Lady Maybe (6 page)

Becky looked up at her, the anticipation of disappointment dulling her small dark eyes. “And you, Miss Hannah? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know, either.”

Becky waited a moment longer, brows high. When Hannah said no more, she deflated, shoulders slumping.

What should she do? Find Fred and ride with him back to Bristol and show up at her father’s door—likely only to be turned away? Or go to one of the same poor houses or workhouses where the other children had gone? She shuddered at the thought of any of those fates.

Hannah took a deep breath. “You may come with me, if you like, Becky. I can’t guarantee we’ll eat or where we’ll sleep, but if you’re sure you won’t be able to find another situation here. . . .”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Hannah. Thank you!”

The girl’s face lit as though Hannah had offered her something worthwhile. Becky bent and picked up her threadbare piece of luggage. Hannah hoped she had a spare nappy or two inside.

They had barely stepped from the alley when Hannah gasped and drew up short. There was Edgar Parrish, Nancy trailing behind.

She froze. What to do now? Turn and run . . . with child in arms? Confess all?

“My lady. There you are.” Edgar exhaled in relief.

She stood in place, breathless. Caught. “Edgar. What are you doing here? Why are you two not at the Pump Room?”

“After you left, I . . . didn’t feel right about you going off alone. I knew Pa wouldn’t like it. I was afraid I wouldn’t find you. I almost didn’t look down this street. . . .”

She forced a light tone. “Yes, well, you needn’t have done so.”

His gaze shifted to the child in her arms. “Is this your boy?”

“Yes, this is Daniel.”

His expression softened. “A handsome lad.”

“Thank you.”

Edgar looked expectantly at her companion, and then back at her.

Hannah pressed her dry lips together, then said, “And this is Becky Brown. My son’s nurse.”

He nodded. “Ah.”

“Becky, this is Edgar Parrish and his . . . friend, Nancy Smith.”

The two young women bobbed curtsies to one another.

Edgar frowned over his shoulder at the ill-kempt house with its peeling paint. “This isn’t where you lived, surely.”

“No.” Hoping to explain the grim neighborhood, Hannah fabricated, “Becky was visiting a poor relation near here. That’s why it took me a little longer to find her.”

“I see. Is your nurse coming back with us? I can sit on the rear seat with Ben for the return journey; it’s no trouble.”

Hannah looked from Edgar to Becky. “I . . . am not certain. We were just discussing that very thing.”

“But I am coming with you!” Becky’s voice rose in a panicked shrill. “You said I could.”

But that was before I knew I’d be caught and might have to return to Devonshire
, Hannah thought, but she said, “I know, but—you must understand that Lynton is a long way off. Are you sure you want to leave Bath and everyone you know?”

“I have no friends here. Not any more.”

Hannah was trapped. Hemmed in on both sides. “Will you excuse us a moment, Mr. Parrish? I wish to speak with Becky in private, before she makes such a big decision.”

Edgar pulled a face. “She didn’t know where you and Sir John had moved to?”

“I . . . just want her to be certain she wants to come with us.”

“We’ll wait right here.” Edgar held out his arms. “I’ll hold Danny for you. Pa wouldn’t want you straining that arm.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Thank you, but I don’t mind. I’ve missed him.” Had he seen the intention to flee in her eyes?

“Just while the two of you talk,” Edgar said. “Give us the chance to become acquainted.” He gave a good-natured grin. “I won’t have liberty on the way back, as I’ll be sitting outside.”

How could she refuse him? Biting her lip, she begrudgingly handed over her son. Nancy quickly crowded close, cooing and smiling into Danny’s face.

Hannah took Becky’s arm and led her several yards away, pausing beside an abandoned barrel.

She spoke in a low voice. “Becky. If you are to come with me, with them, there is something you need to know. Remember the carriage accident I mentioned?”

Vaguely the girl nodded. “Is that how you hurt your arm?”

“Yes. I was traveling with my former employer and his wife. She died in the crash. The doctor who found us thought I was the man’s wife. I was insensible for a time, and wasn’t even sure who I was for days. Eventually I realized they thought I was the lady of the house. . . .”

“Is that why he called you, ‘my lady’?”

“Yes.”

“I did wonder.”

“I haven’t corrected them. It was the only way I could think of to return for Danny. At all events, they all think I am Lady Mayfield. If you come with us, you mustn’t give me away. Or use my real name. Ever.”

The girl’s brow furrowed. “But you can’t fool them forever.”

“I know. I don’t want to. I only want to take care of Danny.”
The reality of Hannah’s situation dawned on her as she spoke. “But here, as myself, I have no post, nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. In Lynton, I am Lady Mayfield, with a house to sleep in, a position to offer you with wages, and all the food you, Danny, and I need. It will only be until my arm mends and I can find work and someplace for us to live. But I know what I am doing is deceitful and wrong. And I will understand if you want nothing to do with it. If you want to stay here, stay. I would not blame you. But please say nothing to anyone else about this—promise?”

