Lady Maybe (27 page)

“Oh. Thank you.”

Tentatively, he stepped inside and set down his bag on the dressing chest without looking at her face.

As he snipped away the stiff bandages, he kept his distance, coming only close enough to perform the task quickly, refusing to meet her gaze. Gone were his friendly openness, his warm eyes, his eager, lengthy chats.

Hannah’s heart ached to see it. She whispered, “I am sorry, Dr. Parrish. Truly.”

His hands hesitated only a moment, then he gathered up the spent bandages and his bag and turned away without a word.

At the threshold he paused, his back to her, and murmured, “So am I.”

Hannah spent most of that day in the nursery with Becky and Danny, hoping to avoid Marianna. Mrs. Turrill kindly brought up their dinner on trays as well.

That night—the night before they were due to see the magistrate—
Hannah knelt beside the little bed, hands clasped, eyes closed in prayer. Behind her the door creaked open. Startled, she swung her head around.

Marianna stood there in the threshold, smirking. “See the contrite sinner on the eve of her destruction. Beseeching God for deliverance. You have a lot to atone for, haven’t you? A child out of wedlock, impersonating another man’s wife, lying, stealing, and fraud—trying to foist off your child as Sir John’s heir. And those are only the things I know about. Did you also sleep with Mr. Lowden? Or Dr. Parrish? To win them to your cause?”

“No!” Hannah stared at her, feeling a noose begin to tighten around her neck and the hearing had not even begun.

Marianna crossed her arms. “I see what you are thinking. You think it hypocritical of me to point a finger at anyone else. But I am not guilty of half of what you have done.”

Hannah blinked, stunned to realize Marianna was right. How had she allowed it to happen? That she, Hannah Rogers, should be guilty of more wrongdoing than the infamous Marianna Mayfield?

Marianna shook her head, eyes alight in apparent amusement. “Do you really think God will forgive you, after all you’ve done?”

Hannah faltered. “I . . . hope so. I don’t expect the Parrishes to forgive me, but yes, I hope that God will. Did He not, after all, forgive a man who not only committed adultery, but who also schemed to have the woman’s husband killed so he might marry her?”

Marianna’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that? Mr. Fontaine did not try to kill Sir John.”

Hannah gaped at her. “Why do you assume I was speaking of Mr. Fontaine?”

Marianna looked away, disquieted at last.

Hannah thought again of the rash letter Fontaine had written. Had his threats been genuine? “I was speaking of King David,” Hannah said. “Not Mr. Fontaine.”

“Of course you were, I knew that.” Marianna turned to go, then looked over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “Go back to your prayers, Hannah. Futile as they are.”

Hannah tried to hold Marianna’s gaze, but shame and guilt forced her eyes to the floor. Head bowed, she could only kneel where she was, listening to the retreating footsteps of her accuser.

A few moments later, Hannah felt a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, then relaxed as she heard Mrs. Turrill’s earnest voice.

“Up with you, my girl.”

Hannah’s legs were numb from kneeling so long, but Mrs. Turrill helped her rise and turned her toward the bed.

“Sit.”

Hannah complied. Head still bowed, she saw only the housekeeper’s skirts and the toes of her boots as Mrs. Turrill stood before her.

“Now look at me.” Gentle fingers lifted Hannah’s chin.

“I heard what that woman said to you, but she is wrong,” Mrs. Turrill began. “God will forgive you. True, some people may not. And knowing you, my girl, you will struggle to forgive yourself. But God will. He already has, if you’ve asked Him for Jesus’ sake. We have all of us erred one way or another. Your wrongs are some swinging great bouncers, I own. But nothing is too big for God. No pit we dig for ourselves too deep. He is already reachin’ a hand down to you, ready to pull you up.”

Hannah looked at the woman through tear-blurred eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because He told us so. In the Scriptures. You yourself mentioned King David, did you not? And look at the many blunders
he made. Bigger than yours even, I’d say. But God calls him a man after His own heart.”

Hannah nodded, then whispered, “But He also allowed David’s son to die, as a consequence.”

