Lady Maybe (28 page)

“After we managed to remove them to the house, she was insensible for some time. And quite muddled even after she awoke. Muttering and fretting about someone named Danny, which I learned later was her child. I, of course, addressed her as ‘my lady,’ as did Mrs. Turrill, the housekeeper we’d engaged on behalf of the Mayfields. Looking back, I recall how this distressed her, how she knit her brow and seemed confused by it. I assumed it was the shock of the accident and her injuries. You see how determined I was to see her as I thought she should be. In all honesty, my lord, I blame myself for the misunderstanding. For she never tried to tell me or convince me that she was Lady Mayfield. I did that all by myself.”

Lord Shirwell pursed his lip. “Come, doctor. Even if she was confused for a few days, surely she could have corrected the ‘misunderstanding,’ as you call it, as soon as she came to her senses. Did she?”

He reddened again. “No, my lord. Um . . . your worship. Not directly. Though she did try more than once to tell me. I see that now.”

“What a memory you have, Dr. Parrish.” Marianna smiled at the man. “It speaks so highly of your character that you assume the best of everyone.”

“It is one thing for her to allow the misapprehension to go on briefly while she got her bearings,” Lord Shirwell said. “But to press you into aiding her cause—to return to Bath for her child? Surely you don’t excuse that as well? Did she not ask you to hire a carriage for her, and even steal money from Sir John’s purse to pay for the trip?”

Heaven help me
, Hannah thought. Who told him that, in
those terms? She would hang for sure. Or at least be sent to prison. What would become of Danny then?

Dr. Parrish shot a glare at his wife, then continued, “No, my lord. I offered to hire the carriage. She never asked for it. She intended to go on her own, by stage. But I insisted. I knew—or thought—Sir John would want it that way.”

“But surely Sir John did not
offer
Miss Rogers his money, considering he was insensible?”

“No, my lord. Again that was my idea. I knew she would need money for the inns and tolls, and when I asked her if she had enough, she said she hadn’t. I had removed Sir John’s purse from his pocket myself and knew right where it was, and that it was heavy indeed. I took from it the amount I thought she would need and gave it to her. She has never asked for more, nor was a farthing more missing from Sir John’s purse when he came to at last and had opportunity to look within.”

“How you defend her, Dr. Parrish,” Marianna said sweetly. “It seems as if you are quite fond of her.”

The physician blushed furiously, but whether from embarrassment or anger or both Hannah wasn’t sure. He had never treated her with anything but the most proper consideration. Marianna had clearly recognized the strain between the good doctor and his cantankerous wife and decided to use it to her advantage. How brazen she was to interrupt the proceedings as though a conversation in her own drawing room. Yet the magistrate did not object, but only gazed at her benignly.

“My . . . Your ladyship,” Dr. Parrish faltered. “You misunderstand me. But I do believe Miss Rogers is a good woman who acted out of concern for her child’s well-being. I cannot stand by and see her so maligned.”

Lord Shirwell straightened. “Did she or did she not impersonate Lady Mayfield?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did she or did she not pass off her son as master Mayfield?”

“Well, I suppose, though—”

“Did she or did she not take advantage of her situation to help herself to Sir John’s money, his house, his food, his wife’s very clothing?” Lord Shirwell’s eyes blazed.

Dr. Parrish ducked his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

“And what possible excuse did she give for not bringing the child with them to Lynton in the first place?”

“Actually”—he darted a look at his wife—“Mrs. Parrish supplied that reason. She said they must have left the child with its nurse, until they could prepare a proper nursery at Clifton.”

“I never said any such thing, Dr. Parrish,” Mrs. Parrish huffed.

“Yes, you did my dear. Perhaps you forget. And we both decided it was a godsend, for had the little boy been in that carriage . . .”

“But of course he wouldn’t have been, for he wasn’t any child of ours was he?” Marianna interrupted. “He was only an illegitimate whelp Hannah decided to pass off as a Mayfield. For the inheritance.”

Dr. Parrish shook his head. “I can’t believe she ever thought of that. I think she only wanted to be reunited with her son and to provide for him.”

Marianna’s mouth twisted bitterly. “And what better way than to make him a rich man’s heir?”

