“Likely someday, but not just yet.” Hattie held up one hand, thoughVivian knew better than to trust her solemn expression. “On my honor. I’ll even sit in front of the door so you can open it a crack if you’d like to risk it.” She turned to leave, calling softly over her shoulder, “Enjoy the show.”
Vivian stayed rooted to the spot after the door closed. For a moment, she thought about locking the door or putting something in front of it so that no one could come into the room behind her. But locking it might attract attention from someone who knew it was supposed to be open. And any sort of ruckus wouldn’t just tell her someone was up there. It would probably carry to the Buchanans and their lawyer, and what if they came barreling up the staircase to investigate? Besides which, anything she did was as likely to get in Bea’s way as it was anyone else’s.
No, she’d just have to take her chances that someone might come into the room, or that Hattie Wilson might give her away in spite of her promise. She’d have to be quiet, was all. Quiet and careful. She could do that.
The staircase was as narrow as Bea had promised, and with no windows it was nearly dark. From the top, Vivian could see a single electric bulb hanging above the steps. But if she turned it on, someone might see the light where it shouldn’t be. No sense taking that risk.
The still air made her shiver as she eased the door closed behind her and crept down. The passage had plunged into darkness when she pulled the door shut, and she had to feel her way carefully down each step, one hand outstretched so she wouldn’t run into the door. When she reached it, she hesitated, then pressed her ear against the wood. There was no sound from the other side. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob, opening the door just a bare crack and praying it wouldn’t swing any wider. She didn’t want to risk poking her head in; all she could do was hope that no one had been in there early to see the door move.
Settling down a few steps from the bottom, Vivian drew her legs under her chin, wrapped her arms around herself, and waited.
Her legs had just started to go numb from being in one position too long when she heard the sound of a door opening. Startled, Vivian just managed to catch herself before she sprang up. The sound had come from the next room, and it was immediately followed by a hushed babble of voices.
Vivian sat up straighter, breathing as quietly as possible while she strained toward the door without actually moving. It was starting.
“Are we waiting on anyone else, Mrs. Buchanan?” a man’s voice asked, accompanied by the quick tapping sound of papers being shuffled into order. The lawyer, maybe?
“No.” The woman’s voice was trembling, with a hint of tears. Vivian could picture her dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I believe this is… everyone.” There was a hint of malice in those words that caught Vivian’s attention. Unhappiness with the lawyer? Or dislike of someone else there?
“Very well.” The lawyer’s voice was businesslike and solemn, with just the right hint of kindness for a grieving family. “Shall we all take our seats? Mr. Whitcomb, Mr. Morris, there are places over here. Mrs. Buchanan, you and your…” He trailed off, sounding uncertain.
“Sister-in-law,” said a brisk voice that reminded Vivian of the nuns who had raised her in the orphan home. It was the sort of voice that was not used to being argued with. “Miss Edith Rokesby, how do you do, I’m Mr. Rokesby’s aunt as well. I’m here to support them in this trying time. And to see that their interests are protected.”
There was silence in the room except for several clearing throats, as though no one was sure how to respond. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Rokesby,” the lawyer replied at last.
“Mrs. Wilson, may I offer you this seat?” That was Corny Rokesby, and the sound of his voice made Vivian shiver. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.
“No, thank you. I believe I’ll be comfortable right where I am.” Hattie Wilson’s voice was cool as always, no grief or even a pretense of it for her audience. It was also the closest one to Vivian yet. Apparently, Hattie was making good on her promise to place herself in front of the door. “Ms. Huxley, would you care to sit?”
Vivian had just started to relax a little, but Hattie’s question—asked with too-obvious innocence—made her sit up sharply, eyes wide in the darkness of the staircase. There was no chance—she’d have known—
“I’m fine where I am, thanks. Don’t draw things out on my account; I’m sure everyone wants to get this over with.”
For a moment, Vivian felt like she couldn’t breathe. She started to her feet without realizing what she was doing, her whole body shaking.
That had been Honor Huxley’s voice.
FIFTEEN
“I still don’t understand whysheneeds to be here.” That was Mrs. Buchanan again.
“Mr. Buchanan’s will concerns his daughter as much as it concerns you, madam,” the lawyer said, gentle but firm. “More, in fact, as we’ll see. Now, if everyone would take their seats, we can get started…”
Vivian pressed her hands against her mouth. Buchanan’s daughter? Honor was the dead guy’sdaughter? She couldn’t even wrap her head around what that might mean. What was it Honor had said, the day he died? Had she given some hint that Vivian should have picked up on? Why wouldn’t she have said? When she said she couldn’t help, was that because—
The bite of Vivian’s nails against her palms reminded her where she was. Slowly, she took her seat on the steps once more. She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but they were still talking, and she might have already missed something important. She needed to pay attention if she was going to make this worthwhile.
“—control of Buchanan, Morris, and Whitcomb passing equally to the remaining two partners, except for a ten percent stake each going to—”
“Equally?” rumbled an irritated, masculine voice. “Did he not say which of us would have controlling interest after him?”
“He… it seems he did not,” the lawyer said, sounding a little nervous. “The will indicates equal control is to be held between you both.”
“But that’s outrageous,” the man insisted, his voice rising. “He should have named one of us to—”
“One of you could always buy the other out,” Hattie Wilson put in. “Isn’t that how these things work? So one person has that controlling interest.”
“Mrs. Wilson, I do not mean to offend,” the man replied, his voice dripping condescension. “But I believe we can handle matters of our business on our own.”
