Widow in White

Prologue

Every chair in the drawing room was filled, but the room was heavy and still with silence. No one dared speak above a whisper. Even the lawyer, reading the will, was barely more audible than the parchment rasping under his hands.

But even in the silence and the stillness there was joy, Laura thought. Joy, hidden under the dabbing of black handkerchiefs to faces. Glee suppressed by a tightening of the lips. And anger too — a quick motion controlled, a narrowing of the eyes.

Laura sat back in her chair near the lawyer's table and watched the room from under the obscurity of her veil. The will held no interest for her; she already knew her husband would have left her nothing. But she was fascinated by the emotions surging beneath the stillness of the room. Joy for those who received. Anger for those who did not. But sorrow? Was there anyone here who felt sorrow? Had anyone here loved her husband?

She knew her father, sitting impassively in the back row, had not. For the past two years, he had refused to lay eyes on Laura and her husband, bearing them both a grudge for their scandalous elopement. Even now, he refused to let his eyes meet hers across the room. She could not understand why he had come. To spit on Mr Maidstone's grave? Or perhaps he thought she would inherit a slice of Mr Maidstone's fortune. If so, he would be disappointed.

She followed her father's gaze to the lawyer and lit thoughtfully upon the man sitting beside him. Mr Percival, her husband's friend and executor, might have liked him, she mused. There was no joy or anger in his face, only a strange uncertainty. She thought it signified guilt. It would only be natural, if he had held Maidstone in any regard, for him to feel something of that emotion. But perhaps, she thought cynically, it was only that he had a stomach ache. His digestion never had been good.

Her gaze drifted further and became cold as it landed on the most prominent chair in the room.

Frederick Maidstone, her brother-in-law, certainly had not loved Mr Maidstone. Whenever the lawyer read out another factory or business now under his control, he would pass his handkerchief over his face to hide his twitching lips. But the will was coming to an end now, tailing rapidly through a number of small bequests to servants or lesser relatives, and Frederick had managed to assume a sombre expression at last.

The lawyer cleared his throat. "...And finally to my wife, Lady Laura Maidstone" —Frederick smiled again and Laura felt a flicker of alarm— "I leave a single shilling..."

Laura stiffened. A sudden hush of murmurs echoed around the room.

"...to be given her immediately upon the reading of the will. Signed, Mr Thomas Maidstone. Witnessed, Mrs Chamber, Mr Chamber."

Laura stared dumbly at the lawyer. She had known Maidstone hated her, but she had never expected public humiliation. Then even in death, her vile husband would find ways to wound her.

The lawyer turned to Mr Percival. "We should fulfil the last bequest now."

Mr Percival looked a little shame-faced, but rose from his chair and came over to stand in front of Laura. His eyes would not quite meet hers, and there was a pink tinge to his normally pallid cheeks.

"Lady Laura." He held out his hand. There was something in it, bright against his black gloves. "Your portion."

A shilling, new-minted and gleaming.

At the back of the room, her father stood up abruptly from his chair. "Is it necessary to do this now?"

"It is as Mr Maidstone wished." Mr Percival hesitated. Laura hoped he wasn't going to say anything stupid, with everybody watching. But he only muttered awkwardly, "My condolences, my lady."