“Sorry, Miss Hancock. I can’t control the weather, and I thought you’d want to go as far as we could before dark. The Happy Dutchman up the road is clean and safe. We’ll stop there.”
The place was cozy and respectable as well. So respectable the innkeeper eyed Fanny dubiously, glancing back and forth between them before leaning toward Benson’s ear to hiss, “I’ve known you for years, Eli Benson, and I’ve never known you for a fornicator. Assure me that woman is as decent as she seems.”
Fanny felt her face burn.At least you seem decent, Fanny-girl. Buck up. Maybe no one will notice your red face.
Benson replied, glancing at her once, but he spoke so softly she couldn’t make out his words. She could see he was not happy, though. Whatever he said worked. They had two rooms, clean and comfortable, but not so much that they’d be tempted to stay. They were up and on the road at dawn.
The hired nag did his job, and true to his word, Eli Benson pulled up in front of her Grandpapa’s store—her store—just after noon.
*
Eli gazed upat a first-rate sign proclaiming “Alfred Hancock, Draper.” Old Alfred, her grandfather, may be long in his grave, but the woman hadn’t exaggerated. The store sat in a prime location, and the building appeared to be in fine trim. At least it would have if the front window weren’t broken. Someone had boarded it up from inside. That would need attention.
Miss Hancock leapt from the gig before Eli could climb down and help her. She tried the door, banged on it with a fist, and called her brother to open up. When the door didn’t immediately open, she dipped into her ever-present reticule, searching for the key.
The sound of a lock turning got her attention, and the door slid open an inch or two. “Is that you already, Fanny?” a boy asked.
“Wil, oh, thank God! Are you well?”
The door flew open and a small girl shot past the boy to fling herself into Miss Hancock’s arms, sobbing out a story that froze Eli’s heart. “Fanny, Fanny, Fanny, bad men threw a brick through the window, and Wil got Grandpapa’s gun. He made me hide under the bed.”
Why would someone do that?Eli’s resolve stiffened. He would have to answer that question if he wanted to protect the place and the people in it.
“When?” Miss Hancock almost choked on the word.
“Last night.” The boy stood in the doorway; an antique blunderbuss dangled from his hand, pointing at the floor. “We cleaned up the mess and boarded the window. That fancy table cover display you put out has glass shards embedded in it, but no other stock was damaged.” He looked past his sisters, glaring at Eli. “Is this your earl?”
Miss Hancock turned to Eli, one arm around the little girl. “Mr. Benson, this is my brother, Wilber Rundle, and our sister, Amelia. Wil and Amy, this is Eli Benson, the earl’s steward—or is it solicitor?”
Eli waved the question away.Steward, solicitor, man of business, agent, bookkeeper, general factotum…
Wil frowned. “Solicitor? Money would be better, but we probably need one of those, too.”
Blunt talker, this one. Like his sister.
“I’m here to take a look at your situation to see…what can be done.” He had begun to say “see to things,” but that sounded definite, and he didn’t want to foster false hope too soon. To the list that had been forming in his head for two days, he added, “Fix storefront window.” As it was, it hurt the property value, which raised the question again. Why?
Eli was never a man given to impulse, but he came to another of his quick but measured decisions. In this case, he judged security more important than propriety. “With your permission, Miss Hancock, I’d like to impose on your hospitality. I had planned to find a hotel nearby, but given what happened, it might be best if I stayed here. I can sleep downstairs in the store until we sort this out.” And he may need more than a day or two to look into the situation.
Her expression, a muddle of relief and indecision, settled into acceptance. “That may be wise, Mr. Benson. I thank you.”
And gossip be damned. His Miss Hancock had deceptive depths of strength. Eli pried his gaze away from the woman, reminded himself he had come to help, not ogle, and lifted her portmanteau from the boot. His valise followed. Wil, a promising lad, leaned the blunderbuss inside the door and took the items from Eli.
Miss Hancock hugged Amy. “Well, ducklings, have you had lunch? I’ll see what I can scare up in the pantry.”
“There’s soup from last night. Wil made it. He used that old ham bone and the last of the beans,” Amy said.
Eli added “buy groceries” to his list. “As delightful as that sounds, I need to find a place to board this horse and gig. Can you tell me where the gentleman who plans to take Rundle’s curricle does business?”You may as well get started on the accounting, Benson. The list is growing.
An hour later he had arranged care for the hack and storage for his gig at Cunningham’s Stables a few blocks away. He handed over cash for a week in advance.
“Now, Mr. Cunningham, I have some questions.”
The undersized, squint-eyed Irishman peered at him. “’Bout what?”
“I understand you are owed money from the estate of Mr. Horace Rundle. I am his stepdaughter Miss Frances Hancock’s man of business. I would like to take a look at any agreement Mr. Rundle signed, your ledger of moneys owed and payments. I’d also like to take a look at the curricle and team to make my estimate.”
“Estimate?” Cunningham almost swallowed his tongue.
“Of their value, Mr. Cunningham. Of their value.”
Cunningham swore under his breath.
