The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (7 page)

Chapter 6

T
he moment had arrived, and Celia steeled herself to face it. Joseph was already seated at the parlour room table with Simon Ayres, and she felt his cold stare before she’d even sat down with her aunt. The reading of her father’s will was about to take place, and as she looked across the table at her husband, she decided that the question of Mrs Baxter’s future would have to wait. For now, she would have to concentrate on her own.

Simon Ayres was a man of high moral standing and had a reputation for being scrupulous and diligent in his work. Celia had known him all her life, and she was sure that his appearance hadn’t changed since she was a girl. He was short in stature, with a potbelly that hung over his trousers. He always wore his trousers a size too big for him, and they were accompanied with braces of various colours, depending on what day of the week it was. His mop of white hair was in startling contrast to his black whiskers, which were thick and curly at the ends, but they didn’t hide his generous smile or his infectious laughter. He could never be called a handsome man, but he was the kindest, gentlest man she’d ever known, and she trusted him implicitly.

As Celia watched Simon Ayres shuffle through his papers at the top end of the table she could only surmise that this would be a task he hadn’t been looking forward to. She was sure that it would be one of the saddest duties he’d ever have to perform and she pitied him. He looked up and Celia inadvertently sucked in her breath. The atmosphere was tense, and she suspected that nothing was going to be straightforward today. She could smell Joseph’s greed and briefly looked in his direction before returning her attention to Simon Ayres. He checked the papers in front of him once more and then he spoke.

“Well,” Simon Ayres said to the others, “this is a sad day for all of us, so let’s get it over with, shall we?”

Celia nodded in agreement, She felt resurrected somewhat. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity, she decided. For once in her life, she would be strong. She would now know if Joseph’s words bore any truth, and if they did, she would fight with every fibre of her being to keep Merrill Farm true to her father’s memory. Joseph would not take her heritage or destroy her father’s life’s work.

Simon Ayres interrupted her thoughts with a cough that got everyone’s attention.

“This is the last will and testament of Peter George Merrill, who, on signing this document, was of sound mind and body. George Cromwell, of Lewisham, South East London, and myself, Simon Ayres, of Mayfair, London, witnessed this testament in the presence of Peter George Merrill on the fourteenth of October in this present year, nineteen twelve. I will now read the will…

“‘I, Peter George Merrill, of sound mind and body, do bequeath to my daughter, Celia Lillian Merrill, the sum of thirty thousand pounds, to be realised on her twentieth birthday… ‘“

With this said, Simon Ayres paused, took off his glasses, and directed his eyes towards Celia. “Celia, your father nominated me as the executor of his will; therefore, I shall, with your permission, keep these funds in trust for you in the interim period.”

Celia nodded her head.

“Now moving on…

“‘To my dear wife’s sister, Miss Marie Osborne, I leave my gold pocket watch, a gift from her to me on my wedding day. To Mrs Mavis Baxter of Goudhurst, I bequeath the sum of five hundred pounds for her faithful service to my family. And finally, to my son-in-law, Joseph Dobbs, I leave the Merrill Farm estate, in its entirety, in his capable hands.’”

Simon read the farm’s inventory aloud and finished by saying, “‘And the house and all other farm equipment listed in this document.’”

The mood at the table deepened. Celia stared straight ahead, concentrating on the portrait of her mother that hung on the wall. Her head was now screaming with pain, and she instinctively touched the lump on her scalp. She tried to sort out the jumbled thoughts, but the pain in her head was becoming so severe that she thought she would faint right there at the table. Her father’s face danced in her mind’s eye, and at that moment, she hated him just as much as she hated Joseph. She had lost everything. She wanted to die right there and then. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She wanted to kill Joseph and throw his corpse to the pigs. Her father had betrayed her. He had let her down in the most callous and thoughtless way. Joseph had told the truth; she would never be free of him now. She could never tell him to leave. The farm was his!

“Well, this calls for a drink,” Joseph said, rising to his feet. “That’s if there’s nothing else, Mr Ayres.”

