Chapter Five
By three o’clock,Fanny wondered what Benson had been up to, gone as long as he was. By four she worried.
Wil grumbled, “I thought that solicitor said he would stay here.”
“A hotel would be more comfortable for a professional man like that. Perhaps he changed his mind,” Fanny said.
“He left his luggage here,” Amy, ever practical, pointed out.
The soup had been thin, but the children seemed satisfied. The empty pantry taunted her with the need to ask for a further advance on the earl’s funds—or the Benson family’s charity, the earl’s being so far a mere wisp of hope.
When a knock at the door sent Wil scrambling to respond and Benson climbed the stairs, overburdened with bundles, Fanny’s knees almost failed her. She took one of the parcels with trembling hands, treated to the smell of fresh bread. “Groceries?” she squeaked.
“It sounded like we needed some if you’re to keep me fed. I eat a fair bit—a man has to maintain his strength,” Benson said.
He talks as if we do him a favor accepting all this.
While Amy rhapsodized over cinnamon buns and Wil stared at the bounty, Fanny added onions, potatoes, apples, carrots, beans, a huge round of cheese, coffee, and some salted meats to the pantry along with some tinned foods.
“Do you think we might have a share of your buns, Mr. Benson?” Amy asked, earning a glare from Wil, who couldn’t quite keep the hope from his eyes.
“Well, Miss Amy, if you put on some water for tea, I expect there might be enough for the four of us,” Benson said with a smile.
Fanny picked up the two loaves of bread from the table to store them in the bread box and found a container of biscuits under them. She raised a brow at Benson.
He shrugged. “I like sweets.”
“That must explain the butterscotch drops I found with the tinned fruit.” Fanny tried to appear stern but feared she failed.
The children and the man (who proved to be as enthusiastic about his food as he claimed) made short work of the cinnamon buns and tea. Fanny had to admit she enjoyed them, too.
After Amy cleared the table, Fanny sent the ducklings, who had forgotten their schoolwork entirely while she was gone, off to their rooms. She lifted the fresh chicken, feathers still on, that she had left by the iron stove box next to the fireplace. “This won’t keep; I best cook it for dinner tonight,” she said. “Since I have a guest with an outsize appetite.”
Benson laughed at that. “I hope you know how to pluck it. I wasn’t sure an astute businesswoman like yourself had time for learning such skills.”
She treated him to a glare, though she suspected he was only half teasing.
“Sit with me first. We have things to discuss.”
Puzzled, she wiped her hands and sat in the chair across from him. When he took out a purse heavy with coin and set it on the table, she drew back her head, brows raised. “What is that?”
“Mr. Brendan Q. Cunningham and I came to an agreement that Rundle’s two high-steppers and extravagant curricle were worth far more than was owed for stabling. He humbly accepted them in payment and sent you the difference.”
“Cunningham? Humble? What did you do to him?”
“Worry not. He is in possession of all his body parts and will make a tidy profit in spite of my efforts to remind him of his conscience.”
“He was cheating us!”
Benson nodded. “I suspect he isn’t the only one trying to take advantage.”
She hefted the coins, peered into the bag, and sighed. “It won’t cover the mortgage.”
“Not even close. But it’s coin in your pocket. Tomorrow morning, I want you to make a list of creditors and their claims. Then we’ll inventory your assets. First thing, though, is to fix that window.”
“So we can open up.”
“Yes,” he said, drawing out the word. “Perhaps. But also to maintain the value of the property until we settle this mortgage business. Besides, with the window fixed, the place won’t shout ‘victims live here’ and invite more trouble.”
