He might mean Father, but she chose to believe he was referring to Rourke. Father had struck her when she didn’t bend to his will. That was not love. Love does right even when it hurts. Father had not done right. Not at all. He had run off while she hovered between life and death. Didn’t he even have the courage to face her?
“Charles Benjamin the Second!” That burst of matronly energy could only belong to Aunt Virginia. “You were supposed to ring for me the moment your sister awakened. That’s why I left the bell here.”
She bustled into the room and proceeded to demonstrate, making Elizabeth cover her ears.
“Now, how are you, dear?” Aunt rounded the bed and tugged at the coverlet until she noticed the tea stain. “What did you do, Charles? Spill the entire pot on your sister? Call for Florie to clean up this mess, and have her bring up some hot broth for your sister. Go on now.” She waved him away.
Charlie gave Elizabeth an apologetic look and picked up his crutches.
“You ought to have bell pulls in every room to summon the servants,” Aunt stated. “When your father returns, I’ll see he installs them.”
Charlie rolled his eyes, which in the past would have made Elizabeth laugh, but the thought of facing Father soured any amusement.
Even before Charlie had made his way from the room, Aunt fluffed the pillows and resituated the bolster so Elizabeth sat more comfortably.
“Now, dear, do you feel well enough to hear what has gone on the last few days?”
Elizabeth leaned her head back. Whether or not she wanted to hear, Aunt would tell her.
As expected, Aunt did not wait for her answer. “You will be relieved to hear that Mr. Finch has left the island. Bound for New Orleans, I understand. He took the first packet Sunday morning, before your father could find him.”
As she suspected, Father intended to change Finch’s mind.
Aunt did not notice her discomfort. “That was fortunate for both men. If your father had found him, he would have wrung his neck. I told him that we discovered Mr. Finch had taken your father’s copy of the bill of sale. Before you’d danced your first cotillion, I’d talked the boardinghouse owner into checking Mr. Finch’s room. It was in the wardrobe. The man didn’t even have the intelligence to hide it.”
Elizabeth had no difficulty believing that. Finch’s ambitions outweighed his sense.
Aunt sighed. “I fear, dearest Elizabeth, that Mr. Finch was using that bill of sale to blackmail your father.”
“He said that?”
“Your father admitted everything. Apparently that bill was his only proof of ownership other than writing to Charleston, since the ship’s papers were lost in the wreck. Apparently he violated some sort of rule about conflicting interests, and Mr. Finch took advantage. He needed your inheritance, you see. Inquiries revealed that he owed a tremendous sum around town, especially at the gaming tables.”
“Then Finch really did take the papers from your trunk.”
“Not quite as directly as that. Since I gave my keys to Captain Poppinclerk, I suspect he was the one who rummaged through my trunk and found the papers. He then must have given—or sold—them to Mr. Finch.”
“But why?”
Aunt harrumphed. “Something about carrying a grudge against your father for driving him out of the wrecking business by getting his license revoked. He must have figured Mr. Finch would use the papers to sully your father’s reputation. No doubt he would have, given the opportunity.”
Elizabeth’s head ached trying to understand it all. “It doesn’t matter much anymore, does it? He is gone.”
“Praise God for that blessing. If you hadn’t come to me with that idea to test Mr. Finch, we might have made a terrible mistake. I have sent a letter to Jonathan to investigate the man’s background more thoroughly.”
“But I thought you had. Father always touted his pedigree.”
“I’m ashamed to admit we took Mr. Finch at his word.” She sighed. “I am humiliated by how he deceived us. He might have taken the family for a great deal of money.”
Elizabeth recalled her father’s assertions of financial distress. “I fear that even with Mr. Finch gone, we are destitute.”
Aunt Virginia jerked back. “Destitute? Whatever would make you say that?”
“Other than Charlie, of course. He has Mother’s inheritance.” She rubbed her aching temple. “A few days ago, Father told me his savings were gone. That’s why he insisted I marry Mr. Finch. We needed the inheritance for Charlie’s care.”
“My dear.” Aunt chuckled. “I suspect at the time he was reeling from the loss of the Victory and under duress from Mr. Finch’s blackmail threats. The auction of the ship’s cargo paid off all debts, and now that proof of ownership has been confirmed, the insurers will reimburse the balance. Your father is certainly not destitute.”
It was all too much to take in. Her head was aching.
Florie arrived with the broth, which Aunt Virginia would doubtless ladle down her throat. Elizabeth closed her eyes, exhausted. The family might be returning to normal, but she had never felt more lost.