“And the pebbles,” he continued with deliberate gravity. “We must not forget those. I believe they formed no inconsiderable part of it.”
“They are not cargo,” said Elizabeth at once. “They are chosen.”
“Very carefully chosen,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
“I hope they will continue to be so,” said Darcy.
“For the sake of the pebbles alone, I hope so too,” said Lord Ashford with a smile. “Father, I called this morning at Doctors' Commons. They are still attempting to trace Trevelyan's will, but nothing further has been discovered.”
Lady Matlock set down her glass. “My son, if you persist in speaking of wills at my table, I shall be forced to abandon you to them.”
Lord Ashford smiled. “I beg your pardon.”
“I shall accept it,” she said. “But I think we have carried patience far enough.”
She rose.
“The ladies will withdraw. You may have your ships and your estates, and whatever else recommends itself to you.”
Lady Ashford rose at once; Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth followed.
“Come, my dear,” Lady Matlock added, turning to Elizabeth with kindness, “we shall leave them to their wisdom.”
The gentlemen stood as the ladies quitted the room.
Chapter Twenty-One
When the ladies had withdrawn, the gentlemen remained standing for a moment while the servants entered with the port. Cigars followed; a taper was brought; and as glasses were filled the company gradually settled itself. The Colonel stretched himself before the fire; Ashford accepted a cigar and tookthe chair nearest it; Darcy remained upon the hearthrug; and Gardiner, declining both cigar and smoke, seated himself near Matlock.For a little while no one resumed the subject that had been interrupted at table. At length Ashford broke the silence.
“It is the same answer, then. Nothing found.”
“Nothing,” said Matlock, setting down his glass. “And we are expected to be satisfied with it. It grows beyond patience. We have waited not days but weeks; and each week yields the same answer. The will was lodged. The will was seen. The will is spoken of in enough papers to make its existence undeniable. Yet the will itself is nowhere to be found.”
“Misfiled?” said Gardiner.
“So they suppose,” said Matlock. “Or buried among records neglected in those cursed years when every office was thinned by illness and half the kingdom thought of little but death and succession. A clerk dies; another takes his place; papers are shifted; a packet is entered under the wrong description; and twenty years later some family is left to make sense of what should never have been confused at all.”
Ashford drained the remainder of his glass and set it down.“It is intolerable.”
“It is common,” said Matlock. “That is what makes it worse.”
“But the trust itself is no longer in doubt,” said Darcy.
“No. That much is settled. Alfred did not inherit Trevelyan outright, whatever he allowed others to believe. The estate was held in trust.”He took up his glass again.“And not for a nephew.”
Ashford looked up. “Not for—?”
“Ashcombe is now certain of it,” said Matlock. “Among his father's papers are references, repeated more than once, to a female ward. The language is imperfect, but consistent.”
Gardiner reached for the decanter and refilled his glass.
“A ward?” said Ashford. “How can that be? I thought the line of Trevelyan was entirely at an end. It was upon that understanding we looked elsewhere.”
“As did we all,” said Matlock.
The Colonel set down his glass. “And a ward implies more than inheritance. It implies protection. Authority.”
“A minor,” said Darcy.
