Chapter Eight
It pained Fannyto sell a beautifully embroidered, lace-trimmed table cover for half its worth. She hated even more giving such a bargain to Mrs. Mulligan, a sour-faced woman Fanny had once heard refer to her as “Milly Hancock’s little by-blow.” Still, it was probably better than having it all pass to new owners, who may or may not use the premises as a drapery.
The estate agent she and Eli had consulted yesterday had laughed when she’d suggested he concentrate on people who might want to continue the business. “Y’want to sell the property as quick as may be afore the bank takes it. We can’t be fussy who we show it to. I may start with Thompson’s Furniture, the one next to it. They may want to expand.”
She hated it, but she hated every part of the whole affair. Presented with their options and the possibility of Ashmead, neither Amy nor Wil had complained. Amy viewed it as an adventure, and Wil clearly viewed it as a relief. An odd, knowing expression had passed between her brother and Eli, some private secret she dreaded to consider. It all left Fanny heartsick.
Fanny removed one more table runner, edged white work and lace all along the hem, and wrapped it in tissue. She ran her hand along the tissue paper, fighting tears. She remembered her mother acquiring this piece from a woman near Eccles, who did particularly fine work. Fanny had already packed some pieces of the woman’s to take with her. Wil had the watch. The fine linens would make part of a trousseau for Amy. Fanny had also put aside linen handkerchiefs for their pastor and the parish sexton.
The estate agent seemed certain they would get enough to pay off the mortgage and perhaps a bit more. On that promise, they’d decided to settle a few of the household debts with the coins at hand. Eli had gone to pay off Cramer, and she’d decided to let him handle that brute. She planned to visit Abbot. She had counted out only the amount on his tab into a small purse. The table runner would be a bonus, a gift for Mrs. Abbot.
Wil left to make deliveries for the printer one block down, determined to continue bringing in as many pennies as he could. Fanny decided not to wait for him. She called to Amy to walk with her and locked the door behind her. They could get to Abbot’s and back in time to fix supper.
Scurrying down the street, she remembered their once empty pantry. Dinner hadn’t been a problem since Eli Benson had come to Manchester. It became another debt pressing down on her. Horace Rundle’s were one thing; what she owed the Bensons couldn’t be repaid in coin, at least not entirely.
Mr. Abbot motioned her to the side, out of the public eye, before he took the purse and thanked her. When she explained the wrapped parcel, he called Mrs. Abbot from the back, unleashing much acclaiming, much thanking, and yes, a few tears.
“We’ll miss you, Miss Hancock, and that’s the truth,” he told her, shaking his head and pulling away to see to customers.
Fanny wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and turned toward home, steps dragging now, her whole being downcast. Even Amy had gone quiet for once. They had almost reached George Street when Fanny chided herself. “I’ll put Mrs. Abbot and her kindness in my book,” she told Amy.
“She would like that. When it is published, you can send her a copy.”
The narrow alley connecting the main commercial street and a smaller residential lane, the one she forbade Amy to use as a shortcut to the church, opened onto their route just before they reached the corner. Wrapped in thought, Fanny didn’t pay attention to it.
Best to face what must be faced. Sooner done, sooner over, she thought just before darkness, in the form of an odoriferous potato sack, fell. She scrambled to pull it off her face, but hands pinned her arms to her side.
Amy shouted, “Leave my sister alone!” The painful screams that immediately followed sent chills through Fanny. Words were said, but Fanny, struggling to breathe, couldn’t make them out. Rough hands dragged her along, the sound of Amy’s cries faded, and shadows must have fallen, because inside the sack choking her, it became even darker. She kicked and tried to scream until something heavy slammed against her head and she went limp, unable to struggle further.
*
Walking back tothe drapery gave Eli one benefit. He put his anger into every step. Cramer, the muckworm, had tried to gouge and scrabble for more money, but Eli had held firm. No records, no money.
The blasted man’s heart is as black as his coal.
As Eli approached the drapery, his thoughts shifted from the greedy coal monger to Fanny Hancock and the ducklings, much happier images by far. The smile that tickled the edges of his mouth died as quickly as it started when Wil barreled down the street toward Eli, shouting.
“Some man has Amy and Fanny—” Wil skidded to a stop, breath heaving.
Eli felt light-headed, blood draining from his face. “Tell me,” he said through clenched teeth.
“A man. Big horse in front of the shop.” Wil swallowed, catching his breath. “Amy was shouting, and she screamed when he scooped her up.”
Eli, already running, yelled, “What of Fanny?”
“Amy sobbed that a man had Fanny. ‘Get Eli,’ the man on the horse told me. So I—”
Eli stopped in his tracks. “The man on the horse said what?”
“Get Eli,” Wil repeated.
Edwards wouldn’t call him Eli. He didn’t ride a big horse, either. At least Eli didn’t think so. He ran faster.
They found the door to the shop locked. “Fanny planned to go pay Abbot,” Wil told him. They set out that way at a run and burst into the greengrocer’s premises, demanding information.
“They left here not a half hour ago, Mr. Benson, Miss Fanny and the little one. She said they were going home,” Abbot told them. He and his customers demanded that Wil tell him what they knew, but Eli had no time for it.
“She must have walked the way we just came,” Eli said, stepping to the street and looking both ways. People flooded out behind him, determined to look for “Rundle’s girls.”
