The young man left, leaving Edgar to wait without even an offer of tea. He drummed his fingers on the highly polished mahogany table. If this was the way they planned to treat him, he’d certainly change solicitors. He was a wealthy man now, and had no reason to tolerate such Turkish treatment.
It’d been almost a year since his father had died. Of course, the old man had one foot in the grave for years. It took almost three months for him to return after he’d sold everything he owned in the West Indies. What a relief to be back in England. Finally, he was a gentleman of substance.
The door opened without even a knock warning him. That settled the matter. Chiswick and Chiswick would receive no more of his business.
“Mr. Edgar Molton?” a well-dressed man asked with a confused expression.
He didn’t offer his hand, but raised a haughty brow. “Mr. Chiswick, I presume. Shall we get this over with?”
Chiswick hurried forward and offered Edgar a seat. “Yes, of course, I have the documents for your signature right here. I am sorry to have kept you waiting. It’s been several months, and I was unaware you would visit us to-day.”
“Your letter took some time to reach me, and I had to wrap up my affairs in the West Indies before departing for England.”
The lawyer positioned the documents, just so, on the table, and the clerk came in with an inkstand and pen. Once everything was in order, Chiswick glanced up, adjusting his spectacles. “Indeed. I am a little surprised you made the trip. We would have been happy to have organized the banking arrangements.”
Edgar frowned. The man was an idiot. Why his father had kept the firm on, he didn’t understand. “I do not know how you would expect me to manage the estate from the West Indies.”
“Estate?” The lawyer’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “Dear me. This is not good at all. It appears, sir, you did not receive my first letter to you. Allow me a few moments. I shall return immediately.” Mr. Chiswick left the room. The clerk brought in a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. A few minutes later, Chiswick returned. “This is a copy of your late father’s will. You are aware that none of the estate was entailed?”
Edgar shoved back the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, of course, but I am the last male child. My father was a wealthy man.”
“Yes, yes, he was.” The lawyer adjusted his spectacles again. “However, he divided his property among his heirs. Your share is an allowance of one thousand pounds per annum.”
“One thousand pounds?” There must be some mistake. “How the devil am I supposed to live on that? What happened to the rest of it?”
Chiswick motioned to the document on the table. “If you would like to read the will?”
Edgar seized the papers. His hand trembled as he perused the document. He’d received nothing under the will except for the income from certain investments, and he was not allowed to touch the principal. If he died without issue, the income would go back into the estate to be reallotted equally. The rest of the old man’s estate was divided evenly among his other heirs. His sisters and their brats got everything. To be fair, that wasn’t precisely true. His dead sister’s oldest daughter was to receive an income of ten thousand pounds per year to be kept in a trust for her until she married or turned thirty as long as she kept the children together.
Edgar tried to keep a scowl from his face. Leave it to that damned old man to make his life as miserable as he could. He’d thought to have received most of the estate and had been living on the expectancy for months. His debts were mounting, and now, he had almost nothing. He had to find a way to get his hands on some of that money.
Chiswick’s voice cut into his musings. “Mr. Molton, you have the quarterly income for the past nine months due you, and the next quarter day is coming up soon. If you would like, I shall arrange to have it transferred to your account as well as make the arrangements for the quarterly transfers.”
At least he’d be able to meet his more pressing obligations. “I’ll need some flimsies now. You may open me an account at Hoare’s. I take it the family still banks there?”
“Yes, sir, they do.”
“Good. I’ll send my direction.” He turned to leave and waited for Mr. Chiswick to open the door. Edgar may not have any money, but he’d be damned if he let that black box treat him like he was nobody.
Mr. Chiswick opened the door then disappeared down the corridor. Edgar donned his hat. He was pleased to see the roll of soft in Chiswick’s hands when he returned.
“Here you are, Mr. Molton. This money represents the amount due you for the past three quarters.”
Edgar took the money and his coat and cane, then left.One thousand pounds a year.What the hell happened to the town house on Half-Moon Street? The thought of asking his sister to advance him some funds briefly crossed his mind, but that miser of a husband she married would queer him. Maybe he could gammon his niece, Grace. She wasn’t married. Poor girl, she’d probably be happy to have her uncle help her with all the brats. Better check out the lay of the land first. He hadn’t seen the girl since she was a child. She might be as much of a bitch as her mother had been.
He was on his way back to the small room he’d taken at a boardinghouse when he felt a tug at the pocket of his greatcoat.
Grabbing a small hand, he looked down to see a small boy dressed in a dirty shirt and breeches. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The lad flushed and tried to pull out of his grip. “I didn’t mean nothin’, sir. An accident it t’were.”
“An accident, eh?”
“Yes, sir.” The lad nodded several times.
Molton would bet this boy would do a lot for the little bit he’d pay him. “How’d you like to earn a yellow George instead of stealing it?”
“Wha’d I’d haveta do?” the lad asked suspiciously.
