Lady Maybe (11 page)

S
he and Lady Mayfield had been out walking through Bristol and stopped at a millinery. On their way home, Marianna suggested an alternate route and led the way. They strolled past brick buildings and shops that catered to gentlemen—tobacconists, newsagents, barbers, and a fencing club.

When Marianna stopped walking, Hannah turned to see what had arrested her attention. The muffled clang of metal striking metal drew her gaze to the windows of a nearby building. Inside, two men fenced back and forth.

Marianna grinned. “This is Sir John’s fencing club. Let’s go in and take a peek.”

“No, my lady,” Hannah hissed. “The sign says,
Gentlemen Only
.”

Marianna huffed. “You are a spoilsport, Hannah. Just like Sir John.” She sniffed and stepped nearer the windows.

Hannah crept to her side, feeling self-conscious and hoping no one of their acquaintance would pass by and see them there—especially not her father.

The men inside wore fencing costumes—padded linen jackets, leather gloves on thrusting hands, and wire mesh masks concealing their faces. The competitors advanced and retreated, lunging and striking again and again at a grueling pace. They
were so focused on their bout that they remained unaware of their audience.

Hannah admired their skill and agility, and the way their leg muscles strained against snug white pantaloons with each low lunge. Hannah had once heard Sir John say that fencing helped him stay fit and vent his frustrations. Standing there, she could understand how it might do so.

The taller man scored a hit, acknowledged by the other, and the bout ended. The men saluted one another, shook hands, and removed their masks. Hannah felt her lips part in surprise. The taller man was Sir John Mayfield. He was breathing hard and perspiring, but he looked young and masculine and strong. His opponent stepped away, but Sir John remained, unfastening and removing his jacket. The second man tossed Sir John a towel, and with it he wiped his face and torso. Hannah could not help but stare at Sir John’s muscular chest, abdomen, and shoulders. She hoped Lady Mayfield could not read her thoughts.

Beside her, Marianna breathed, “Isn’t he something?”

Hannah was surprised to hear the admiration in her voice, though she silently agreed. But when she glanced over, she found Marianna’s gaze glued not on Sir John, but rather on his opponent. . . .

M
emory fading, Hannah replaced the bedclothes over Sir John’s leg. No wonder he had fenced so often, she thought. He’d had a great deal of frustration to vent.

—

On his way to the morning room the next day, James hesitated outside the threshold of the drawing room. He heard Marianna
Mayfield within, cooing softly to the little boy—Anthony Fontaine’s little boy?

“Ah, my dear one. Mamma loves you. Yes, she does.”

He glanced around the doorjamb. She sat in a chair with the child on her lap, his head on her knees, his legs straight up, gently clapping his feet together. “Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can. Pat it and prick it and mark it with a D. And put it in the oven for Danny and me.”

He stepped inside. “I wonder, my lady. Would you dote on him so were he Sir John’s son?”

Her head snapped toward him, clearly startled by his presence and his words.

“And a good morning to you, too, Mr. Lowden.” With a defensive little lift of her chin, she added, “And, yes, I would.” Her face flushed.

He was surprised to see his words had embarrassed her. Was she admitting the child was not Sir John’s? That surprised him as well.

She looked back at the little boy. “Uh-oh. Someone’s nappy needs a change.” And instead of calling for a servant, she rose, and carried the child upstairs to tend him herself. Or perhaps, simply to get away from her husband’s mean-spirited solicitor.

He knew she employed a wet nurse, but evidently Lady Mayfield often changed and coddled the child herself. Which was the real Lady Mayfield? The unfaithful wife or the devoted mother?

Apparently, it was quite possible to be both.

A
t dinner that evening, James Lowden again sat at table with his client’s wife. It was a bit awkward, just the two of them, but he looked forward to another opportunity to speak with her alone. Though of course, a servant or two would be on hand to lay the courses. Even so, he would have her undivided attention. He relished the notion. For he had a few more questions he wished to put to her.

Lady Mayfield had dressed for dinner in a gown of emerald green, ribbon trim at high waist and sleeves. She looked reserved and dignified. Her hair was pinned at the back of her head as usual, but tonight there were curls at each temple. The effect softened Lady Mayfield’s features, he decided. And the color must flatter her complexion, for she looked quite pretty tonight. Or perhaps it was the glass of Madeira he’d helped himself to before dinner.

After they had finished their soup and begun the fish course, he asked, “What can you tell me about your companion who died?”

