Silas scoffed, haughty and cold. “This house will be no place for a child in the coming days. There will be an investigation.”
“An investigation?” Alarm pricked. “I thought the coroner said he believed it to be apoplexy.”
“Of course, it appears to be, but we all know Roland had enemies, and there’s no shortage of poisons whose effects appear to be natural. None of us should rest easily until we have more details of exactly what has transpired.”
The thought of such activity sickened her. No, this would be no place for Henry in the coming days. But neither was Gatham House.
She glanced around at the men, perceiving anew the importance of measuring her reactions and behavior with the utmost discernment. Even her facial expressions would be scrutinized by those searching for signs of weakness. The very last thing she needed was a roomful of influential men thinking her hysterical.
Shrewdness was essential.
Silas had always been able to control Roland.
He would not control her.
Since the day they married, Roland had overseen and dictated every aspect of her life. His death, however unexpected and shocking, revived Charlotte’s autonomy. Never again would she allow any man such domination over her. And thanks to the specifics of her dowry, she was now a woman of property—her childhood home of Hollythorne House was to return to her in the event of her husband’s death. She might not have a great deal of money, but now she had a small opportunity to stand her ground.
Silas continued. “I’ve arranged for guards to patrol outside—Walstead’s Watchmen.”
Charlotte frowned. “Whatever for?”
“Word of Roland’s death had spread, and there’s already chatter that the workers of Prior Mill will riot or attempt some sort of unrest during this transition. I don’t know details yet, but these things can get out of hand quickly. It’s but another reason Henry will be safer at Gatham, so get him ready.”
Silas did not wait for a response before he stepped away, leaving her alone with his words’ menacing echo.
Now, as she watched the men meander around her, she knew what she needed to do. For herself. For Henry. For both of their futures.
Hollythorne House.
Feeling oddly—and cautiously—motivated, she raised to her toes to see the room. She’d glimpsed Mr. Sires, Roland’s solicitor, a while ago, and now he was the only man who could answer her questions.
Of all the men who had worked with Roland, Mr. Sires was the only one with whom she’d experienced any solidarity. He’d been among the first people she’d met when arriving in Leeds. What was more, he’d borne witness to one of Roland’s violent episodes, and as a result, he’d always taken care to inquire after her. There was nothing he could do about Roland’s behavior toward her, of course, but just the fact that someone noticed bound them in an implicit way.
She left Roland’s study in search of Mr. Sires, then found him in the corridor, engaged in conversation. When she drew nearer, the group of men turned, and their conversation fell quiet. They bowed in her direction.
She would not be timid. “Mr. Sires. A moment, please.”
He dismissed himself from the others before extending his gloved hand toward her.
She gave him her hand, and he bowed over it.
Mr. Timothy Sires was a tall, sinewy man, whose wire-rimmed glasses seemed too large for his narrow face and whose graying hair made him appear much older than she suspected he was.
“My dear Mrs. Prior, may I convey my deepest sympathies. How horrible it must have been for you to make such an appalling discovery.”
Her tension eased at the directness of his attention. There were very few people she could trust. Roland permitted her no female friendships, and no man would dare speak with her for fear of angering her husband, but as a trusted adviser, Mr. Sires was different.
She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “It was horrifying, to be sure. I do not wish to be indelicate, but in light of the circumstances, I feel it is in Henry’s and my best interest to fully understand the state of my situation as soon as possible.”
He nodded his agreement, then matched his tone to her somber one. “I daresay there will be no surprises for you. Henry will inherit Roland’s entire estate when he comes of age—from his properties to his holdings in the business. Current assets, such as this house, will be sold on a case-by-case basis, and the money placed in a trust for Henry. But as for you, things are murkier. As Henry’s mother you are now his sole guardian. Roland provided you an annual sum of one thousand pounds until such time that you marry again. Based on his worth and the life you are accustomed to, it is a small sum, but you’ll not be a pauper. I will distribute your annual stipend personally and be involved in the administration of the estate and the trust, but Roland specified that Silas Prior should be the executor of his estate and, as such, be involved in all instances and oversee the distribution of Henry’s inheritance.”
“So Silas will determine how Henry’s money is utilized until Henry comes of age?”
“Precisely. I know that sounds dire, but consider yourself fortunate, for he’d spoken of naming Silas Henry’s guardian in the event of his death. Fortunately I was able to convince him otherwise, but no doubt that is the arrangement Silas will be expecting.”
The meaning of the words sank in, like teeth clamping into a bite. Freedom from the Prior grip would have been difficult to obtain even under the best of scenarios, but this stipulation made it impossible.
With his rheumy eyes fixed on her, Mr. Sires continued. “As the man who holds the purse strings, Silas Prior will have an active voice in young Henry’s rearing. As guardian you will receive a specified sum for his general upbringing, but any purchases beyond that, including fees associated with his education, will require Mr. Prior’s explicit approval. You, however, will of course retain possession of your belongings, clothing, and other personal items and the sort, but any items you possess that were part of the estate before your marriage must remain within Wolden House.”
Charlotte swallowed hard, determined to display no emotion. “And Hollythorne House?”
“Ah yes. Hollythorne House and its holdings belong to you, per the stipulations your father included in your dowry. As you know, it states that if your husband precedes you in death, the rights revert to you unless you have a child who has reached the age of majority. Since that has not happened, the ownership of it remains in your hands. Furthermore, Hollythorne House cannot be sold for two generations, unless in a bankruptcy situation.”
The vision of the antiquated stone home on the rough, open moorland flashed in her mind, both sharp with familiarity and fuzzy from years of absence.
He leaned forward, removed his glasses, and cast a glance around to ensure privacy before he pinned his close-set eyes on her. “You’ve not asked for my advice, but I’m compelled to give it to you. I anticipate that the next several weeks will be difficult. A sudden death like this is bound to stir anxiety and sow seeds of doubt, even in the most general sense, let alone when a man of your husband’s standing is involved. Many will attempt to take advantage. I’ve already heard reports that several men have left their positions in the mill. That being said, my advice to you, my dear Mrs. Prior, is to leave Leeds. Take Henry. Go to Hollythorne House and establish your household immediately, before Mr. Prior can interfere.”