Fleet Street layin the shadow of St. Paul’s as dawn broke through the darkness. Jack took a moment to admire the emerging glow that inched across the horizon, illuminating the London skyline and bathing St. Paul’s magnificent dome in a pink hue.
“Do you see it?” Jack asked.
“What?” Brandt mumbled, sounding half asleep.
“St. Paul’s Cathedral. You’ll never see a building that splendid in America.”
“I miss the mountains and the deserts,” Brandt grunted without bothering to look up.
“London is too cramped and wet for my taste.”
“It’s different. That much is certain.” Jack stepped into the arched frame of the sandstone building affixed with a gold plate on the outer door that read,Jebkin & Jebkin, Solicitors. He rapped on the door with his walking stick and then leaned on it as he waited for a response. When none came, he lifted it again and rapped with more force.
Hurried footsteps sounded from within, and seconds later, the door creaked open.
Percival screwed up his face as though pained by the emerging daylight. His red-rimmed eyes told Jack the clerk had lost yet another night’s sleep.
“Come in.” He uttered. “I spent all night making a copy of Mr. Knoll’s will for you, sir,” he said as he worked to re-bolt the door.
“I’ll need to check it against the original,” Jack warned.
Percival blinked as though surprised to find himself doubted.
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Do you object?”
“Of course not. But we must make haste. There’s but one hour before the other clerks arrive.” They followed him up a twisted stone staircase, which led to a maze of book-filled rooms and spacious offices.
“Not bad,” Brandt murmured as he and Jack followed Percival to a large office furnished with enormous bookshelves crammed with law books, a hefty mahogany desk, and a buttoned-leather settee with a set of matching chairs.
Jack smirked. “Your father’s office, I presume?”
Percival walked to the desk and put a shaky hand between two documents. “The one to my right is the original will and testament of Mr. Knoll. And here on my left is the copy I made. The ink may still be a little wet.”
“I’ll start with the original.” Jack strode forward but stopped short of picking up his grandfather’s will. Instead, his hand hovered above the document. Had his grandfather truly given up on his daughter? Had he resented her enough to leave her with nothing and overlook the welfare of his grandchildren? Jack didn’t want to believe it, but the chance to discover the truth about his past had arrived. Even if his mother had been disinherited, he needed to find out what happened to his grandfather’s estate. If his uncle had gotten his hands on it, he’d rest at nothing to get it back.
“Careful,” Percival squeaked, “you’ll tear it.”
Jack blinked to see his hand closed around his grandfather’s will, creasing the delicate paper. He relaxed his grip.
“Give us some privacy,” Brandt barked. “We’ll let you know when we need you.”
Percival darted his eyes from Brandt to Jack and back again.
“Out.” Brandt took a menacing step toward Percival. The clerk backed out of the room as if afraid to lose sight of the man.
Jack scanned the document in his hand until he located the relevant passage:
I, Edward John Knoll, leave my lodgings in London, the furnishings and valuables contained therein, and the sum of 50,000 pounds to Mr. and Mrs. Richard Neville Astyr. The Knoll family estate in Kent, including all furnishings and valuables contained therein, shall pass to my eldest living grandson. The estate, together with the sum of 65,000 pounds to be used for the estate’s maintenance and upkeep, is to be kept in trust by Richard Neville Astyr for such child until he comes of age. If both my daughters fail to produce a male heir, the Knoll country estate and the sum of 65,000 pounds shall pass to my third cousin and son-in-law, Richard Neville Astyr.
“Blackguard!” Jack slapped the document onto the mahogany desk.
“What does it say?” Brandt asked.
“That my grandfather was a cold-blooded wretch who cared nothing for my mother or my sisters. The fool left his country estate and 65,000 pounds to his eldest living grandson, who hadn’t even been born yet.”
“That’s you! Ain’t it?”
“It is, but I’m not legally his grandson anymore. I’m Jack Bastin, and I have no way to prove my true identity.”