Her fork stilled midway to her mouth. “Why?”

“I am only curious.”

“What would you like to know?” She set down her bite of fish, untasted.

He sipped his wine. “Why was she with you in the first place?
Sir John wrote specifically that he planned to take no servants from Bath. And, do you not find it odd that no one has responded to the death notice Dr. Parrish sent to the
Bath Journal
? Unless you have received something in the post you did not mention?”

With a nervous glance at Mrs. Turrill at the sideboard, Lady Mayfield said, “I already told you it was a last-minute decision. Miss Rogers was my companion in Bristol. She moved with us to Bath, but left us soon after. We had not seen her for some time when she appeared at our door. I all but begged Sir John to allow her to come along. I had always been fond of her and I hated the thought of going who-knew-where with no companion.”

James waited until Mrs. Turrill left the room with a tray of dishes, then leaned forward. “Your husband was not companion enough?”

“Mr. Lowden, you cannot pretend ignorance about the nature of the relationship. You showed me the letter, remember. The marriage was not a love match.”

“On the contrary, I have reason to believe it was a love match, at least on Sir John’s side.”

The woman bit her lip. “I would prefer not to discuss marriage with you, Mr. Lowden.”

“Very well; back to Hannah Rogers. Sir John acquiesced and allowed her to come along?”

“Yes, as should be obvious.”

“Had she no family? No one who might be wondering what has become of her? No one to come here in hopes of visiting her grave—or to mourn her loss?”

“First of all, there is no grave to visit, as her body has yet to be recovered. As far as her family, I understand there is only one parent living and the two of them were estranged.”

“Have you written to this parent? To inform him of his daughter’s fate? Estranged or not, he would want to know.”

She cocked her head to one side. “How do you know it is a father I speak of?”

He shrugged. “An assumption.”

She looked as though she didn’t believe him. She said slowly, “I have not written personally, but I do know that the parent has been informed.”

“Oh? How?”

“We did receive one letter from a friend of Hannah’s who saw the notice. He wrote to say he delivered the news to her parent in person.”

“What friend is this?”

“I hardly think it would matter to you.”

“May I see this letter?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your curiosity astounds me, Mr. Lowden. Apparently, you have a great deal of time on your hands.”

He made no rebuttal but watched her closely, studying her irritated face. The mantel clock ticked once, twice, thrice.

Finally, he shook his head. “How much you conceal, my lady. One wonders why.”

—

The next morning, Hannah brushed out her long hair, thinking back to her dinner with Mr. Lowden, as she had done for much of the night. In fact she’d had difficulty falling asleep because their conversation kept repeating itself through her mind. He was clearly suspicious of something, but she did not think he guessed that the lady’s companion he’d asked so many questions about had been seated directly across the table from him.
She hoped her replies had laid his questions to rest. But somehow, she doubted it.

She went upstairs to the nursery and was surprised to find Danny alone, with no sign of Becky. Danny lay awake in his cradle, contentedly cooing and kicking his legs. At the sound of her voice he turned his head and smiled his gummy grin. Love surging through her, Hannah scooped him up as gracefully as she could and changed him herself, though without full use of both arms, the task took twice as long as it should have.

Afterward, she carried him downstairs to look for Becky. As she passed, she heard voices coming from the morning room. James Lowden’s voice and Becky’s. What in the world?

He was saying, “How did you become a nurse, Miss Brown, if I may ask?”

Becky faltered. “I . . . in the usual way, I suppose.”

Hannah glanced around the doorjamb and saw Becky looking down, clearly embarrassed.

“Let me rephrase that. Where did Lady Mayfield find you?”

“Find me?”

“Through an agency, or . . . ?”

She nodded vaguely. “Mrs. Beech’s.”

“And your own child . . . ?”

Silence, then a small whisper. “Died.”

“I’m sorry. And had you been a nurse before, for another family?”

“No, sir. No other family. But I did nurse several—”

“Mr. Lowden,” Hannah interrupted, stepping across the threshold. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Meaning? I am only speaking with Miss Brown.”

“Interrogating her, by the sound of it.”

Becky shook her head. “I didn’t tell him nothing, honest I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t, Becky. There is nothing to tell. Nothing that need concern Mr. Lowden. Becky, why do you not take Danny into the garden for a bit of fresh air while I speak with Mr. Lowden?”

“Yes, miss—er . . . my lady.” The girl took the child from her and all but ran from the room.

