Chapter Twenty: Running Into Some Help
Knowing that she had less than 24 hours to discover one of the most well-kept secrets, lest her family's reputation be destroyed beyond repair, Franny was frantic. Her mind was racing with thousands of ideas, which was not at all an unusual state for her, but this time the sense of urgency coupled with the looming catastrophe fuelled panic in her. Not to mention that the mere thought of being betrothed to Nigel Berbrooke made her break out in cold sweat. When she was in dismay, and under considerable time pressure, there was one thing to do: keep moving.
Franny put on one of Lucy's bonnets to provide some cover for her; on a normal day she categorically refused to wear any, but this time the situation required drastic measures. Then she slipped out of the Granville House using the back door, before anyone, especially Everly, could take notice. It would have been advisable to have at least Annabeth accompany her, but she did not want to be slowed down. Although her agile leaps could not keep up with her thoughts, a breeze of fresh air and some exercise always helped her brain work better. Several times Franny heard it remarked how she never minced and walked delicately as all respectful ladies did, but she never paid any heed to it. After all, if one was to reach her destination, there was no use in not doing it in any other way than with the most efficiency and the least time.
She gathered and synthesised all the information about Lady Whistledown out there. Eloise had given her a good start; it was beyond clear that because there was no question about the gender, was well-connected, well-off and with considerable time on her hands. Servants, contrary to Eloise's theory, lacked the time needed for writing, not to mention that if they were to raise criticism, it would have been much harsher and less marriage-oriented. A tradesperson was a logical guess, the modiste, for example, would have been a sensible culprit with all the ladies thus the gossip concentrated in her shop, but if Madame Delacroix had the connections and the money to start the Papers, she wouldn't have had to hide behind a fake French accent.
Alas, Franny's most important lead was herself, however self-important that may have sounded. Because only a handful of people were aware of her nickname, therefore it was not a negligible coincidence that she was called Franny in the latest issue. People in the art studio knew, of course, but once again, if they were to criticise the ton, they would deal less with matters of love, marriage and fashion, and more with social injustice, wars, and economic questions. Not to mention they would convey their message with less delicacy and in a more straightforward manner, so to say. Lucy, despite her knack and love for gossip, couldn't operate a business under her family's nose, not that she ever hid her opinion under the bushel. Henry and Lord Wetherby were men, and significantly less conflictual than Lady Whistledown. That left... the Bridgertons. Alas, it would have been the scandal of the century if one of the well-liked, perfectly handsome and beautiful Bridgertons was hiding behind the pseudonym. Lady Bridgerton certainly knew about everyone's business in town, but she was up to her ears with playing matchmaker to her rather big brood, and she certainly had her hands full with Eloise and Hyacinth. And then there was, of course, Eloise, intent on and obsessed with revealing the identity of the rumourmonger, which could have provided her with a flawless cover, but no, it was unlikely that she would invest so much energy in this façade; she was just unapologetically curious. Hyacinth, however brilliant and opinionated she was, was still in leading strings.
– she ordered herself and grunted out loud, making a few heads turn towards her, which she ignored completely. Franny doubled the speed of her strides and continued her aimless but determined stroll. There was another lead to investigate: who was privy to Marina's secret? Prudence and Philippa, with the wits of a six years old put together, were out of the question. Despite her horrible sense of style, Lady Featherington wasn't simple-minded. Indeed, Franny was convinced she was very well aware of Marina's condition and played an active part in trying to cover it up: why else would Marina dance with Lord Rutledge? Albeit, the Featheringtons were constant subjects to the sharp criticism of Lady Whistledown which ruled them out.
Franny grabbed her head as if trying to physically knock some sense into it and she felt anxiety and panic building in her. If she didn't manage to uncover Lady Whistledown's identity soon, she would have to tell her aunt and uncle about Cressida's threat, and she couldn't stand subjecting them to that horror. She was the one to blame for this conundrum therefore it was her responsibility to get out of it. She reached the park where she had to slow down her pace if she wanted to avoid bumping into strollers. Opting for a less busy lane, from the corner of her eyes she spotted some flowers familiar to her, precisely the ones she had sent to Colin. Yellow alyssum, a foul flower, known for its horrid smell and pretty, bright, yellow petals. And that was the moment when a revelation came down on her like lightning. She stopped dead in her tracks, threw her head backwards and let out a maniacal laugh, completely ignoring the funny looks it prompted. Because there was someone else in Bridgerton drawing room; someone most people tended not to notice because of her quiet presence and reticent manners; someone born into a loud and garish family who wanted nothing more just to blend in the shadows, but was forced to stand out because of being dressed in canary yellow. Someone who was there at almost all social events, listening, observing, gathering the gossip. Someone incredibly witty and well-read. Someone who flashed a knowing smile at her and kept her rendezvous with Benedict secret, and someone who failed to report her blunder with Cressida. Someone smart, caring and most importantly, someone almost invisible, giving her the perfect vantage point and alibi.
Franny was no longer wandering aimlessly, she knew exactly where she was headed, who she needed to see and ask help from. She steered in the direction of the Featherington House, luckily only a few minutes away and she no longer registered her surroundings as she was cutting the distance with long, determined leaps. Being under the spell of the powerful revelation, Franny completely forgot to look around when she was about to cross the street and stepped out on the road.
Then it all happened in a blur; Franny didn't know exactly how, but she found herself on the cold ground, heard a horse neighing and boots clapping against the road. Then a figure bent over her, a shadow of a man, addressing her in a worried tone.
"Are you all right, are you hurt?" questioned the deep voice alertly. It was, of course, Anthony Bridgerton, because who else would she run into on the worst day of her life?
Franny blinked a few times, her vision and mind still not registering what was going on, while Anthony gently tugged her to her feet and proceeded to inspect whether there was any harm done to her.
"I am fine, I am fine," Finally regaining her composure, Franny tried to shake Anthony's hand off, but it remained firmly on her upper hand. Apart from the dull pain in her backside, she was unscathed.
When Anthony has made sure that no permanent harm was done, his worried expression rearranged into a mad look within a second.
"Are-you-completely-nuts?!" he emphasised the words sharply, shaking Franny alongside with each as if he was trying to knock some sense into her.