My father would no doubt have been glad to foresee such a death as
this. It was sudden (for that he always hoped), and it came of a
protest against the thing he most hated, brutal violence."
So Piers Otway wrote in a letter to John Jacks. He did not add that
his father had died intestate, but of that he was aware before any
inquiries had been set on foot; in one of their last talks, Jerome
had expressly told his son that he would shortly make a will, not
having hitherto been able to decide how his possessions should be
distributed. This intestacy meant (if Daniel Otway had spoken truth)
that Piers would have no fruit whatever of his father's promises;
that his recent hopes and schemes would straightway fall to the
ground.
And so it was. A telegram from Piers brought down into Yorkshire the
solicitor who had for many years been Jerome Otway's friend and
adviser; he answered the young man's inquiries with full and
decisive information. Mrs. Otway already knew the fact; whence her
habitual coldness to Piers, and the silent acerbity with which she
behaved to him at this juncture.
"Mrs. Otway," said Piers to her, on the day of the inquest, "I shall
stay for my father's funeral, and to avoid gossip I still ask your
hospitality. I do it with reluctance, but you will very soon see the
last of me."
"You are of course welcome to stay in the house," replied the lady.
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