Lady Maybe (9 page)

Dr. Parrish tucked his chin, clearly pleased at the praise. “How I thank God we saw those runaway horses. I shudder to think what might have happened to them had we not. The same fate as the poor driver and maid, I fear.”

Mr. Lowden’s head snapped toward her. “Maid? You did not mention a maid.”

“Did I not?” she murmured. “Actually, she was a lady’s companion.” She was lying to a solicitor now? Heaven help her.

“Poor girl drowned,” Dr. Parrish replied. “Carriage fell from the Cliff Road and landed half in the water.”

Mr. Lowden said, “Sir John wrote nothing about a maid or a companion in his last letter. He mentioned he planned to engage all new staff.”

Hannah said, “He did. But I— It was a last-minute arrangement.”

“Has the woman’s family been informed?”

Dr. Parrish said, “Lady Mayfield knew nothing of her family, but I did send a notice to the Bath papers.”

“And the driver’s family?”

“Yes,” Dr. Parrish replied. “Him I knew. His parents own the coaching inn at Porlock. I carried the young man back to them in my own cart.” He grimaced. “Bad business. Terrible distraught they were, too, of course.”

Mr. Lowden frowned at her. “How did this
accident
happen? Were you being pursued by someone Sir John wished to avoid?”

Hannah shook her head. “No one pursued us. It was an accident, Mr. Lowden. There was a violent storm. But Sir John was eager to press on.”

“Yes, he had reason to leave Bath and quickly.” He gave her a pointed look, then turned toward the physician. “May I see him?”

“Of course,” Dr. Parrish agreed. “And have you met young master Mayfield?”

Mr. Lowden’s brow furrowed. “Master Mayfield?”

“Sir John and Lady Mayfield’s son?” the doctor clarified.

Mr. Lowden’s lips parted. “Son? I know nothing of a son.”

Seeing the doctor’s astounded expression, Hannah hurried to explain. “Mr. Lowden has only lately taken over as Sir John’s
solicitor after his father’s death, and is not acquainted with every recent event.”

“Ah.”

Mr. Lowden’s frown deepened. “He did mention his wife was expecting a child, but I thought . . .”

Dr. Parrish interrupted with a nod. “I thought the same. Surprised I was to hear the young master had already arrived. And what a bonny lad he is. You will want to see him.”

Mr. Lowden held her gaze, challenge glinting in his eyes. “Indeed I shall.”

Dr. Parrish led Mr. Lowden upstairs, the two men speaking in low voices as they went. A part of Hannah thought she ought to go in with them, in case Sir John should awaken again and say something to expose her. She would then be alerted to imminent danger. Instead, she remained in the drawing room. Mr. Lowden, though not a judge, was a solicitor. He was attached to, familiar with, and represented the law. Having him appear increased the risks to herself and therefore to Daniel as well. She would need to tread wisely, extract herself more carefully.

Several minutes later, Mr. Lowden came back downstairs alone, his expression pensive.

She rose, fiddling with the sling with her free hand. “How did you find him?”

“Very bad indeed. It is quite a shock.”

“Yes. This has all been deeply shocking.”

He stood there, making no move to pick up his hat from the side table nor to take his leave. Did he expect her to invite him to stay? She supposed she should. Probably would have, were she Marianna Mayfield, who enjoyed nothing more than a handsome man’s company. But she did not want this man under the same roof, watching her every move, measuring and noting her every word to use against her later. To catch her leaving . . .

Mr. Lowden cleared his throat. “Pardon me for asking. But did your husband happen to mention that he invited me to stay here when I came to Devonshire?”

Her stomach fell. “No. I’m sorry. He didn’t even mention you were coming.”

“I did send a letter to him here; did you not receive it?”

She shook her head. “We’ve received no post since we’ve been here, that I know of.”

“How strange. I wrote to apprise him of when I would arrive and to thank him for his invitation to stay at Clifton.”