J
ames Lowden looked at his client’s wife. Lady Mayfield’s thin mouth cinched tight, her eyes flashed, her prominent cheekbones shone in high color. She clenched her hands and waited until they could no longer hear the girl’s retreating footfalls.

“Mr. Lowden. If you have anything to ask, you may ask me directly. You need not go behind my back and question the servants. Do you not realize how hurtful such questions can be to a girl in Becky’s situation? She lost her own child—her little daughter—shortly after she was born. How do you think wet nurses become wet nurses? Their newborns either die, or she gives up her child to nurse some other woman’s infant. Either way, these are not happy stories women are proud and eager to speak of. How insensitive you are. How cruel.”

Her words pricked his conscience. “I take your point, and I apologize. I did not think it through. I will apologize to Miss Brown as well.”

“I shall convey your apologies to her myself, Mr. Lowden. You make her nervous, and no wonder.”

“The girl’s emotional state is questionable. So why, may I ask, would you engage her to nurse your own child?”

Lady Mayfield seemed to hesitate. “Because she . . . needed a place, and we needed her.”

“Could you not nurse your child yourself?”

She gaped. Her face mottled red and white beneath her freckles. “How dare you?”

“Forgive me; that was rude. I of course realize many ladies prefer not to—”

“It had nothing to do with
preference
,” she snapped. “If I could have nursed Danny myself, I would have. I did so for the first month of his life, but then, circumstances changed and I was no longer able to do so, to my great regret.”

Her anger, her deep distress and guilt stunned him. He had obviously struck a nerve. “Again, I apologize for my insolence,” he said. “I should not have asked such a thing. I have no right to judge you or anyone.”

“Yet you do so at every turn, it seems to me. You who have had every advantage in life, everything handed to you—your career, your livelihood.”

He stared at her, incredulous. “What are you talking about? You know nothing about me. Yes, I was educated, but I had to work hard to earn my degree. Then my father thought I needed worldly experience, and released me from the firm. I took a position with the East India Company and lived abroad—China, India. And for the last several years, I worked at the London headquarters. I’d be there yet, had my father not died. And even now I am not handed my father’s practice, for his clients do not know me nor trust a younger man. Many have opted to engage more established solicitors. Sir John is in the minority in retaining my services. Why do you think I was able to leave the practice in my clerk’s hands and come here?”

“I did not realize.”

“Of course not. How could you. It is not something I trumpet about. Not something a lady like you, a pampered only child from a wealthy family, would understand.”

Her mouth parted. Would she try to refute his charges?
Instead she said, “Thank you for telling me. But perhaps you ought to return to your practice. I will let you know when Sir John is able to communicate his wishes to you.”

“Will you? Now that you know what he asked me to do?”

“Yes, I will.”

He smirked at her. “Are you telling me I’ve worn out my welcome already? Are you asking me to leave?”

He noticed her fisting her hand.

“Of course not, Mr. Lowden. I merely think your interests would be better served by returning to Bristol.”

“And what of Sir John’s interests?”

“Do you not think Dr. Parrish capable? Do you doubt Sir John is in good hands?”

“It is not Dr. Parrish’s hands I worry about.”

For a moment they stared at one another. Lady Mayfield’s cheeks singed red with embarrassment or anger or both. She took a deep breath, clearly fighting to maintain self-control.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Lowden. I am going to check on my son. And his humiliated nurse.”

F
ace fuming, Hannah swept out of the morning room and walked briskly out to the garden to find Becky and Danny. To reassure the girl that she had done nothing wrong. And to gently remind her what not to say. But she saw no sign of them in the garden.

She returned to the house and climbed the stairs. Becky must have slipped inside and up to the nursery without Hannah noticing, so heated was her discussion with Mr. Lowden.

But she found the nursery empty, the whole floor quiet. She checked her room, Sir John’s room, every room, as she made her
way back downstairs. Her pulse began to accelerate with each empty room she passed.

She hurried down to the housekeeper’s parlor. “Mrs. Turrill, have you seen Becky? She took Danny out to the garden but they’re not there now.”

The older woman looked up in concern. “Have you checked the nursery?”

“That’s the first place I looked. I’ve checked the whole house except here belowstairs.”

“Probably wandered over to the Parrishes’. Shall I send Kitty round to check?”

“Please. I’ll check the garden again and the little wood beyond. Becky liked the bluebells there I remember.”