Eli explained what he planned to do. Employing her alphabetical arrangements, they would call them one by one, let them talk, and then compare demands with the documentation. Fanny would take notes.
“How will we pay them?” she asked.
“We won’t, of course. Today we’re verifying debts and assuring them of payment.”
Her brows rose, but she didn’t ask him how he planned to do that.
Good thing, Benson, because you have no idea. Yet.
*
A crowd, visiblethrough the newly restored window, milled around outside the shop when Benson gave the signal to start. Fanny wondered how long they would stay orderly.
“Mr. Abbot,” Wil called before admitting the greengrocer. Fanny almost laughed when he shut the door in Jeremy Cramer’s face. Some laughter came close to hysteria. She resolved to be careful.
“You know I’ve always been fair, Miss Fanny,” John Abbot began.
“Of course you have,” she murmured.
“But I have my own family to feed, and with Rundle gone…” He shrugged.
“Did you bring your records, Mr. Abbot?” Benson’s words, firm but respectful, set the tone for the afternoon.
“I brought the tab I keep. You’ll see I wrote down payments as well.” Benson spread the receipts and bills they’d found and tallied the tab. “Your tab appears to be off. In Miss Hancock’s favor.”
The Abbots were always kind. Fanny’s fingers itched to pay this one off, but Benson had warned her not to. “We thank you for that,” she said.
“It was your establishment I visited last night, was it not? I paid cash, you may recall,” Benson said.
“Aye. I remember. If’n I’d knew it was for the Rundles, I might have given you a discount,” Abbot replied.
“There’ll be no further asking for credit, Mr. Abbot, but we can’t repay Horace Rundle’s past debts until we know the full extent.”
Benson suggested they note Fanny’s own estimate but that they write the money claimed on the long sheet headed “Horace Rundle’s Total Debts Claimed.”
Fanny wrote, “Abbot, Greengrocer, £2 2s. 4d.”
Abbot, torn between guilt and frustration, turned to go.
“I’ll pay you, Mr. Abbot. Don’t doubt it,” she called after him, ignoring the furrows in Benson’s brow.
The next claimant, Jeremy Cramer, gave them more trouble. He kept no records and scoffed at the handful of bills and receipts Fanny had collected. He reeled off a list of deliveries Fanny could only call fanciful.
“I know for a fact you made no deliveries in March. Not to me and not to my late stepfather,” she insisted. The old reprobate. The ducklings had shivered in the cold most of March. She vowed to put a greedy merchant into the next book.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Cramer, we can’t repay undocumented debt,” Benson said firmly. “According to our records, the late Horace Rundle owed you two shillings. At most.” Benson held the man’s eyes while Cramer huffed and sputtered, unable to come up with a riposte.
“You’ll be sorry next winter when there’s no coal in your hearth,” Cramer spouted at last. He stopped halfway to the door, glanced at the newly repaired window, and glared at Fanny. “There are those that don’t hold with cheats and debtors and won’t wait for the magistrate to bring charges to get rid of you.” He stomped out without an answer.
The threat sent a chill down Fanny’s spine, and she shivered. She felt Benson’s hand on the small of her back and pulled herself together, standing as tall as she could but unable to look at Benson.
“Mr. Fredericks,” Wil called, pulling Fanny out of her numb distraction. She reached for the stack for Fredericks the chandler but pulled back her hand when she heard Wil insisting, “Sorry—Edwards, is it?—but you aren’t on my list.”
Edwards. Who is Edwards?Fanny searched her memories for any such merchant.
“Don’t care. I hold the man’s vowels!” someone shouted back. “The debts are legal—and fairly mine.”
Vowels? Gambling?Fanny’s stomach threatened to rebel. The room began to close in, but Benson’s gentle hand on her elbow steadied her.
