Chapter One
London, 1866
Treachery
Vanessa paced the floor, her long skirts sweeping in tune
with her staccato breathing. She wished Aimsley Fischer
would hurry up and get here. It must have something to do
with her stepfather's will, she thought in agitation. He
had been dead some weeks now, the mourning period well under
way, although Vanessa could scarcely muster the strength to
mourn this man who had married her mother eight years ago,
when Vanessa had been ten. He had been all right, she
supposed, and her mother had seemed content enough, but then
her mother had suddenly died, leaving Vanessa alone in the
large house with this man who seemed a stranger, who
professed to have her best interests at heart, but who
scarcely spoke a half dozen words to her each day, until the
day he, too, had died. Yes, Hamilton Firestone had been a
father to her, at least on paper, and it was now that his
will would be read.
She settled in a dark leather wingback chair that was
much too large for her small frame. Her feet hung
helplessly in mid-air while she tried to appear nonchalant
should anybody happen to come across her in this dimly
lighted room. Noticing a magazine on the table between two
massive chairs, she picked it up and flipped through it
idly. Clarice would scold me, she grinned. A young woman
shouldn't be spending her time gaping at a travel magazine
when there were more serious things to be attended to, such
as conferring with the solicitor about her stepfather's
estate. Her attention, however, was riveted by an article
about exploring the vast land of Tibet and the photograph
accompanying the article was superb. As she gazed at the
image of a tiny village snuggled against high, snow-topped
mountains, her heart leaped with desire to be there, to
breathe the rarified air, to hear the exotic sounds of the
people's language…..
She was just about ready to settle into reading the main
text when Clarice bustled into the room.
"So would you look at you, now? Reading a rag like that,
when ye should be intent on findin'out about yer
stepfather's will," she began.
Vanessa laughed aloud at the sound of her maid's voice
repeating the very words she had just imagined. Clarice
ignored her laugh, hands on hips, shaking her capped head.
"And what's so funny, Miss Vanni?" She used her old
nickname, which made Vanessa instantly nostalgic for the
days when she would sit on her mother's lap, listening to
her musical voice calling her "Vanni." Her heart wrenched at
the old name. Nonetheless, she answered, "Oh, Clarice,
you're such a fussy-budget. I just this minute seated
myself, as old Mr. Fisher is late and a girl has to have
something to do whilst she's waiting, now, doesn't she?" She
pursed her lips, making a small frown on her brow, but her
blue eyes danced with merriment.
"Enough with yer nonsense, child," Clarice
continued.
"Adventures? For a slight girl like ye? And a well-brought
up young lady, too. Unseemly nonsense. Now get along with
ye; I came to fetch you into the study. Mr. Fisher himself
is here, now; that's what I meant to tell you. Go along
with you, now." She made shooing motions with her large,
rough hands.
Vanni rose from her chair, smoothed imaginary wrinkles
from her dress and then her hands fiddled with her curls.
"Thank you, Clarice," she said in mock solemnity. Then she
strode with all the dignity and courage she could muster out
of the room and down the hall to the study.
Pausing before she opened the door, she once more
smoothed her skirt and touched her long brown hair carefully
arranged in ringlets around her small, pale face. Taking a
deep breath, she slid open the massive door and entered the
gloomy study.
She had always hated this room, now more than ever, since
it was dimly lit. She hated it especially since Mr.
Firestone had come to live in her mother's house. Rooms
that had been light and airy and cheerful, like her mother's
disposition, had then taken on somber tones, like Mr.
Firestone himself. Vanni had always been reluctant to enter
this room when her stepfather was alive, and now that the
man was dead, it took on an even more forbidding tone.
Her eyes adjusted slowly to the interior and she
perceived the shadowy form of her solicitor, Aimsley
Fisher, who now rose from his chair behind the rosewood
desk.
"Miss Vanessa," he intoned solemnly. Aimsley Fisher stood
and waved his thin, elegant hand at the wingback chair
across from the desk. His mustache twitched slightly,
whether from a nervous habit or an attempt to subdue a small
smile, Vanni couldn't imagine which.
