by Joyce Alec
If she had a fortune, that meant that whoever had sent her to Mr. Stanton had been wealthy in his own right. Had Mr. Stanton received a generous sum in payment for his care for her? Was that why he had never complained about taking her in? Was he instructed never to talk to her about where she had come from?
Questions flooded every part of her being, each one being asked before spinning away without an answer. Suppose she did have a fortune, suppose she did go to London, what would she do next? The ton would be welcoming to her, she supposed, although she could not expect to mingle with those highest in society. However, she had no idea where to start when it came to finding the owner of this locket. Why London? Why there, the very place that Mr. Stanton had kept her from for so many years? Would she truly find answers there?
Her stomach began to churn, bringing a feeling of nausea with it. The room grew chilled, and Sarah tugged the blankets over herself, setting the compress aside whilst keeping the box that contained the locket and note in her hand. Turning onto her side, she gently set them both back under her pillow, secure in the box she had found them in. Closing her eyes, Sarah tried to sleep, praying that the answer about what she should do would be there waiting for her in the morning.
4
Sarah had not slept well. The night had been filled with awakenings, her sleep clouded with dreams of unknown faces and grasping hands, of shouted words and terrifying screams. She had not been settled. And so, when the first lights of dawn crossed the sky, Sarah had chosen to rise, looking out at the cold morning sun with a feeling of dismay in her heart.
Everything was as muddled as it had been last night. She had not come up with any answers, had not made any kind of certain decisions. She was just as lost as before.
Gazing out at the grey sky, Sarah drew in a long breath and felt her bones shake. She was scared. Scared that the note writer might be telling the truth, that she did have a fortune that Mr. Stanton had hidden from her. The consequences of that were more than she dared to think of, knowing that she could not allow her questions to be batted away by him, as they had been so often before. Were she to speak to him about such a thing, then she would have to demand that he answer her, refusing to back down and go away in silence as he had no doubt expect.
She knew the note by heart, having read it so many times. What was she to do with it? What she decided now would decide the course of her future, of that she was certain. If she ignored the note, ignored the locket, then her future would play out entirely as she had expected, with her husband chosen for her by her guardian. She would be wife and mother, respectful of her husband and obedient to his requests, just as she was to Mr. Stanton. If she chose to speak to Mr. Stanton about what she had discovered, then her life would take an altogether different direction, one that was clouded in confusion and uncertainty.
Find your courage.
Taking a deep breath, Sarah continued to look out at the gardens, her heart lifting. She would have to take precautions and would have to find herself a companion with which she could traverse the plains of society. However, anything was better than staying here and having her life planned for her. She would have to make sure that Mr. Stanton knew and understood that she was more than determined to do what she pleased with her life, knowing that he would be both astonished and horrified at her demands, but she would have to remain steadfast. There could be no shrinking back, no pretending that she was content to simply do as she was told any longer.
She would have to find her courage from somewhere, to do something she had never done before. It was time to take control.
That courage seemed to disappear the moment she knocked on Mr. Stanton’s study door. She had not gone to see him of her own volition but had, in fact, been summoned by a maid, telling her that Mr. Stanton wished to see her. Sarah did not need to ask why, aware that she was about to be heavily reprimanded for her sudden absence last evening. He would, no doubt, quiz her about her headache, his bushy brows furrowing as he made it clear that he did not entirely believe her.
“Mr. Stanton?”
He was sitting at his study table, his elbows on the desk in front of him and his fingers pressed gently together. His eyes took her in as she walked into the room, making Sarah’s stomach churn with nerves. This was not how she’d wanted to feel – small, intimidated, and afraid. She had wanted to feel strong, brave, and determined, but just one look from Mr. Stanton’s sharp eyes and she wanted to sit in the chair and accept his angry reprimand as she had done before.
“Sit, Sarah.”
She made to do so, only to stop and look down at the chair, one hand grasping the top of it tightly.
“Sit down.”
“No, thank you.”
The words came out as a whisper, as her eyes shot towards him. “I think I would rather stand.”
“And I would rather you sit.”
There was an anger to his voice now, seeping into the lines on his face, but Sarah told herself not to move, her mind screaming at her to remain steady.
“Thank you, Mr. Stanton, but I will remain standing,” she said, her voice a little louder as she remained holding onto the back of the chair with one hand, as though it would give her the strength she required. “What was it you wished to speak to me about?”
His eyes darted from her to the chair and back again as though he expected his silence to cajole her into doing what he had asked, but after a few minutes of Sarah’s steadfastly refusing to be seated, he let out a long breath and sat back in his chair.
“You are becoming stubborn, Sarah, and that is not acceptable,” he said, firmly. “Your excuse on leaving the table last evening was nothing short of ridiculous.”
Ignoring her churning stomach, Sarah lifted one eyebrow. “I do not think that a headache is anything ridiculous, Mr. Stanton.”
His lips thinned, his eyes darkening. “I know you had no such thing. The maid told me she found you scrabbling about on the floor for something – hardly the actions of someone who can barely keep their eyes open due to the pain.”