Mrs. Turrill nodded soberly. “Yes, my dear. God does not promise to remove the consequences of our sins, at least not in this life.”

Fear prickled through Hannah at the thought. She squeezed Mrs. Turrill’s hand and went to find her son.

J
ames Lowden was disappointed he’d been unable to find irrefutable proof that Marianna Spencer Mayfield still lived. But with the newspaper clipping, his friend’s report, and continuing rumors hanging over his client’s head, he could not dismiss the possibility—or the gut feeling—that she was alive. Nor could he dismiss the second part of his mission. But to begin gathering evidence toward divorce? He hated everything about that assignment.

James went to London to begin his undertaking. There, he heard the rumor that Fontaine had become engaged to an heiress, but little evidence about him and Marianna. He went to Fontaine’s last known London lodgings, and there learned from the landlord that Mr. Fontaine had given up his rooms and returned to his home in Bristol. So James sent a brief report to Sir John and then returned to Bristol to continue his enquiries there.

He began by calling on their friends and neighbors. But while gossip and tittle-tattle abounded, he found little solid evidence and no one, beyond his friend, willing to testify that he or she had seen Marianna alive, or seen her and Fontaine together in a compromising situation.

James felt both frustrated and relieved.

He received a note at his office from Sir John, urging him to
continue the search and letting him know he had returned to Bristol alone. James was more relieved yet.

—

The village magistrate, Lord Shirwell, had agreed to give them a hearing after his guests departed, though the date of the next assize court session was several weeks off. On the appointed day, Mrs. Turrill took Danny and Becky home with her to the cottage she shared with her sister. Mrs. Turrill had thought Hannah should take Daniel along, to show the precious lad that had motivated the deception in the first place. What better justification could there be?

“The baby will rouse sympathy for your cause, my dear,” she’d said.

But Hannah feared Danny might somehow be taken from her, seized right there during the hearing and sent to a foundling home, never to be seen again, and refused to risk it.

Hannah rode in the back of the doctor’s cart, driven by Edgar Parrish. Dr. and Mrs. Parrish and Lady Mayfield rode in a gig behind. Likely to guarantee she didn’t jump off the cart and run away. As if she would go anywhere without her son. She shivered from more than the damp morning air biting through her shawl.
God, please protect Danny.

A short while later, the vehicles passed through the gate of Lord Shirwell’s estate and around to the back of the manor where grooms and stable boys hurried out to help with the horses. Hannah was conveyed into an impressive library, which the J.P. used as an office to conduct parish business and for his magistrate duties.

There, Lord Shirwell sat behind a wide mahogany desk. A thin bespectacled clerk occupied a smaller desk nearby. Two
chairs had been set before the desk in a prominent position. In one sat Hannah, the accused. In the other, Lady Mayfield, her primary accuser. Additional chairs lined the side wall for those waiting to be heard. Seated beside Marianna, Hannah was again reminded of the two women they had seen sitting side-by-side in the village stocks. A tremor of premonition passed over her.

Lord Shirwell was a stout, balding man in his mid-fifties. Good-looking in his day, Hannah guessed, though showing signs of dissipation. His gaze roved the room. “And where is Sir John Mayfield? He ought to be present to witness this hearing and to give evidence.”

Lady Mayfield spoke up. “Word has been sent, your worship. But we don’t know how long it will be until my husband can respond. He is an invalid, you see, and cannot easily travel such a distance.”

Had word been sent? Hannah wondered. By whom? Would the post have even reached him by now? Hannah doubted it.

Lord Shirwell frowned. “Then what is the hurry in holding this hearing?”

“Why, my worship.” Marianna blinked innocently, pressing a hand to her mounded bosom. She was wearing one of the gowns formerly in Hannah’s possession, but had taken it back out to fit her. “We only want to see justice done. We fear if there is a delay, the guilty party might very well abscond before the hearing.”

“The
accused
, my lady, she has yet to be proven guilty.”

“Of course, your worship. Forgive me, I misspoke.” Marianna favored him with one of her winning smiles and the man’s eyes gleamed appreciatively. Hannah knew it did not bode well for her.

