Free Red Shadow by Patricia Wentworth Page A

Laura——”
    There was something strange about getting a letter from a dead man whom living she had never known. Bertram Hallingdon was her grandfather’s half brother, but he was only a name to her, and a stranger. He was only a name to her, but by a stroke of the pen he had broken her life in two. If he had not made her his heiress, she would have been Laura Mackenzie now—she would be Jim’s wife. Perhaps he had signed his will with the very pen which had written, “Dear Laura.”
    Laura did not think these things consciously. They moved in the desolate places of her mind while she looked at the grey-blue paper and the words which Bertram Hallingdon had written. Then she began to read the letter:
    Dear Laura,
    By the time you read this you will be the head of the Hallingdon combine. Exactly what that means, you will find out by degrees. Put shortly, it involves great wealth, great power, and great responsibilities. I am afraid that I cannot allow you to suppose that it involves great happiness—and I am afraid that you are young enough to expect happiness as a right. My own expectation of personal happiness died nearly fifty years ago. However, I do not wish to force my philosophy on you. You may have a gift for happiness—some people have, and I have known it persist amidst the most untoward conditions.
    I am writing this, not to philosophize, but to acquaint you with my reasons for burdening you with the responsibilities which I am about to lay down. The Hallingdon combine is composed of half a dozen firms handling what are commonly called munitions. They are engineering firms; but side by side with the inventions and products of peace they possess the plant, the knowledge, and the formulæ necessary to meet all the requirements of mechanized warfare. I am being as little technical as I can, because I do not wish to confuse you or to distract your attention from the main issue. This I now approach.
    I am, and have been for the last thirty years, what is called a pacifist. That is, I believe firmly that no nation can either thrive by war or find any solution of its problems through war. After the Great War I set myself the gigantic task of assembling under a central control as many as possible of those firms whose plant was capable of being turned to the uses of war. The Hallingdon combine is the result, and I am leaving the direction of its policies to you, a young girl. It is a crushing responsibility, but I have my reasons. They are these.
    I believe that the interests involved will be safer in the hands of a woman than of a man. I have been observing you carefully for some years. During the last year a weekly report has been submitted to me. I could turn to these reports and tell you just where you were, and what you were doing upon any given day. In addition to these reports, I have observed you myself, though I have taken pains that you should not know it. You resemble very closely both in body and mind my mother—your great-grandmother, who became Laura Cameron. She was the best and sweetest woman whom I have ever known, and in her youth rarely beautiful. I can think of no human being to whom I could more safely entrust the peace of the world—for that is what it comes to. You will have the controlling interest in six companies. You will have the power to appoint a proportion of the directorate. You will have, through interlocking trade relationships, a power and an influence extending far beyond this country. Use it in the cause of peace. I believe in the wisdom of the simple. I believe in the intuition of a good woman. I believe in Laura Cameron’s great-granddaughter. If I have misplaced my faith, I shall not know it. But I will not believe that I have misplaced it. I have watched the man whom you are to marry. He has, I believe, the qualities which will make him your complement. Together, I have faith that you will fulfil my hope.
    And now you may ask why we