Sarah kept her gaze on his despite the desire to look away and drop her head. She had to be bold if things were to change. “To be frank, Mr. Stanton, I did not want to stay at a gathering where I am to be presented as though I am some kind of prize to be won. I am more than aware that the gentlemen with us last evening were all there to hear that I am now out—so that they might begin to think of courting me.”
“That is no reason to lie!” he exclaimed, now appearing quite furious. “You—”
“I believe I was not the only one who lied, Mr. Stanton,” she interrupted, finding herself growing stronger with every word she spoke. “Did you not tell them all that we had enjoyed a quiet occasion for my come out? That is very strange indeed since I, myself, do not remember it.”
Mr. Stanton glared at her, one hand thumping the table. “That is entirely different matter. You are to do as you are expected.”
“I want full access to my fortune.”
The words left her before she could stop them, and as soon as they had left her mouth, she saw Mr. Stanton’s jaw go slack. His face grew pale, his eyes widening as the anger left him.
“I am of age, and therefore I should have already had full access and responsibility for it,” she continued firmly, drawing herself up to her full height. “Why you have never spoken to me of it, I cannot understand.” Something like satisfaction settled over her, as she saw how Mr. Stanton was staring at her. Apparently, every word she had said was true. Thus far, the note writer had proven to be correct. She did have a fortune, one that was being very carefully hidden by Mr. Stanton.
“How do you know about that?” Mr. Stanton asked, his voice hoarse. “You are not meant to know until…”
Sarah frowned as he trailed off, wondering what he was keeping from her. “Until when?” His eyes shot to hers, and Sarah saw the truth in his gaze. “Ah, I see. Until I am wed, is that it? I am to marry before I know that I am a wealthy woman so that any freedom I
might have is then completely lost. Gone for good, unless my husband should die. Is that not so?”
Mr. Stanton looked away, passing one hand over his eyes, and Sarah knew she had hit on the truth. Anger settled in her stomach, a fiery ball that shot sheer fury into her veins.
“Why?” she said, walking over to his desk, as a new strength began to fill her. “What is it about me that is meant to be so secret?”
Mr. Stanton shook his head. “This is not to be discussed, Sarah.”
“I intend to discuss it,” she retorted, slamming her hand down flat on the table. “I will not have this kept from me any longer. I have spent years not knowing where I am from nor who my family is, and you have persistently refused to say a word of it to me. Well, I know more than you are aware of, Mr. Stanton. Tell me the truth.”
He looked up at her, a slight anger sparking in his gaze. “You have no need to know.”
“I have every need to know!” Sarah shouted, not caring that her voice was bouncing off the walls. “This is my life, and you cannot continue to order me about as you do. I will find out one way or the other. You can be sure of that, so you may as well tell me who sent me to you.”
Much to her astonishment, he chuckled darkly. “And what if I do not know?”
Her anger died away at once, replaced with a sudden, overwhelming horror.
“You were sent here by a relative of mine, as a favor to a gentleman he knew. Funds are deposited in my account thrice yearly so that I might care for you. You were never to leave this place, not unless someone came for you. We were not to speak of your removal to us. Your fortune and dowry were to be in my care and only revealed to you when you married. Any income we receive stops the moment you leave this house. That is all that I know.”
“Poppycock!” Sarah exclaimed, not believing his words for a moment. “You must know more.”
Mr. Stanton’s gaze lifted to hers, and Sarah recognized that there was nothing but honesty in his eyes. Honesty combined with a great weariness that told her he had been as confused as she.
“I know nothing more, Sarah,” he said calmly. “I have done all I can for you and ensured that I lived up to my responsibilities, and yet you have found out about your fortune regardless. My solicitor is in the village today if you wish to see the paperwork that proves it.”
Sarah did not answer the unspoken question, knowing that she did not need to tell him about the secret box under her pillow. “This relative of yours, who is he?”
Mr. Stanton shook his head. “It does not matter. He is dead.”
The bottom fell out of her world, the only hope she had to discover where she had come from dying in an instant.
“Who was he?” she asked doggedly, her fingers digging into the edge of the table as she clung on, desperate not to let the tears fall. “What was his name?”
Mr. Stanton shrugged, as though it did not matter if she knew. “Henry Percival, Earl of Thorndyke. He died, and the title and estate went to his son, James, who is now Lord Thorndyke. He is ages with you, I believe, if not a little older, and I can assure you, he knows nothing of the matter. In fact, I would go as far as to say that the man is entirely unaware of your existence.”
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat, her courage slowly fading away. “And was the earl my father?”
Mr. Stanton chuckled and shook his head, as though finding her question humorous. “Of course not. It was all very secretive for whatever reason, and I understand he was doing it in order to help a friend. I know nothing more; I assure you.”
Sarah wanted to run back to her room and cry until there were no more tears left but with the last whisper of courage, she looked at Mr. Stanton directly in the eye.
“Send for your solicitor, Mr. Stanton,” she said firmly, in a voice that only shook a little. “I want to know everything about my fortune and my dowry, including ensuring that I have complete control over it.”