Simon looked at Celia and Marie and cleared his throat, making it clear that this was the part he had been dreading. “Yes, actually, Joseph, there is more, much more. Would you sit back down, please? I haven’t finished.”

Joseph sat down again with the smile still planted on his face, hiding his impatience. “You see, Joseph,” Simon said, “there are some conditions attached to this request. It is a request. You do understand that?”

Joseph lost his smile. “Not really,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I will go through it slowly for you. The first condition is that should you divorce Celia, you will have no further claim on the farm and you will be asked to leave the estate immediately. In this case, Celia will become the trustee in your place. Also, you will not be allowed to sell the farm. It must be passed on to your firstborn when he or she reaches the age of eighteen, or once again, to your wife, should you meet a premature death, have no children, or divorce. All accounts must be monitored by my office, and your personal wealth must be independently managed by yourself and should not involve funds pertaining to Merrill Farm.”

“What do you mean? What personal wealth are you talking about?” Joseph asked, Clearly becoming alarmed at all the legalities being thrown at him.

“It’s very simple, Joseph. Should you require a loan from the bank or be in debt in any way, such loans or debts will not be taken against or incurred by the Merrill Farm estate.”

Joseph slumped into the chair, and disbelief crossed his face. Simon Ayres poured himself a glass of water, demonstrating that there was more to come. Joseph stared stupidly around the table, first at Celia, who refused to look at him, and then at Marie.

“What the hell does all this mean?” he demanded again. “What are you gibbering on about: my wealth independent from the farm, divorce, and children? Surely if the farm is mine, and you did say it was mine, then I should be able to do anything I bloody well want with it—run it as I see fit or even sell it if I want to. Not that I’d ever do that, mind you, but the farm is mine now, isn’t it, Mr Ayres?”

“No, Joseph, it is not,” Simon said at length. “I don’t think you have understood the implications of the request set down in the will. You see, you will never own Merrill Farm. It was never the intention of the late Peter Merrill to leave it to you; you have merely been nominated as a trustee of his estate. The deeds will remain in trust until, as was stated, your first male child reaches eighteen years of age… if he has siblings he would be obliged under the terms of the will to provide for them, of course. If you divorce your wife, or you die, the deeds would then be passed to Celia. If you and Celia do not produce an heir, male or female, and if both of you pass away, the estate will be declared as, an open sale at auction and the proceeds will go to the local charities specified in this will and testament… Do you want me to go over it all again?”

At first, Joseph could only shake his head, but as the ramifications became clearer, his anger grew. “The fucking double-crossing dirty bastard,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Celia and Marie kept their eyes averted, both of them staring at their hands, which lay on their laps in tight fists.

“I’m sorry, Joseph?” Simon Ayres said as a question. “I didn’t quite catch that. Did you want to ask me something else?”

“No, there’s nothing else I want to ask you. Everything is fine. It’s all very clear. Now, are we done?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I know it’s been a long day, and I’m sure that you and Celia must want to be alone. But if I could detain you for a few minutes more… ?”

“What now? Are you going to tell me how to run the farm? How many cows I can buy and sell. Maybe you’re a bloody expert in farming as well as the law, eh?”

Simon Ayres tried rather unsuccessfully to hide his disdain. “No, I’m not an expert in farming methods,” he said softly. “But as you so rightly said, I am when it comes to the law. You have some documents to sign before this becomes legally binding, and I must reiterate that you need to adhere to the stipulations. I have to ask you therefore to sign your acknowledgement and acceptance of the conditions set down in this document; otherwise, the trusteeship will be invalid. It’s just a formality, you understand.”

Celia watched Joseph grab the pen from Simon Ayres. Joseph was clearly embarrassed by his outburst. His mask had been peeled off for just a moment, but in that moment, his true character had been revealed. He had lost control and was desperately trying to get it back. She wondered if the others had noticed? He had tricked her for months but she had been besotted by him. She had seen a man in love before they wed. He was either a great actor or love truly had been blind, in her case.

