Setting the portrait aside, Fannie untied the ribbon. Letters—each one addressed to Mrs. Eleanor Rousseau. With another glance around the room, Fannie opened the envelope, removed the letter, and read.
Dearest Eleanor,
I know you long ago stopped hoping to hear news from me in which you could honestly rejoice, and I do understand how that would be. I understand, as well, how it is that you haven’t seen fit to answer my correspondence these past years. And yet, while you do your best to forget me, I remain stubborn as always. Be angry if you must, but know that I cannot let any of you go. As far as I have traveled, part of my heart has always remained in St. Charles. With you all.
There is news. Good news. Can you imagine? I, who have bowed before kings and known the favor of princes, am about to embark upon a journey into the Montana wilderness aboard the Bertrand. I believe you know it. I am told that the captain, Otto Busch, has quite the reputation. I have also been warned that he will try to refuse passage to a lady traveling alone. Of course the Otto Busches of this world have never stopped me from getting my way, and that will never change.
If God smiles on me, dear Eleanor, I will soon be in a position to show my devotion to you all. Do not fear. I know that any chance I had to repay you in person is gone forever. With all there is to regret, it is good to know at least one man in St. Charles upon whom a lady can rely. Hubert will inform you when the promise of gold has been fulfilled. While I am far from his favorite person, I still trust him to act in your best interest. He will be the conduit through whom I prove my devotion. Until then, I send greetings to Louis and Fannie.
Likely, you won’t forward those greetings. And yet … I hope.
Ever your sister, Edith
Dumbfounded, Fannie sat immobile, staring down at the signature. Mother had a sister. A twin sister who knew Papa … who knew she had a niece named Fannie … and who also seemed to know that Fannie had never heard of her. Aunt Edith had journeyed on the very steamboat whose sinking was mentioned in that pile of papers downstairs on Papa’s desk. Papa had been heavily invested in the Bertrand’s cargo when it sank back in ’65. Had Otto Busch been the captain when the Bertrand sank? Had he met Aunt Edith? With a little frown, Fannie looked toward the doorway. What did Hannah know about any of this? She glanced down at the letter in her hand. And was the Hubert Aunt Edith wrote about Hubert Vandekamp? She couldn’t think of another Hubert among their acquaintances here in St. Charles.
Taking up the bundle of letters, Fannie went to the window seat facing the river. Her hands shaking, she slipped another of Aunt Edith’s letters from beneath the yellow silk ribbon.
It is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful.
1 CORINTHIANS 4:2
“Land sakes, child, didn’t you hear me calling?” Hannah hesitated at the door to Mother’s room.
Fannie looked up from the letter she’d been reading. “I found … these.” She pointed to the pile of letters next to her. She held her hand up to show Hannah the amethyst ring. “And this.” Why did Hannah’s silence make her feel like a naughty child caught misbehaving? “I wasn’t snooping. I had to check all the drawers to make sure I had everything.”
Hannah crossed the room and, sitting down next to her, took Fannie’s hand and peered down at the ring. “I never saw her wear this.”
“It matches her necklace and earrings. I found it in a separate box tucked toward the back of the middle drawer.”
Hannah pointed at the jewelry box sitting atop the dressing table across the room. “Was everything else still there?”
“As far as I can tell.” Fannie picked up the leather envelope. “This was beneath Mother’s handkerchiefs. Filled with letters. And this.”
Hannah took the cabinet portrait Fannie held out. “My, my,” she murmured. “Your mother was a stunning woman.” She shook her head. “I never knew her to dress so … stylish.”
“Turn it over,” Fannie said. “See the name? It isn’t Mother.” She grabbed the stack of letters. “These are all from the woman in the photograph. She’s my aunt.” She couldn’t keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. “I can’t imagine Mother keeping something like a twin sister from you for the better part of twenty years.”
Hannah stiffened. “Well, imagine it, little miss, because I’m just as surprised as you.” She handed the photo back and stood up. “I’d never stand by while you were burying your own mother and let you think you didn’t have another living soul in this world to turn to.” Her chin trembled. She waved a hand at the letters. “I’ve never seen those in all the years I’ve worked in this house and I never heard a word breathed about anyone named Edith. Not a word.”
