the papers into his hand for safekeeping all that time ago. Left him with the burden of it, hadnʼt she? Forced him to lie to her husband, insist sheʼd gone off to America when in fact she was hidden only as far as Lincolnshire! Why had he not seen it before?
Catherine sat by all this time, frowning and silent, while her mother plied her father with persistent, wheedling pleas. She almost interrupted Mama on numerous points, but knowing that anything she said to counter her arguments would be summarily dismissed, she had saved the effort. But now she cleared her throat. “Papa, it grows late. Shall we go to our rooms now?”
“No!” cried her mother sharply. “Your father is entitled to enjoy himself. He’s earned more’n that, if you ask me.”
“Mama, whatever you convince him of now, he will likely forget entirely by morning!”
Her mother stared at her.
Mr. Fanshawe muttered, “To bed, to bed, m’dears!” He tried to rise from his chair and was surprised to find himself immediately returned to his seat as though a great weight forced him down. “I believe I’ll sleep here,” he said, closing his eyes.
Catherine stood and got the attention of the innkeeper, and soon two porters were there to help Mr. Fanshawe from his chair and up the wooden steps to his room.
As soon as he was placed safely in bed and the porters gone, his wife turned to him. Poking him in the side, she said, “Who is His Lordship, sir? The benefactor of the trust?”
“What? What? Eh?” said the man.
She kept at him. “His name, sir! Who is the founder of the trust?”
Mr. Fanshawe opened red, bleary eyes and tried to see his wife. She looked like a blur in the candlelight. A shadow of a woman. But a shadow that would give him no rest until he told. He spoke to the shadow. “Lord Malcolm. Thereʼs the name for ye.”
Lord Malcolm! Greatly satisfied, Mrs. Fanshawe allowed her husband to sink back to unconsciousness. She was determined to gain an audience with this Lord M. Her husband was too soft by far, but she would convince His Lordship of the merit of their claims and come away, she was sure, with something for her trouble. It would be no fortune, to be sure—that disappointment was not to be answered—but there must be some small consolation for the disappointment of all their hopes. Before drifting off to sleep, she planned the morrowʼs adventure, exactly what she would say when she gained her audience with this personage. Suddenly her husband started in his sleep. “He’s dead now. Saw’t in a paper we picked up at a port stop. His Lordshipʼs been gone for three months.”
His wife was thunderstruck. “His Lordship’s dead?”
But her husband was once more in the land of Nod.
Again Mrs. Fanshawe’s tears flowed, for now whom could she apply to? To whom could she press their cause? “There must be something we can do!”
Catherine heard the wails and knew her mama was vexed over the business of the trust. But Mr. Fanshaweʼs face was as clear and untroubled in his sleep as a child’s.
For Frannie, all too soon, the day came for departure, two days before Christmas. The Fanshawes had not returned to their London abode, which meant Frannieʼs history was still a muddle, her fortune still no more than a distant hope. Sebastian reminded his mother and brother that Frannie would go by the name Miss Baxter during the visit. It was a simple kindness to her, he assured them, and, as an alias would injure no one, they could be agreeable about its use. Further, it would spare Frannie from uncomfortable questions regarding her heritage. As they had each been apprised of Frannieʼs wishes in this a fortnight ago, neither made an objection.
During the long, bumpy coach ride, Sebastian read to them from the newspaper, then from a novel. Mrs. Arundell paged through a copy of the The Ladies’ Monthly Museum, while Edward dozed. If he began to snore, Sebastian would nudge him in the side. Each time, Edward came to with a start asking, “What, are we arrived? Are we there?”
Despite the travelling rug that the women had the advantage of in the carriage, Frannie’s toes and fingers were numb by the time they stopped at an inn for an early supper. The horses must be allowed to rest, said Sebastian, who was adamant that he would not exchange his dependable beasts for any the inn offered. Nor