Josephine's Lists

Chapter 15- The Solicitor

"Sir, you have an unexpected visitor," Mr. Lampers informed Tennyson, whom was alone in the study. "It is a Mr. Thomas Taggert."

Tennyson had difficulty hiding his surprise at the name. "Thank you, Lampers. You may bring him here."

"Shall I call for tea to be brought in?" the butler asked.

"No. His visit will be alarmingly brief, and you will speak his name to no one, am I understood?" Tennyson demanded, with all the authority of his father, yet without the malice.

Mr. Lampers foremost attribute was his silence. It was the reason he had lasted thirty years at Loewick house.

"Certainly, Sir."

A plainly dressed gentleman with bushy gray eyebrows and equally shaggy sideburns trudged into the study. His mouth was set in a firm line as he put down a small stack of leather-wrapped papers in front of Tennyson.

The study door closed, and the whisper-shouting began.

"Have you lost your head Taggert? Coming here...into my father's house? You are fortunate he is not here!" Tennyson scolded, raking his fingers through his hair. "We have a house full of people! For your sake, I hope matters to be imperative."

"Do you honestly think I would come if they were not?" Taggert questioned with his calm and deep voice. "And I knew Horace was away."

"Well, make haste," Tennyson ordered, uneasy with Taggert's surprise visit.

"It is gone," Taggert flatly stated.

"What do you mean, 'it is gone'?" Tennyson demanded, irritation rising in his voice.

"Your grandfather kept it locked in his private study," he began explaining. "With the key still missing, and you emphasizing urgency, I had little choice but to pry open the drawer. And with the exception of a few gold trinkets, I found the drawer empty."

"Where could it be? Surely, you can find it?" Tennyson asked, leaking shreds of hope.

"You tell me," Taggert prodded, folding his arms across his broad chest. "I am a mere solicitor. I can testify to what was written, but I am inclined to think that my testimony will be insufficient, particularly given the amount of resources and property stood to be gained. They will want irrefutable evidence."

"And if we cannot find the irrefutable evidence?" Tennyson asked, standing with two fists pressed atop his father's desk.

"Worst case?" Taggert asked. "Your father gets it all."

Tennyson slammed one of his balled fists against the oak. Any other man would have jumped in his seat. Taggert, however, sat unflinching.

"I refuse to live any longer beneath my father's tyranny! That is precisely why Grandfather had his will altered."

"Do you think Horace suspects you have knowledge of the will?" Taggert inquired, fretting over the possible ramifications.

"No," Tennyson theorized. "If my father knew, he would waste no time threatening me. His ignorance lies in his belief of forced obedience. But, obviously, he has stolen the papers before we could retrieve them. I seem to have underestimated my father's eagerness."

"I think you continue to do so," Taggert commented. "Your grandfather, however, knew exactly what Horace was capable of. Such a pity, bearing a single heir, yet despising him as a man. If not for you, I am certain the old man would have torched it all and given the remainder as charity."

"I have little doubt," Tennyson agreed, feeling wistful, before turning his attention to the parcel Taggert had brought in. "What is the purpose of these papers?"