by Alec, Joyce
“Thank you, Mr. Stanton, but I will remain standing,” she said, her voice a little louder as she remained holding onto the back of the chair with one hand, as though it would give her the strength she required. “What was it you wished to speak to me about?”
His eyes darted from her to the chair and back again as though he expected his silence to cajole her into doing what he had asked, but after a few minutes of Sarah’s steadfastly refusing to be seated, he let out a long breath and sat back in his chair.
“You are becoming stubborn, Sarah, and that is not acceptable,” he said, firmly. “Your excuse on leaving the table last evening was nothing short of ridiculous.”
Ignoring her churning stomach, Sarah lifted one eyebrow. “I do not think that a headache is anything ridiculous, Mr. Stanton.”
His lips thinned, his eyes darkening. “I know you had no such thing. The maid told me she found you scrabbling about on the floor for something – hardly the actions of someone who can barely keep their eyes open due to the pain.”
Sarah kept her gaze on his despite the desire to look away and drop her head. She had to be bold if things were to change. “To be frank, Mr. Stanton, I did not want to stay at a gathering where I am to be presented as though I am some kind of prize to be won. I am more than aware that the gentlemen with us last evening were all there to hear that I am now out—so that they might begin to think of courting me.”
“That is no reason to lie!” he exclaimed, now appearing quite furious. “You—”
“I believe I was not the only one who lied, Mr. Stanton,” she interrupted, finding herself growing stronger with every word she spoke. “Did you not tell them all that we had enjoyed a quiet occasion for my come out? That is very strange indeed since I, myself, do not remember it.”
Mr. Stanton glared at her, one hand thumping the table. “That is entirely different matter. You are to do as you are expected.”
“I want full access to my fortune.”
The words left her before she could stop them, and as soon as they had left her mouth, she saw Mr. Stanton’s jaw go slack. His face grew pale, his eyes widening as the anger left him.
“I am of age, and therefore I should have already had full access and responsibility for it,” she continued firmly, drawing herself up to her full height. “Why you have never spoken to me of it, I cannot understand.” Something like satisfaction settled over her, as she saw how Mr. Stanton was staring at her. Apparently, every word she had said was true. Thus far, the note writer had proven to be correct. She did have a fortune, one that was being very carefully hidden by Mr. Stanton.
“How do you know about that?” Mr. Stanton asked, his voice hoarse. “You are not meant to know until…”
Sarah frowned as he trailed off, wondering what he was keeping from her. “Until when?” His eyes shot to hers, and Sarah saw the truth in his gaze. “Ah, I see. Until I am wed, is that it? I am to marry before I know that I am a wealthy woman so that any freedom I might have is then completely lost. Gone for good, unless my husband should die. Is that not so?”
Mr. Stanton looked away, passing one hand over his eyes, and Sarah knew she had hit on the truth. Anger settled in her stomach, a fiery ball that shot sheer fury into her veins.
“Why?” she said, walking over to his desk, as a new strength began to fill her. “What is it about me that is meant to be so secret?”
Mr. Stanton shook his head. “This is not to be discussed, Sarah.”
“I intend to discuss it,” she retorted, slamming her hand down flat on the table. “I will not have this kept from me any longer. I have spent years not knowing where I am from nor who my family is, and you have persistently refused to say a word of it to me. Well, I know more than you are aware of, Mr. Stanton. Tell me the truth.”
He looked up at her, a slight anger sparking in his gaze. “You have no need to know.”
“I have every need to know!” Sarah shouted, not caring that her voice was bouncing off the walls. “This is my life, and you cannot continue to order me about as you do. I will find out one way or the other. You can be sure of that, so you may as well tell me who sent me to you.”
Much to her astonishment, he chuckled darkly. “And what if I do not know?”
Her anger died away at once, replaced with a sudden, overwhelming horror.
