Lady Maybe (26 page)

Hannah stared at her. She began, “No. That’s not what I remember. . . .” But a flitting, recurring dream danced on the edges of her mind. Lady Mayfield smiling coyly amid the horrid wreckage. Placing her own ring in her hand . . .

Hannah sputtered. “I thought it was a dream . . . my trying to keep the tide from drawing you from the carriage. I grabbed your hand—that is how your ring came to be in mine.”

“Is it?” Marianna shook her head, eyeing her cynically. “I don’t think so.”

“But why would you give it to me?”

“I didn’t want to wear any such identifying jewelry. And yes, I thought it would reward you for keeping quiet if you lived. I didn’t know if you would—you looked a fright—your head bleeding profusely. And if you died, your body might be identified as mine. Which would buy me some time before anyone came looking for me. Of course nobody came, which I found somehow insulting. Now I know why.”

She took a long drink. “Later Anthony was angry when he
learned I’d left the ring behind. He put a notice in the paper to establish its loss or theft, hoping to claim insurance money for it. I could make no such claim, of course. But the insurance company took one look at Anthony’s debts and dismissed his claim. And who can blame them?”

Hannah willed herself to remain calm. “I don’t understand. You were free of your husband and your marriage, as you had long told me you wanted. Why come back now? What is it you want?”

Marianna smirked. “Why, to see my dear husband of course.”

Hannah’s stomach clenched. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but—”

Marianna leaned forward conspiratorially and wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not, actually. He’s more likely to strangle me than to welcome me back with open arms, I imagine.”

If she didn’t want to see Sir John, what did she want? Money? Hannah would have to tread carefully.

The truth was on her tongue. She said it even as she second-guessed the wisdom and the consequences of doing so. “Sir John would have taken you back. He would have forgiven you, raised your child as his own.”

Marianna’s mouth twisted. “I miscarried the child. Are you saying that was my fault? Had I stayed, I would not have lost her?”

Hannah was taken aback. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m sorry. I am only saying that Sir John would have stood by you either way.”

Marianna regarded her through narrowed eyes. “How highly you esteem him. Almost as if you had fallen in love with him.”

Hannah made no answer.

Lady Mayfield looked about the room. She asked, “Where is this supposed child of mine? Yours, I assume. You left us to bear
a child in secret, is that it? I thought you were gaining weight but was too polite to mention it. I hope the father was not Mr. Ward.” She shuddered. “I saw the way the odious man looked at you. Oh, I know! That young man I saw pursuing you the day we left Bath.” She shook her head, tsking her tongue. “And here I thought you so innocent. Sitting in judgment of me and Mr. Fontaine.”

“I never said a word about the two of you. Never . . .”

“Oh, but your face did. Like a wan Madonna in a dreary oil painting—such long-suffering disappointment. What a hypocrite you are.”

Marianna leaned back in the chair, putting a hand on each of its arms as though a queen on her throne. “And so here you are,” she said, “trying to pass off your base born child as Sir John’s son and rightful heir? That’s incredible. Is John out of his mind? Still insensible that you’ve got away with it this long?”

Hannah’s ire rose. “Why should you care? Do you mean to return, to be his wife?”

“In name, at least.”

Hannah stood. “If you are in earnest, then you have come to the wrong place. Sir John has returned to Bristol. And I plan to leave this house this very day.”

Marianna slowly shook her head, brown eyes glinting. “Oh no, my dear Hannah. You shall not get off so easily. I want to see you explain all of this to your neighbors and to the servants and to Mr. Lowden. I want to see you squirm, and then I want to see you pay. They do have magistrates in this godforsaken place, I take it?”

Mrs. Turrill breezed in, wiping her hand on her apron. “Here I am. Pardon my delay.” She eyed their visitor warily before returning her gaze to Hannah. “May I bring the two of you some refreshment, my lady?”

Hannah felt the words pierce her like two arrows. And fleetingly wondered how Marianna must feel to hear the woman address her with the title.