The man cleared his throat. “So that all in attendance are clear, let me summarize what will happen here today. This is not
a trial per se. I will hear and make an assessment of the evidence against this person. If I am satisfied that there is a case to answer, I will then determine if there is sufficient evidence to commit the accused to prison to await trial and prosecution at the next court session.”

Prison . . .
Hannah shuddered at the word.

He turned toward Marianna. “Perhaps, Lady Mayfield, as the bringer of these charges, you might begin.”

Marianna dipped her pretty head in acknowledgement. “Very well, your worship.” She took a deep breath, causing her bosoms to blossom from the neckline of her gown.

Hannah guessed the act had been intentional.

“As you know, your worship, my husband and I, Sir John Mayfield, made it our intention to move to this lovely county a few months ago. He owns a house near the best neighbors anyone could ask for in the Parrishes.” She smiled at Dr. and Mrs. Parrish. Mrs. Parrish smiled in return, but Dr. Parrish stared blindly at her.

Marianna continued, “Arrangements made, Sir John returned to Bath to collect me. Our servants had no wish to relocate and we relished the notion of hiring knowledgeable local people when we arrived.”

Lies,
Hannah thought. Marianna had been vexed indeed not to be able to bring her own servants. But Hannah knew pointing it out would not help her case.

“But just as we were preparing to leave Bath, this person, Miss Hannah Rogers, reappeared at our door. She had left our employ some five or six months before, without notice or explanation. Of course now we know she left as her condition began to show—left to have a child in secret.” Marianna lowered her voice and managed to look properly shocked. “And her not married.”

“But I am getting ahead of myself.” Marianna pulled a handkerchief from her reticule before continuing. “She made no mention of
a child. When Miss Rogers came to me and said she was in need of a post, I consulted my husband and we agreed. Although not our preference, we could not in Christian charity turn our back on a former member of our staff in need.”

Hannah squeezed the arm of her chair.
More lies . . .

“So, Miss Rogers traveled with us in our chariot from Somerset to Devon, leaving her infant behind. Though had we known she was abandoning her child, we never should have agreed to take her with us.”

Indignation shot through Hannah. “I was
not
abandoning him—”

“Silence, Miss Rogers,” Lord Shirwell commanded. “You will have your chance to speak soon enough.” He returned his gaze to Marianna. “Go on, my lady.”

“Thank you, your worship.” She smiled wanly. “Now, you have likely heard of the terrible accident that befell us, when our carriage slipped from the road and went tumbling over the cliff and partway into the sea. And the unfortunate loss of the young driver. A loss I did not hear about until recently and which grieves me still to think of it . . .” Here she dabbed dry eyes with her lace handkerchief.

Hannah was surprised Marianna had not tried to blame her for the accident and the poor man’s death as well.

Marianna continued, “I don’t know exactly what happened immediately after the crash, for I believe I lost sensibility. I seem to remember Miss Rogers pulling my ring from my finger, but she says she grabbed my hand as the tide pulled me through a hole in the carriage and somehow the ring came off in her hand. Of course she also claims to have lost all sensibility after the accident, so who can say how my valuable ring ended up in her possession? I believe I floated on a bit of wreckage, a piece of the broken carriage perhaps. By the time I awoke, I was a great
distance away and quite disoriented. I must have sustained a near-fatal blow to my head, for I could no more remember my name than how I came to be floating in the Bristol Channel. Thankfully, God sent his angels in the form of fishermen. The men hauled me into their boat, and revived me. They delivered me to the next port, in Wales, and left me with a kindly innkeeper there. I stayed with her for some time, having no inkling of who I was. Eventually the good woman realized that with my gown, tattered as it was, and my speech and bearing, that I was a person of education and breeding. She suggested I travel to London and see if anyone there might recognize me and help me learn my true identity. It was very frightening, traveling by stage, all alone, not knowing where I was going and what I might find awaiting me. . . .”

Everyone hung on her words, Hannah saw. What a gothic storyteller she was. Had she rehearsed this, or was she making it up as she went along?

