"Sir, you have an unexpected visitor," Mr. Lampers informed Tennyson, whom was alone in the study. "It is a Mr. Thomas Taggert."

Tennyson had difficulty hiding his surprise at the name. "Thank you, Lampers. You may bring him here."

"Shall I call for tea to be brought in?" the butler asked.

"No. His visit will be alarmingly brief, and you will speak his name to no one, am I understood?" Tennyson demanded, with all the authority of his father, yet without the malice.

Mr. Lampers foremost attribute was his silence. It was the reason he had lasted thirty years at Loewick house.

"Certainly, Sir."

A plainly dressed gentleman with bushy gray eyebrows and equally shaggy sideburns trudged into the study. His mouth was set in a firm line as he put down a small stack of leather-wrapped papers in front of Tennyson.

The study door closed, and the whisper-shouting began.

"Have you lost your head Taggert? Coming here...into my father's house? You are fortunate he is not here!" Tennyson scolded, raking his fingers through his hair. "We have a house full of people! For your sake, I hope matters to be imperative."

"Do you honestly think I would come if they were not?" Taggert questioned with his calm and deep voice. "And I knew Horace was away."

"Well, make haste," Tennyson ordered, uneasy with Taggert's surprise visit.

"It is gone," Taggert flatly stated.

"What do you mean, 'it is gone'?" Tennyson demanded, irritation rising in his voice.

"Your grandfather kept it locked in his private study," he began explaining. "With the key still missing, and you emphasizing urgency, I had little choice but to pry open the drawer. And with the exception of a few gold trinkets, I found the drawer empty."

"Where could it be? Surely, you can find it?" Tennyson asked, leaking shreds of hope.

"You tell me," Taggert prodded, folding his arms across his broad chest. "I am a mere solicitor. I can testify to what was written, but I am inclined to think that my testimony will be insufficient, particularly given the amount of resources and property stood to be gained. They will want irrefutable evidence."

"And if we cannot find the irrefutable evidence?" Tennyson asked, standing with two fists pressed atop his father's desk.

"Worst case?" Taggert asked. "Your father gets it all."

Tennyson slammed one of his balled fists against the oak. Any other man would have jumped in his seat. Taggert, however, sat unflinching.

"I refuse to live any longer beneath my father's tyranny! That is precisely why Grandfather had his will altered."

"Do you think Horace suspects you have knowledge of the will?" Taggert inquired, fretting over the possible ramifications.

"No," Tennyson theorized. "If my father knew, he would waste no time threatening me. His ignorance lies in his belief of forced obedience. But, obviously, he has stolen the papers before we could retrieve them. I seem to have underestimated my father's eagerness."

"I think you continue to do so," Taggert commented. "Your grandfather, however, knew exactly what Horace was capable of. Such a pity, bearing a single heir, yet despising him as a man. If not for you, I am certain the old man would have torched it all and given the remainder as charity."

"I have little doubt," Tennyson agreed, feeling wistful, before turning his attention to the parcel Taggert had brought in. "What is the purpose of these papers?"

Taggert lifted the leather-bound stack from off the desk, unwound the strap and began thumbing through the many pages. "This, my friend, is your deliverance." He tossed the open stack back in front of Tennyson, whom began examining the pages.

"How so?" Tennyson asked, raising an inquiring brow.

"Your grandfather was rather adamant that I stow these papers away, and he asked that I give them to you when the appropriate time came," Taggert informed. "As I said, he had very little trust in your father. Considering, they guide you to a gentleman...some ambiguous man by the name of Underwood...I assumed they would be useful in our current predicament. It would seem that this Underwood fellow also has a copy of the amended will."

"How do we find this Underwood?" Tennyson asked, relaxing back into his seat. "Is it not written within these documents?"

Taggert answered, scratching the back of his time-worn neck, "No, but you can follow the paper trail. I would offer my continued assistance, but I am expected up north. If time is imperative, then you must do your own investigation."

"Why would grandfather be so enigmatic?" Tennyson questioned. "Why not just tell you the man's name? Or, better yet, why not simply have given me the amended copy?"