She hesitated to reply, but Marianna showed no such reluctance. A feline smile curved her features, as she looked from Hannah to the housekeeper. “Yes, I think refreshments would be lovely, thank you. Mrs. . . . ?”

The housekeeper stared at Marianna. “Turrill.”

“Mrs. Turrill.”

“Hannah, my dear friend,” Marianna said, “won’t you introduce me?”

Hannah felt sick, but complied, lifting a limp hand toward Marianna. “Mrs. Turrill, this is Lady Mayfield. Sir John’s wife.”

Hannah risked a glance at Mrs. Turrill. The woman stared at Marianna, eyes wide, mouth slack. She shifted an uncertain glance toward Hannah, and Hannah nodded, her mouth downturned in apology.

For a moment, no one moved or spoke. The long-case clock punctuated the silence, tick, tick, tick.

Finally Marianna prompted, “The refreshments, Mrs. Turrill?”

“Oh. Right.”

The housekeeper turned, but at the moment another knock sounded at the side door. The familiar double knock of Dr. Parrish. Hannah’s heart fell. Dear Dr. Parrish! How she hated to hurt him. But it was inevitable now. Perhaps it always had been.

“Shall I let him in?” The housekeeper directed the question to Hannah.

“Yes,” she sighed, resigned. It was all over now.

Marianna turned to her, brows high. “Who?”

“Our neighbor, Dr. Parrish.”

Marianna’s face became more animated yet. “Yes, by all means, invite him in. The party is just beginning.”

Or the funeral, Hannah grimly thought.

She sat stiffly and listened as Mrs. Turrill’s half boots clicked over the polished floor. She heard the door latch open and then, horror of horrors, Mrs. Parrish’s voice as well as the doctor’s.
Oh no. . . . Not her. Not now.

An anxious Mrs. Turrill led Dr. Parrish and his wife into the drawing room. The couple looked uncertain, and Hannah wondered what, if anything, the housekeeper had whispered to them. But they looked only curious at this point. The worst was yet to come. She would have to deliver the news herself.

The next hour passed in a painful blur: disillusioned people, once compassionate faces turning flinty, eyes freezing over, frowns of shock and disappointment replacing the smiling faces of her memories. Mrs. Parrish was, of course, the first to denounce her. Hadn’t she said all along there was something fishy about this supposed “lady”? She sent Ben to fetch Edgar, took great satisfaction in telling him the news when he arrived, then sent the shocked and disapproving young man to alert the magistrate to the imposter in their midst.

But the worst was Dr. Parrish. Stunned speechless and bent over in pain as though he had been dealt a mortal blow by a bosom friend. Presented with such a clear picture of her betrayal, Hannah did not even attempt to defend herself.

Edgar returned and announced that the justice of the peace, Lord Shirwell, was occupied with houseguests at present, but would hear their case in his office two days hence.

If only Sir John had not left, Hannah thought. Or even Mr. Lowden. But she must face this alone. Well, not completely alone—Mrs. Turrill had not left her. Had God?

Mrs. Parrish took charge, toadying up to Marianna with
fawning manners, inviting her to stay at the Grange with them, asking if they ought not lock Miss Rogers in her room so she would not be tempted to flee.

Marianna declined the offer with pretty gratitude, insisting she should like to stay in her “own home” at last. And, would not a manservant posted as watch outside the house be sufficient? After all, she and Mrs. Turrill would remain on hand to be sure Miss Rogers didn’t stray.

Hannah sat disbelieving through it all. It felt like another murky dream from which she couldn’t awaken—the cold weight of it pressed down on her. This time she would sink for sure.

Eventually, the arrangements were agreed to, watch posted, plans made for an early departure to the magistrate’s in two days’ time, and Mrs. Parrish led a silent and befuddled Dr. Parrish home.

Hannah walked numbly upstairs to the nursery. Becky, who had evidently overheard some of the conversation below, sat huddled in the corner near the cradle.

Daniel lay in the cradle, awake and cooing over a drooled fist in his mouth. Hannah took him in her arms and held him close, stroking his little downy head, and feeling the tears she’d held at bay fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks at last.