"Mr. Fisher," she replied, attempting to be just as
solemn. "How good of you to come."
"I will try to make this as brief as possible." He
indicated that she should be seated, and she chose a
tapestry-covered armchair opposite the massive desk.
"I assume you know the reason I'm here."
She nodded. "It's about Mr. Firestone's will, I should
imagine."
"Miss Vanessa, in all those years he was your father, you
never called your stepfather anything but Mr. Firestone."
"He hardly was anything more than that to me, Mr. Fisher.
I could scarcely bear to think of him even as my mother's
husband. I thought he treated her badly," she added.
"Uhhhhm, how unfortunate," Mr. Fisher said absently.
"I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss my late
step-father's shortcomings," Vanni prodded. "And I'm just
as certain you have no time to spare with your busy practice
of the law."
"Quite so, Miss Danforth." He cleared his throat and
shuffled a few papers on the desk, finally setting on one
that he now held in his hand.
"I am informing you of the provisions contained in the
late Mr. Firestone's will, rather than conducting a full
reading that would not pertain to you, if you find that
agreeable."
"Agreed, Mr. Fisher."
"I'm afraid what he has said pertaining to your lot of
his estate will not be to your liking." His eyes peered at
her over his spectacles.
Vanni noticed the dancing fire reflecting in the
spectacles. Something evil is coming out of this. Her
breathing came in pants as her heart rate accelerated.
"Go on," she said almost in a whisper.
"Mr. Firestone has a child from his previous marriage,
whose mother had died. I'm sure you knew that when your
mother married him, is that not so?"
Vanni nodded, her mouth too dry to speak.
"The daughter, Katherine, is now 22 years of age.
Accordingly, she inherits her father's estate."
He paused at hearing Vanni's gasp. "I regret having to
tell you this, but Miss Katherine Firestone is to move into
this house within six months of her father's death. This
should give you ample time, Miss Vanni, to find a way to
support yourself and secure other lodgings."
Move from this house? My mother's house? And I have no
income? She twisted the handkerchief she pulled from her
sleeve, while wishing her hands to remain still and calm, as
she had been taught.
"There's nothing, then?" Vanni's voice quavered.
"Oh, not entirely nothing," the solicitor continued. "He
has provided funds for you to obtain a trade, at a school,
before you must leave this house. What would you like to
do?"
"Do? What would I like to do?" She rose from her chair,
holding her head high, and began pacing the room. "I should
like to become a fairy princess, or the bride of an Indian
potentate. Or barring that, I should like to be a duchess
and travel the world. I should like to be Empress of all
the Russias. Are there schools for that? What an utterly
dreadful thing that man has done. It's as if I never
existed."
Mr. Fisher met her halfway across the room, steering her
gently back to her chair. "Now, now, Miss Vannesa. I have a
proposal you might like. You know about the new secretarial
schools, where young gentlewomen can learn to take dictation
and supervise accounting ledgers for businessmen. Mr.
Firestone was gracious enough to deposit funds into your
account to accomplish that, and you have enough time – six
months -- for you to learn this trade."
"I don't have a choice, do I?" She replaced twisting the
handkerchief by twisting the opal ring on her little
finger.
"I'm sorry, but you are correct. I shall leave the name
of the school with your servant and although I will contact
them shortly, it will be your responsibility to approach the
faculty and register for the classes."
He rose, indicating his task had been accomplished.
"Don't bother showing me out, Miss Danforth. I'm certain
your servant Clarice will show me the way, as I suspect she
has had her ear glued to the door all along."
As he opened the door, Clarice sprang from her crouching
position at the keyhole, looking flustered. "And so what if
I was eavesdropping?" she bristled. "Anything that concerns
my Miss Vanni concerns me."
As she handed Mr. Fisher his hat, he pressed a card
containing the name and address of the business school into
her hand. He said in low tones, "If you love your mistress
the way you say you do, you will encourage her to attend
this school. It will bring her some income once she leaves
this house."