“Except he ain’t dead, as you can see for yourself,” Brandt said.
Jack stepped away from Sir Richard, and the doctor rushed to tend the man’s injured hand.
“I have here the will of my grandfather, Edward Knoll.” Jack reached into his jacket, extracted a rolled paper, and handed it to Jebkin. “I think you will find that the estate now in Sir Richard’s possession legally belongs to me.”
Jebkin frowned and snatched the document Jack held out to him. Jack watched as he untied the string with trembling hands and scanned the document. “Where did you get this?” he asked, looking up at Jack.
“Never mind where I got it. The only thing that matters is what it says. I am my grandfather’s rightful heir, and his property needs to be returned to me immediately.”
“Well,” Jebkin sputtered, “it’s not that simple. Your identity will have to be verified, and you will need to appear before a judge.”
“My uncle has already verified my identity, so all he has to do is sign over to me what is rightfully mine.”
“That won’t do. You and your American brute tortured Sir Richard. A man will say anything when he suffers great pain. One cannot—”
Jack took a step closer to Jebkin. “My name is Sebastian John Greyson. And eleven years ago, that vermin on the ground indentured me to a Texan named Wyatt Wardell and faked my death so he could steal my inheritance.”
“I’m not suggesting you are lying, Mr. Bastin, but the court will want some sort of verification—a birth record or a relative.”
“I need to get this man to a hospital at once.” The doctor said as Mr. Chelmsford draped Sir Richard’s arm across his shoulders, helped him to his feet, and dragged him toward the carriage.
Jebkin moved to follow, but Jack stood in his path.
“I have no other living relatives.” He glared down at the man. “So, either advise Sir Richard to do what is right, or you can answer to a judge.”
“What do you mean?” Jebkin heightened his stance.
“I think you know. You prepared my grandfather Sir Edward’s will, yet you never advised his daughter that the birth of her son made her child heir to her father’s estate, did you?”
Jebkin swallowed. “It wasn’t necessary at the time. The estate was to stay in a trust until the boy came of age.”
“But you never informed my parents because Sir Richard asked you to keep it from them, didn’t he?”
Jebkin paused in thought and then nodded as if conferring with himself. “If you truly are the grandson of Edward Knoll, then you have a sister, and she will be able to verify your identity.”
Jack stiffened. “What did you say?”
“Sir Richard returned to India in 1857 to help quell the rebellion, and he was required to stay there for some years after, but he thought it too unsafe for his wife. She must have grown bored or lonely because, in 1861, she brought a young woman up from the country to live with her.”
“Miss Hamilton?” Jack frowned. Was this idiot confusing Miss Hamilton for his sister?
“I believe the girl was her niece, a Miss Greyson.”
“What?” Jack’s voice was a ghostly whisper even to his own ears, as his mouth dried and his throat closed.
“About a year later, the young lady married and moved to Canterbury, where she opened a ladies’ school. I know this because your uncle has left her school a most generous sum in his will. I questioned him about it when I redrafted his will for him a few weeks before his recent marriage.”
“What did he say?”
“He said something about the former Lady Astyr forcing his hand from the grave.”
“Mr. Jebkin!” the doctor shrieked. “We will be forced to ride without you.”
“That is all I know. If you find this sister of yours and she vouches for you, you will have a valid claim. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get to the hospital before Sir Richard loses more blood.”
Jebkin huffed and pushed past him. He hesitated, and when Jack offered no resistance, he made a mad dash for Sir Richard’s carriage.
Jack stood motionless in the open field. Putting one foot in front of the other suddenly seemed like an impossible task, as if the soles of his feet had sprouted roots and anchored him to the ground as firmly as the trees enclosing the heath. He envisioned Violet as she was the last time he’d seen her, sitting on the moor with a book resting on her knees. She’d glanced up at him as he’d crept away from their home during the early morning hours. He’d frowned in response to his sister’s wave—angry she’d caught him fleeing.What is Violet doing up at this hour? Was there no escaping his family?