Becky frowned in confusion. “But the husband. Surely he knows you’re not his wife.”

Hannah shook her head. “He hasn’t awakened. The doctor didn’t even know if he would live at first, though now he hopes he will.”

“But as soon as he wakes up . . .”

Hannah nodded. “Then you and I and Danny will have to leave immediately. I don’t think you would get into any trouble for going along with this, but I certainly shall.”

Becky thought. “Perhaps we might find new posts a’way out there where nobody knows us.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. But first you will return with us as Danny’s nurse. If you still want to come.”

“I’ve nowhere else to go.”

Hannah glanced over at her son in Edgar Parrish’s arms. “Neither, it seems, do I.”

She turned toward the waiting Edgar and forced a smile. “Becky will be coming with us after all. I hope that is all right.”

“Of course. Do we need to go and pick up his belongings?”

She said breezily, “Never mind that. We have sufficient for the journey and will purchase what he needs when we arrive.”

For a moment both Nancy and Edgar stared at her, confusion wrinkling their brows.

“A fresh start in his new home,” Hannah said brightly. She turned and strode away in the direction of the coaching inn before either of them could ask further questions, though she heard Nancy whispering to Edgar as they walked. Probably something about the wasteful ways of the wealthy. Better that, Hannah thought, than suspecting the truth.

When they arrived at the Westgate, rested horses were harnessed to the hired chaise. When all was ready, Ben helped her, Becky, and Nancy, into the chaise.

Edgar handed Danny in to her. “Now, then.” He smiled. “Let’s get this fine lad home.”

Home . . . The word echoed through Hannah’s mind. Lynton was not her home. Nor was Bath. Her father’s house in Bristol had once been, but no longer. Would she and Danny ever have a home of their own?

Hannah held her son on a small rug on her lap. As the sun lowered in the sky, they stopped for the night at a coaching inn. Before joining the others for a late supper, she excused herself and stepped into a nearby shop to purchase baby linen for Danny—a clean nightgown, cap, and cloth for nappies. She once again considered leaving young Mr. Parrish and his sweetheart. But the inn was on the outskirts of a small village that did not look promising in terms of employment. Besides, her arm was not yet fit for work. And then there was Becky to consider. Hannah had to resign herself to the uncomfortable notion of returning to Lynton—to the house of Sir John Mayfield—and taking her chances there.

What if Sir John had awakened? She winced at the thought of Dr. Parrish informing Sir John that his wife had returned to Bath to collect their child.

“Collect our child?” He would say, stupefied. “Our child has yet to be born.”

After that would follow questions, descriptions, and the stunning realization that his wife’s companion had the audacity to assume his wife’s identity. And that his own wife was gone. How hurt and disillusioned kind Dr. Parrish would be, and how furious Sir John. Would she return “home,” only to be cast out, or worse, arrested as the fraud she was? What would happen to Danny then?

B
ack on the road the next day, they passed the village where they’d seen the two women in the stocks. Now the stocks were empty. Even so, a shiver crept up Hannah’s spine.

As they passed through Countisbury and neared Clifton, Hannah’s palms began to perspire and she found herself breathing shallow and fast. Here, the road seemed to hug the cliffs more tightly, and the chaise seemed to careen too close to the edge. She winced as snatches of memory flashed through her mind—tumbling down, crying out, whipping red cape and whirling windows, glimpses of the channel beyond. . . .

Hannah tensed and searched for a handhold.

“Is this where the accident happened?” she asked, a little catch in her voice.

Nancy looked out the window, studying the passing terrain. “Yes, my lady, very near.”

Another shiver passed over Hannah and she held Danny closer.

When the chaise reached Clifton at last, Hannah’s heart beat so hard she feared Nancy would hear it. The postilion slowed the horses and brought the chaise to a stop in front of the house. Ben opened the door for them and let down the step. Edgar extended his hand to help Nancy alight. When it was Hannah’s turn, she
stepped from the carriage on shaky legs, then reached back to take Danny from Becky.

Child firmly in her arms, Hannah turned toward Clifton, holding her breath, pulse tripping unevenly, ready to bolt if need be. Becky stepped down beside her, hovering near. She felt Becky’s uncertain gaze return again and again to her profile, but was too anxious to offer any reassurances.

Out from the house came Dr. and Mrs. Parrish, followed by the housekeeper, Mrs. Turrill. She could not make out their expressions—accusation or welcome?

Nancy waved and Edgar lifted a thumb high.

