Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (6 page)

Fanny waved dismissively. “Stage nerves, nothing more.”

“Tell that to my maid. I must have gone through fifteen gowns a day.”

Besides Fanny, servants had been the only ones to witness the backbreaking hours of posture exer
cises, modiste fittings, elocution lessons, dancing and movement instruction. How many hours had she spent before a mirror, flirting with her reflection, making polite conversation with the terrified chit staring back at her, ready to mock her efforts?

“But you overcame your nerves just as you overcame Kane. Why? Because you
refused to let him win.
” Placing her glass on the side table, Fanny wagged a delicate finger. “I cannot take credit for your life today, but I can say that I taught you that once a woman sets her mind to something, she is capable of anything.”

“What I learned from you and Dillon is that I cannot do everything on my own. I need help sometimes, the more steadfast the better.” Sighing, she nodded slowly. “Perhaps I am not quite ready to fold my cards.”

“Good girl.” Fanny squeezed her hand. “Show Kane what he can do with his schemes.”

“But how in heaven’s name am I supposed to get Redford on our side? How can I impress on him that Dillon did not do what they say he did? Redford said that he would disbelieve anything set before him.”

“He needs to feel it where it counts, darling.”

“Where is that?”

“You have been a high-stepping mistress for over two years, Lillian. Think about it.”

Lillian’s mouth actually dropped open. She did not bother to force it closed. “Have you gone round the bend?”

Fanny lifted those expressive shoulders, famous from her years of acting on Drury Lane. “You are the one who has been dreaming of the man for months….”

“The Redford I met four days ago was hardly the Apollo of my fantasies.”

“How so?”

“He was so dark, closed, hardly even attractive….”

“Now, that I find hard to believe. I have seen the man, and he might not be an Apollo, but Ares, the god of war, certainly comes to mind.”

Stroking the rim of her glass with her finger, Lillian would not meet her friend’s eye. “He did not seem particularly violent to me—”

“Not violent, hot-blooded. Couldn’t you sense it?”

Lillian shifted uncomfortably. “I do not know what you are talking about, Fanny. All I know is that I don’t think that I can do it.”

“Then Kane wins.”

Lillian sagged against the back of the chaise. “Therein lies the rub.”

“Listen, Lillian. Your transformation two years ago. It was about creating a fantasy. You needed to go from drab wallflower to luminous lily. We knew that the pillars of Society would never accept you, but we wanted to make you so very fascinating that you would be an asset to any social gathering. You became the woman every man wanted and the charmer every woman wanted to be. Charisma. It’s what gives Napoleon his power.”

“I thought it was his army that did that,” Lillian quipped.

“Where he leads, they follow. His magnetism charms his subjects into doing his bidding. Charisma is the key.”

“Some might argue that it cannot be taught.”

“Perhaps not. But it can be feigned. Create a fantasy and then live it.” Fanny waved a languid hand.
“It is the same with Redford. You have months of imaginative gold to work with. Take your fantasies and spin them into treasure. In the bedchamber it is all about the imagination. Give him a fantasy, and he cannot say no.”

“What if
I
wish to say no?”

“The way that you have been going on about him?” She snorted. “You will probably be in seventh heaven.”

Lillian’s cheek heated. “Assuming even that this is our best option, the man will believe that he is being manipulated, so he will refuse to be seduced.”

“Then you must give him no choice, darling.”

Lillian bit her lip. “We do not have much time. The trial is less than two weeks away.” She sipped at her scotch, wondering if this was all a pipe dream.

“I have something in mind that can be arranged tonight.”

“Tonight?” Lillian sputtered, choking on the harsh liquid.

“You have allowed Kane to command this skirmish. Now is the time for you to be the general.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You seduce Redford and he’ll take the case. Once Redford understands that Dillon could not have killed Lady Langham, he will not stop there. He will be your greatest soldier, fighting on
your
side.”

“He
is
honorable—”

“No, he’s smart. There is lots of money to be made off capturing the true culprit. Apart from Lord Langham’s sizable reward, Redford has just opened up a new firm. The exposure will be a reward in itself.”

“Justice sounded a lot less calculating.”

“Here, he can have both. A win for all.”

“But must it be tonight? It seems so…soon.”

“You have already waited three and twenty years to overcome Kane, Lillian. What will it take, the next solar eclipse?”

“If I am to do this, I suppose it will be better in the dark….”