Lord Shirwell spoke up. “Em . . . thank you, my lady, but perhaps it is best if I conduct the hearing, hm?”

“Oh. Yes, your worship. I do beg your pardon. It just rouses my passion most fiercely to hear of her greedy deception.”

“Here, here,” Mrs. Parrish seconded.

Dr. Parrish spoke up. “But one more thing, my lord, if I may. When Sir John did regain his senses, and was presented with, um, Miss Rogers here as Lady Mayfield, he did not object. Nor did he correct me. In fact he addressed her as his wife and, well, acted toward her as a husband would.”

The magistrate’s brows rose. “Are you suggesting they had marital relations?”

Again the physician blushed. “No, my lord. I suggest no such thing. I only meant that he spoke to her and teased her as a husband might. He gave me no reason to suspect Miss Rogers was not Lady Mayfield. Even invited us to dinner, him at the head of the table and her at its foot. Why would he do that?”

Lord Shirwell entwined his stubby fingers on the desk. “You said he suffered a serious head injury in the accident and nearly died. Is it not possible his senses were still befuddled as Lady Mayfield suggests? That he has yet to, may never in fact, return to his right mind?”

“Pardon me for saying so, my lord, but that seems an awful presumption to make based on one woman’s accusations. When he isn’t even here to defend his actions.”

“Dr. Parrish.” The magistrate’s eyes grew cold, his voice harsh. “Do I tell you how to dress wounds and lance goiters? You will do well to leave my responsibilities to me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord. But, I must add that in my professional opinion, Sir John did regain his senses, not immediately, but eventually.”

Lord Shirwell’s lips tightened. “Thank you, Dr. Parrish. For your opinion. Well . . .” The magistrate set down his quill and folded his hands, as though he’d heard enough to pronounce her fate.

“I’d like to say my piece, if I may, your worship,” said Mrs. Parrish.

Oh, Lord, have mercy. Not her,
Hannah thought.

Before the magistrate could respond, Marianna beamed encouragement in her direction. “Oh yes, Mrs. Parrish, I am certain you have a great deal to say on the matter, having witnessed so many of the happenings personally.” Marianna widened her eyes imploringly toward Lord Shirwell. “But of course, the decision is up to you, your worship.”

“Very well. But do endeavor to be brief, Mrs. Parrish, if you please.”

“I will, my lord. I only wanted to say a few words. My husband you see, is a good-hearted soul, but blind to the ways of people. Women especially. I may have been taken in for a day or two, while she was still insensible. But as soon as she started babbling about a child and not responding to the title ‘my lady,’ I began to suspect. She acted too common, too humble to be a real lady of quality. And then later I took one look at that scrawny troubled mite of a wet nurse she returned with and knew something was amiss. No self-respecting lady would engage such a low girl for the care of her prized son, not if she could help it.”

Mrs. Parrish went on. “And then Sir John’s solicitor arrived. A younger man and quite good-looking. He’d come to make some changes to the will I overheard. Perhaps to add her son to the will, I don’t know. But I wonder if he was in league with her all along.”

“That’s not true,” Hannah sputtered, but the magistrate silenced her with a glare.

“So you say, but can you deny that I saw the two of you all alone in the garden one morning, very cozy and private like? And him not the first man I saw her with, either.”

Hannah shook her head. “No, but we were only talking. It had nothing to do with the will.”

“Sure, sure. You weren’t behaving like any lady then, I can tell
you. I don’t know why Sir John didn’t call you out like the Judas you are. Maybe he wasn’t in his right mind, or maybe you promised him some . . . reward . . . if he let the deception go on.”

Hannah sucked in a shocked breath. “I did no such thing.”

“Silence, Miss Rogers,” Lord Shirwell commanded. “You will have your chance to try to defend yourself in a minute.”

Hannah pressed her lips together and clasped trembling hands in her lap.

Mrs. Parrish smirked. “I noticed the solicitor did not like her at first. Was quite cold to her in fact. But she soon had him eating from her hand. Likely used the same wiles on both men.”

Lord Shirwell made a note in his logbook. Then looked up, quill poised. “Did Sir John not deny the child was his?”

