A Daughter's Inheritance (2 page)

“I found some fossils over this way,” Michael told her. “Maybe we can go hunt for more tomorrow.”

“That would be grand,” Fanny replied and then frowned. “Oh, but I cannot. Your father is taking us to some birthday party on one of the other islands. Amanda and Sophie insist I come.”

“Your cousins can be rather bossy, but I’m sure a party will be far more fun than scouting about in the dirt with me.”

Fanny thought to deny that idea but spied her father down the path a ways. He was leaning up against a tree, the basket beside him. Apparently he’d fallen asleep while watching the river.

“Papa!” Fanny hurried down the path, barely righting herself as she tripped on the loose rocks.

“Slow down, you goose!” Michael called from behind her. “You don’t want to fall and tear your dress.”

Fanny checked her step and slowed only marginally. “Papa, wake up. Grand-mère wishes to see you.” She reached her father’s side and knelt beside him. Reaching out, she gave him a shake, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Papa?”

She shook him again, and this time his body slumped away from her. His hand fell to the side, revealing a small framed photograph of her mother.

“Michael, something’s wrong.” She looked to where Michael had come to stop. “He’s . . . he’s sick. He’s not waking up.” Fanny shook him harder, but he only slumped closer to the ground. “Papa!”

In less than a second, Michael was at her side. “Mr. Broadmoor. Wake up, sir.” He gently reached out to touch the man, then pulled away. “Fanny, I think you should go get my father. Maybe get your uncle Jonas, too.”

“But why? What’s wrong?”

“Just go now. Hurry.”

Fanny straightened and, seeing the grave expression on Michael’s face, did exactly as he told her. She fairly flew up the path, and despite knowing how much her grandmother would disapprove, she ran as fast as she could to get help.

The men were easy to find. Fanny let them know the situation in breathless gasps that left little doubt to the serious nature of the moment. The men headed out, demanding she stay behind, but Fanny wasn’t about to be left out of the matter. She allowed them to leave without her then followed behind, ignoring her cousins as they bade her to come and play.

Something inside Fanny’s chest felt tight. She couldn’t help the sense of dread that washed over her. Papa was very sick, otherwise he would have awakened. What would happen now? Would they remain on the island while he recovered, or would they head back to Rochester early? Deep inside, a most terrible thought tried to force its way through the maze of fearful considerations. What if he wasn’t sick? What if he had. . .

She couldn’t even breathe the word. Fanny couldn’t imagine life without her beloved father. She’d already endured the horrible loneliness of being without a mother. Her mother had died giving birth to Fanny, and all she had of her were a few trinkets.

Edging up quietly to where she’d left Michael with her father, Fanny watched the men as they dealt with the situation at hand.

“This is just great,” her Uncle Jonas declared. “Langley always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Jonas, that’s uncalled for,” Uncle Quincy countered. “You know he’s been lost in grief ever since Winifred died.”

“He was a weakling. He couldn’t even end his life like a man. What reasonable man would take poison?”

Fanny shook her head and flew at them. “No! My papa isn’t dead!” She pushed past Uncle Quincy and reached for her father. It was Michael, however, who stopped her. He pulled her away quickly.

“Get her out of here,” Uncle Jonas growled. “Take her away at once, Michael.”

Michael pulled Fanny along, but she fought him. “No! I want to be with my papa. He needs me.”

“He’s beyond need now, Fanny.” Michael’s soft, gentle words caused her to halt her fighting.

“But . . . he . . . he . . . cannot be . . .” She looked back to where her uncles and Michael’s father stood and then braved a glance down to her father’s silent form. Tears poured and blinded her eyes as she looked up to Michael.

“Come on.”

Fanny gripped Michael’s hand tightly and closed her eyes as he led her up the path. Her father was dead. It seemed impossible— horribly wrong. How could it have happened? Uncle Jonas said it was poison. Her father had taken something to end his life.

“Why did he . . . do this?” Fanny barely whispered the words. “Was it my fault?”

Michael dropped to his knees and pulled Fanny against his shoulder. She sobbed quietly for several minutes, just standing there against him.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Michael finally said as she calmed. “Your father was just too sad. He couldn’t bear the pain of being without your mother.”

“But he had me,” Fanny said, pulling away. “He had me, and now I have no one.”

