The Paper Princess by Marion Chesney Read Free Book Online

that.”
    “Yes, yes,” said Mr. Palfrey, giving his eyes a perfunctory dab with a wisp of handkerchief. “Sit down, man, and join me in a glass of port. Ah, Anderson. The table by the window, and we shall serve ourselves.”
    Mr. Pulkton looked suitably gratified.
    As she sat on the edge of her bed in the room she shared with three other maids, Bessie heard the sound of approaching footsteps and thrust the will she had been studying under her mattress. She was alone, having been told to go and get her belongings, while the three more fortunate maids with whom she shared the room went about their duties.
    Bessie started in surprise as Felicity walked in.
    “I have heard of your dismissal, Bessie,” said Felicity awkwardly. “Please take this money. It is not very much, but it will serve to keep you until you find another post.”
    “Thank you, miss,” said Bessie. She had a sudden impulse to whip that will out from under the mattress and hand it to Felicity. Felicity had the same striking dark-red hair as her father, the same fascinating green-gold eyes. And Bessie remembered the late Mr. Channing very well. He used to throw open the castle once a year and entertain all the locals lavishly, a practice that Mr. Palfrey had not maintained.
    But Miss Felicity was to marry a baron and would soon have all the money she wanted. Bessie knew that will could make her own fortune. She remained silent, and after giving the maid an embarrassed pat on the shoulder, Felicity left.
    Bessie waited. She was to be allowed to stay the night before leaving in the morning. She must wait until she had guessed Mr. Palfrey had retired to his bedchamber and visit him there.

    * * * *
Mr. Palfrey climbed the stairs to his room after a euphoric drinking session with Mr. Pulkton.
    His valet prepared him for bed, brushed out his sparse hair, gave him a glass of warm milk, and then left his master to sit by the fire.
    Mr. Palfrey stared into the flames and sipped his milk. There was so much he could do now. He could fill the castle with the most beautiful treasures and become known around the world as a connoisseur of fine art. At last, he rose to his feet. Now for that will.
    He was glad he had not burned it yet. There might be some hint, some clue, as to the whereabouts of the Channing jewels. He had told his valet to put his coat away without brushing it or emptying the pockets.
    He made his way to the wardrobe.
    Behind him, the door opened.
    Mr. Palfrey swung around.
    Bessie Redhill stood there, smiling at him in a way he did not like at all.
    “How dare you!” gasped Mr. Palfrey, one nervous manicured hand flying down to cover his private parts, although his nightgown was as thick as a bedsheet. With his other hand, he reached for the bellrope to summon help.
    Bessie grinned broadly and held up the will.
    With a squawk of outrage, Mr. Palfrey wrenched open the door of the wardrobe and scrabbled feverishly in the tail pockets of his coat.
    Then he turned back to Bessie. His mind was working very quickly. The pleasant muzziness induced by his port-drinking session fled, leaving his brain sharp and clear.
    He began to laugh. Bessie stared at him in surprise.
    “You clever girl,” said Mr. Palfrey. “So you've got the better of me after all!”
    “Well,” said Bessie, closing the door and moving into the center of the room. “I reckon we'll all be happy, sir, if we can do a deal.”
    “Of course, of course,” said Mr. Palfrey, rubbing his hands. “Sit down by the fire; there's a good girl.”
    Bessie sat down gingerly, clutching the will.
    “Now, a glass of brandy to warm us while we get down to business,” said Mr. Palfrey cheerfully.
    “Don't mind if I do,” said Bessie with a broad smile. Mr. Palfrey looked so ridiculous with his little, spindly, hairy legs poking out from the bottom of his nightgown and with his red nightcap perched rakishly on the side of his head.
    Mr. Palfrey went over to a cupboard in the corner and fiddled