“You were sent here by a relative of mine, as a favor to a gentleman he knew. Funds are deposited in my account thrice yearly so that I might care for you. You were never to leave this place, not unless someone came for you. We were not to speak of your removal to us. Your fortune and dowry were to be in my care and only revealed to you when you married. Any income we receive stops the moment you leave this house. That is all that I know.”
“Poppycock!” Sarah exclaimed, not believing his words for a moment. “You must know more.”
Mr. Stanton’s gaze lifted to hers, and Sarah recognized that there was nothing but honesty in his eyes. Honesty combined with a great weariness that told her he had been as confused as she.
“I know nothing more, Sarah,” he said calmly. “I have done all I can for you and ensured that I lived up to my responsibilities, and yet you have found out about your fortune regardless. My solicitor is in the village today if you wish to see the paperwork that proves it.”
Sarah did not answer the unspoken question, knowing that she did not need to tell him about the secret box under her pillow. “This relative of yours, who is he?”
Mr. Stanton shook his head. “It does not matter. He is dead.”
The bottom fell out of her world, the only hope she had to discover where she had come from dying in an instant.
“Who was he?” she asked doggedly, her fingers digging into the edge of the table as she clung on, desperate not to let the tears fall. “What was his name?”
Mr. Stanton shrugged, as though it did not matter if she knew. “Henry Percival, Earl of Thorndyke. He died, and the title and estate went to his son, James, who is now Lord Thorndyke. He is ages with you, I believe, if not a little older, and I can assure you, he knows nothing of the matter. In fact, I would go as far as to say that the man is entirely unaware of your existence.”
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat, her courage slowly fading away. “And was the earl my father?”
Mr. Stanton chuckled and shook his head, as though finding her question humorous. “Of course not. It was all very secretive for whatever reason, and I understand he was doing it in order to help a friend. I know nothing more; I assure you.”
Sarah wanted to run back to her room and cry until there were no more tears left but with the last whisper of courage, she looked at Mr. Stanton directly in the eye.
“Send for your solicitor, Mr. Stanton,” she said firmly, in a voice that only shook a little. “I want to know everything about my fortune and my dowry, including ensuring that I have complete control over it.”
“And what will you do?” Mr. Stanton asked heavily. “Leave here? Go in search of someone who even I, as your guardian, do not know?”
Sarah lifted her chin and walked back towards the door. “I will do whatever I have to in order to find out the truth about myself. Please, send for your solicitor. That will be a good enough start for me.”
5
Sarah did not leave her room for the next few hours, finding solace and comfort in her own company. She did not want to speak to Mr. Stanton nor to his wife, feeling as though she were even more lost than she had been before. She hoped that Mr. Stanton had done as she asked and sent for his solicitor, realizing that now that she knew about her fortune it was not as though he could deny her.
“Sarah?”
Closing her eyes, Sarah prayed that Mrs. Stanton would leave her be, but—to her irritation—the lady knocked again.
“Might I come in? Just to talk with you for a moment.”
Seeing that she was not about to have any relief, Sarah walked to the door, unlocked it, and thrust it open. The anger that flared in her was
demolished at once, as she took in the tears in Mrs. Stanton’s eyes and the way she seemed to almost tremble in front of her.
“Mrs. Stanton, what is the matter?” she asked, a little less brusquely than she had intended. “If it is about dinner last evening, then I can only apologize. I did not have a headache, but instead grew annoyed with the idea that I was to be paraded in front of the eligible gentlemen who joined us.”
Mrs. Stanton seemed to shrink all the more, her eyes darting around Sarah without ever actually looking into her face. “I did not mean any harm, Sarah.”
Sarah felt herself deflate all the more. “I know you meant well,” she admitted eventually. “But I would have preferred to know that Mr. Stanton intended to state that I was now out so that I could have prepared myself a little better. That untruth threw me quite off kilter.”
Mrs. Stanton nodded slowly, her gaze traveling up to Sarah’s face. “Mr. Stanton told me about what you said.”
