Sycamore Hill Read Free

present. I blinked and then smiled apologetically.
    “I am sorry for daydreaming.” My statement brought a rather incredulous
expression into Dobson’s stiff features.
    “Do you understand what I’ve been telling you, Miss McFarland?”
    “Yes. I believe I do.” I sounded flat of emotion, and Dobson made
an impatient, disbelieving sound in his throat.
    “You can’t possibly understand, not if you can sit there so calmly!
My dear young woman, the Haversalls have systematically stripped you of your
inheritance. I don’t have the exact sum here with me, but I know it was no
small fortune, and well beyond what the Haversall estate contains now. They
used your inheritance to buy these expensive things.” He waved his hand about
the exquisite room. ‘The Dresden figurines, the rich carpets, the original oil
paintings. They went to Europe every year, while they left you here to manage
the household. They had dinner parties. They went to concerts, plays, and
charity banquets, where they gave away your money. Marcella Haversall spent a
fortune on her gowns. And you....” He stopped, looking disparagingly down at my
mauve gown. He flushed slightly and shook his head.
    “And what did they do for you, Miss McFarland? They did take you
in. They did feed you and clothe you and give you an education.” His tone was
derisive, and then it rose again in indignation. “But you were entitled to the
most expensive gowns, the finest Paris could offer. You were entitled to the
most exclusive schools, the Grand Tour. Anything. Everything. Instead, Charles
Haversall robbed you of everything but a paltry sum. He and his wife treated
you as a penniless waif they took in through the goodness of their cold-blooded
hearts. They trained you to serve them like some brainless lackey. And now they
leave you without even a stipend in their will, without a mere mention, almost
destitute. When I think of their deception, it utterly appalls me. And yet you
sit there.” He looked at me, his face lined and white. “Don’t you understand?
All this should, by rights, belong to you. But Charles Haversall left his
entire estate to an indifferent and insensitive nephew in Maine.”
    I remembered once Marcella had suggested that if I wanted to
leave, Charles could arrange for me to work at the factory. Even now, the
thought made me shudder. The people there were heavily overworked and grossly
underpaid. I had once overheard Roberta talking to one of the maids about a
child who had gotten caught in the machines. Nothing had stopped, and the
child’s broken body had been pulled free. He had died several days later. The
fault had been the lack of safety precautions, but even the child’s death had
not altered anything. Everything remained as it was. From Roberta’s tone, I
knew that it had not been the first time something of that sort had happened.
Yet, Charles Haversall always maintained that there was not enough money to
improve conditions, and if the workers did not like it, they could go elsewhere
for work. The workers in Haversall’s factory were as bound there as the slaves
had been before the war.
    I had always sympathized with the workers. I had much in common
with them. My life depended on Charles Haversall, and though I longed to be free
and independent, each year seemed to make me less so. I had no money and
nowhere to go. And I knew the sordid truth. If I had known it years ago, would
it have changed anything? Bradford Dobson said that Charles Haversall had
carried out the letter of the will. How could I have fought him?
    And what about now?
    The numbness was wearing off. I began to feel angry, not so much
at the Haversalls as at myself. All the years I had allowed myself to be used,
when I might have broken away and established my own life. I had hung back from
gratitude and loyalty to the Haversalls. Or was that really the truth? Wasn’t
it more the truth that I had been afraid to leave my dull but secure existence
here in this old