She felt Mrs. Turrill’s warm hand on her arm. “What will you do, my dear? What will you say?”

“I don’t know. What can I say? Perhaps I should take Danny and leave. Tonight.”

“If you run, everyone will assume you are guilty.”

“I am guilty.”

“Not of everything she accuses you of. Not half.”

Alarmed, Becky asked, “What is it, Miss Han—uh, my lady. What’s wrong?”

“It’s all right, Becky. You can call me Hannah now. Everyone knows. Our secret is over.”

“Are we in trouble?”

“You are not in trouble. But I am, yes.” At least she hoped Becky was in no trouble. She would have to find a way to make sure of that.

Becky asked, “And what about Danny?”

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. What
would
become of Danny? She wasn’t sure which frightened her more: that she would be separated from her son, or that Marianna might try to take him as her own.

“Shall I hide him?” Becky asked, eyes wild. “I saw Ben out front, but he wouldn’t stop me. He’s fond of me, I know. I could raise Danny as my own, if they take you away.”

“Becky!” Mrs. Turrill chided. “Don’t say such a thing.” She softened her tone. “I know you meant it kindly, my dear, but Miss Hannah is Danny’s mother and always shall be.”

Hannah turned to Mrs. Turrill. “But what if they send me to prison. Or . . . worse?”

“Surely it won’t come to that.” Mrs. Turrill laid a tender hand on her arm. “If worse comes to worse, I will care for Danny myself. And no doubt Becky will help me. You needn’t fear for his future.”

Hannah nodded, suddenly remembering the trust Sir John had offered. “Whatever happens to me, promise me you will let Sir John know where Danny is, will you? He will help you.”

“Of course I will.”

A
short while later, Marianna summoned Hannah down to the bedchamber she had occupied these many weeks. Inside, Hannah’s valise and a second case lay open, nearly packed. While Hannah stood in the doorway, Marianna insisted
the maid dump it all out again. She wanted to make sure Hannah took nothing that didn’t belong to her.

Hannah cringed. She hadn’t packed many of Marianna’s things, and none of her finest, but she had taken spare undergarments, a nightdress, spencer, and a few simple gowns.

Marianna plucked out one of her gowns and the pink-ribboned nightdress from the pile. “These are definitely mine.”

The maid gaped at her. “Is she to have no nightdress, ma’am, or even one spare gown?”

Hannah was impressed with the girl’s courage, though she feared she might lose her place because of it.

“My things were lost,” Hannah said, hoping to defend the maid, and her own actions as well.

Marianna hesitated, then tossed the gown and nightdress back into the valise. “Oh very well,” she snapped. “If she has worn them I don’t want them.” Her eyes glinted. “Unlike some people, I have no interest in wearing another woman’s clothes. Or her name.”

Marianna held out her hand. “But I will have my ring back.”

“I wasn’t going to take it.” Hannah gestured across the room. “It’s there on the dressing table, along with your lover’s eye.”

Marianna turned and plucked up the small brooch, quickly pinning it to her frock. “The painting isn’t John’s eye you know. It’s Anthony’s. Fickle though he is, he belongs to me, and I to him. He’ll remember that soon enough and come back for me. He always does.”

She tried to slide the ring onto her finger, but it caught on her knuckle. It no longer fit her as it once had. Nothing else did, either, in Hannah’s view.

Marianna forced the ring into place at last. Her quick look of triumph fell to a frown. “Now I shall never get it off again. . . .”

Hannah turned and quit the room, leaving Marianna tugging at the band. Carrying the hastily repacked valise in one hand and the case of Danny’s things under her arm, Hannah trudged upstairs to a small room beside the nursery, leaving Marianna to claim the large, fine bedchamber for herself.

—

The next morning, Mrs. Turrill carried breakfast up to Hannah in the spare room and helped her dress. Then she hurried away to attend Marianna while Kitty and Ben hauled cans of hot water for the woman’s bath.

Hannah tidied the counterpane on the narrow bed and was about to walk over to the nursery, when Dr. Parrish knocked on the doorjamb, head down.

“I’ve only come to remove your bandages.”