“About my fortune?” Sarah asked, seeing the flare of Mrs. Stanton’s eyes. “Yes, I have come to learn about my fortune. I will have control of it very soon. By the end of today, I hope.”
The lady nodded again, her eyes dropping to the floor. “And do you intend to leave us?”
It was not a question Sarah was truly prepared for. She did want to leave, yes, but only in order to find out the truth about who she was.
“I think I must,” she said slowly, seeing the grief write itself across Mrs. Stanton’s expression. “It is not as though I have not been happy here, but rather that the mystery surrounding my circumstances has never been solved and I do so wish to find out the truth.” She tilted her head and regarded Mrs. Stanton carefully. “It is not something that you are able to help me with, is it?”
“Goodness, no,” Mrs. Stanton said, looking as astonished as she sounded. “I knew nothing of the matter until the day before you arrived. You cannot imagine my joy, when I had come to learn that we could not have children of our own.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, as she smiled up at Sarah, one hand reaching to touch Sarah’s own. “But I suppose that every child must leave their nest.”
Every last bit of anger and frustration blew away in an instant, as Sarah looked at Mrs. Stanton with fresh eyes. It was clear that Mrs. Stanton was devastated to learn that Sarah would be, most likely, making plans of her own. Evidently, the lady had believed that she would remain in Little Mybster for the rest of her days, married to a gentleman nearby. She had thought they would never be truly separated. Until that moment, Sarah had never truly understood just how deeply Mrs. Stanton cared for her. She had always been warm and friendly towards Sarah, but until this moment, she had never shown any kind of deep emotion towards her.
“I think of you as my own daughter in many ways,” Mrs. Stanton continued, her voice now weak and shaking. “Wherever you go, you will write to me, will you not? I could not stand it if I did not know where you were.”
Struck by just how much Mrs. Stanton cared for her, Sarah reached out and took Mrs. Stanton’s soft hands in hers, smiling softly.
“Mrs. Stanton, you have been more than a guardian to me. You have been a parent. You have guided me, taught me, and helped me to grow. I do not have anger in my heart towards you although I will confess a lingering frustration with Mr. Stanton and his lack of willingness to discuss anything related to my life with me.”
“Oh, but you do not understand,” Mrs. Stanton responded, squeezing her hands. “He was told not to. Something about it being for your own safety. He may have appeared abrupt, my dear, but he was doing it for your own good.”
Sarah hesitated before she spoke, fear clutching at her heart. Had he not told her anything for her own safety? What did that mean?
“Am I in danger?”
Mrs. Stanton shook her head, shrugging slightly. “We were not told, neither of us, and I confess I was just thrilled that I would have a child in our home.”
“I understand,” Sarah replied gently. “But I must find out the truth. I cannot remain here to be shunted from this house to that of my husband, whomever he was to be, without knowing my heritage.” The words trembled on her lips, but she spoke them regardless. “Am I a bastard child, Mrs. Stanton? Is that why I was sent here?”
Mrs. Stanton did not flinch at the word but looked back at Sarah steadily. “I am not at all certain, my dear, but even it if transpires that this is the case, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your character is good; you are sweet, kind, and amiable and have nothing to fear from those who might look down on you. Everything I know I have taught you so that you might be an elegant and articulate young lady for when the time came for your marriage.”
Sarah smiled at Mrs. Stanton. “And I am grateful for that. However, I must go on my own way now. You are, of course, welcome to join me if you should wish it. I will need a companion.”
She held her breath, and Mrs. Stanton considered the matter, before shaking her head.
“No, I think I had best remain here. Mr. Stanton will need me, and as much as I care for you, he must come first.” She squeezed Sarah’s hands again before letting them go, her eyes glazing over with tears again. “Promise me that you will write to me often, when it comes time for you to leave. I must know where you are and that you are well.”
“Of course, I will,” Sarah promised, suddenly feeling an ache in her own heart, as she thought about leaving the only home she had ever known. “I will write very often so that you need not concern yourself over me.”