“And what will you do?” Mr. Stanton asked heavily. “Leave here? Go in search of someone who even I, as your guardian, do not know?”
Sarah lifted her chin and walked back towards the door. “I will do whatever I have to in order to find out the truth about myself. Please, send for your solicitor. That will be a good enough start for me.”
5
Sarah did not leave her room for the next few hours, finding solace and comfort in her own company. She did not want to speak to Mr. Stanton nor to his wife, feeling as though she were even more lost than she had been before. She hoped that Mr. Stanton had done as she asked and sent for his solicitor, realizing that now that she knew about her fortune it was not as though he could deny her.
“Sarah?”
Closing her eyes, Sarah prayed that Mrs. Stanton would leave her be, but—to her irritation—the lady knocked again.
“Might I come in? Just to talk with you for a moment.”
Seeing that she was not about to have any relief, Sarah walked to the door, unlocked it, and thrust it open. The anger that flared in her was demolished at once, as she took in the tears in Mrs. Stanton’s eyes and the way she seemed to almost tremble in front of her.
“Mrs. Stanton, what is the matter?” she asked, a little less brusquely than she had intended. “If it is about dinner last evening, then I can only apologize. I did not have a headache, but instead grew annoyed with the idea that I was to be paraded in front of the eligible gentlemen who joined us.”
Mrs. Stanton seemed to shrink all the more, her eyes darting around Sarah without ever actually looking into her face. “I did not mean any harm, Sarah.”
Sarah felt herself deflate all the more. “I know you meant well,” she admitted eventually. “But I would have preferred to know that Mr. Stanton intended to state that I was now out so that I could have prepared myself a little better. That untruth threw me quite off kilter.”
Mrs. Stanton nodded slowly, her gaze traveling up to Sarah’s face. “Mr. Stanton told me about what you said.”
“About my fortune?” Sarah asked, seeing the flare of Mrs. Stanton’s eyes. “Yes, I have come to learn about my fortune. I will have control of it very soon. By the end of today, I hope.”
The lady nodded again, her eyes dropping to the floor. “And do you intend to leave us?”
It was not a question Sarah was truly prepared for. She did want to leave, yes, but only in order to find out the truth about who she was.
“I think I must,” she said slowly, seeing the grief write itself across Mrs. Stanton’s expression. “It is not as though I have not been happy here, but rather that the mystery surrounding my circumstances has never been solved and I do so wish to find out the truth.” She tilted her head and regarded Mrs. Stanton carefully. “It is not something that you are able to help me with, is it?”
“Goodness, no,” Mrs. Stanton said, looking as astonished as she sounded. “I knew nothing of the matter until the day before you arrived. You cannot imagine my joy, when I had come to learn that we could not have children of our own.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, as she smiled up at Sarah, one hand reaching to touch Sarah’s own. “But I suppose that every child must leave their nest.”
Every last bit of anger and frustration blew away in an instant, as Sarah looked at Mrs. Stanton with fresh eyes. It was clear that Mrs. Stanton was devastated to learn that Sarah would be, most likely, making plans of her own. Evidently, the lady had believed that she would remain in Little Mybster for the rest of her days, married to a gentleman nearby. She had thought they would never be truly separated. Until that moment, Sarah had never truly understood just how deeply Mrs. Stanton cared for her. She had always been warm and friendly towards Sarah, but until this moment, she had never shown any kind of deep emotion towards her.
“I think of you as my own daughter in many ways,” Mrs. Stanton continued, her voice now weak and shaking. “Wherever you go, you will write to me, will you not? I could not stand it if I did not know where you were.”
Struck by just how much Mrs. St
anton cared for her, Sarah reached out and took Mrs. Stanton’s soft hands in hers, smiling softly.
“Mrs. Stanton, you have been more than a guardian to me. You have been a parent. You have guided me, taught me, and helped me to grow. I do not have anger in my heart towards you although I will confess a lingering frustration with Mr. Stanton and his lack of willingness to discuss anything related to my life with me.”
“Oh, but you do not understand,” Mrs. Stanton responded, squeezing her hands. “He was told not to. Something about it being for your own safety. He may have appeared abrupt, my dear, but he was doing it for your own good.”
Sarah hesitated before she spoke, fear clutching at her heart. Had he not told her anything for her own safety? What did that mean?
“Am I in danger?”
Mrs. Stanton shook her head, shrugging slightly. “We were not told, neither of us, and I confess I was just thrilled that I would have a child in our home.”
“I understand,” Sarah replied gently. “But I must find out the truth. I cannot remain here to be shunted from this house to that of my husband, whomever he was to be, without knowing my heritage.” The words trembled on her lips, but she spoke them regardless. “Am I a bastard child, Mrs. Stanton? Is that why I was sent here?”
Mrs. Stanton did not flinch at the word but looked back at Sarah steadily. “I am not at all certain, my dear, but even it if transpires that this is the case, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your character is good; you are sweet, kind, and amiable and have nothing to fear from those who might look down on you. Everything I know I have taught you so that you might be an elegant and articulate young lady for when the time came for your marriage.”
