The Trial of Marie Montrecourt by Kay Patrick Read Free Book Online Page B

earlier than I expected. I’ll be in the library. Let me know when my bath is ready.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    *
    As Evelyn soaked in the warm water, he found himself dwelling on a matter that he could no longer ignore. He would have to take his father’s seat in the Lords.
    He’d always avoided politics. His father had been such a dominant figure in the Tory Party and in government. He was known for his ability to silence all opposition with a cutting phrase delivered in a voice of steel. Evelyn slid down in the bath, submerging his face. Still, what had it achieved but temporary glory? On his deathbed he was just a lonely old man and the commanding voice had been reduced to a painful whisper. Evelyn sat up, wiping his eyes free of water. The action reawakened the memory of his father’s last words, and the letter by his bedside that had quickly been removed. Wrapped in his bathrobe, Evelyn rang for the butler.
    “I’ll dine in my room this evening, Wilson. Apologise to mother will you, but I’m very tired.”
    “Of course, sir.”
    “Oh, and Wilson…” Evelyn hesitated. “Did my father know anyone called Montrecourt?” He was just curious, that was all.
    “Not to my knowledge, sir. Would you like me to make some enquiries?”
    Evelyn shook his head. “No, it’s not important. Thank you, Wilson.”
    The butler withdrew and Evelyn threw himself back against the bed, closing his eyes.
    *
    Breakfast with his mother the next morning was, as expected, something of an ordeal. Apart from acknowledging one another, they said very little. He decided it would be a kindness to put her mind at rest about Ardington.
    “Mama,” he said, helping himself to kedgeree and coffee, “I intend to spend a good deal of my time in town rather than in the country, as father did. I’m assuming you’ll be willing to continue to handle the estate business, as you did while father was alive.”
    There was a visible relaxing of his mother’s shoulders, but she simply nodded. “If that’s what you would like me to do, Evelyn, then of course I will.”
    “Good.” He picked up The Times . There was nothing of much interest in it – just an article about the memorial service, which was written in the tone of adulation he would have expected. “By the way, I believe Wilson has put some of father’s belongings in the attic. I thought I’d look through them, if you have no objection.” Did he imagine it or did his mother’s shoulders grow tense again?
    “No. I have no objection.”
    *
    There were crates and boxes all over the floor of the attic and Evelyn, his hands on his hips, wondered where to begin. It was obvious that some of them hadn’t been disturbed for years, while others had obviously been placed there within the last few days. He casually opened one or two of them. One was stuffed with papers pertaining to the house. He saw some account books and flicked through one of them. It noted a series of payments to someone with the initials JP, which meant little to him.
    In the other crate were clothes he’d never seen his father wear, as well as snuffboxes, cigar cases and reading glasses he’d never seen his father use. It all seemed strangely impersonal. He looked around; two chests that were set apart from the others caught his attention. They were thick with dust, but the dust had recently been disturbed. It was curiosity that made him open them.
    The first one contained nothing but bills, deeds and plans for the house, which went back years. He was about to close the lid again when he realised that there were piles of notebooks underneath, neatly tied together in bundles. He untied them and recognised his father’s precise, neat writing. They were journals. His father had obviously kept one for every year since 1874, the year Evelyn had been born. They finished in 1899, just before his final illness.
    Evelyn opened the journal dated 1874 and flicked through it until he came to the date of August 3 rd . His father had