“That’s the spirit, darling. Think moonlit grasses and a potent young buck.”

“Ugh, you are making me think of hunting. Not exactly the metaphor I need at the moment.”

“What would work better for you?”

“Sacrificial lamb?”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Fanny’s face lit up. “That’s it!”

“What are you talking about?”

“When all else fails, go with the Scriptures. I am thinking Abraham sacrificing Isaac.”

“I am not following you, Fanny.”

Fanny rose and paced, excitement making her bottle green gown swoosh with every sashay. “Don’t you mind, Lillian. I am going to take care of everything.”

“Everything?” Lillian grinned hopefully.

“Except for the most important thing, Miss Sassy. Not that I wouldn’t mind. Redford’s just the kind of man to cause a girl to give up on sleeping and eating.”

Lillian adjusted her skirts, uncomfortable with the frank conversation. She was used to Fanny talking about such things, but not when they related to her. “So what is the plan?”

“Well, I need you to draft a note to Redford. I was never very good with my letters. Then go home and take a scented bath. Then come back here around
dusk. And bring some of those pretty night rails that we bought last month.
Not
the one that
you
picked out, mind you.” Fanny beamed wickedly. “Tonight is
not
the night for you to look like a nun.”

N
ick walked into Tipton’s Tavern, his emotions more knotted than a briar patch. Ever since Dunn’s death, Nick felt like he wore a mantle of grief as part of his everyday wardrobe. It was with him when he rose, when he moved about town, and when he returned to his single bed at night. It was a barrier separating him from the rest of the blithe world that was not experiencing his heartache.

Dunn had come to Andersen Hall and transformed it from a foundling home of despair to one where children budded with hope. He’d given his charges the one thing that everyone else seemed intent on denying them:
dignity.
It had taken time for Dunn to win the trust of the children at Andersen Hall, most especially that of Nick Redford. But that fragile thread had grown into the fabric of caring, a safety net in a cold, cruel world. Nick would be for
ever grateful for that support. It had given him the confidence to venture out, to make something of himself. And he knew that that net had been interwoven with Dunn’s greatest gift of all, the belief that his children were
worthy
of success.

Nick loved Dunn more than he could ever love the father that he had never known. Grieved for that caring educator with every fiber of his being. It was like a weight on his soul, sinking him down.

But on a day like today, when the clouds split and sunlight speared through, the mantle of sorrow slipped off. And he felt irrationally guilty about it, like he was being unfaithful to Dunn’s memory by his lack of grief. Yet Nick knew that Dunn would have chided him for feeling this way, if he were yet living.

To find a missing bauble, to compile evidence securing a case against a thieving man-of-affairs, to prove a claim in a contested will; these were the easy tasks in life. Unraveling his own feelings was a labyrinth that seemed without egress. So Nick pushed it all aside for examination at a later time when he would feel up to it; a time he knew would never come.

“Good day, Joe.” He nodded to the barkeep. “Have you received any messages for me?”

Joe, a bald, wizened chap with a lame leg and a sharp eye, shook his head. “Nothing for ya today, Nick. Heard Dunn’s son Marcus was in town. Is it true?”

The mantle weighed down as if creeling stones had been set on his back. “Yes. But I haven’t spoken with him.”

“I heard that he’s become an officer and a hero.”

“That’s the story they’re telling.” Shifting his
shoulders, Nick slipped onto a stool and rested his arms on the scratched wooden bar. “I’ll have a beer.”

“Nick.” Dr. Winner patted his arm.

Nick was not in the mood for conversation, but he liked the good doctor. Moreover, Winner was an old crony of Dunn’s. “Hello, sir. Sorry, I did not see you.”

Winner dropped onto the adjacent stool. “No matter.”

“Gin for my friend, Joe,” Nick requested.

The barkeep spit into a glass, rubbed it with a cloth, then poured the drink.

“Suddenly you’re a man a plenty, Nick?” Winner inquired with a raised brow.

Nick shrugged, sipping his beer. No one needed to know about the bank draft in his pocket. Besides, it would not be his for very long. Between Mabel’s wages, the bills piling up on his desk and tithe for the orphanage, it would all be ancient history soon.

After a moment, Dr. Winner cleared his throat. “I heard that you turned down the Beaumont case.”

“Blast Mabel and her loose tongue!”

“She knows that I would never tell a soul.”

