Miss Fanshawe's Fortune - Linore Rose Burkard Page 0,23
tower of St. Mary le Bow Church was visible, perched like a lookout over the busy thoroughfare. At Frannie’s motioning to a modest brick building of three storeys, Sebastian pulled up to it and slowed the carriage to a stop. In a moment, a curtain was pulled aside from the first floor window, though no face or figure could be seen.
Handing the reins to Will, Sebastian said to Frannie, “I think it best you remain here. I’ll come for you if necessary.” She nodded, her face no longer merry. Sebastian said, “Chin up. I believe we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
She gave him a grateful smile from within her bonnet. “Thank you, sir.”
To Will he said, “Do not allow anyone to plague Miss Fanshawe while I am gone; no street hawkers or anyone else who may come along.” With a twinkle in his eye, he handed Frannie a half crown. “Unless, of course, you see something else which you know to be superb and must have!” Frannie saw he was teasing her and blushed.
Sebastian approached the door and rang, taking a little silver card case from his waistcoat pocket. He drew out a card to have at the ready.
Watching from the curricle, Frannie saw a butler appear, to whom Sebastian spoke. She wished she could hear what was being said.
“If neither your master or mistress is home,” Sebastian offered nonchalantly, “I will wait.”
The butler hesitated, and swallowed. “That will not do, sir.”
“When are they expected?”
“I cannot say, sir.”
“In that case, you must convey a message for your master.” He hesitated impressively. “If I must return at another time, inform your employer that I will come in company with an officer of the King’s Bench. I have reason to believe that some mischief is taking place on his part. And I intend to have justice in it.” Suddenly a woman came storming out of a side room, plump, with a starched mobcap, her face a picture of ill-usage.
“What do you mean, threatening the King’s Bench on us? I am sure I have no notion of any mischief taking place! Who are you to accuse a body of mischief?”
Sebastian observed her placidly. “May I assume you are the lady of the house? Mrs. Fanshawe?
She glared at him and merely demanded, “And who might you be?”
“If you will grant me an audience, madam, and five minutes of your time, I will explain everything to your satisfaction.”
She eyed him angrily, received his card from her butler, and read it. She looked past Sebastian to the curricle on the street. Seeing Frannie, her eyes widened, but seemingly satisfied that Miss Fanshawe was not approaching, she gave a stiff nod, so that Sebastian entered.
Frannie saw the angry countenance of the lady, and then watched as Sebastian disappeared behind the closed door. Her heart was a mixture of hope and despair. The more she thought on her position, the more she was forced to acknowledge there was little evidence to support her claims. What did she have but hearsay? If the Fanshawes pleaded ignorance of her existence, ignorance of anything having to do with her or a trust fund, what evidence did she have to prove it otherwise? With Mrs. Baxter’s possessions gone, she didn’t even have access to a single receipt or postal notice that funds had ever arrived for her. She had nothing.
She felt numb at the prospect of having nothing, indeed, of being a nobody. All her hopes, she realized, now depended upon the integrity of Mr. Fanshawe, a man she had never seen and who had never, to her knowledge, seen her. And to think, she might be worse than an orphan, a mere blow-by, illegitimate!
Surely the Arundells would despise her. Mr. Arundell, as pleasant as he seemed today, would come to his senses and renounce their acquaintance. Mrs. Arundell, a most amiable woman, would spurn her as a companion. What would become of her?
While these dreadful thoughts filled her breast, suddenly Sebastian was back. He climbed into the seat before her with an enigmatic look. Frannie hardly dared meet his eyes.
“Mrs. Fanshawe was not cooperative,” he said, turning to her. His mouth turned upwards into a little smile. “But she is rattled. I’ve given her to understand that you have powerful friends, a solicitor who will contact them shortly, and that we know about the trust fund and will not suffer its loss.”
She was almost breathless with relief. “Thank you!”
“She did not claim ignorance of the fund,” he said, “which is