Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [68]
“As Blevins must have told you, the desk was ransacked. Mrs. Wainer tried to put everything back, poor woman. As far as she remembers, there wasn’t a photograph among the contents, at least not a framed one. I myself looked, and there were no photographs at all in any of the drawers. It could very well be that Father James simply hadn’t gotten around to putting it in the desk. And Mrs. Wainer can’t be sure which of the photographs on display he had in mind, because apparently he never spoke to her about the bequest. Needless to say, I’ve been reluctant to make an issue of it. Nor have I contacted Miss Trent, since it’s rather awkward to admit we can’t put our hands on it.”
“She might know which it is.”
“I’d thought of that. But the Will is under probate, and there’s still time to find it. Early days!” Gifford restored the papers to his drawer. “A single photograph is not often the subject of a codicil, but there’s nothing wrong in it. And as long as the request is legal and reasonable, we are required to honor it.”
Hamish repeated something Rutledge had said earlier: “He couldna’ know he would be killed.”
Which was true. It might have been years before the priest’s Will was executed.
“Ye ken this photograph might be for a child?” Hamish demanded, following Rutledge’s thoughts. “And too young yet to be told who her mother is—or her father.”
Rutledge answered him silently, “And that will bear looking into.” Aloud he added to Gifford, “Will you leave a message for me at the Osterley Hotel, if you locate the photograph? I don’t suppose it will matter to Blevins’s investigation, but at this stage, who can say?”
“Yes, I’ll be happy to do that,” Gifford said, jotting down a few lines in a small leather-bound notebook.
“Did you know Father James well?”
“He was an ordinary man, in many respects. He never made anyone uncomfortably aware of his collar—there was never any fuss about it. I’ve seen him down on the floor reading a book with half a dozen children. But there was a dignity about him as well that I admired. Quite a good tennis player, and possessed of a wry sense of humor. He had the most persuasive voice.” Gifford grinned. “With that gift, I’d have been a barrister! Father James and the Vicar—Mr. Sims—and I sometimes dined together. Not out of deep friendship so much as for the company. I lost my wife in ’15. I’ve learned,” he said ruefully, “that a widower with a good law practice is fair game, to make up the numbers at a dinner party. Especially when a maiden sister or cousin has been invited.”
Rutledge laughed. He had been introduced to all the sisters of his friends and half their cousins—until he’d become engaged and thus considered off the market. A twinge of memory swept him. Jean had been the first to make it clear that he was not a good prospect now. Even for the most desperate spinster.
Gifford prepared to rise, bringing the interview to a close.
But Rutledge sat where he was. “There’s another matter. Did you also serve as solicitor to Herbert Baker and his family?”
It was Gifford’s turn to be surprised. “Herbert Baker? Good God, how did you come to know him?”
“I didn’t. But he died shortly before Father James’s death, and I’d like to know how his Will stood.”
Bewildered, Gifford said, “I don’t believe Father James witnessed it, if that’s your point.”
“No, but I understand from Dr. Stephenson that he was in attendance just before Mr. Baker’s death. What can you tell me regarding the Will’s provisions?”
Gifford steepled his fingers. “Very straightforward. There wasn’t much in the way of money, although Baker owned the house he lived in. It’d been his wife’s family home. Naturally he left that to the elder son, Martin, with the proviso that the other son, Dick, and the daughter, Ellen, live there until they married. Dick just came home from hospital, bad shoulder wound. And Ellen is the youngest. A late child.”
Rutledge considered how to put his next question, and decided to be blunt. “Were the three children Herbert Baker’s?”
“Good Lord, I should think they were! Ellen looks very much like her