Page 23 of Benefactor to the Baroness (The Seductive Sleuths #3)
F ontaine held her chin high as she approached the entrance to the palatial building nestled among several similar structures in the heart of downtown Halifax. She could allow none of her nervousness to show. A dowager baroness, an earl’s daughter, would not have been worried about what a businessman thought of her. She repeated her story in her head: She was preparing to open her new summer house outside Halifax and had come inquiring about servants. A local farmer had told her about the place. If she was right, someone was operating a business, kidnapping orphans and forcing them into indentured servitude. She’d seen such schemes before, although they were more often done under the pretense of charity. That only infuriated her more because it was a perversion of what the foundation was trying to do. Every child the foundation helped was provided with room and board during their education and then given a choice upon their graduation, even if that meant returning to the street.
As she climbed the steps to the entrance of the house, the door creaked open and a slip of a boy with huge, blue eyes peered out.
“I am here to see the master of the house,” she said, although what she really wanted to do was fall to her knees and pull the poor child, who couldn’t have been older than six, into her arms. He trembled as he clung to the door, hiding behind it like a shield.
“Have you recently taken up your post?” Fontaine asked softly. “Your butler should escort me to your receiving room.”
The boy ducked his head and opened the door. When no other servant appeared, she followed him to a beautifully appointed room and perched on the edge of a green-upholstered sofa with her hands folded in her lap. Across from her, a tall-case clock ticked the seconds away, its brass face speckled with tiny rainbows cast by the sunlight reflecting off several glass orbs strung around the room. This, Fontaine was certain, was intentional. A grand first impression that left one dazzled before they met the owner of the house.
“Good afternoon,” a deep voice said.
Fontaine forced herself to turn her head slowly and kept her head tilted upward. The man standing behind her was a match for the room in a well-tailored navy suit and ivory shirt. His hair was plastered tightly to his skull, except where it flowed across his cheeks into a bushy mustache.
She raised her hand and allowed him to take it and press his lips to her fingers.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I’m John Prue.”
His name sounded familiar, but she wasn’t sure where she’d heard it before.
“Cynthia Fern,” Fontaine said, deciding at the last second she didn’t want this man knowing her real identity. There was something odd about him, something she couldn’t place but set her on edge. Perhaps it was the intensity in his eyes or the way his lips quirked beneath his mustache in a smile that was almost a smirk.
He snapped his fingers, and the surrounding doors closed. “My housekeeper is arranging tea. Now what can I do for you, Mrs. Fern ?”
He said her name with a peculiar inflection, as if he were rolling the words around in his mouth, savoring them as one might a fine wine. She reached for her fan and flicked it open to keep him from seeing how her hands trembled. A gently bred woman in her situation would not be nervous. She had wealth and power, both things Mr. Prue wanted.
“I’ve recently arrived from London,” she said. “I thought to make a new start here, where the air is that much cleaner.”
Mr. Prue tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and nodded. But he was not so rude that he would rush her. That was good. She glanced at the clock. Barely a few minutes had passed. Not nearly enough time for Rosemary to have crept around to the back entrance of the house.
As if in answer to her prayers, the door creaked open and a young girl wearing the uniform of a maid entered, carrying a silver tray containing a tea set and a plate of biscuits. She crossed the room with rapid steps, porcelain cups rattling in their saucers.
Fontaine watched the girl carefully, searching for any trace of recognition that would identify the girl as hailing from London, but the maid kept her chin tucked to her chest as she placed the tray on a table in front of Mr. Prue. When she rose and started to turn, Mr. Prue snapped, and the girl froze.
“Serve us,” Mr. Prue said. He gave Fontaine an apologetic smile. “I have the best girls trained in my own home.”
The girl shook as she poured tea into their cups. It was a challenge for Fontaine to remain silent as Mr. Prue loudly criticized the girl’s every move.
At last, he dismissed the maid. She bobbed a curtsey and scurried away.
Fontaine took her time blowing on her tea, then earned herself a few more seconds nibbling on a biscuit. Eventually, however, the tightening of the muscles in Mr. Prue’s jaw told her she could delay no further.