Hannah hesitated, then swallowed nervously. “Well then, of course you must stay here, Mr. Lowden. I will ask Mrs. Turrill to prepare one of the guest rooms. I should warn you that we have only minimal staff at present. With the accident, we have yet to hire more.”

“It’s not a problem; I am used to doing for myself. But I don’t wish to trouble you. If it is not convenient, I suppose there might be an inn somewhere nearby . . . ?”

“Never mind, Mr. Lowden.” She forced a smile. “Of course you must stay here. I am not hungry, but I shall ask Mrs. Turrill to send up dinner on a tray.”

She wanted to ask him how long he planned to stay, but did not wish to appear impolite. Might it be wiser to wait to make her escape until after he had gone?

A few minutes later, Mrs. Turrill showed the man to a guest room, but Hannah waited for Dr. Parrish. She caught up with the physician near the side door as he was readying to take his leave.

“Dr. Parrish, I have a question. Mr. Lowden mentioned that he had sent a letter to Sir John here, informing him of his arrival. But I have seen no post since we arrived. Do you know anything about the postal arrangements for Clifton?”

He pursed his lips in thought. “We receive our post regularly enough. And I am quite certain Edgar informed the postmaster of the names of the new tenants. I am going into the village first thing tomorrow and shall speak to Mr. Mason myself.”

“Only if it is no trouble.”

“No trouble at all, my lady.”

“Thank you, Dr. Parrish. You are very kind.”

He tipped his hat. “My pleasure.”

T
he next morning, Hannah rose early, dressed with Mrs. Turrill’s help, and slipped downstairs to the dining parlor, hoping to eat her breakfast alone before Mr. Lowden came down. But she had barely helped herself to coffee and toast from the sideboard when their houseguest entered, newspaper tucked under his arm.

“Mr. Lowden, good morning.” She forced a smile. “I trust you slept well?”

“Perfectly well as always. But then, I have the benefit of a clean conscience.”

Hannah’s smile stiffened.

He filled his own plate and cup and sat down. The two ate in awkward silence, every replaced lid and scrape of cutlery seeming as loud as a clanging cymbal. He refilled his coffee cup and unfolded the newspaper, sipping while he read.

“Perhaps you might use the morning room as your office while you’re here,” she offered, hoping he would take the hint and retreat there now. Instead, Hannah waited impatiently for Mr. Lowden to finish his third cup of coffee, ready to make her escape as soon as politeness allowed.

Dr. Parrish appeared in the threshold, and Hannah sighed in relief.

“Sorry to disturb your meal,” he began.

“Not at all, doctor. We have just finished. May I offer you something?”

“No, thank you.” He raised a small stack of letters. “I have taken the liberty of collecting your post while I was in town. Mr. Mason was reluctant to hand it over. According to him, when Sir John visited before the move, he requested that all post be held for him. He asked that it not be delivered to the house, but said he would collect it himself, in person. But after I explained Sir John’s condition, he begrudgingly gave way. Extremely dedicated, our postmaster.” He extended the letters. “Here you are, my la—”

Mr. Lowden interrupted him. “Doctor, since Sir John obviously had reservations about whose hand the post ended in, perhaps I, as his solicitor, should peruse it first.”

Dr. Parrish frowned. “I didn’t read it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I imagine Sir John only wanted his post held until his family was in residence. Surely her ladyship can give you anything she thinks Sir John would want you to see to.”

“But what if
she
is the person he did not want reading his post?”

The doctor frowned. “His wife? Really, Mr. Lowden. That is unkind.” With a defensive glare at the newcomer, he handed her the letters.

Mr. Lowden craned his neck to see them. “The one on top is from me to Sir John. There is nothing in it you need see.”

Ignoring his outstretched hand, Hannah slid it to the bottom of the pile. She flipped past the next letter, and with a jolt recognized the handwriting of the third, before sliding all the letters into her lap.

She smiled at their neighbor. “Thank you, Dr. Parrish. I greatly appreciate your help.”

Hannah excused herself from a glowering Mr. Lowden and accompanied Dr. Parrish upstairs to check on Sir John.