“In London, I began to have flashes of memory,” Marianna went on. “Then I happened into a man, a friend of Sir John’s solicitor, as it turns out, who recognized me. You cannot know what a relief it was to hear my own name and have it all come back. To remember my dear husband and the life we had planned together here in Devonshire. As soon as I was able, I made plans to return to him.”

She even managed to explain the sighting of her in London, Hannah realized with mounting dread.

“Imagine my devastation, when I arrived at Clifton House, hoping to be reunited with my dear husband. But instead, the housekeeper informs me Sir John had left for Bristol, but I might see ‘Lady Mayfield’ if I liked. In came Hannah into my drawing room, as snug and smug as any duchess or Drury Lane actress—even wearing one of my gowns, made over to fit her. My former
companion, posing as me, mistress of the place and Sir John’s wife. Imagine my shock.”

Lord Shirwell grimly shook his head, not taking his eyes from Lady Mayfield.

She continued, “I understand that initially Dr. Parrish simply assumed Hannah was Lady Mayfield, when he discovered her and Sir John alone in the ruined carriage. How could he know I had been taken out to sea? A natural mistake. But later, when Hannah regained her senses, did she correct him? Admit she was only poor Miss Rogers, lady’s companion? No. Instead she allowed them to go on believing her Sir John’s wife.”

Again, she dabbed her dry eyes. “Poor Sir John was still insensible and unable to correct their misapprehension. I don’t know how she planned to get away with it. Perhaps she thought if Sir John died and I was dead as assumed, then she might inherit a great deal of money, or at least my widow’s jointure. Not only did she allow the staff and good-hearted, trusting neighbors to believe she was me, but to compound her fraud, she returned to Bath, collected her illegitimate son, and brought him back with her, along with his nurse. She allowed everyone to believe he was Sir John and Lady Mayfield’s son—and heir, mind you. What audacity. What cunning. I don’t know why Sir John did not call her out when he awoke. I can only surmise that his head injury had rendered his memory or mental capacities impaired. She must have preyed on his weak mind.”

Hannah, remembering the magistrate’s warning, barely held her tongue.

Marianna continued, “When I confronted Miss Rogers, she said she would simply leave. Hoping to avoid charges, no doubt, and who knew how much of my husband’s money or possessions she planned to take with her? Again, this is why I felt it my duty
to pursue this matter immediately, even in my husband’s absence.”

“Very understandable, my lady. Very wise,” Lord Shirwell said. “Now, if you have said all you like, I would like to hear from Dr. Parrish.”

She smiled coyly. “Thank you, your worship. I have.” She made to rise, but the magistrate gestured for her to remain where she was. “No need. Dr. Parrish can answer from where he sits.”

He turned to the physician. “Dr. Parrish. Please tell us how you came to meet this woman.” He lifted a lazy hand toward Hannah.

“Yes, my l—your worship.” In halting fashion, quite unlike his usual loquacious style, Dr. Parrish told of the leasing of Clifton House, which his son managed. He then went on to describe the runaway horses, which led him and Edgar to search for a stranded coach. He described the tracks in the mud, looking over the cliff at the horrid sight of a carriage broken wide like a raw egg on the rocks, and the tangle of bodies within. His amazement at finding the two occupants alive, though Sir John but barely. He never gave a second thought that the woman must be Lady Mayfield, cradling Sir John’s head in her lap. She certainly looked and dressed a lady, though injured and insensible.

At this point Mrs. Parrish snorted loudly enough for them all to hear, “I told you she was no lady.”

Lord Shirwell ignored this aside, while Dr. Parrish colored and continued as though he had not heard his vulgar spouse.

“My son Edgar spotted a figure floating out to sea. At least what he said looked like a person wearing red. I own my long-distance vision isn’t what it should be. We asked Lady—that is, Miss Rogers, if she had brought a servant with her. She could not speak, but laid a hand on her heart and nodded. I thought she
meant the servant was her own personal maid, or dear to her heart, something like that. Not that she herself was the servant, or companion, herself.