“Still—”

“It takes a man of integrity to think with his conscience instead of his bank account,” Winner remarked. “Dunn would be proud of you.”

Grief was like a blade slicing through him. Those were the very words that he had striven for his entire life, it seemed. It was a standard rarely to be met, because Dunn was a noble man above others. The headmaster had been kind to all of his charges, but Nick felt especially blessed that Dunn had chosen to cultivate their relationship. Dunn had gone from instructor, to guide, to confidant in their time
together. Perhaps how it might be between a father and son. Nick had always been an orphan, but when Dunn had been around, he had not felt like one.

Something must have shown on his face, for Winner laid a hand on Nick’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “I know that you are broken up about Dunn. We all are. I wish that I had a cure to ease your pain. But there is no better medicine than time.”

Nick inclined his head, indicating his appreciation. “You’re right, it’s everyone’s loss.”

“You and he were especially close, Nick. He thought of you as a son. Especially after that mess with Marcus.”

“Worthless sod.” Marcus had had the one thing that every child in Andersen Hall had wanted—Dunn as a flesh-and-blood father. Yet he had thrown it away, breaking Dunn’s heart. No one knew why.

“You and he never did get along.” Winner sighed. “Although he seems to have made something of himself. Worked quite closely with Sir Arthur Wellesley, I heard. Helping give Napoleon a well-deserved thumping.” He sipped from his glass. “I’m hoping he will assist me with the board of trustees.”

Nick snorted, disgusted. “Marcus only knows how to help one person—himself.”

“It’s been seven years since he left; he’s bound to have changed.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. But I would not stake the orphanage on the likes of Marcus Dunn.”

“It might just come down to that.”

Shock rippled through Nick. “You can’t be serious.”

“We are going to have a deuced time keeping the doors open unless some considerable funding comes
up soon. And then there’s the matter of securing a new headmaster.”

“No one can replace Dunn.”

“Someone will have to, or Andersen Hall will be no more.”

The children’s faces sifted through Nick’s mind. The thought of their future without Andersen Hall made him want to kick up a riot. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

“The key is finding a headmaster who is vested in the place. Who loves the institution and its charge as more than simply a job….”

“Banish the thought, sir.” Nick shook his head. “No matter how committed I am to the children, I’m not the man for the job.”

“You never know until you try….”

“I know what I am good at. Administration does not even make the roll. And raising finances?” Nick snorted. “Can you picture me sniffing the ton’s skirts to try to drum up funds?”

“Well…”

“You know that I am not built for that sort of thing, and I would only bring ruin on the institution.”

Winner grimaced. “You do have a tendency to be impolitic.”

“You mean frank.”

“In polite Society that is one and the same.”

“So you agree. I would make a terrible headmaster.”

“Perhaps.” Winner nodded. “But I am sure that there are other ways for you to contribute to the institution.”

“I always will.”

They drank in silence.

Nick thought about Marcus’s war record. Marcus had never been one to deal well with authority, as was inordinately apparent from his inexplicable clashes with his father. Yet to be noticed by the likes of Sir Arthur Wellesley? Despite himself, Nick was impressed. Marcus might have been a selfish bastard, but he was quick on his feet and sharp with a blade. Apparently he had made good use of his skills on the Peninsula.

Winner waved a nonchalant hand. “What we need is to find someone to publicly express support for the institution. Someone with great influence in Society….”

Nick studied his beer, trying to keep the astonishment from his face. Could Winner possibly know about his new client? No one knew besides…
Dunn.

Winner shifted on his stool, seemingly agitated. “So how is the enquiry business doing, anyway?”

“Fine.” Nick drank, reluctant to share the news. It was still too fresh, too startling…and it was all the more bittersweet because Dunn had set it up, still trying to help Nick succeed even from the great beyond.

The doctor started tapping his boot heel into the leg of his stool.

Nick refrained from shaking his head at Winner’s nosiness. Typical Winner. Dunn had always said that he was as curious as a cat.

“No happenings you would like to share with an old friend?” Winner lured.

Nick allowed himself an inner smile, knowing that Winner was right. What was the use of good tidings if you did not share them? Still, he had to
make the fine doctor suffer a bit. Dunn would have insisted. “Ask Mabel. She seems to know everything.”

The tapping increased. “I am asking you.”

“Oh yes, there is something.”

Winner’s boot stilled.