Michael reached up and gently brushed back her tears. He offered a hint of a smile. “You have me, Fanny. You’ll always have me.

2

Tuesday, June 1, 1897
Rochester, New York

“Fiddlesticks. Where are they?”

The heels of Frances Jane Broadmoor’s shoes tapped a rhythmic click on the Italian marble tile as she paced the length of the entrance hall. Thus far, the technique had failed to control her impatience. At seventeen Fanny was usually not given to such displays, but this occasion merited her frustration.

“Amanda is never late. Sophie would be late to her own funeral, but not Amanda.” She went to the window and pulled back the sheer fabric. One glance told her the same thing she’d known for over fifteen minutes. Her cousins had not yet arrived.

They hadn’t seen each other since last Christmas, when Fanny was home from finishing school. Amanda had gone away shortly after that to take a grand tour of Europe, while Sophie remained at home. The separation had been absolute misery for the girls. They were closer than most sisters.

“Why must they torture me like this?” She dropped the sheer and began to pace again. Passing by her grandfather’s study, she peered inside at the ornamental frame that held her grandmother’s likeness. Grand-mère. Fanny smiled at the French word. Her grand-mère’s aristocratic French ancestors would be appalled at the English use of Grandmother.

There were those who thought Fanny resembled her grand-mère, but the young woman couldn’t see it for herself. Fanny had a ghastly collection of dark auburn curls, while Daphine Broadmoor had hair the color of ripe wheat. At least when she’d been younger. Even as an older woman with a snow white crown, her grandmother’s beauty surpassed all rivals.

Fanny heard a noise from outside and rushed back to the window. Frowning, she let out a rather unladylike sigh. It was only Mr. Pritchard, the gardener. He offered a smile and waved. Earlier in the day they had worked the garden together, one of Fanny’s greatest pleasures. She waved but then quickly walked away from the window.

Had she known both of her cousins would be late, she could have allowed herself additional time in the garden. Mr. Pritchard would have been pleased for another half hour of her help. Though the gardener could be cranky, Fanny had convinced herself years ago that the man enjoyed her assistance. Hamilton Broadmoor hadn’t been quite so certain, but her grandfather’s assessment hadn’t quelled Fanny’s desire to learn from Mr. Pritchard.

With no more than the fleeting thought of her grandfather, Fanny glanced up the mammoth stairway. Sunlight spilled from the circular skylight and cast dancing prisms across the palatial landing above the first flight of stairs. She should go upstairs and see if he was awake, but she’d ascended no more than a few steps when the front door burst open.

Amanda rushed inside, holding her straw hat with one hand while lifting her skirts with the other. “I am terribly sorry, Fanny. As usual, Sophie has made us late. Goodness, but what happened to your hair?”

Instinctively Fanny pressed a palm to her unruly curls. No matter how she brushed and pinned the tresses, they popped loose and circled her face like unfettered coils. “I’m afraid my pacing has undone my grooming.” She tried to force the pins back into place while scanning the entryway for some sign of Sophie. Giving up on her hair, Fanny descended the steps and hurried to embrace Amanda.

“And where is Sophie? Still in the carriage?”

“Absolutely not! I finally departed without her. Next time she’ll believe me when I say I’m not waiting any longer.” Amanda pulled away, removed her hat, and twisted a blond tress around her finger to ensure proper placement.

Fanny smiled at the gesture. Amanda’s hair was just like Grand-mère’s—the same golden shade and never disheveled in the least. “Exactly where did you leave poor Sophie?”

“Poor
Sophie
? Don’t you
dare
feel sorry for her. I arrived with the carriage at exactly one-thirty. The time we had both agreed upon, by the way. When she still hadn’t gotten into the carriage by two o’clock, I warned her and then departed.” Amanda frowned and shook her head. “Some fellow I’ve never seen before was sitting in the parlor visiting with her when I arrived. Even though he clearly knew of our plans, he made no move to leave. Certainly no gentleman, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, I . . .”

“When I issued my ultimatum, he grinned and the two of them continued their private conversation. I decided I’d wait no longer. I knew you would be worried about us.” Amanda’s high cheekbones bore a distinct flush; her usually gentle brown eyes flashed with anger.

