Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [82]
James glanced at Grace, who had her eyes tightly closed, and asked in a low voice, ‘Shall I read you his obituary?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you, but no. I don’t want to think about him – and what he’s done – ever again. I’m glad he’s dead.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Is that very wicked of me?’
James shook his head slowly. ‘No, I think not.’ One of Grace’s hands lay on top of the rug, and he moved his own to rest upon it.
She smiled at him tremulously. ‘Lily will be glad, too,’ she said, and offered up a prayer that one day soon she would be able to tell her about it.
x
Just before eleven o’clock, Grace was sitting on the edge of her leather chair in one of the interview rooms at Binge and Gently. She’d been introduced to both partners, and also to James’s own celebrated head of chambers, Mr Ernest Stamford, QC, who was famous not only for his astute counsel, but also for his lavish facial hair – his mutton-chop whiskers and vast curling moustache.
All parties had questioned her closely about her relationship with the Unwins and how she had come to be working for them. Mr Binge, in particular, had wanted to know everything she could remember about her mother. Sometimes he questioned her so aggressively that she felt he did not believe her stories, and at one point he asked if anyone could vouch for her to prove that she was who she said she was.
‘For instance, is there anyone who can verify that you and your sister were using the names Grace and Lily Parkes a year ago, before the inheritance was advertised?’ he asked.
After a moment’s thought, Grace nodded. ‘We were living and using those names at Mrs Macready’s lodging house in Seven Dials.’
‘Seven Dials?’ queried Mr Binge, raising his eyebrows. ‘Can one rely on the word of someone who owns a Seven Dials lodging house? Is the woman still there?’
Rather reluctantly, Grace shook her head. ‘The house was condemned.’
‘Exactly!’ said Mr Binge.
‘But I know where Mrs Macready lives,’ said Grace. ‘I can find her.’
Mr Stamford interposed, ‘According to one of my clerks, the woman in question – Mrs Macready – had a lodging establishment in Seven Dials for over twenty years. She is known as an honest woman.’
‘Hmm,’ said Mr Binge.
A little before midday, seeing that Grace was becoming increasingly anxious, James escorted her on to the terrace to take the air.
‘I don’t care very much for Mr Binge,’ she said to James as he led her outside to a sky heavy with snow. ‘He doesn’t seem to believe anything I say.’
‘You must try not to take it personally,’ James said. ‘At some stage your father appointed Binge and Gently to oversee his affairs, and they have to ensure that his exact wishes are carried out and his money goes to the rightful persons.’
‘But is it necessary for them to be so severe?’
‘Mr Binge is just doing his job,’ James said gently. ‘We are like a small court of law here. We are trying to discover the absolute truth.’
When they had paced along the small terrace for ten minutes or so, they went back into the office, where, the closer the arms of the mantelpiece clock came to midday, the more agitated Grace felt, until she thought she might faint, or be sick, or do some other such thing to disgrace herself. At five minutes to the hour, Mr Gently showed her, James and Mr Stamford into an anteroom, where they were to wait while the Unwins were interviewed. There was a comfortable chaise longue here and the gentlemen bowed her towards