"He's been buried?"
"According to his wishes. He was laid to rest on Tuesday."
"Where?" She was surprised at the moroseness in her own voice.
"In the churchyard of St. Mary Magdalene."
She looked at Mr. Birmingham. "Do you know where that is?"
He nodded solemnly.
Her gaze returned to Mr. Wycliff. "I'd like to know more about my uncle's death. Had he been ill?"
"Not to my knowledge. He was fit and energetic. Seemed younger than his years, and he never missed a day going to his place of business in Southwark."
Her brows lowered. "Then what killed him?"
He shrugged. "We know not. A stomach complaint. His housekeeper said that he must have suddenly turned ill. All the servants had off Sunday, and when she went into the library on Monday morning, she found his body. He'd . . . excuse my indelicacy, Miss Hastings, but there was evidence that he'd . . . cast up his accounts, so to speak."
Tears sprang to her eyes, but this time—to her relief—she spared the present gentlemen her embarrassing display of wailing. The potent earlier tears had been for her own loss of hope. Now they were for her poor uncle. "How sad that he died alone."
Mr. Wycliff inclined his head. "Indeed."
"Miss Hastings would like to take possession of the house on Curzon Street," Mr. Birmingham said. "Do you have the keys?" That he'd been so quick to change the morose conversation convinced her that he feared she'd launch into another crying fit.
Mr. Wycliff nodded. "Your uncle's housekeeper—she's the one who originally came to tell me of his death—gave them to me yesterday after all the servants left."
"Do you know where I could reach her?" Emma asked. She would like to ask Uncle Simon's uppermost servant about him. Her eyes misted again. Now she would never know him.
"Let me see," the solicitor said, opening a drawer of his desk. "I put her direction somewhere. I knew I'd have to contact her regarding her legacy in your uncle's will. Mr. Hastings made provisions for his upper servants." He took out a piece of paper. "Oh, yes. Mrs. Thornton has taken a position at 151 Camden."
He copied it to another piece of paper and handed it to Emma.
Mr. Birmingham stood. "We'll just collect the keys and be on our way."
The solicitor did not respond. He did not make eye contact with either of them, but sat frozen in his chair for a moment. Finally, he eyed Mr. Birmingham. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
"Why?" Mr. Birmingham asked.
"Because the house does not belong to Miss Hastings."
Chapter 4
"What do you mean?" Adam demanded. "Is Miss Hastings not the man's next of kin?"
"Indeed she is. In fact, as far as the deceased was able to determine, Miss Hastings is his only living relation."
Adam's intense gaze locked with the solicitor's. "Does the law not state that the next of kin is entitled to the deceased's property?"
"In the event the person dies without a will," Mr. Wycliff clarified.
"Miss Hastings was led to believe—by Simon Hastings himself—that she would come into his property when he died." Adam turned to Miss Hastings. "Is that not so?
Her face stricken, she nodded.
The solicitor cleared his throat. "That happened to be the case. Until last week."
"What occurred last week?" Adam demanded.
"Mr. Simon sent me a new will."
Adam glanced at Miss Hastings, whose brows dipped over widened eyes. He hoped to God she didn't start bawling again. He whipped back to Wycliff and spoke harshly. "He sent it to you? Is that not unorthodox? Doesn't a client typically tell you what he wants and have you put it into the proper legal terminology?"
"That's correct. But, as Miss Hastings surely knows, her uncle is . . . was a very busy man. Ceylon Tea was his life, and as co-proprietor of the company, there were always demands on his attention."
"That's why he asked me to come," she said, her voice almost a whimper. "He needed to train to someone take over many of his duties." Her voice hitched. "In fact, he said his half of the business would come to me when . . . " She stopped and drew an unsteady breath. "When he died."
Adam stepped closer to the solicitor, his hands fisted. "Does the business still come to Miss Hastings?"
Mr. Wycliff shook his head morosely.
"I believe Miss Hastings has the right to see this new will."