Of Moths and Butterflies Read Free Page A

Watts was most particular, ma’am. He wishes first to speak with Miss Imogen before he will see anyone else.”
    Muriel slowly lowered herself back into her chair, watching with narrowed eyes as Imogen followed Mary out.
    *   *   *
    Mr. Watts stood as Imogen entered..
    “You’ve had a chance to examine the document I gave you?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Have you any questions?”
    She stared at him in silence for a moment or two, uncertain how or where to begin.
    “I’m at your service, Miss Everard.”
    Imogen, unable to find the words, abandoned her attempt to speak.
    “It will be best, I think, to be open,” he said.
    Of course he was right. If anyone could help her, it was he. “Very well, sir,” she began with sudden but deliberate determination, though the colour rose high on her face. “I imagine you are familiar with my circumstances?”
    Mr. Watts nodded solemnly.
    “And you know something of the nature of my life here?”
    He nodded again, but with a more condoling air this time.
    “It is my fault what happened. I—”
    “No one blames you. He didn’t blame you.”
    Imogen sat back, lost, for the moment, for words. “Are they quite in stone, these provisions?” she asked when she had at last recovered her ability to think.
    “Quite.”
    “There are no conditions?”
    “Not outside the usual kind.”
    “I’m not of age,” she reminded him.
    “It will be held in trust until you are.”
    “And I am to live with my aunt?”
    “You’ve other choices to consider, as well, do not forget.”
    “Such as?”
    “Your chances are very good, Miss Everard. Your position is a fortunate one. You have much to recommend you. If you were to marry… Of course your husband would have control over the money and all of your earnings, but if you were to marry well...”
    “Mr. Watts,” Imogen protested. “Would you want a son of yours to marry someone in my situation? Money aside, I think you know what I mean.”
    His answer was given in a blank stare.
    “I don’t approve of these provisions, sir. It doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem decent.”
    “It is not for me to judge the soundness of my clients’ decisions, only for me to see that they are carried out with exactness.”
    “Did my uncle have a reason for disinheriting my aunts?”
    “He did what he thought best under the circumstances. You’ve been left in a precarious position. The money will make up for—”
    “They will contest.”
    Mr. Watts, cut short, sighed. “It’s possible, of course.”
    “Is it possible to refuse it?”
    He offered her a curious look.
    “I would much rather make my own way. You will think me foolish, I know, but this money… It’s no blessing to me. I cannot see it as such. You cannot persuade me to do it.”
    Again Mr. Watts had no answer to give.
    “Is it not possible to make some amendment, to give it to them as though it were never meant to be mine?”
    “No. The will must be read as it has been written.”
    “Could I give it to them myself, then?”
    “You can do whatever you wish once you turn twenty-one.”
    Her voice was strained as she spoke. “Until then I am, by law, by my uncle’s act of depraved charity, condemned to the tyranny of those who would seek to gain by it themselves.”
    “Your position is regrettable, Miss Everard. But I assure you that with a fortune to your name your chances are much better than they ever could be without it.”
    “So there is nothing you can do to help me?”
    “I have advised you to the utmost of my ability.”
    Imogen blinked, unable to answer more. So that was that, it seemed. She had inherited her uncle’s fortune. She might have been grateful that she was no longer under his power. Instead, he had transferred that privilege to his sisters. That was their inheritance.
    She vaguely heard his goodbye through the cacophony of her own thoughts. The clocks had been stopped. There was no noise at all save on the streets outside; the carriages