A Most Unsuitable Match (8 page)

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 returned. 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.”

Fannie took a step back. “Replace Hannah? You can’t be serious. I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to,” he said with a patronizing smile. “I’ll handle it for you.” He pulled his watch from his vest pocket. “And now, I’m afraid I have a pressing meeting with another client.” He didn’t wait for Fannie’s reply. Instead, he cupped her elbow in his hand and guided her to the door.

It was all Fannie could do to keep from breaking down right in front of him. Hannah’s beautiful smile was one of her earliest memories. Hannah’s soothing voice, not Mother’s, had calmed her childhood fears. When Fannie broke a toy or took a tumble, it was Hannah who made things right. Mother never seemed to want to be bothered about such things.

Replace Hannah? What on earth was the man thinking? Didn’t he know that, for Fannie, life without Hannah . . . would be no life at all.

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

E
CCLESIASTES 3:1

It took every bit of her self-control for Fannie to make her way toward home without sobbing in public. She hadn’t realized it, but her life had begun to fall apart four years ago with the sinking of the
Bertrand
. In spite of Papa’s best efforts, the business had never really recovered from that loss. Then the icy disaster in St. Louis had been the final blow. And then Papa died, and still . . . Mother hadn’t changed anything. How could she have been so uninformed? So willfully blind to the truth?

Brilliant as they were, Daniel Hennessey and Minette’s father probably weren’t going to be able to work a miracle. It was too late. Mr. Vandekamp had so much as said so, what with his return to the same old theme of marriage. Only now that theme had an even more distressing side. She was supposed to delude some poor, unsuspecting someone. Lure some man into taking her on . . . before he had a chance to know just how large a financial burden she would be.