A Daughter's Inheritance (41 page)

Mrs. Morrison unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “I believe Fanny misses all of you very much. She’s such a well-mannered young lady that I doubt she ever had difficulty following her uncle’s rules.”

Fanny shot an annoyed look at Sophie. Once in a while Sophie needed to think before she said whatever popped into her mind. At least she seemed to realize she had caused Mr. and Mrs. Morrison discomfort with her offhand remark and said little throughout the meal. As their apricot pudding was served, Fanny inquired how Paul Medford was adjusting to his career at the Home for the Friendless.

“I don’t know how he has sufficient time to perform his duties. He’s too busy attempting to intervene in my life.” Sophie dipped her spoon into her creamy dessert. “He says Father is preoccupied and doesn’t realize I need supervision. What do you think of that, Mrs. Morrison?”

Mrs. Morrison sipped her coffee. “Perhaps your father has granted this young man permission to act as a surrogate parent during his absences.”

“Ha!” Sophie pointed her spoon in Paul’s direction. “Do you see that young man sitting beside Amanda’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Paul Medford. He’s not that much older than me, so I don’t think he’s capable of acting as a parent, surrogate or otherwise.”

Mrs. Morrison leaned to see around her husband. “Rather a nice-looking young man. Have you considered that he may be romantically interested and that’s why he’s attempting to look after your best interests?”

Sophie jerked to attention. “
Paul?
Interested in
me
? I think
not
! We’re as different as day and night. Never in a thousand years would I be interested in someone like Paul.”

“Opposites can sometimes be a good thing. You each bring different strengths to the marriage,” Mrs. Morrison said.

“That might be true for some people, but Paul and I can’t move beyond our disagreements.” Sophie looked down toward the other end of the table. “And I don’t see why everyone says he is nice appearing. I find him rather plain.”

Mr. Morrison laughed. “If he were the most handsome man in the room, I believe you’d find him unappealing, for he represents authority. And I would surmise that is something you dislike.”

“You’re correct. I detest authority. However, I control my life—not Paul Medford. I merely want him to take heed of that fact.”

The sound of the musicians tuning their instruments signaled the end of the meal, and soon the guests were all gathered in the ballroom adjacent to the dining room on the third floor. No one seemed to think of the hardship these parties placed on the staff. Truth be told, it wasn’t until Fanny saw the work Mrs. Atwell performed at Broadmoor Island that she’d realized the life of a servant was far removed from those they served. When she and Michael were married, they would be more cognizant of such inequities.

Sophie pulled on Fanny’s hand. “Come along. Let’s see if there are some eligible men looking for dance partners.”

Fanny withdrew her hand. “I promised my first dance to Mr. Morrison. I’ll join you later.”

Sophie nodded. “I’m spending the night here at the house with you and Amanda, so we shall have plenty of time to discuss the men tonight.”

Fanny watched Sophie weave through the crowd with grace and agility. No doubt she was making her way toward a cluster of young men at the south end of the hall. Fanny stifled a giggle when she saw Paul following after her. He’d likely attempt to curtail her fun.

The musicians struck their first chords, and Fanny insisted Mr. and Mrs. Morrison dance the first dance of the evening together. “I promise to wait and dance the next waltz with you, Mr. Morrison.” She watched as they took to the floor. They made a lovely couple, and there was little doubt of their devotion to each other. Still, Fanny saw no resemblance between herself and the man who was circling the floor with his gentle wife. Sad that they’d never had any children of their own. She thought they would have been excellent parents. Given the opportunity, she thought Michael would be a wonderful father.

She hoped one day she could give him a child.

“Daydreaming?”

Fanny turned at the sound of her uncle’s voice. “Thinking how sad it is that I didn’t discover my lineage before Michael departed for the Yukon. We could have been married and . . .” She hesitated.

“And
what
, Fanny? Live on Broadmoor Island as a servant? Your lineage aside, if Michael is the man you choose to marry, I’ve done you a service. If he returns a wealthy man, you’ll have a life of ease and prosperity rather than a life of menial work. Either way, you should thank me.”

Fanny clenched her jaw. “You equate happiness with money, yet you don’t appear particularly happy or content. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve promised this dance.” She turned and walked toward Mr. Morrison.