“I had new business cards printed. Want to see one?”

The man scowled. “Tarnation, Nick. Stop being coy. Did it come through or not?”

Nick let the good doctor wait another moment, before nodding. “Dunn came through.”

“Damn,” Winner breathed, slapping the bar. “The queen of England herself.” He grinned. “If Dunn were here, he’d be buying us all a round!”

“Yes, he would. He would also be begging me for details. It’s not every day that a misbegotten orphan gets to meet the queen of England.”

“You met the queen of England?” Winner shrieked. “Queen Charlotte?”

“Is there another?”

The man actually hooted.

Nick smiled. “I am glad that I have finally impressed you, sir.”

“No, laddie.” Winner slapped him on the back. “You impressed me the first day that I met you, drippy-nosed stripling that you were. I just never mentioned it. So, what’s she like?”

“Who?” Nick teased.

“Devil take you! Queen Charlotte!”

“Well,” Nick began slowly. “She was nothing like what I had expected. I mean, she was regal, like any queen, I suppose. But she was not like the renderings that I have seen.”

“More inspiring?”

“Smaller.”

“Undersized?” Winner asked, his gaze horrorstruck.

“No, just not as tall as in her portraits. I suppose they must put her on a pedestal when they paint those things.”

“Is she as plain as they say?”

“She has too much intensity to be plain. Her eyes seemed all-knowing. As if she could see through to your birth and know every skeleton in your cupboard.”

“Upon my honor,” Winner breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “Glad it was you and not me standing before her. I would have been in shark’s waters for sure. So what are you required to do for her?”

“Investigate anything that might crop up.”

“You mean, you might not actually have to do anything?”

“Actually, no.”

“But you did get paid?”

“A sizable retainer fee.” Nick patted his coat pocket. “After Mabel’s wages, there will be a nice donation for the orphanage.”

Winner’s cheeks reddened and his eyes flashed with excitement. “This is a grand opportunity, Nick. Fortuitous. Just when we need a person of influence—”

“I believe in Andersen Hall as much as you do, Doctor,” Nick interrupted. “The children need it to remain a safe haven where they can learn a trade and succeed. But I can hardly ask the queen of England for favors.”

“Well,” Winner wagged a finger, “one never knows what opportunity might spring from another.”

“Please don’t say a word, sir.”

“You should be crowing about this one.”

Nick shrugged. “I am happy, of course. But crowing is a bit too much effort for me these days.”

“Dunn would want you to be happy, Nick. It’s all he ever wanted for you.”

Nick almost smiled, remembering the burly headmaster. “No, he wanted me to be happy, hardworking, honorable, righteous, provide for a family…the list goes on.”

“He was a bit of a tyrant.”

“A beloved one at that.”

Winner scratched his shadowed chin. “So when will you settle down, Nick? You’re almost thirty. Almost as old as me.”

Nick swirled the beer in his mug, watching the foam spin. “I do not think that I am cut out for having a family, sir.”

“Why the hell not?”

Nick shifted his shoulders, feeling that unseen mantle drag on him. “Well, I’ve never had one, for one.”

“Perhaps not in the traditional sense. But being at Andersen Hall was like having a big family. Well, maybe not. But look at you now; you’re the queen’s man, for heaven’s sake.”

“Please don’t tell anyone, sir.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” Finishing his tankard, Nick stood.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry? We have some celebrating to do.”

“You enjoy yourself, Doctor.” Nick tossed some coins on the bar. “I have to go see a prospective client.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Miss Fanny Figbottom.”

“The stage actress?”

“Can’t imagine many women having that name.”

“I saw her once in a production of…what was it now? Oh, I can’t recall. Something about someone dying and a great love affair. All I know is that she had these milky white shoulders that seemed to have a life of their own. And those hips, well, she certainly is aptly named.” He coughed into his fist. “Not that I notice those things, mind you. I went for the culture.” He looked up. “Did you ever have the chance to see her?”

“She was
ages
before my time, sir,” Nick ribbed.

“So were many other great things, you guttersnipe,” he retorted, joking. He sipped from his drink. Then, licking his lips, Winner sighed dramatically. “Miss Figbottom. I would love to meet her in person.”

“I cannot introduce you until I meet her myself.”

“Very well, but I want a full accounting.”

“You are assuming that there will be something worth sharing.”

“With a woman like Miss Figbottom, there always is.”