As though reading Celia’s thoughts, Joseph began to gush after signing the first document. “I was very fond of Peter, you know. He was like a father to me. I just got a bit mixed up, that’s all. I’m upset like everyone else. Please forgive me, Mr Ayres,” he said whilst glancing slyly at Celia and Marie.

Marie Osborne and Mr Ayres left shortly after a cold dinner of leftovers, promising to come back the following weekend. Celia served Joseph a glass of wine, but no words were spoken, no looks exchanged. Afterwards, Joseph went to the pub, just as he had every night since her father’s death, leaving Celia to wash the dishes and mull over the events of the day. She could still remember every detail and every word at the will reading and was, until now, visibly shaken at the outcome. So Joseph didn’t own the farm as he had boasted he would the night her father died, and he could never sell it; that was one blessing, she thought. But whether her husband owned the farm or not, the options her father had put in front of her were, to all intent and purposes, no options at all. Joseph would never divorce her, and she couldn’t divorce him without all sorts of legal problems arising. She doubted she’d ever have a child by him; she would kill herself rather than have him touch her again. She began to shudder, and her head thumped like a hammer at the very thought of it.

She took a sip of water and admitted that the outcome of the will had not been beneficial to her situation at all, for she now had the added worry that Joseph might beat her with impunity. She had no Mrs Baxter anymore… and therefore no protection whatsoever. She covered her face with her hands and then led them to her aching skull. She had brought this on herself, but her path was clear and her determination was strong and solid. She would destroy Joseph, prove that he was the person responsible for ending her father’s life, and then she’d watch him hang. Nothing else mattered now.

Joseph returned just as Celia was about to go to bed. As she turned her head at the sound of his footsteps, she waited for the verbal abuse that she had come to expect from him. Instead, he walked past her and mumbled her name.

Celia followed him into the parlour: The small matter of Mrs Baxter’s dismissal had to be addressed. They faced each other at opposite ends of the table like two enemy commanders negotiating a truce. Celia took a deep breath and began.

“Joseph…”

“Celia, if you’re going to mention Mrs Baxter, don’t bother. She’s not coming back.”

“But why not? I don’t understand. Why can’t she come back?”

“Because we don’t need her, that’s why not. There’re only the two of us now, and I’m not going to treat you like a fucking princess the way your father did. You’ve been spoiled rotten, but there will be no more of that. You’re a farmer’s wife now, so it’s high time you learned how to be one.”

“Joseph, please listen!”

“No, I won’t listen. She’s not coming back, and that’s the end of it! The old cow gets on my nerves. She a bossy old bag, a gossip, and a bad influence on you. I don’t want you picking up her habits, and I don’t want her running round the village telling folk about what we do in the privacy of our own home. You’ll not ask me again, right?”

Celia nodded but said nothing.

“Good, then that’s settled. You’ll do the cooking and cleaning yourself. You will wash my clothes and have the fire lit for me when I come home, and there will be no complaining about it, because I’m not going to work my arse off just so you can laze about all day. And another thing: there’s nothing I hate more than seeing your face when I’m eating my dinner so stay out of my way. Just give me my food and leave me in peace. Is that clear, or are you so thick that you want me to go over it all again?”

Celia shook her head without making a sound, knowing that he wouldn’t notice even if she objected to his demands.

Joseph continued. “I’ll be moving into your father’s rooms. I don’t fancy you, and I don’t want you lying next to me. I’ll find what I want elsewhere. I’ll also come and go as I please, so don’t ever ask me where I’ve been or where I’m going. And, Celia, apart from what I give you, you’ll not ask me about anything to do with money. I run this estate, remember, not you.”

“Yes, Joseph.”

“And forget about what happened between us the night your father died—I have. You pushed me too far; you know you did. You asked for it and you got it, so there’s no need to talk about it again. It’s over. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“No, Joseph.”

“No, thought not. You’re stupid but not that stupid. At least you understand that as my wife, you do not under any circumstances talk to anyone about what happens in this house. What goes on here stays here. Our marriage is a private affair, nobody’s business but our own. You just remember those vows you took: love, honour, and obey, especially obey.”