“That man seems to have taken against you.”

“You noticed that, too? I find it strange. Especially as I never met him before he came here.”

In the bedchamber, Sir John slept deeply and turned his head away from the doctor’s attempts to rouse him. “Even that is a response, my lady. Another good sign.”

He greeted the nurse then went on to explain that Mrs. Weaver had begun a regimen of massage and stretching to keep Sir John’s muscles from becoming atrophied while lying abed night and day. The treatment seemed to render him more responsive overall.

“About that, doctor,” Mrs. Weaver interrupted gently. “May I have a private word before you take your leave?”

“Of course.”

Hannah excused herself to give the two privacy and slipped into her room to read the post. She first opened the letter in the familiar hand, fingers trembling. How in the world had Freddie learned even this much of their direction? It was addressed to Sir John Mayfield, Lynton Post Office, Devon.

Dear Sir,

I read in the newspaper an account of the death of one Hannah Rogers. The news report said only: “A maid, Hannah Rogers, lately of Bath, drowned. Anyone knowing the whereabouts of her next of kin, please write in care of the Lynton Post Office.”

I could not rest without telling you. Hannah Rogers was more than a maid, sir. And more than a lady’s companion.
She was a dear friend. A clever, educated young woman. The daughter of a parson and a gentlewoman. The owner of a lovely singing voice. A kind neighbor, a loyal friend, and a loving mother. Describing her as merely a “maid” does not do her justice. She will be missed not because she is not there to tote and carry for your wife, sir. No offense. But because the world is a darker place without her, the future no longer full of hope.

I have hand-delivered the news to her father in Bristol, who received it with much distress and grief. If Hannah left any belongings, please forward them to Mr. Thomas Rogers, 37 Hill Street, Bristol.

Sincerely,

Fred Bonner

Oh, Freddie . . .
Tears blurred her vision. Poor man. She had not stopped to consider how the news of her “death” would affect him—nor anticipated that he would take the news to her father. Poor Fred. He did not know it wasn’t true. How could he? Of course he had told her father, thinking he would want to know, even though they were estranged. Had her father really been distressed and grieved? Her eyes filled anew at the thought.

For the truth of her situation would bring him little comfort.

She next eyed Mr. Lowden’s letter. Should she return it to him unopened? Or place it in Sir John’s bedchamber for when . . . if . . . he fully regained his senses? Then she recalled the solicitor’s discomfort at seeing the letter in her hands. What had he written that he didn’t want Lady Mayfield to read? Swallowing sour guilt, she pried up the seal and read.

My dear sir,

I am in receipt of your letter and accept your commission with gratitude. I appreciate the confidence you place in me based on my father’s recommendation when we are so little acquainted.

I will travel into Devonshire at my first opportunity, which is unlikely to occur before the end of the month. I’m afraid there is a great deal to do in arranging my father’s affairs, both personally and professionally. Your condolences and understanding mean a great deal to me at this time.

My father was very careful about client privacy and had not shared with me any details about the situation you mentioned in your letter. However, since you asked me to assume the management of your affairs, I have taken the liberty of reviewing the files and the past correspondence between yourself and Mr. Lowden, senior. I am sorry the situation has so deteriorated, as are you no doubt, and of course will do everything in my power to assist and protect you and your estate should the worst happen as you fear.

Thank you for the offer of accommodation whilst I visit Lynton. I will look forward to deepening our acquaintance.

I am,
Yours sincerely,

James Lowden

Hannah rubbed her eyelids with forefinger and thumb. At least the man had told the truth about Sir John’s offer of a room. It wasn’t so much that she hadn’t believed him; she simply had not wanted him there. She read in the veiled, tactful words that Mr. Lowden had been apprised of Lady Mayfield’s . . .
proclivities. She felt shame tingle along her spine and heat her cheeks and had to remind herself again that Marianna’s shame was not hers. She had her own to bear.

She opened the last letter, also addressed to Sir John Mayfield, and posted quite recently.