He proved to be an excellent dancer as he led her around the floor. “You don’t need to remain much longer. You’ve made an appearance. Uncle Jonas can assert he’s a generous and proper gentleman who has deigned to entertain us in his home.”

Mr. Morrison took a backward step and pivoted to the left. “You deserve so much more than I can ever give you, Fanny. I can no longer pretend—”

He gasped and clutched at his chest. His color turned sallow, and he stared at her with surprise in his eyes. Slowly he dropped to the dance floor, still clinging to her by one hand. Fanny quickly kneeled down beside him, her gown spread around them like a protective shield. The couples ceased their dancing and gathered around as the strains of music faded in uneven increments. Mrs. Morrison hurriedly broke through the crowd and called for a doctor.

“It’s too late, my dear,” he said. Ignoring his whispered protests, Mrs. Morrison pillowed his head on her lap.

“Fanny.” Mr. Morrison grasped Fanny’s hand, and she scooted closer. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused. I have deceived you. That letter wasn’t genuine, and I am not your father. I never met your mother. I’m sure . . .” He gasped for a breath of air.

“Someone get a doctor!” Mrs. Morrison called out.

Murmurs filled the room, and Jonas stepped closer. “This is preposterous. He must be delirious.”

A number of the guests collectively shushed Jonas while others glared in his direction. Mr. Snodgrass thumped his cane. “When a man’s dying, he speaks the truth, Jonas!”

Mr. Morrison’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment; then he regained strength. “I’m certain your mother was a fine woman. Your parents are Winifred and Langley Broadmoor. I wasn’t even in the United States during that time. That fact can be verified.” He glanced up at his wife. “In my lockbox there’s information to prove what I say.”

Fanny stroked his face. “Mr. Morrison, please.”

His eyelids fluttered. “You are a lovely girl . . . I wish you could have been my daughter. I didn’t do this to hurt you. Please believe my sorrow when I tell you it was simply about the money. I couldn’t . . .” His voice faded and Fanny bent low, but his final mutterings remained unintelligible.

With one final breath, he was gone. Mrs. Morrison was softly whispering, but Fanny didn’t know if she was praying or attempting to talk to her husband. She glanced upward and saw Paul Medford approach.

He bent down. “Let me help you to your feet.”

Fanny grasped his hand and attempted to rise to her feet, but the room swirled around her like a whirlpool sucking her into a dark abyss. Somewhere in the distance she heard her uncle Jonas’s voice. She detected urgency in his question, but her lips wouldn’t move. She was unable to tell him she hadn’t heard Mr. Morrison’s final utterance.

32

A cool breeze whispered through the bedroom window, and Fanny heard the murmur of voices. Using what strength she could muster, she opened her eyes.

“You’re awake! Finally.” Sophie lifted the cool towel from her head. “Aunt Victoria wanted to using smelling salts, but I objected.” She grinned. “You can thank me later. I know how you detest the burning sensation.”

“Where is . . .”

Amanda moved to the edge of her bed. “There’s no one here but Sophie and me. We told Mother we were quite capable of looking after you. With all the commotion, it didn’t take long to convince her. She wanted to be certain her party wasn’t completely ruined.”

“Can’t you imagine what the society page is going to say come Monday morning? I can hardly wait to read it:
Man drops dead
after dining at the home of Jonas and Victoria Broadmoor.
It’s just too delightful.” Sophie clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I don’t mean it’s delightful that Mr. Morrison died, of course. That was horrid. But what kind of man was he, to pretend he was your father?”

Amanda grasped Fanny’s hand. “
Enough
, Sophie! Fanny’s had a severe trauma this evening, and you’re jabbering like a magpie.”

Fanny’s eyelids fluttered. “Mrs. Morrison? Is she here?”

“Oh no. She left when they took the body—I mean her husband to the . . . well, you know . . . the mortuary. At least I assume that’s where they took him. I did hear her say he’s to be buried in Syracuse.” Sophie hesitated for a moment. “Maybe he’s already on the train . . . well, not riding as a passenger, of course, but in the baggage car or something.”

“Do stop, Sophie. You’re making matters worse by the minute,” Amanda scolded.

