Violet didn’t have a copy of Lady Enid’s will. She pulled out a letter from Lady Enid to herself, confirming the inheritance and telling her to do whatever she wished with it. It gave a sense of great personality in few lines.
“She signed it with her married name,” said Manning. “Mrs. James Taverner. Was that usual for her? Do you have any of her other correspondence?”
“No,” said Violet. “I suppose, if we searched the house … Why? Do you think someone might try to claim this is forged?”
“I’ve no clue,” said Manning. “If what she says here about the wax and runes on the will is correct, it all seems rather airtight. And she specifically mentions the possibility that someone else might try to contest the will. Hm. One could make an argument either way, about that. It’d be a convenient thing to put in such a letter if you did forge it.”
“I didn’t!” Violet snapped.
“Or if you asked her to write it—and the will—under duress or coercion,” said Manning. He shrank from Violet’s increasingly stormy expression. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m trying to anticipate what this could be about. Magical inheritance is hard to argue with, but some aspects of unmagical law still come into play.”
“He’s right,” said Edwin unexpectedly.
None of them had ever been called to a hearing at the Library before. Manning ran them hurriedly though the basic procedures. At a quarter past the hour, one of the Barrel attendants knocked on the door and told Violet that they were ready.
“I will be accompanied by my full legal team,” said Violet haughtily.
Jack was half expecting himself, Robin, and Edwin to be denied entrance, but the attendant shrugged and ushered them all down the hall. They went through a normal set of doors, this time, wider and taller than those in the foyer.
The room was windowless and circular. It held a dais with a long bench, behind which three men sat, and two wide desks with a few chairs each, facing the dais. A courtroom configuration. Two men stood at the leftmost desk, heads bent over a folder.
The walls were pale yellow, lit by plentiful lights in glass keepers set in brackets, and the ceiling was the night sky. Not just painted either. Above their heads was a soft, inky darkness within which a single constellation shone huge and bright, taking up the whole of the space within the ring of walls.
“I was expecting books,” said Violet. “I thought this place was called the Library.”
“It is,” said Manning and Edwin together. Edwin went on, “The constellation is Libra. Scales, for justice. The stars are called the Librae, and the name evolved over time.”
“I hope we’re not keeping you from anything more important,” said Walter Courcey.
Edwin’s head snapped around as if on a string.
Robin’s fingertips went steadyingly to the small of Edwin’s back. Violet only looked curious; she’d never met Walter. It had been a long time since Jack had. Time had ironically brought the Courcey brothers closer in appearance. Walter, one of the two men on the left, looked like a version of Edwin drawn in a more confident hand.
“Courcey,” said Robin in absolutely neutral tones.
“Blyth.” Walter smiled. “Not that the Assembly isn’t always delighted to cast an eye over our pet foreseer, but I don’t recall seeing your name on the summons. Nor yours, Win.”
“Nor mine,” said Jack, before Edwin could make the mistake of reacting. He prodded their group towards the empty desk. “And yet here we are. You seem to be in a hurry, Courcey. Why don’t you move us on to business?”
Walter stepped away from the desk, taking up a position in the centre of the room, and gave a nod of respect to the men on the dais.
“Miss Violet Debenham,” he said.
Violet lifted her hand as Manning had instructed. The bracelet of runes melted again into the disc of purple wax, which Violet laid on the desk in front of her.
“Thank you for answering our summons,” said Walter. “As Senior Advisor to the Assembly, I will convene this affair, which will be heard by Assemblymen Cowling and Singh, and Deputy Chief Minister Prest.”
Jack knew two of the names. Bertrand Cowling was of the same dusty generation as half of the House of Lords: a drawn, white-bearded man with a permanent frown and fussy little eyeglasses.
Singh, he didn’t know, although the man was exchanging nods of acknowledgement with Edwin. He looked younger than the other two on the panel, with strong features beneath a dark red turban and a thick Sikh beard without a hint of grey.
“Lord Hawthorn,” said Richard Prest, meeting Jack’s gaze with a hint of bluster. “What a pleasant surprise. I’d understood that you no longer involved yourself in magical affairs.”
Jack’s mother had brought him up to speed on Assembly politics during his visit to Cheetham Hall. Prest was an acquaintance of Lord Cheetham, though not a close one. He’d served two terms as Deputy Chief Minister and was expecting to be elected Chief Minister this time, as the current holder of that office was old and ill enough to have already stepped down if it weren’t an election year. Clearly Prest was trying to calculate if Jack was still an influential Alston or if his black-sheep status made him safe to antagonise.
“I make exceptions,” drawled Jack. Let the man chew on that one.
“And both sides have a magician to stand dicentis,” said Walter.
Manning gave a little bow, as did the last man in the room, who now stood alone behind the second desk. He was a middle-aged chap with a bare dome of scalp pushing through thinning dark hair, and he shuffled his papers incessantly.
“Are there two sides?” asked Violet, who was either impressively uncowed by this room full of men or was doing an excellent job of acting it. The line between the two was often unclear, with Violet. Manning tugged at her sleeve, encouraging her down into a chair, but she shook him off. “I see another dicentis over there, but I can’t see whose voice he is.”
“Mr. Evers stands for an involved party whose identity need not be disclosed in this initial hearing,” said Walter.
“Like hell,” said Robin indignantly. Singh winced a little. Edwin dragged Robin down into a chair, more successful than Manning had been with Violet.
There were only four chairs to each table. Jack remained standing, deliberately radiating the impression that he was not in the habit of fetching his own furniture. Prest cleared his throat at Evers, who hastily brought across one of the free ones on his own side.
Jack took a seat. Violet whispered, “Bravo,” under her breath.
“Who’s the Indian fellow?” Jack asked Edwin in a murmur.
“That’s Adelaide’s brother-in-law—her sister Catherine’s husband,” said Edwin. “Manraj Singh. I’ve met him once or twice.”
“He volunteered for the panel,” said Manning. “That’s why I was late, Miss Debenham—I was trying to find out who was sitting. Normally Assemblymen have to be hauled onto hearings like this via roster. And Mrs. Kaur—”
“If we could begin, Courcey,” said Prest loudly. “I understand this is an inheritance matter?”
Walter Courcey informed the room that doubt had been cast on Miss Violet Debenham’s inheritance of the estate belonging to the late Mrs. Taverner, née Lady Enid Blackwood. Mr. Evers produced the will in question, which was presented to the panel. Violet let Manning deliver her letter to them as well. The Assemblymen pored over the documents for a few minutes.