“I couldn’t say, my lord. Though Dr. Parrish mentioned to me that Sir John said that he saw no resemblance between himself and the boy.”

Dr. Parrish hung his head.

“Of course not,” Lord Shirwell said. “Thank you, Mrs. Parrish.”

The magistrate stood and called for a short recess, and departed the room. The clerk rose to stretch his legs and quietly thanked Dr. Parrish for the safe delivery of a niece. Marianna complimented Mrs. Parrish on her testimony and the two women chatted as though at a cheerful charity tea, and not the worst day of Hannah’s life.

—

After a few more days of fruitless enquiry, James had landed upon an idea. Out of curiosity, he looked in the files to find Marianna’s address before her marriage—the former home of Mr. Sydney Spencer, her father, who had died a year or two before. The street wasn’t far, so James decided to walk there, though the day was grey and wet.

Reaching the place, he had to leap out of the way of a coach-and-four pulling into the curved drive. He watched as a footman scurried out with an umbrella, let down the step, and escorted a gentleman inside—the new owner of the place, James assumed. When the passenger had alighted, the coachman drove the horses around back toward the carriage house. It was probably futile, but James followed the coach. If society people were unwilling to speak against one of their own, perhaps a servant would have no such scruples.

James followed as far as the large double doors and from the threshold hailed the coachman. “Hello there. Nasty weather to be out driving in.”

The coachman eyed him warily. “I’m used to it.”

A groom and stable boy came and took charge of the horses.

James squinted through the drizzle at the dark manor. “Is this the old Spencer house?”

“Aye. Though it’s gone to a distant relation. Kirby-Horner’s ’is name.”

“I see. Did you know Mr. Spencer?”

“That I did. I was his coachman for five years afore he died. Mr. Kirby-Horner was kind enough to keep me on.” The coachman battened down the carriage for the night.

“And how was Mr. Spencer to work for?”

The man wrinkled up his face. “Don’t get me started. It ain’t polite to speak ill of the dead.”

“Very well. And did you know his daughter, Marianna?”

Again his face puckered. “Look—who’s askin’? What’s it to you?”

“My name is James Lowden. I am a solicitor.” He handed over his card.

The man glanced at the card but made no move to take it. “So?”

“I represent my client, Sir John Mayfield.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Sir John, is it? Well, why didn’t you say so. Sir John I know. I was groom to him years ago. It was him what got me this post here. Knew I wanted to be a coachman, but he already had a capable man, didn’t he? Right decent of him it was, too. Though he was the better master ten times over, I don’t mind tellin’ ya.”

The coachman belatedly stuck out his hand. “Tim Banks.”

James shook the man’s hand and said, “Then perhaps, Mr. Banks, you might help Sir John by helping me. I am looking into a rather delicate matter related to Lady Mayfield.”

“What’s she gone and done now?”

James hesitated. “You know then, that Sir John married Marianna Spencer?”

“Course I do. Dashed sorry I was to hear it, too.”

“And why is that?”

He glanced about to make sure the groom and stable hand were otherwise occupied. “Come now, man. You can’t have your offices here in Bristol and not have heard the old rumors about her and Anthony Fontaine.”

“I have heard. Sir John is also painfully aware. But all I have are tidbits of gossip and innuendo and no real evidence. Sir John’s coachman won’t say where he took her or whom she met. And I have yet to find an innkeeper who can prove the two stayed together in his establishment. I need evidence. Something I can show in a trial. Now I don’t say Sir John will accuse Mr. Fontaine in court, so please don’t mention it. But he is considering it, that I will say.” James shrugged. “But without evidence . . .”

The coachman frowned. “So she’s still involved with Fontaine? After all this time?”

“She has been, yes. At least we believe so.”

“Thunder and turf. What a couple of scapegraces.”

“Yes.”

Banks pursed his mouth, looking up as he considered, then he took a long breath. “I can do you one better than an innkeeper, friend.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. I’m off duty in half an hour. Meet me at the Red Lion and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Very well. But I hope it is more than mere hearsay.”

“Hearsay?” Banks shook his head. “I was there, wasn’t I? A gen-u-ine eyewitness. Buy me a pint and I’ll tell you a tale to make your ears burn.”