Fannie reached for her hand. “Please, Hannah. Don’t be angry with me.” Her voice wavered. “Of course I believe you. It’s just—I don’t understand. She sounds wonderful.” Hannah sat back down. “In every letter—in every single one—she mentions something breathtaking. A ball given by the queen of Spain. A gondola outing in Venice.”
Fannie touched the ring. “Do you think I could keep this? I mean, wear it?”
“I don’t know why not,” Hannah said. “It belongs to you, now. Of course it’ll have to wait until you’re out of mourning.” She gestured toward the jewelry box. “Best to put it in there with the rest and let Mr. Vandekamp watch over it for now.”
Mr. Vandekamp. Hubert. Fannie reached for the letter and read it aloud. “Do you think Aunt Edith’s Hubert could be Hubert Vandekamp?”
Hannah shrugged. “I suppose that would be a question for Mr. Vandekamp. And out of respect for your mother, I’d suggest that be a private conversation. She clearly had her reasons for not wanting anyone to know about any of this.”
As Fannie gazed down at the woman named Edith, her stomach growled.
Hannah rose again and headed for the door. “Unless you want cold stew for supper, you need to lay aside all of that business and follow me downstairs.”
After supper, Fannie spent the better part of the night alternating between reading Aunt Edith’s letters and gazing at her photograph. As the night wore on, confusion transformed into dismay. By the time the indigo sky began to blush with pink, dismay had blossomed into full-blown resentment against the parents who’d robbed her of a chance to know such a fascinating woman. If Mr. Vandekamp was, indeed, the Hubert mentioned in Aunt Edith’s last letter, he would have answers to Fannie’s questions. And she intended to ask them. Today.
As soon as she heard Hannah stirring below, Fannie summoned her help with petticoats and buttonhooks, corset lacing and hairdressing. When she vented her resentment over the secrets her parents had kept, Hannah chastised, “Don’t be so quick to judge, little miss. Letters only reveal what the person writing them wants us to know. I’m not speaking ill of this Edith woman. I’m just saying that your parents must have had their reasons. All you really know is that there’s a lot you don’t know.”
Fannie finished buttoning her black silk mourning dress as she said, “I’ve lost count of the number of times Mr. Vandekamp has told me I’m all alone in the world and dangled his list of ‘eligible bachelors’ as a cure for my ‘difficult circumstances.’ ” She pinned a mourning brooch in place over a button. “If he’s known about Edith LeClerc all along, I want to know why he didn’t tell me about her. Especially since she seems to regret all the secrecy.” She reached for the black gloves she’d torn pulling weeds. Only a practiced eye would ever see they’d been torn at all. She could always trust Hannah to take care of things like that.
Trust. She’d always trusted that Mother and Papa were doing their best, both for each other and for her. She’d assumed she could trust Mr. Vandekamp because they did. But for all her trust, her world was falling apart, one broken shutter at a time, one niggling doubt at a time, one business ledger at a time, and now … one revelation at a time.
Fannie’s eyes had barely adjusted to the dark interior of the bank when the clerk she’d asked to announce her to Mr. Vandekamp return
ed. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he squinted up at her. “I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Vandekamp is with someone. He said to tell you he’ll be available right after lunch.”
Fannie stared past the clerk at Mr. Vandekamp’s imposing office door. She wasn’t certain her courage would last until after lunch. She needed to see him now.
The clerk mopped his brow. “I’m truly sorry, miss.”
Fannie nodded. “May I leave a note?”
“Of course, miss, of course.” He led Fannie to a desk. She wrote, I have questions about Miss Edith LeClerc. She blew on the ink to hasten its drying, then folded the note and handed it to the waiting clerk. Thanking him, she turned to go.
She’d just reached the exit when there was a stirring at the back of the bank. Someone called her name. She turned around just as a well-dressed gentleman exited Mr. Vandekamp’s office. Vandekamp shook his hand even as he looked Fannie’s way and beckoned her to come near.
Clutching the leather envelope containing Edith LeClerc’s letters, Fannie headed back across the bank, newly mindful of the man’s ability to intimidate with his set jaw, thin lips, and perpetual scowl. He didn’t speak when she came near, but merely stepped aside and waved her into his office. As the door closed behind them, Fannie did her best to ignore the chill tracing its way up her spine. Crossing the room, she perched on the edge of one of the sumptuous chairs facing Mr. Vandekamp’s massive desk.
