The Journey Home. Fiona Hood-Stewart

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      “I’m going upstairs,” she announced, not bothering to conceal her dislike.

      “Temper, temper,” Serena murmured as India prepared to leave. She turned to Maxi, laughing. “India actually thinks Mummy might have left her Dunbar,” she exclaimed with an amused smirk as he moved over to the table and sat down.

      At least he had the grace to appear uncomfortable, India noted. But she didn’t like the ease with which he settled at the table, looking for all the world as though he owned the place.

      “Don’t be late for the reading of the will,” Serena threw at her. “A mere formality I’m sure, but one that has to be gone through. Then we’ll know exactly how things stand, won’t we, India dear?”

      “Yes, we shall,” India replied curtly, staring Serena straight in the eye. “But let me make one thing perfectly clear. He’s not to be here for the reading of the will. This is a family affair.”

      “How dare you speak like that to poor Maxi, when he was so kind to Mummy.” Serena’s voice rose angrily.

      “Hmm. Tell me, Serena, why was Mummy so anxious for me to come here? Why did she write to me, requesting I come in person?”

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about, India. But I’ll have whoever I want in this house.”

      “Not until we know whose house it is.” She turned and faced Maxi, who stared at her with undisguised disdain. “I think you’ve both been trying to pressure Mummy to sell Dunbar, and that’s why she was so upset.”

      Serena rose abruptly, and the two women faced each other. “Don’t you dare speak to me or any of my friends like that. Pressuring Mummy indeed.” Serena leaned forward, blond strands falling wildly about her face. “You say one more word and—”

      “I’ve taken about as much rudeness from you as I’m prepared to stand, Serena,” India replied, knowing she was losing her temper, but beyond caring. “I won’t have you insulting Mummy’s memory on the day of her funeral with your abominable behavior. At least you could pretend you care.”

      “How dare you? How dare you speak to me in that tone?” Serena’s voice rose to an even higher pitch.

      “I should have spoken to you like this years ago, but I never did because I didn’t want to upset Mummy, and I had the misbegotten idea that someday we might actually get on together.”

      Serena cast India an angry look and returned to her seat at the head of the table.

      “Serena, darling, calm down, my dear.” Maxi walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder.

      “I’m sure you understand that this is a family affair and that you have no business here. It’s nothing personal,” India said, addressing him as calmly as she could.

      “He’s not leaving. I have every right to have him here. We’re getting married, after all. At least I can hold on to a man.”

      “You’re wasting your time, Serena. I refuse to rise to your bait.” India turned on her heel and walked from the room, closing the door loudly behind her.

      She sighed with relief, unclenching her fists, and headed quickly up the stairs and along the passage to her bedroom. There she lay down on the bed, determined to calm down before the reading of the will, careful not to wrinkle her clothes. The Chanel suit was special, a gift from Lady Elspeth a few years back when money had been no object. India smiled. Her mother had always been so chic, she’d want her to look her best today.

      She thought suddenly of Jack and what Serena had said, wondering if he had slept with her. And what did it matter if he had? It was really none of her business. Today she had vital issues to deal with, issues which could change her life, and the lives of those who had served her family so faithfully. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, conscious that all she could do was wait and prepare to deal with the worst.

      Mr. Ramsey, the gray-suited family solicitor, put on his tortoiseshell glasses and addressed the room at large.

      India sat on the sofa next to her cousin Kathleen, who, over the past few years, had been Lady Elspeth’s faithful companion. At forty-seven, Kathleen was plump and cheerful, her rosy cheeks wide and round below a pair of twinkling hazel eyes. Her hair was short, nondescript and graying, and the faded tweed skirt and jacket she wore were as threadbare as the sofa they were sitting on. Mrs. Walker sat on India’s left, sniffing now and then into a large handkerchief. Ian, India’s second cousin, sat opposite, his thin frame stiff, his dim blue eyes glancing disapprovingly at Serena, who sat next to him looking bored with the whole proceeding. She obviously considered this a triviality in the bigger scheme of her taking possession of Dunbar. Thankfully, there was no sign of Maxi.

      When the family arrived, Kathleen had assumed the role of hostess, warmly welcoming Mr. Ramsey and suggesting suitable seating arrangements. She’d asked Mrs. Walker to bring out some of her famous scones, and then busily set about pouring tea for everyone. Serena had sulked in the corner of the sofa, pretending India didn’t exist. Not that it mattered, she reflected impatiently. After the morning’s scene, she hardly wanted to acknowledge the relationship herself.

      After the tea and scones had been consumed, a hush fell over the room as the solicitor cleared his throat.

      “We are assembled here today for the reading of the last will and testament of Lady Elspeth Caroline Moncrieff, formerly Hamilton, nee Dunbar.” Mr. Ramsey’s voice droned on for several minutes as he read through the legal formalities.

      Some special bequests were made to Kathleen and Ian, and also to the old family retainers, Mrs. Walker and old Tompson.

      India wondered if Mrs. Walker would want to stay on now that her mother was gone. She’d been very fond of Lady Elspeth. India glanced down at the gnarled hands clutching the hankie and her heart sank. It would kill Mrs. Walker not to be fussing around the kitchen, scolding, making scones and worrying about what was happening in the village.

      When the main section of the will had been reached, Mr. Ramsey peered at India and Serena over the rim of his glasses.

      “To my daughters, Serena Helen Hamilton and India Dunbar Moncrieff, I bequeath my entire estate, to be divided equally between them. Dunbar House, and the property pertaining to it, shall be owned and operated by them both. In the event one of my daughters wishes to retain ownership of the aforesaid property, she will acquire the other’s share at fair market value.”

      Serena sat up with a jerk. Rising abruptly, she interrupted Mr. Ramsey. “What do you mean both? You’ve read that wrong. Here, give it to me!” She rushed forward, grabbing the will from the astonished Mr. Ramsey’s hand.

      “Serena!” Ian jumped up. “Control yourself, for goodness’ sake!”

      “My, this is quite an unexpected turn of events,” Kathleen said distractedly, her face very pale. She stared shrewdly at Serena and then laid a hand on India’s knee. “I’ve always thought she had a loose screw, but this…”

      India sat perfectly still, oblivious to Serena’s ranting, letting the information sink in. She owned Dunbar—albeit in co-ownership with Serena—but it was hers. Elation ran through her as the full meaning of Mr. Ramsey’s words registered. She did belong here after all.

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