Sir John,

I come to your house in Devonshire and Miss Rogers tells me Lady Mayfield has perished. But I have seen no announcement of her death in the Bristol or London newspapers. Are you waiting to recover her body, or have I been lied to? You may think me a fool, but you, sir, are the fool if you think to put me off so easily. I will discover the truth. And if I find you are to blame for any harm that has befallen her, I will kill you myself. As I should have done long before now.

A. Fontaine

Goodness. How rash he was. And to put such a threat in writing! She recalled how devastated Mr. Fontaine had been when she’d told him the news. Now he had grasped on to a branch of hope . . . and was eager to bludgeon Sir John with it.

What if Mr. Lowden had read this letter? She’d be bound for jail in no time. What should she do—burn it? She was sorely tempted. But for some reason she hesitated. The threat seemed important . . . perhaps evidence against the man should he return and attempt to harm Sir John, or saw the same notice Freddie had seen in the Bath newspaper, and tried to use it against her. She would have to hide it carefully. But where could she hide it that no one cleaning—or searching—the room might
stumble upon it? Her bedchamber seemed the safest place, near at hand and in a room no man should enter, save her “husband,” who was currently bedridden.

She considered the books in the bookcase—too few, too easy to flip through and find. The urn atop the dressing chest . . . too obvious. Between the tick and bed ropes . . . too easily found while changing the bed linens. Perhaps inside Lady Mayfield’s bandboxes? She rose and went to the stack of hatboxes beside the wardrobe. She opened the middle one and extracted a hat with a tall crown circled with wide ribbon.
Yes . . .
She slid the folded letter beneath the wide band, repositioned a hat pin through it and regarded the hat from all angles. Yes, someone might look in the box and inside the hat and not notice a thing. It would do.

The letter from Fred was less incriminating—quite flattering actually. Though her ears burned in shame to think of the high regard in which he held her compared to her current deception. She deserved not his fair praise in life nor in “death.” Still, she did not want Mr. Lowden to have her father’s address. So this letter she tucked beneath her underthings in her dressing chest.

She contemplated the one from Mr. Lowden. . . . She didn’t want Mrs. Turrill or the new maid to read it and think the worst of Lady Mayfield, to look upon
her
with a jaundiced eye. She was guilty of her own immorality, yes, but did not relish taking on Marianna’s as well. This letter she would put with Sir John’s things in his room.

When she returned to his bedchamber to do so, she was surprised to find Dr. Parrish still there, quietly conversing with the chamber nurse.

“Ah, my lady.” Dr. Parrish looked up and gave her an apologetic smile. “I am afraid Mrs. Weaver has had to give notice. She will be leaving us at the end of the week.”

The woman went on to explain that her daughter was nearing the end of her confinement and she wanted to be on hand for the birth of her first grandchild.

“I understand,” Hannah said. “Though of course we shall be sorry to see you go.” She thanked Mrs. Weaver for everything and wondered uneasily who would take over her duties. Would Mrs. Parrish return, or would she be expected to do so herself? Hannah quailed at the thought.

H
annah went back downstairs and found Mr. Lowden at the desk in the morning room, bent over a sheaf of papers. He had obviously lost no time in making himself at home there.

He smirked up at her. “Anything
interesting
in the post?”

She met his challenging look with a cold one of her own. “Not especially, no.”

“And my letter?”

“I have left it in Sir John’s room.”

“You read it?”

“I did.”

“And the others?”

“Nothing to concern you.” But was that really true? Hannah turned to leave the room, her conscience plaguing her. For had a man not threatened Mr. Lowden’s client?

“Love letters from Mr. Fontaine, I suppose?” he called after her.

She whirled back around. So much for veiled tact.

“I assure you there were no love letters.”

“You know Sir John hoped to keep Fontaine from discovering where you had gone.”

Dare she tell him? “Then his plan was unsuccessful, sir, for Mr. Fontaine has already been here.”

His eyes flashed. “Has he indeed? And I wonder how he found you so quickly.”