“How can it be any worse? The man is dead. And deservedly so, I might add. He took advantage of our dear Fanny. I can’t imagine what would come over someone to do such a thing.” Sophie cupped her chin in one hand. “Do you suppose his wife forged that letter for him? And I thought she was such a nice lady.” She wagged a finger back and forth. “So did you, Fanny, and I thought you were an excellent judge of character.”

Using her elbows for leverage, Fanny scooted up and propped herself against the pillows. “Mrs. Morrison
is
a wonderful lady, and I think she believed the story, too. Didn’t you hear Mr. Morrison tell her there was proof? If she was a part of the hoax, he wouldn’t have explained it to her. Like me, I believe she was completely surprised by his confession, and I do want to see her again.”

Ever the voice of reason, Amanda recommended Fanny rest now and make her decision regarding Mrs. Morrison in the morning.

“I’m not ill, Amanda. I merely fainted. Come morning, Mrs. Morrison may be gone. I’m certain she’ll attempt to leave on the earliest possible train.” Fanny glanced at the clock. “You don’t think she had time to catch the final train tonight, do you?”

Sophie shook her head. “No. By the time she returned to the hotel for her belongings, the train would have already departed. She’ll be required to remain in Rochester tonight.”

“Then I shall go and see her this very moment.” Before Amanda could protest, Fanny sat up and slid her feet into her shoes. “Please don’t be angry, Amanda. If you’re overly concerned, one of you can go with me while the other stays here to keep watch. We don’t want anyone to discover I’ve left the house.”

“I want to go with you,” Sophie squealed.

“Do keep your voice down or someone will hear.” Amanda frowned. “I don’t like this plan in the least, but if you’re determined, I’ll remain and keep watch. You can go down the back stairway and through the kitchen. The servants won’t question you. I’ll do my best to keep your secret, but if Mother comes upstairs to check on you while you’re gone . . .” With a beseeching look, she turned her palms upward.

“If your mother comes looking, I don’t expect you to lie,” Fanny said.

“Tell her I forced Fanny outside for fresh air. That won’t be a lie. Just watch as I push her out of here.” The three of them giggled while Sophie propelled Fanny out the door and down the hallway.

Once they exited the house, Sophie took charge. Fanny had to admit that her cousin’s experience with such escapades was now proving invaluable. Rather than asking one of the Broadmoor drivers to bring a carriage around, they strolled down the driveway, where Sophie hailed a passing cab. “Much less chance of word traveling back to Uncle Jonas as to where we’ve been,” she said.

As long as she had an opportunity to speak with Mrs. Morrison before her departure, Fanny cared little what her uncle might think. However, she appreciated her cousin’s concern. They rode in silence until the driver brought the carriage to a stop in front of the hotel.

“Do you want me to wait in the foyer or go up with you?” Sophie asked after instructing the driver to wait for them.

“Sitting in the hotel foyer without benefit of an escort is highly improper,” Fanny replied.

Sophie giggled. “You’re beginning to sound like Amanda. Let’s ask for her room number.”

The clerk appeared doubtful he should give them the desired information. Sophie furrowed her brow and leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “If you have ever heard the name
Broadmoor
, my good sir, I suggest you tell me the room number posthaste.”

Strangely, the man didn’t ask if they were related to the Broadmoors or if they could produce any form of identification before directing them to room 342. Sophie’s knack for achieving success astounded Fanny.

“I believe the Broadmoor name frightened him out of his wits. I wonder if he’s had a confrontation with Uncle Jonas in the past,” Sophie said with a grin.

With her fingers trembling, Fanny formed her hand into a tight fist, knocked on the door, and waited. “Maybe she’s asleep.”

Sophie shook her head. “I doubt she’ll sleep a wink after all that’s happened tonight. Knock again.”

She lifted her hand again but stopped midair when she heard footsteps. The door opened, and Mrs. Morrison stood in the doorway, pale as a ghost. Fanny opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat like a wad of cotton.

Mrs. Morrison grasped her by the hand. “Do come in. I’m very pleased to see you, Fanny.”

The night’s events appeared to have shriveled Mrs. Morri-son’s already thin body. She peered at them with eyes that had shrunken into their sockets, and her head bobbled as though she hadn’t the strength to hold it upright. Fanny held on to the woman for fear she might collapse before reaching the chairs across the room. Thankfully Sophie remained at a distance and allowed them a modicum of privacy.