Mrs. Stanton smiled and made to turn away, only to stop herself. “You know that you will always have a home here with us, whatever the circumstances, Sarah. Should you wish to return, you only need to appear, and we will welcome you with open arms. You are as much our child as if I had birthed you myself.”
“And you are the only mother I have ever known or will ever need,” Sarah replied, feeling her own tears threatening. “Thank you. I will keep you informed of any changes to my plans.”
Mrs. Stanton nodded and left the room, and Sarah was about to close the door when the maid appeared, telling her that Mr. Stanton and his solicitor were waiting for her in the study, just as soon as she could join them. Sarah spared herself only a few seconds to glance in the mirror and smooth her chestnut-colored hair before setting her shoulders and making her way back to the study, telling herself that she could not stop being brave now. Whilst Mrs. Stanton’s conversation had brought her a sharp, unexpected grief at the thought of leaving, Sarah could not allow herself to show any kind of emotion now. She would have to be practical and sensible, showing both men that she had every intention of carrying on with what she had begun.
“Ah, Sarah,” Mr. Stanton began, getting out of his chair as she came into the room. “This is Mr. Featherstone, my solicitor. He was in the village today from London, as I said to you before, so he was able to stop in at short notice.”
“I had business with a few others in the village, so it is no trouble,” Mr. Featherstone replied, heaving his great bulk out of the chair and inclining his head towards Sarah, who found herself staring at one of the largest men she had ever seen. The man was positively rotund, with a faint sheen of sweat appearing on his brow as he bowed. His thinning, fair hair was plastered to his head, his large nose rather red and his small, narrow eyes studying her intently. Sarah felt herself disliking him at once, but setting her personal feelings aside, she sat down with them both.
“It appears you have discovered something about your fortune,” Mr. Featherstone began, tutting a little. “You are either a very nosy girl or someone informed you of the matter.” He raised one eyebrow and looked Sarah up and down, sniffing disdainfully. “Might I ask which one it is?”
Sarah, feeling as though she was being reprimanded by this man she did not know, felt her cheeks turn scarlet as she fought to keep her anger under control. “I do not think that is any of your business, Mr. Featherstone,” she replied caustically. “Please inform me about my fortune and dowry.”
“Very well,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “You have an income of ten thousand pounds a year, Miss Weston, from the year you turned eighteen, which, I believe, was a little over a year ago.”
“I am just now turned twenty,” Sarah replied, trying to keep a hold of herself at the sudden wealth that was being poured into her lap. “And my dowry?”
Mr. Featherstone pulled some papers from his case and scrutinized them. “Twenty thousand pounds, Miss Weston. Oh, and there is a townhouse in London in your name, although I do not know whether or not it is furnished. There is no staff there yet, of course.”
Reeling, Sarah clung to the arms of her chair and tried her best to breathe normally. This was more than a fortune; this was extravagance.
“You were not to know of this until you wed, which is what is most unfortunate,” Mr. Featherstone continued, still sounding rather annoyed. “I believe it was felt that a young woman would not be able to manage such a great amount of money alone.”
That caught Sarah’s attention, bringing her back into the room with a sudden jolt. “I think you—and whoever suggested that—greatly underestimate me, sir,” she replied firmly. “And I shall tell you what I intend to do with my fortune, if that is to put you at ease. I intend to give ten thousand pounds, from last year’s income, to Mr. and Mrs. Stanton. Immediately.”
There was a short, stunned silence. Sarah looked at Mr. Stanton, who was staring at her with wide eyes, his hands grasping the table in front of him.
“Mr. Stanton, I know you were given some income each year to care for me, but I would not have you struggle when that income ceases. I intend to ensure that yourself and Mrs. Stanton are able to live comfortably.”
“I….” Mr. Stanton’s voice grew hoarse, as he swallowed once, then twice, before shaking his head at her. “You are much too generous, Sarah. I did not expect this from you.”