Taking up his station behind his desk, Mr. Vandekamp reached for the crystal decanter positioned on a tray at his right and poured himself a glass of water. Gulping it down without a word, he set the empty glass down with a thud. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and, lacing his fingers together, said, “The name you wrote on your note intrigues me, Miss Rousseau. Am I to conclude that someone has contacted you to make a claim against your father’s estate?”
Why would the very mention of Edith LeClerc’s name make him so suspicious? Fannie shook her head. Explaining how she’d found the brown leather envelope, she took the cabinet portrait out and laid it between them on the desktop. “At first I thought this was Mother. But then—” she turned it over—“then I read the name on the back.”
Vandekamp unlaced his fingers and leaned forward. He glanced down at the photograph. Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks.
Fannie held up a letter. “This last letter mentions a Hubert, and I wondered if that might be you. Would you like to read it?”
Mr. Vandekamp took the letter, unfolded it, and read. The edges of his mouth curved downward. “What is it that you want from me, Miss Rousseau?” He laid the letter next to the photograph. “None of this changes anything about your current situation.”
Fannie frowned. She swallowed. “It changes everything. I’m not alone in the world. You haven’t read all the letters yet, Mr. Vandekamp, but she speaks fondly of me. In every single one.” She paused. “The last one was posted from Fort Benton, Montana, just last spring. I’d like your help finding her. Don’t you think she would want to know about Mother?”
Taking a deep breath, Vandekamp poured two glasses of water. Setting one before Fannie, he took a sip from the other before saying, “Letters, however poetic, can be misleading, Miss Rousseau.” He peered at her from beneath two bushy gray eyebrows. “I daresay that, had he only to write letters to win your heart, Percy Harvey would have succeeded in making you his betrothed long ago. But, as it turns out, Mr. Harvey’s letters and Mr. Harvey’s person are very unlike each another. Wouldn’t you agree?” He pointed at the most recent letter. “That is dated a year ago. Whatever it says, you can be sure that Edie is no longer in Fort Benton.”
Edie. “You knew her,” Fannie said, doing her best not to sound accusatory. “You are the Hubert she mentions in this letter.”
Pink spread from the two bright spots on Mr. Vandekamp’s cheekbones across his entire face. Curling his fingers toward his palms, he pulled both hands into his lap. “I did know her, and nothing good ever came of it.” He looked away. “The only thing about Edith LeClerc that you need to know is that she never stays in one place long enough to take responsibility for anything.” He met Fannie’s gaze. “Even if she did hear from you and respond, there would be an ulterior motive behind it. Which is why I asked if someone had contacted you about your father’s estate. That would be very like her.”
“What possible motive could she have?” Fannie stared down at the elegant woman in the photograph.
“Money, Miss Rousseau. At one time, your father had quite a lot of it.” He paused. “Unfortunately, that is no longer the case, and the last thing you need is someone like her wheedling their way into your affections in order to take advantage of your ignor—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Hoping to take advantage of your inexperience.”
“But you meant to say that she might take advantage of my ignorance.” Fannie took a sip of water. “Is she evil, then? Is that why Mother never spoke of her?” She grasped the stack of letters. “Did Miss LeClerc lie for twenty years?”
Mr. Vandekamp rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his hands, matching fingertip to fingertip. “I’m sure I have no idea.”
Fannie tucked the letters and the photo back into the brown envelope. “I’m going to write in care of general delivery in Fort Benton. She deserves to know about Mother.”
Mr. Vandekamp leaned forward. “Has it occurred to you, Miss Rousseau, that if Edith LeClerc were truly interested in her family, you wouldn’t just now be learning of her existence?”
Of course it had occurred to her. But then, that question had been surrounded by all the others that had been circling through Fannie’s mind for most of her adult life. So many questions, and the only answer was the one Hannah had offered in the cemetery Sunday morning. A stubborn assurance that Mother loved. Fannie trusted Hannah to speak the truth as she saw it. But increasingly, what Hannah thought just wasn’t enough. If Mother loved … why didn’t I know it? If she loved … why didn’t I ever meet my own aunt? If she loved … why didn’t she show it? And why was Mr. Vandekamp so upset right now? What was he hiding?
