeannette asked. “The lawyer said it was legal. I can scarcely believe it, but it seems to me—”

“Oh, shut up.” Mitchell was not one to brook his sister’s nonsense for long. “I don’t care what it seems to you. The fact of the matter is, we are in for a fight. Robinson is obviously happy to stand on Lydia’s behalf. After all, he will, no doubt, receive a tidy sum.”

Marston paced, tightening his facial muscles as he often did when disturbed. “Do you suppose we could pay someone off? We have connections amongst the judges. Surely we can get someone to take up the case on our behalf.”

“But even if you do,” Evie’s husband, Thomas, interjected, “she could do the same. The money will be tied up for years. You will be destitute by that time.”

Mitchell got to his feet and motioned Marston to take a seat. “The way I see it, we will simply have to find a way to handle this ourselves. As far as I know, Lydia has no family, and certainly has not had time to draw up a will. Perhaps if she is . . . eliminated, the problem itself will go away.”

“Better still,” Marston said with a wicked grin, “she could leave her entire fortune to us.”

“Exactly my thinking,” Mitchell replied.

Jeannette and Evie’s husbands appeared to be trying to mask their shock, yet they said nothing to suggest they wouldn’t support such an idea. Marston reasoned that with a little thought, they’d know exactly how it would affect them, and he believed they would hope for any decision that might benefit their coffers.

Evie was indignant. “I can’t believe you’re sitting here so calmly suggesting the death of another human being. I understand wanting to reclaim what is rightfully ours, but to kill someone is an entirely different situation.”

Marston turned to his youngest sister. “You are only seventeen. What do you know of life—or death, for that matter? Lydia has never liked any of us, so you can hardly hope that she would willingly right this wrong.”

“We never gave her a reason to like any of us,” Evie replied. “You were always scheming against her.”

“She didn’t belong in our family.” Jeannette’s voice was shrill and bitter. “She should never have married Father in the first place.”

“I hardly believe she was given any say in the decision,” Evie countered. “She didn’t want to marry Father any more than we wanted her to marry him.”

“But the fact remains, she
did
marry him,” Marston replied. “There is absolutely nothing that we can do to change that now. What we cannot do is stand by and allow that woman to ruin our well-being. Can you really tolerate her taking all of Mother’s jewelry and furs? Would you see Lydia sell off the family heirlooms to pad her purse?”

“She will do it, too,” Jeannette said, hissing against her sister’s ear. “She’s only been waiting for a moment like this. I say we put her from our lives once and for all.”

Evie could hardly believe her siblings’ heartless comments. She moved to the parlor door, saying, “I’m afraid I have no stomach for this. I will retire to the music room until you have concluded this madness.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Evie. Sit down and do stop with your prattling.”

Evie looked into the eyes of her husband. The man seldom had more than two words to offer her in any given day. Now he fixed her with a cold stare that left her feeling empty inside. Theirs, too, was a marriage of arrangement, set up by her father for the betterment of business. Her husband stood to lose a great deal in this situation.