“I have purchased a plot of land near the part of the river they call The Narrows,” Fontaine said. “Do you know of it?”
“Yes,” Mr. Prue said shortly.
“It might be several weeks before construction is complete, but I have not yet employed a butler or housekeeper to staff my new house. I was told it would be wise to seek you out at the soonest opportunity, as you offer the most competitive rates.”
“I would agree with that assessment,” he said the moment she’d stopped speaking.
“Then you can assist me?”
He chuckled. “You can set aside this fictional character you have created, Lady Kerry. I know why you are here.”
Her hand holding her tea cup froze halfway to her lips. “Pardon?”
Mr. Prue lifted one thin eyebrow. “Did your companion not pass along my invitation on the S.S. Great Arcadia ?”
Fontaine suddenly remembered where she’d heard Mr. Prue’s name. It had been on the steamship during the crossing. Rosemary had told her that a man named Mr. Prue had wished them to join him for luncheon, but she had brushed off the request, too focused on seeing to the needs of the children.
“I-I apologize for the deception, Mr. Prue,” Fontaine said. “I find that I am treated more fairly if I don’t use my title. As for your invitation on the ship, I had prior commitments, but I…” She scrambled for an excuse but found none. To cover her lapse, she jerked her hand to the side and spilled her tea onto the carpet. “Oh, dear!” she cried. “I am terribly sorry.”
He scowled, but in the next moment, several maids came rushing into the room to clean up the mess. These maids were even younger than the last. Perhaps Mr. Prue used his house to prepare the children for service, similar to how the foundation trained orphans in staging homes before shipping them to Halifax. That would explain why they kept their eyes downcast and worked with almost frantic urgency. Mr. Prue likely used the same harsh techniques to enforce obedience as London’s workhouses.
When the mess had been cleared away and they’d moved to a different couch and chair that were not damp, she dabbed her lips with a handkerchief. “Terribly sorry. I am not quite myself. The trip from London was quite long.”
“It is unfortunate to hear,” he said. “Perhaps now we can return to the true purpose of your visit.” He sipped his tea. “I am well aware that you don’t have the means with which to purchase a country home.”
For the second time, her usual quick mind failed her. She sat with her mouth open, staring at him without a clue what to say next. He had seen straight through her plan and didn’t seem in the least perturbed.
“No clever response?” he asked. His lips curved into a wicked grin. “Then I will speak for both of us, Lady Kerry. Or shall I call you ‘Frannie’?”
His awful smile jostled her out of her frozen state. “No, you may not.”
“You are so determined to paint me as a villain.” He shook his head. “My lady, it was the operator of the Halifax home who approached me.” He put his hand on his chest. “Mr. Sellinger was deep in debt and seeking a savior. If I had not stepped in, someone else would have. The children did not stop arriving, but Mr. Sellinger’s actions meant there were no funds to care for them. Something had to be done with them. There were others who would have sent them back. I did them a favor by finding them gainful employment, even if it is not what you would consider respectable.”
She ground her back teeth together. The man thought himself a hero. That should not have surprised her. Men like Mr. Prue rationalized their actions. She was sure he had not lost a single moment of sleep fretting over her choices, as she had.
“What about the children of Halifax?” she asked. “The ‘snatchers’? Are you so desperate for workers that you’re preying on the vulnerable within your own city?”
Mr. Prue scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Children go missing in every city. I would not have expected an educated woman such as yourself to believe such stories.” He sniffed. “You should be thanking me. I have saved the lives of many that your foundation abandoned.”
She winced. He was right. It was not as if she had any proof that the so-called ‘snatchers’ existed. The life of a street child was fraught with danger. She had only Jane’s word that the snatchers took children to his house.
“Perhaps we should discuss what the future might look like,” Mr. Prue said. “There is yet a way for you to achieve your goals, Lady Kerry.”
“How?” she asked, although she was certain she wasn’t going to like what he said next.
“By marrying me.”
Her corset suddenly felt too tight. “What?”
