Cat Carlisle Book 2. Terry Thomas Lynn
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being a professional dancer, Edythe would have to be taken in hand.
His mother had not been overjoyed when he showed up at her door, his clothes rumpled, in need of a bath and a hot meal, not a penny to his name. Win Billings had never minced words. ‘Beth’s taken your old room. You can have the bed in the attic.’ He had taken a hot bath, thinking that his mother would see to his clothes. She had begrudgingly found something for him to wear, old clothes of his father’s that – by the smell of mothballs – must have come straight from the attic. A set of clean sheets lay folded on his bed.
‘I’ll not be your servant, Phillip, and neither will the girls. I’ll give you a roof over your head and a place at the table. Nothing more. You’ll need to find a job and support yourself for a change.’
‘What about those?’ He eyed the pile of dirty clothes that he had tossed on the floor.
‘What about them?’ His mother had turned on her heel and walked away.
Weeks later, his mother’s frosty indifference still hadn’t thawed. Phillip looked for work but couldn’t find anything to suit him. Following his natural proclivities, he had started gambling. It didn’t take long for him to accumulate a sizable debt, even though he had no way to pay it. And then, by some fortuitous stroke of circumstance, someone had tampered with his mother’s brakes, had murdered her in cold blood. And all of Phillip Billings’ problems had been solved.
He wondered if Edythe and Beth would stay on now that Win was dead and Phillip would inherit everything. He could pay his cousin a stipend and allow her to serve as his housekeeper. As for Edythe, she would respond to some proper discipline, of that Phillip was certain. If Edythe behaved properly, Phillip would consider paying for her schooling. Provided, of course, that Beth stayed on as housekeeper.
His cousin sat next to him, picking at her cuticle, lost in her own thoughts. When Beth met his gaze, he noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. She really was in desperate straits. He winked as he offered her his handkerchief. She grabbed it, careful not to let his fingers make contact with hers in the process.
The only light emanated from the solitary banker’s lamp that sat on the solicitor’s desk. In the shadows, old law books and stacks of files were arranged in bookcases against the walls. The desk, as big as a ship and made of dark wood, was covered in the clutter that accompanied a busy schedule. The chair behind the desk was empty. Mr Broadbent – the Billings family solicitor – was running late. When they had arrived, the secretary, Miss Hinch, had arranged three chairs in front of the desk – one for Beth, one for her daughter Edythe, and another for her cousin Phillip.
Phillip felt certain Broadbent was deliberately keeping them waiting. He sat in his chair, his hands clasping his knees, confident at his sudden change in circumstances. He moved into his mother’s bedroom twenty-four hours after the police had arrived on the doorstep with the news of the car accident that had killed her. As was his god-given right, he demanded regimented meal times. When he had approached Beth with the proposition she pay him a small fee when she used the kitchen to bake the cakes she sold, she had recoiled. He bit back the irritation. How dare she? She had stepped into his family home and insinuated herself into his mother’s good graces. Once the will was read, Phillip intended on setting things right. Beth and Edythe would be living in his home. As long as they remembered that, they were welcome. If not, other arrangements would need to be made.
Edythe sat with her head bowed, one lock of honey-gold hair coming untucked from her best hat, an expensive felt concoction – purchased on the last trip to London – fashioned in a shade of green that flattered the girl’s complexion. He wondered how much his mother had paid for that hat. Surely Beth didn’t have money for clothes like that.
Beth started to cry, gentle silent sobs.
‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ Edythe put her arm around Beth.
‘I can’t believe she’s dead. Who would want to kill her? Why would someone tamper with her brakes like that? I can see her lying there, mangled, wishing someone would come to save her.’ Beth covered her face with her hands and sobbed like a baby. Phillip looked away, uncomfortable with the overt display of emotion. He had little time for female histrionics. His mother was dead. The police were investigating the murder. He had an inkling that he was a suspect, but he didn’t care. The police couldn’t prove anything. There was nothing else for them to do. Sobbing certainly wouldn’t bring her back. He placed a large hand on Beth’s thigh. She recoiled and flicked it off.
Phillip ignored the slight. ‘I’m sure she didn’t suffer. The impact – it would have been immediate. I’m sure of it. It will be all right, Beth. I’ll help you get through it. I’ll see you’re provided for financially.’
Beth looked up at Phillip’s words, feeling the heat as her pale cheeks flushed. ‘We don’t want your help, Phillip.’
‘I know my mum gave you an allowance, and I know you depend on it. You won’t go without. Neither will Edythe.’
‘And what will we have to do in return? Will you make my mum your maid?’ Edythe said. ‘What about our house? Are you going to make us move?’
Phillip smiled at her. So we’ve come to the truth of the matter. You greedy little bitch. Edythe didn’t care about his mother. She cared about money, and expensive hats from London. He pushed his anger aside. This was not the time.
‘What do you expect me to do?’ Phillip said. ‘I need a place to live, and you know it. That’s my childhood home. And although my mum has let you stay with her all this time, surely you couldn’t expect the arrangement to be permanent.’
Beth didn’t get a chance to respond. David Broadbent hurried into the room, a thick folder under his arm.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting. A bit of an emergency.’ His thatch of blond hair and smattering of freckles over his nose and cheeks gave him a somewhat childish air. But the lines on his forehead and the puffiness under his eyes bore witness to his age and – in all likelihood – the stress of a domineering wife and a headstrong daughter. Phillip had never liked David Broadbent, but he pushed his feelings aside as the solicitor sat at his desk.
‘Would anyone like tea? No? Then let’s get down to business.’ He took an old document, the pages yellowed with age, out of an envelope and set it down on top of the folder. They waited while he took yet another envelope out of the file, this one newer, pristine and white. He took his time opening this envelope.
‘What have you got there?’ Phillip asked.
‘Your mother made a new will,’ he said. ‘She just signed it last month. She wished to change the way her assets were distributed. She had grown very fond of Beth and Edythe, and wanted to make sure they were provided for.’ He pushed his reading glasses up on top of his head and studied Phillip. ‘I’ll read the will and give you all the details. But I should tell you she’s left the bulk of her estate, including the house, to Beth and Edythe.’
Phillip jumped to his feet and slammed his hands on the desk so hard Beth yelped. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would she do that? I’m her son. Did she think I didn’t deserve …’ He let his words trail off.
‘Your mother said she vested you with your own money when you came of age, and – as I said – she wanted to make sure the girls were provided for. She was a forward thinker, your mum, and she didn’t want Beth to marry someone she didn’t love for financial security. She—’
‘Are you saying I get nothing?’
‘Of course not. If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain.’
‘I just don’t believe it,’ Phillip said. ‘My father would be furious if he knew what mother had done. Have you thought of that, Mr Broadbent?’
‘Sit down, Phillip. I will explain once you’ve sat down.’
Edythe, eyes agog, stared at Phillip, whose face was now a mottled shade of red. Out of the corner of Phillip’s eye, he saw Beth open her mouth and close it again. As if she wanted to speak but couldn’t