Lady Maybe (29 page)

L
ord Shirwell returned ten minutes later and took his seat. He faced Hannah and began soberly, “Miss Rogers. You may tell us your version of the events. I remind you that this is not a trial. I am examining evidence to decide if there is a sufficient case against you to commit you to the house of corrections in Exeter until trial in the county courts there. Still, let me warn you that if I find you are dishonest, I will make it my personal vow to see you prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, your worship.” Hannah’s nerves quaked. Most of what had been said against her was true, though not the motivations and exaggerated maneuvering behind her actions. Even if she revealed the truth of her child’s father, they wouldn’t believe her, and would twist it to use against her. Perhaps accusing her of threatening Sir John to go along with her scheme or she would publically accuse him and cause a scandal. Only Sir John himself could authoritatively acknowledge Daniel as a Mayfield. And he was not here.
If only he were here!

What could she say in her defense? How tawdry and unbelievable it all sounded now.

Lord Shirwell consulted his notes, then looked up. “Miss Rogers, before you begin.” He gestured toward Lady Mayfield. “Look
at this lady and tell me honestly, is she or is she not Lady Marianna Mayfield?”

Hannah glanced over. “She is.”

“And your name is?”

“Hannah Rogers.”

“And did you or did you not impersonate this woman?”

Had she? She had never wanted to be Marianna, no. But Lady Mayfield . . . ?

“They thought I was Lady Mayfield.”

“But you did not correct them?”

“I tried. . . .”

“Tried? Is it so hard to tell the truth. To say, ‘Excuse me Dr. Parrish, but you have it wrong. I am not Lady Mayfield, I am only her companion.’ Are you telling us that was impossible to do?”

Hannah ducked her head. “No, your worship.”

Lord Shirwell entwined his fingers on the desk. “Was it your intention to position yourself and your son as Sir John’s heirs should he die?”

“No, your worship.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“I had no other way to return to Bath and rescue my son.”

“But you chose to leave him behind.”

“Only temporarily. He was being held by the matron of a corrupt maternity home. Though I didn’t know the true nature of the establishment when I left Danny under her care. I needed to find a situation not long after I delivered him. And one cannot do so with a child in arms.”

He frowned. “Has this any bearing on the current situation?”

“Yes. The matron said I could not have Danny until I paid her exorbitant fees. Fees she’d raised over and over again after I’d agreed to her initial terms. I could not pay them. That’s why I returned to
the Mayfields in Bath and asked for the allowance I’d previously earned there as lady’s companion, but had never collected. When Lady Mayfield asked me to travel to Devonshire with her as her companion, I thought I would stay with her just until I earned enough money, and then return for Danny.”

“That is not the way Lady Mayfield recounts the events. She said you came begging for a place. Are you calling her a liar?”

It was a trap, and how tempting a trap it was. If she began speaking ill of her former mistress, the magistrate would of course defend the lady of his own class. It never went well for anyone who spoke against her master or mistress.

Hannah said carefully, “I sit in judgment of no one, your worship. Perhaps she and I saw the arrangement differently.”

His eye glinted. “Lady Mayfield is right, you are cunning.”

She shook her head. “No, your worship. I am only a mother, who did what she had to do to rescue her son. Did I do wrong? Yes. But did I intend to take more money from Sir John, for either myself or my son? No. I did not.”

“I will decide who did wrong, Miss Rogers. That is why we are here, after all.” He returned his gaze to his notes, then said, “If this sorry tale is true, why did you not end the ruse when you were reunited with your child? Why return to Lynton at all?”

Hannah nodded. It was a logical question. “I thought about it, your worship. But Edgar Parrish was so concerned about me, it felt rude . . . wrong . . . to refuse to return with him. How they all would have worried. Besides that, my arm had been broken in the crash. I could not very well find another post until it mended. How was I to provide for Danny on my own? So I returned to Clifton, thinking I would stay until I had the full use of both arms and then I would try to find a post somewhere in Devonshire.” She self-consciously cradled her arm. “Dr. Parrish only removed the bandages yesterday.”