He smiled. “I’ve surprised you again, I see. Allow me to explain.” He cleared his throat. “I have established something of a reputation here. A reputation which has, so far, excluded me from the most exclusive events.” He scowled. “The women of this city refuse me. But with you on my arm—”
“You would not become a baron if you married me,” Fontaine said. If he thought to leverage her title, she would gladly disabuse him of that notion. Upon the death of her husband, she had inherited a mere pittance as a widow’s portion.
He waved his hand. “This is not London, Lady Kerry. Titles matter little here. What I require is a charming, beautiful woman. A respectable wife. In exchange for your obedience and your silence regarding what you’ve discovered, I would allow you to take over correspondence to your precious foundation.” He smoothed a hand over the front of his suit jacket. “Or you could leave, and I will ensure the foundation knows the full extent of the damage your relocation scheme has caused.”
Although he had barely moved, she felt as if he had wrapped both hands around her throat and squeezed. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would write to every charitable organization in London, Lady Kerry. Every newspaper. You would never find another position. And that is just the beginning. Do you wish to know how many children have died in Halifax? I maintain a record of every death. You could visit their graves and beg for their forgiveness. I could take you to the charity hospital where the ones who’ve been injured while operating mining carts are recovering. What do you think they would say if I told them it was because of you they ended up here? Think of it, Lady Kerry. Think of how much they’ve suffered. You could undo all the damage you’ve done.”
“I didn’t…” Her voice died in her throat. She hadn’t felt so helpless since she’d been a young girl. Mr. Prue was right. It was all her fault. The relocation scheme had been her idea.
“You could be my business partner,” Mr. Prue said.
“Why would I want any part in your barbaric operation?”
His wicked smile returned. “Because I would allow you to make any decisions you wish regarding placement.”
“Lies,” she said, even as she imagined riding to the rescue of the children working in the mines and factories. She could save them from the awful situations she had caused them to be placed in. Assuming he was telling her the truth. A man like Mr. Prue would never allow his business to be uprooted so easily, not when it had resulted in wealth and power.
“So suspicious,” Mr. Prue said. He shook his head. “You still don’t understand. With you as my wife, I could secure investment for more profitable businesses.”
There was a cruel logic to his words. By giving herself to him, she could save hundreds. It was a difficult offer to resist.
As if sensing she was close to agreeing, Mr. Prue put his hand over his heart. “You do not need to trust me. I would put this in writing. You would be protected by a contractual agreement.”
Although she knew she should refuse him, she could imagine the partnership he described. The problem she’d faced in London had been a lack of funds. That was why she’d sought a position at a charitable foundation, because the wealthy men and women of the ton had refused to support the ventures of a woman with her past. But if she remarried in a place where no one remembered the newspaper articles that had slandered her reputation, perhaps things might be different.
She licked her lips. “What if…What if I wanted to open a boarding school?”
Mr. Prue scowled. “There is no profit to be had in charity.”
She gulped, then continued, choosing her words carefully. “The school could also accept students from wealthy families. If the best teachers were hired, the school would cultivate a reputation for excellence. Then we could offer free tuition for…others.”
Mr. Prue ran a finger down the spine of his book. “I might be convinced. If you were a sufficiently respectful, dutiful wife.”
A sour taste filled the back of her throat. A dutiful wife. There were so many ways she could interpret that phrase, and none of them were pleasant. But he was offering something she might never achieve in London. A chance to expand her influence and enact meaningful change.
All she had to do was marry him.
“What about the children who accompanied us from London, and Ro—my companion, Mrs. Summersby?” Fontaine asked, with a pang of guilt that it had taken her so long to consider how Rosemary would fit into the new life she was considering.
Mr. Prue made a show of pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes before shrugging. “The children can stay here until they find appropriate placements, and I see no reason you could not keep your companion. As long as you behave appropriately in public, what you do in private is of little concern to me.”
The future stretched out before her. With Mr. Prue’s wealth and influence, she would have every comfort. The children of Halifax would be free of their suffering. She could undo the damage she’d done and pay penance for her mistakes.
“What do you say?” Mr. Prue asked, wearing the smile of one who knew he had already won.
“I… I will consider it,” Fontaine said in a small voice.