An Anne Perry Christmas_ Two Holiday Novels - Anne Perry [79]
Percival leaned back in his chair and bit his lower lip. “The truth, Mr. Rathbone, is that the deeds to the estate owned by Geoffrey Gower and bequeathed to his son, Ashton Gower, were actually forgeries, and not very good ones. That has been established at law, and Ashton Gower sentenced to prison for his part in it.”
“How do we know that it was Ashton Gower who forged them, and not his father?” Henry asked with an air of innocence.
Percival smiled patiently. “Because in earlier sight of them, during previous transactions, they were never questioned. And frankly, Mr. Rathbone, the forgeries were extremely poor. No one used to dealing in legal documents of any sort would have been fooled by them.”
“And yet you did not immediately report the fact that they were forged,” Henry pointed out. “At first glance, you noticed nothing amiss.”
Percival colored uncomfortably. “I looked only at certain parts of them, Mr. Rathbone, I confess to that. The first reading of them in their entirety showed us the falsity of them. There is no question. Frankly I am not sure what it is you are trying to prove. Gower is a forger. Judah Dreghorn had no choice but to sentence him to imprisonment. Everything else is spurious, just a weak and vicious man making excuses for himself.”
“You have a deep personal dislike for Gower, Mr. Percival,” Henry observed.
Percival's face tightened. “I do. And I am far from alone, Mr. Rathbone. He is a most objectionable man, without the grace or the honesty to repent of his crime, nor the courage to begin again and attempt to live a decent life. Instead of that, which might earn him forgiveness, he has attempted to blacken the name of an honest judge who did no more than his duty. If you had known Judah Dreghorn, you would understand my anger.”
“I did know him,” Henry said, keeping his voice calm only with an effort. “He was my friend for over twenty years. Mrs. Dreghorn is my goddaughter. That does not address the question of who forged the document, and when.”
“For heaven's sake, man!” Percival snapped. “Ashton Gower forged it at some point between the original being taken from his father's safe, and this forgery produced to justify his claim to the estate!” Percival snapped.
“You are an expert in forgery?”
“I am!”
“So it would be brought to you for that purpose, but not until forgery was suspected?”
“Of course.”
“Who saw it first, prior to that?”
“William Overton, a solicitor.”
“Did he testify in the case?” Henry asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He was not called. Why should he be? No one claimed that the deeds were genuine, except Gower himself, and he was obviously lying. As I said, Mr. Rathbone, the work was shoddy to a degree. Any examination of them made the fact plain. Now, if you don't mind, I have other clients to see, to whom I may be of more service. I am afraid I cannot help you, and to be candid, I have no desire to. You seem to be defending a man who has maligned a judge we all admired, and who apparently considered you to be a friend.”
Henry remained sitting. “When is it supposed that Gower forged the deeds, Mr. Percival?”
Percival was barely patient. “Before he brought them to his solicitor, sir! When else?”
“Mr. Overton?”
“Precisely.”
“They passed from him to Mr. Overton, to you?”
Percival hesitated, his face a trifle flushed. “No, not exactly. They were questioned by Colgrave, and he demanded sight of them, which happened in Judge Dreghorn's office, I believe.”
“Why not in Mr. Overton's? Was he not the Gowers’ solicitor?”
“Mr. Colgrave required that it be before a judge, and Mr. Overton was perfectly satisfied that it be so. I really don't understand what it is you are trying to prove, Mr. Rathbone!” Percival said irritably.
“I am trying to see when they