“Actually,” Fannie said, “I think I’d like to meet her. Perhaps I’ll invite her to visit when I write about Mother.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Vandekamp dismissed the idea with a wave. “She isn’t there anymore, Miss Rousseau. The gold rush in Montana Territory has nearly played itself out. Even now, we are noticing a huge decline in river traffic.” His lip curled as he said, “Edie was never one to wait around when the excitement faded.” He paused. “It would do your mother’s memory a great disservice for you to go in search of someone she took great pains to protect you from.”
“I’m not talking about going. I only want to write a letter. Surely Mother would understand that. She might even be grateful. I’d think she’d want her only sister to know about her passing.”
Vandekamp rose from his chair. “Think whatever you like, but I promised my friend Eleanor Rousseau that I would see to things, and I intend to keep that promise. I must forbid you to attempt to contact Edith LeClerc.”
Fannie stood up. Somehow, she mustered the courage to look him in the eye. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Vandekamp, but I am of age, and while I acknowledge that Papa and Mother trusted you, I don’t believe you have the authority to forbid me to do … anything.” Surely he could hear her heart hammering. Surely he knew her knees were quaking. And yet … he was the one to look away first.
“Please, Miss Rousseau. Fannie.” He gestured at the chair. “Sit back down. Let’s not war over this. You have far more important things that require your attention.” When Fannie didn’t move, he changed the subject. “Mr. Beauvais tells me that you’ve been poring over certain papers on your father’s desk. That you have questions.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I have an entire list of questions. But I don’t want to talk about that without Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Hennessey present.” I don’t trust you anymore, Mr. Vandekamp. You’re holding back, and I just
don’t trust you.
Vandekamp’s jaw clenched. The spots of color reappeared on his cheeks, but his voice remained calm. “Mr. Haversham has spoken with me in regard to your account at his establishment. I would imagine you’ve already deduced that your situation isn’t getting any better.”
Fannie nodded. “The question is, what’s to be done about it. Which is why I’m grateful that Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Hennessey seem willing to lend their assistance. I believe I remember Papa saying something about there being wisdom in many counselors. I’m grateful those two gentlemen have offered to help us.” She hoped the word us would smooth a few of Mr. Vandekamp’s ruffled feathers. Something told her she didn’t want this man as an enemy.
Vandekamp sighed. “The losses you saw represented in those papers on your father’s desk tell only a small part of the story. This nonsense about finding a long-lost aunt is a most unwelcome distraction.” He paused. “I believe I have a plan that will enable you to maintain through the end of the year until we can effect a suitable match—if only you will concentrate on the matter at hand and make a few adjustments.”
“Adjustments? Why? And … what kind of adjustments do you mean?”
“If you delay past this season, it will become readily apparent to all the most desirable suitors that not only are you not a young woman of means, you are, in fact, one who comes with a great many liabilities, not the least of which are a house and grounds in need of extensive repairs. Forgive me for being blunt, Miss Rousseau, but we are already facing the possibility of needing to sell some of your mother’s jewels in order to maintain appearances through the end of the season.” He paused. “I’ve heard that you hired Tommy Cooper.”
Fannie couldn’t resist defending herself. “Apparently the burglar thought the house was unoccupied. I cannot let things go downhill any further.”
Vandekamp amazed her by agreeing. “Quite right. As I was saying, appearances must be kept up.” He smiled. “I am only thinking of what is best for you, when I insist that you cease giving any energy at all to the topic of Edith LeClerc. You must concentrate on ensuring your own future. You cannot stay in that house indefinitely. It’s unseemly for a young woman to live alone. I believe recent events have shown that it is possibly even unsafe.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I realize you are in mourning, but I also believe we can find an acceptable way around that. If we are to maintain the impression that you are a young woman of means, you are going to need to entertain as a young woman of means. I don’t think society would object if you hosted a garden party to honor your best friend on the occasion of her engagement. Unfortunately, Hannah Pike is far too decrepit to manage that kind of thing. I realize she’s been faithful to the family for years, but she must be replaced.”
A Most Unsuitable Match Page 5