“’Tis true I wondered at the lateness of your arrival. In fact, I’d decided to go upstairs for a brief visit with Grandfather, though I wasn’t certain he’d be awake.” She lowered her voice. “The doctor gives him a great deal of medicine, and he sleeps almost constantly. Hazel and I take turns sitting with him.”

Amanda bobbed her head. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. It seems we’ve been apart for years instead of months.”

“I know. I was thinking the same thing.” Fanny’s voice was barely audible.

“Why are you whispering?”

Fanny shrugged. “Habit, I suppose. I’ve become accustomed to keeping my voice low when someone is sick. I guess it’s silly.”

The girls looped arms and walked into the parlor. “Not so silly. You’ve been around more sickness and death than most of us.”

That fact was certainly true, although Fanny tried not to dwell on it. It just made her all the more lonely to think about what she’d lost in her young life. She couldn’t remember her mother, but her father was a different story. Memories of their years together only served to make the loss seem new all over again. She had thought they’d been happy together—that they would always have each other to hold fast to. Remembering him dead only made her loneliness more acute.

After her father’s funeral, Fanny hadn’t had to make any adjustment to her living arrangements. At her grandmother’s insistence, Fanny and her father had been living with Grand-mère and Grandfather at Broadmoor Mansion since the day after Winifred’s death and Fanny’s birth. But once her father had died, there had been subtle changes in her life. People talked about her father in hushed whispers. After all, it was quite unacceptable to take one’s life. Fanny felt as though she’d been hidden away from society while the gossip died down. Still, she’d been fortunate, for her grandparents had easily slipped into the role of both legal and emotional guardians of their youngest granddaughter.

But now Grand-mère, too, was gone, and Grandfather seemed destined to follow. Fanny had suffered greatly when the older woman had taken ill and died two years ago. Her grandparents had insisted she remain at finishing school, and there had been no time for final good-byes with Grand-mère. A situation Fanny continued to regret. She’d had no control over that decision or anything else in her life, for that matter. With Grandfather hovering on the brink of death, she now feared losing him, as well. The two of them had become inordinately close throughout the years, but even more so since Grand-mère’s death.

Amanda grasped Fanny’s hand and pulled her toward the divan. “Now look what I’ve done with my dreary talk of illness and death. You’ve turned gloomy. I can see it in your eyes. Do promise you’ll cheer up. I want to hear all about what’s happened during your final session at Greatbriar. I know you must be delighted to have completed your education at that distant place. I do wish Grandfather would have permitted you to remain at home and attend finishing school here in Rochester.”

Still clasping hands, the girls dropped onto the floral upholstered divan. Greatbriar Manor for Young Ladies of Exceptional Quality, located in Montreal, Canada, had been Grand-mère’s choice. Her father had never acquiesced, but after his death, Grand-mère had insisted Fanny would love the school. She hadn’t.

“He was following Grand-mère’s instructions. She thought it best I finish my schooling at Greatbriar, but who knows what will happen now that I’ve completed my final year. Grand-mère said after my grand tour of Europe, I could consider attending Vassar.” Fanny scooted into a corner of the divan. “From what you tell me about Sophie and this young man, it sounds as though she’s adjusted.”

Amanda cocked an eyebrow. “To her mother’s death, you mean?”

Fanny nodded. It seemed all of their conversation this day would center upon the topic of death. “Yes. She appeared terribly downcast when I saw her during the Christmas holidays. She wouldn’t even accept my invitation to come and spend time with Grandfather and me. I didn’t take offense, of course. I knew she must be missing her mother terribly.”

“You are a sweet girl, Fanny, but I don’t believe Aunt Marie’s death—”

Before Amanda could complete her response, footsteps clattered across the marble floor tiles. “Forevermore, where is everyone? Fanny? Amanda? Doesn’t the butler answer the door anymore?”

Fanny jumped to her feet and hurried toward the parlor doorway. “We’re in here, Sophie.” She touched her index finger to her lips.

“Why am I supposed to be quiet? And where are the servants? No one answered the door when I arrived. Ever since grandfather has taken ill, the servants take advantage. As head housekeeper, you’d think Mrs. O’Malley would issue some reprimands.”

“Grandfather is resting, and the servants are attending to their duties.” Fanny frowned. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”