“So, you do not even deny that you allowed these good people to believe you were Lady Mayfield.”

“I cannot deny it. Though my reasons—”

“Reasons? What care I for your reasons? Can reasons excuse deceit? Theft? Fraud?”

Hannah tried to hold his burning gaze, but she could not succeed for long. He was vehemently set against her. Thanks to Marianna. Thanks to the truth. And he was right. She had done wrong. Knowingly committed fraud. God may look at the heart, but the law cared little.

He gestured toward his clerk for some document. “I have heard enough. There is clearly enough evidence to have Miss Rogers committed to the house of corrections until a trial date may be set in the county courts.” He dipped a quill and signed the paper with a flourish.

Dr. Parrish sputtered. “But Miss Rogers has a child! Surely there is no cause to separate mother and child for such a period.”

“There is
more than
sufficient cause, Dr. Parrish.” He fixed the doctor with an icy glare. “And I am the only judge of that here today.”

Hannah thought she would be sick. Everything she had done to try to protect Danny . . . and now she would sit in jail and he would be taken from her. Would the court even allow Mrs. Turrill to keep him? And even if Mrs. Turrill were willing, could she care for Danny and support herself? Not to mention Becky?

Hannah was back to where they had started. Her hands tied. Danny out of reach. What if Becky ran off with him again? She recalled the image of Becky huddled over him in a Bath alleyway and shivered.
Oh, God in heaven, have mercy! I deserve this, but he does not. Please help him, watch over him. . . .
Tears streamed down Hannah’s face.

The magistrate spoke quietly with his clerk, giving him some instructions. The clerk, in turn, wrote something in his register.

While they were occupied, Hannah looked at Marianna, hoping to see a crack in her cold facade. “Why?” she whispered. “Is it not enough to simply send me away in shame? Why are you determined to destroy me?”

Marianna lifted her chin. “You were my companion. You were supposed to stand by me, remain loyal, no matter what. That you of all people should betray me . . . ?” Her dark eyes sparked with ire.

Hannah shook her head. “I did nothing to you. I took nothing from you—nothing you wanted. But you will take everything from me?”

The magistrate gathered up his papers and pushed back his chair. “The justices will want Sir John’s testimony of course. That is, assuming he is in his right mind.”

“I am.”

Hannah snapped her head around at the sound of his voice, as did everyone in the room.

Her heart soared to see Sir John standing there, leaning on his cane, greatcoat splattered, tall boots mucked, face wind-chapped, hat askew. Had he ridden the final stretch on horseback?

He tossed his hat down on a side table. “And if you dare harm one hair of this woman’s head, or even think of separating her from her child, you will be guilty of a gross injustice, and I for one shall not stand for it.” He slowly ran a smoldering gaze from Lord Shirwell to the Parrishes, to her, to Marianna. He lifted a hand in his wife’s direction. “What pretty tales has the missing Lady Mayfield been telling you?”

Marianna lifted her chin. “The truth.”

The magistrate said, “Only that this person, Hannah Rogers,
has impersonated her, and defrauded you.” While the magistrate summarized the charges against her, Sir John’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched.

“Stuff and nonsense,” he said. “She told you just enough to poison your minds to the real story. And how quickly you have sipped at her honeyed hemlock. And swallowed it whole, no doubt.”

“Can you deny that Hannah Rogers impersonated your wife?”

Sir John threw up his hand. “It’s about time someone impersonated my wife! Marianna never felt the need to act the part. She was too busy meeting with her lover on a nearly daily—or should I say nightly—basis.”

The magistrate sent Marianna an uncertain look. “Lady Mayfield is not on trial here.”

“Then perhaps she should be.”

Sir John limped a few steps forward. Dr. Parrish rose and offered him his chair, which Sir John sank into gratefully.

