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manner on this occasion forewarned me. My grandfather had suffered a fatal stroke and I must return home at once.
     

I N P A L E B A T T A L I O N S
    23
    Very early next morning, my housemistress drove me to Wrexham and put me aboard the express for London. She was, I think, rather puzzled by my evident composure, but I could not help that. My grandfather had never disclosed enough of himself for me to mourn him in any heartfelt sense. Yet my composure was in part a device. I was determined to steel myself against whatever changes would now follow, determined to deprive Olivia of the satisfaction of knowing that I feared for my future at her hands.
    It was as well that I had prepared myself, because, at Meongate, I found Sidney Payne already in residence. Fergus told me that he was certain Payne’s perpetual presence had hastened his master’s death. We were united in hatred of an interloper who threatened us both. Yet we were also helpless. The Powerstock title had died with my grandfather, and nobility, literally as well as metaphorically, left Meongate with his funeral cortège.
    After the burial, Mayhew, the family solicitor, accompanied us back to the house for the reading of the will. A sleek, spare man of few words, he declined an offer of sherry and read the document at a swift, expressionless clip. Olivia and I comprised his audience, though Olivia seemed scarcely to be listening as she strolled around behind him. I, on the other hand, listened intently to learn what provision my grandfather had made for me. I had already reasoned that whatever he’d left me would be placed in trust until I came of age. I would, therefore, have to wait six years for independence from Olivia. It would be unpleasant, I knew, but not unbearable.
    Mayhew concluded his preamble. Olivia moved slowly behind his chair. “ ‘I devise all my real estate and I bequeath all my personal estate after payment of my just debts, funeral and testamen-tary expenses to my wife, Olivia, and I appoint her sole executrix of this my will.’ ” There was nothing else, no mention of me, no provision of any kind for his only grandchild.
    “ ‘Lastly I revoke all former wills in testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand this eighth day of May One Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventeen. Signed: Powerstock.’ ”
    I was speechless. How could he have ignored his granddaughter? He had made the will when I was two months old.
    Mayhew began to gather his papers. At last, I found my voice. “I don’t understand.”
     
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R O B E R T G O D D A R D
    Mayhew looked at me. “Don’t understand what, young lady?”
    “You didn’t read out my name.”
    “It was not there to be read.”
    “But . . . I’m his granddaughter.”
    Olivia stopped in her tracks and looked towards me. She was by the window now, with the light behind her, so I could not see the expression on her face as she spoke. “Edward has entrusted your welfare to me, Leonora.”
    There was nothing more to be said in her presence. I rose and left the room. I went into the garden, paced the lawn and tried to marshal my thoughts. I was Lord Powerstock’s only blood relative, the only member of his family left, yet—nothing! Meongate, my home, my family’s home, was mine, was theirs, no more. I looked towards the window from which he had so often watched me, struggled to understand why he should have done such a thing. Is that what he would one day have told me, had he lived? I would never know.
    Turning back towards the house, I saw Mayhew climbing into his car. I ran across to him, holding up my hand to attract his attention.
    “Mr. Mayhew!”
    “Yes, young lady?” His expression gave me little confidence.
    “Can you tell me . . . why my grandfather ignored me in his will?”
    “I cannot.”
    “But . . . it isn’t right.”
    “I witnessed the document myself. Lord Powerstock’s intentions were unmistakable.”
    “Aren’t I entitled to anything?”
    He thought for a moment