"I thought the answer was obvious," Taggert plainly stated, with greater insight. "As I said before, he knew exactly what his son was capable of. And judging by Horace's swift retrieval of the will, your grandfather was shockingly accurate."

Tennyson took a moment to absorb all that had transpired. It was yet another set-back to a gamut of obstacles. All he wanted was freedom from an abusive hollow man, but even Tennyson's affection for Miss Yorke was a hinderance instead of a blessing. And now, the stolen will.

Tennyson fantasized about the day he would turn his back upon his father, taking with him half of the sizable family fortune. He could visualize spitting upon his boots and stealing away Isabella, leaving his father with no one except a weak and spiteful wife. He relished in the idea of his father's powerlessness.

But, they were all still fantasies. Without his grandfather's will, Tennyson would have no means of escape. Time was fleeting and he had much to accomplish.

"Taggert," Tennyson addressed, holding out his hand while the older gentleman took to his feet. "I am obliged to thank you. And, at the risk of sounding sentimental, your help has been instrumental. My grandfather loved you dearly and I can easily surmise the reasons why."

"He was a good man," Taggert echoed, dropping Tennyson's friendly handshake. "And I am determined to see that another good man inherits...That man is not your father."

"Agreed. I will discreetly keep you informed."

Taggert nodded and scurried out of the room as quickly as he came. Moments later, three quiet raps sounded off the study door.

Tennyson opened the door saying, "This had better be important. You need to leave..."

He was cut short by the appearance of Miss Yorke, rather than Taggert.

"S-sorry, I-I did not mean to...." Josephine began, with an uncomfortable stutter.

"Miss Yorke," Tennyson said, with noticeable surprise. "Sorry, I believed you to be someone else."

"You are certain? Because I would find little surprise in you begging for my departure," Josephine teased.

"Today you are fortunate, because I do not mind. But, I am inclined to ask why you did not join the ladies on their jaunt into town."

Josephine leaned against the doorframe and nervously toed the ground. She came to ask Tennyson to accompany her and Red for a leisurely walk. But now, found herself feeling trepidation.

"I had little desire to go into town. I planned on taking Red for a walk," she explained, gaining confidence. "I do not suppose you would care to join me?"

Tennyson looked back at the stack of papers Taggert had left behind. Perhaps, the key to his freedom. He wanted to tell Miss Yorke that he would be unable, but as he looked into her beautifully hopeful face, all his resolve melted away.

"I will need a few minutes," he requested, needing time to stash away the papers. "Meet me by the white roses?"

"Lovely. Oh Tennyson, what do you call men who hate long sentences?" Josephine asked, setting him up for a punchline. "Criminals."

He began to smile as she shut the study door behind herself. Tennyson felt entirely conflicted when it came to Miss Yorke.

Horace was adamant about their marriage, and Tennyson knew his reason. If he married her, then his father would be entitled to a large sum per the outdated betrothal contract. A sum that would likely ruin Miss Yorke's father. Why Mr. Yorke would have agreed to such a ludicrous contract, and why he would be eager to uphold it, was beyond Tennyson.

Prior to meeting her, avoidance had seemed the best tactic. Although not knowing the girl, Tennyson's conscience wouldn't allow for the financial ruin of a respectable gentleman. Worse now, the thought of ruining Miss Yorke's father was simply unbearable. 

Even if he were to outsmart his father and inherit, that didn't solve the marriage contract complication. Tennyson knew it would be in Miss Yorke's best interest to find another suitor, but found himself selfishly wanting to abandon the cause.

He decided to focus his attention on one problem at a time. Tennyson had no current solutions for Miss Yorke, so he would focus on finding this Mr. Underwood, and the amended will. 'Do not fix a squeaky door, when the house walls are crumbling down' his grandfather would say. The inheritance could be integral to everything else.

But, he would put it all on hold this afternoon. Nothing seemed quite so important as a quiet walk with Miss Yorke and her mangy dog.

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So?? Lots of new info to digest. Any thoughts?
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