He began, “When the good doctor here came upon the wrecked Mayfield carriage and found only myself and the woman in question, what other conclusion was he to draw? By the time Miss Rogers returned to her senses after suffering a head wound, everyone at Clifton believed her to be Lady Mayfield. And there is only one reason she did not correct them—because she had no other way to return to Bath and collect her infant son. Doctor Parrish gave her ten pounds from my purse, which, yes, she accepted, to finance the journey and to pay the extorter holding her child. That woman, by the way, has since been jailed for illegal and harmful practices. But that is another story. . . .”

While Sir John spoke, Hannah noticed James Lowden slip into the back of the room. He looked unkempt and windblown
as well. Apparently, both men had traveled on horseback, although not together.

The magistrate addressed Sir John. “Yes, yes. We have heard much of this already. But is it not true Miss Rogers coerced you into naming her illegitimate son as your heir?”

“Absolutely not. I had already planned to change my will before the accident, to disinherit Marianna Mayfield, my unfaithful wife. Which my solicitor, who is here now, I see, can confirm. But no, since the trip to Bath, Miss Rogers has not asked for, nor accepted, any money for herself, though I offered her a large sum.”

Marianna’s eyes flashed. “But she fraudulently passed off her base born child as your son!”

Sir John coolly met her gaze. “No, she did not. For I am the boy’s father.”

Gasps rose around the room. Lady Mayfield gaped at Sir John as though he were a stranger to her. Mrs. Parrish pressed a hand to her mouth, and Dr. Parrish slowly nodded in understanding.

Sir John continued. “If anyone should be on trial today, it should be me, or perhaps Marianna, but not Miss Rogers. For I took advantage of her while she was in my employ back when we lived in Bristol. She made no demands on me then. Requested no support for herself or her infant. In fact, she did not even tell me she was with child. Before her condition became evident, she simply left, planning to raise the baby on her own. Only when she believed my wife was dead and I a widower, did she acknowledge that I was the boy’s father, though it was quite obvious to look at him that the lad is a Mayfield.”

Again, Dr. Parrish nodded sagely. And Hannah noticed that everyone attended Sir John’s account as they had hung on Marianna’s words before.

“When I told Miss Rogers I wished to support my son
financially,” Sir John went on, “she was reluctant to accept. And she refused to allow me to include her in my new will.”

He flicked a hard glance at his wife. “And no matter what Marianna may have told you, I was in my right mind and knew very well Hannah Rogers was not in reality my wife. In fact, Miss Rogers confessed all to me as soon as I regained my senses—even before I regained the power of speech. She would have confessed all to Dr. Parrish as well, but I forestalled her.”

“Why on earth would you do so?” Lord Shirwell asked, brows low, papers forgotten.

Sir John shrugged. “At first I only wanted to test her. To see how far she was willing to take the charade. I wrongly suspected she and Marianna had plotted the switch to allow Marianna to flee with her lover. I wasn’t fully convinced Marianna had drowned, you see. But even though others assumed we were married, Miss Rogers and I were not . . . intimate. Not since the conception of our child, though some gossips”—he eyed Mrs. Parrish—“may have spread that lie.”

He glanced at Hannah’s burning face, then looked back at the magistrate. “I convinced her to keep up the pretense, since Marianna was believed dead, and had no close family left to mourn her. Because if Hannah was thought to be my wife, then her son could legally inherit my entailed property, as well as my other holdings. Every day I was sure Miss Rogers would cry off and leave. And I know she was tempted to more than once. But she stayed—not for personal gain, but only for her son’s sake. And for mine, since I asked it of her.”

Sir John gestured toward his wife. “What has Marianna told you? That she had been swept out to sea, lost her memory, and only recently remembered who she was, and came scurrying back?”

Dr. Parrish alone nodded his head.

“Rubbish, the lot of it,” Sir John continued. “She saw her opportunity to leave me after the accident and she took it, sneaking away, faking her drowning, leaving her companion bleeding and disoriented. Her husband broken and near death. And I would have died, too, had Dr. Parrish not found us so quickly. Meanwhile Marianna hid for a time, then sought out her lover, as she had done before. It was the reason I decided to move here to Devonshire in the first place—a desperate, futile attempt to separate my wife from her lover. How dismally that plan failed.”