“Sorry. Just thinking.” Being rude was more like it. Honestly, would it kill her to show just a little interest, out of simple good manners? Sentiment in this case was beyond her, but curiosity she could do. “So, why me? No disrespect, of course, but why didn’t Gladys leave her . . . her legacy . . . to somebody she’d at least met?”
“Because you, Pandemina Avery”—he paused, obviously trying to emphasize the drama of Mina’s situation—“are the ‘sole surviving unmarried female descendant of the Wiltshire branch of the family who still bears some version of the family name.’ ” He paused to take a breath.
And no wonder. If she hadn’t already verified the attorney’s credentials she’d suspect him of trying to con her with that absurd list of criteria.
“You do realize, of course, that the family name is actually Avebury over in England. It was shortened to Avery when your great-grandparents moved to America.” He smiled, obviously delighted on her behalf.
No of course about it; but Mina wasn’t about to enlighten him and play Scrooge to his Santa all over again. “I . . . Sure. That’s great.” She forced a smile. “Look, Mr. Reynolds. No offense, but don’t the requirements for this inheritance seem oddly stretched to you? The sole surviving whatever of the whatever and so on and so forth? I’m sure the family history stuff is fascinating, but why go to all this time and expense for the sake of a cornerstone?”
“I couldn’t say for sure in this case, but I’d suspect sentimentality. When you don’t have a spouse or children to inherit your estate, you go searching for descendants just to feel like you’re leaving something of yourself behind when you die. No one wants to be forgotten.” He paused, letting her absorb his words.
And those words were well chosen. Mina could understand being alone, given her current situation as resident pariah. She was used to that role, honestly, having played the neighborhood freak so often as a kid. Isolation was a bitch. But how much worse would it be to actually outlive the few people in this world who bothered to acknowledge the worth of your existence? When you died, would you just . . . cease to exist? Would your absence even register beyond a minor, paperwork-based ripple in the world around you? Mina could identify to some extent.
“So when should I expect this ro—cornerstone to arrive?”
“Possibly as soon as tomorrow. I do have the paperwork here, however.” He riffled through his briefcase and, as if he’d had a sudden thought, glanced up. “Speaking of paperwork, you’re not to worry about the legalities of transferring property from the UK to here. We’ve taken care of that. The cottage itself, minus the cornerstone, was donated to the historical society, which may have smoothed the way a little.
“Not that there was any real objection to the cornerstone leaving the country.” He looked mildly puzzled. “Given the age of that cottage, I thought the Brits would balk at letting go of any part of it. But that wasn’t the case. I suppose it helps that the cottage wasn’t located in the historic section of the county. It wouldn’t be as valuable.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Mina smiled politely. “So what’s the rest of the paperwork?”
“Just the typical forms saying you accepted the property, that I read you the exact terms, etcetera, etcetera.” He pulled out a stack of paper. “I’ll need your signature here.” He pointed to an X, flipped to the next page, “and here, as well as initials on these other pages, and then here, here and here.”
She skimmed and scribbled where indicated, until she came to the final X. “What’s this about a guardian? I’m accepting guardianship of the cornerstone and all its contents? What does that mean?”
The attorney frowned, then shrugged. “Just that you’re responsible for them. That you own them. I gather they were pretty special to Ms. Avebury. She was probably just concerned that you might accept them too lightly.”
Mina grimaced. That was exactly what she’d done, too. Okay, she’d be good now. Money wasn’t everything, right? A woman’s last wishes deserved respect. “Okay.” She signed more carefully and handed the stack of forms back to the attorney.
He accepted it. “Oh, and one last thing. There’s a letter from Gladys Avebury herself.” He riffled through his files again. “I don’t know the contents, just that they were intended to be confidential.” Finally locating the proper document, he extended a