Camellia’s eyes narrowed. “—However—?”
Mr. King shifted in his chair, less comfortable now that his ample hindquarters had been wedged into a narrow seat for too much time. “All of that was certainly in accordance with your father’s wishes. And, I might add, that, since he had legally adopted Miss Molly Burton, she is considered a daughter of the house when it comes to any bequests.”
“Well, certainly, that goes without saying.” Camellia sounded a trifle impatient. “But as far as funds for support—“
“That’s just it. There are no funds.”
Rip the bandage off a wound quickly; the tearing away hurts more at first, but much less in the long run than a slow, drawn-out peel that merely protracts the agony.
Four simultaneous gasps. “What do you mean?” Hannah, jerked upright, demanded.
“Your father was a gambler. Surely you were aware of his—um—his propensity for this lifestyle, and how he had become consumed by every game of chance during these last few years.”
The young ladies exchanged glances: incredulous, shocked, horrified. “We knew this—this obsession was taking him ever farther away,” admitted Camellia slowly. “We begged him to leave off the lure of the cards. But we didn’t know—” a hard, painful swallow, “—we didn’t know just—how bad—it had gotten...”
“Very bad.” Bracing his elbows upon the arm rests, Mr. King placed the tips of his fingers together in a very thoughtful, very lawyerly pose. “Your father inherited a vast fortune from his own family, and he’s managed to go through almost all of it. There’s barely any left.” The expression on his face, and the roughened tone of his voice, left no one in doubt of his opinion of such mad behavior.
“I suppose he couldn’t help it,” murmured Letitia. Her head must be in the clouds; clearly she had no conception of the enormity of what had happened, and the cataclysm about to befall the luckless Burtons. “Poor Papa.”
“Poor us, you mean,” Camellia sharply reproved her sister. “So, then, Mr. King, exactly how much are we talking about?”
“Enough to run your household another few months, I should say. First Beneficial Bank & Trust gave your father his original mortgage, a number of years ago. As the wager amounts increased, and more debt accumulated, he was able to talk them into refinancing several times. You are sitting on a valuable piece of property, after all. Most valuable, and desirable.”
“And after those few months have elapsed?” The crisp steadiness of Camellia’s tone gave no indication of the sheer fright that had begun to twist her middle into knots. “What then?”
“Well, my dear,” the lawyer looked at her with pity, “then the bank will foreclose.
”
“Foreclose. On everything?”
“Exactly.”
“There will be nothing left to us?”
He spread his hands in an I’m-so-sorry gesture. “Your personal effects. Your wardrobes. But, otherwise, all the furnishings must stay with the house.”
“But,” Hannah was casting about with confusion, “where will we go?”
“That, Miss Burton, I cannot tell you at the moment. I would suggest that the four of you go home, digest this unhappy news, and talk over possibilities for your future. I will, of course, remain available, whenever you wish, for advice and suggestions. Will that be suitable?”
Abruptly Camellia rose, lowering the net of her veil and gathering up her heavy black cloak. “Eminently suitable, Mr. King. We thank you for your time today, and for—well, for whatever has already been put forth on our behalf. I hope—can you tell me if there is a—a balance due for your time and expertise?”
Dear child. She was not familiar enough with the business world to realize that attorneys, and their firms, were always the first to be paid for services provided. Sometimes in advance of services provided. Occasionally, sad to say, even in lieu of services provided.
Mr. King merely smiled and rose with respect to her position. “No, there is no balance due. And I have already taken the liberty of speaking with the bank’s president. He has set up an account for you, as legatees, and arranged to have the balance of funds transferred. Please do contact me if any difficulties arise.”
“Oh, we shall. We surely shall.” Hannah offered a blank, bewildered half-smile in return.
Dazed, overwhelmed, feeling as if the floor had suddenly collapsed underfoot, the four Burton sisters collected outdoor wraps and reticules and filed toward the door. All of them looked like nothing so much as a flock of rather bedraggled ravens, trailing black in their wake.
Chapter Four
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO do,” Camellia whispered. “I don’t know where to turn, or whom I should contact. Oh, Lord in Heaven, what a coil!”
She was making this confession not to her sisters, or to a councilor, but to herself, in the privacy of her room. She had escaped there, after a dinner which had tasted like sawdust even though well-prepared, to wrestle with the thorny problem seemingly twisted and entwined through every fiber of her being.
It was now mid-February, and the weather was offering a taste of what spring might be: slightly warming temperatures, a slight melting of the ice and dirty snow piled along the streets, a faint teasing scent now and then of budding leaves. Soon the pretty lawns would start greening up, and the tentative blooms of purple crocus and sunny yellow daffodils would follow.