“Here you are,” Dr. Parrish called. “You must have made an early start. We were just beginning to look for you.”

Her throat tight, Hannah asked, “How is Sir John?”

The physician looked at her, his expression grave . . . but not, she thought, angry.

“About the same. I had hoped for more improvement by now, some good news to welcome you home, but—”

“He has not awakened?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Relief. Had she smiled? She hadn’t meant to, but she realized Mrs. Parrish was looking at her askance. Hannah hastened to add, “But he lives and that is good news in itself. You can’t know how I worried what might await me.”

That was perfectly true.

“Yes, we can thank God for that.” Mrs. Turrill smiled. “For while there is life there is hope.” She came forward and held out her arms. “And here he is, the little man. Hand him over, my lady. I’ve been waitin’ to get a good look at ’im.”

Reluctantly, Hannah handed Danny to the housekeeper.

The older woman beamed. “Hello, lover! Aren’t you the
handsome one? Looks like his mamma he does. Oh, and there’s a bit of his pa around his nose and mouth.”

Hannah felt heat creep up her neck at the words. She reminded herself that the woman would naturally assume he was Sir John’s son.

Mrs. Turrill turned toward the door, carrying Hannah’s boy into Sir John Mayfield’s house. At the thought, Hannah’s knees suddenly wobbled and her head swam.

Dr. Parrish was at her side in an instant. “Steady on, my lady.”

Mrs. Parrish added, “Careful Dr. Parrish, she looks ready to swoon.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah murmured, embarrassed. “I’m fine, really. I—”

“And no wonder. Such a long journey so soon after your injuries. Come inside, my lady, and let’s get you settled. A good meal and a good night’s sleep in your own bed, that’s what I prescribe.”

My own bed
, she silently echoed.
The bed I’ve made for myself, and now must lie in.

The Parrishes invited her to join them for dinner at the Grange, their quaint thatched house adjacent to the grounds of Clifton. But Hannah claimed fatigue and politely declined. She thanked Edgar and Nancy warmly for helping her retrieve her son. Then, with a chorus of “welcome homes” and “you rest now,” Mrs. Parrish, Edgar, and Nancy departed.

Dr. Parrish remained to check on Sir John once more. He opened the door for the women and followed them inside. Danny still in her arms, Mrs. Turrill surveyed Becky’s scrawny figure and ordered her down to the kitchen for tea and toast.

Dr. Parrish invited Hannah to accompany him upstairs to look in on Sir John. Knowing it would be unnatural not to want
to see her “husband,” she took the doctor’s arm and allowed him to help her up the stairs and into Sir John’s bedchamber. There, she met the new chamber nurse, Mrs. Weaver, who had arrived while they were gone. Hannah smiled wanly at the woman, who then excused herself to give them privacy.

Dr. Parrish approached the bed, but Hannah held back, watching from a distance as the physician performed his usual routine, checking Sir John’s eyes, his heart rate, his breathing.

When he finished, Hannah stepped nearer and looked down at the injured man. His whiskers had grown a little longer, while his swelling had subsided somewhat. Even if it was wrong of her to be relieved he had yet to regain his senses, she was sincerely glad he still lived.
It’s all right
, she said to him silently.
I’ve got my son back. You can wake up now.

Dr. Parrish turned to her. “I’ll have a look at your arm, if you don’t mind. Make sure nothing’s gone awry during the journey.”

“Very well.” She sat in the chair he indicated while he checked the condition of the stiff bandages, the circulation in her hand, and palpated her upper arm above the sling.

“Still tender?”

She bit back a yelp. “A little.”

He tilted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Any headaches?”

Her head had pounded with tension all day. “A small one.”

“I’ll give you something for it. Take it the next time you eat something and try to get a good night’s sleep.”

“I shall. Thank you.”

He smiled at her, patted her good arm, and then took his leave, following his family home.

Hannah went to find Danny. Belowstairs, she found Mrs. Turrill and the kitchen maid filling a small tub with warm water. Together they bathed her son and dressed him in the clean things Hannah had purchased. If the housekeeper had noticed
that Danny had smelled less than sweet, she’d been too polite to comment.

“We shall have to do some sewing and shopping,” the housekeeper said. “Get this lad a few new things. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing in my old cradle I’d stored away in the cottage I share with my sister. No doubt you’ll want to get something finer, but for now . . .”

“I am sure it will do perfectly well, Mrs. Turrill. Thank you so much.” She was glad the housekeeper did not press her about why they had not brought more supplies nor asked her to prepare a nursery before their arrival. Apparently the kind woman assumed Sir John’s decision to bring no servants also explained why they had brought no furnishings and scant clothing for the child. How strange and thoughtless she must think them.

While the kitchen maid dumped the water, the other women went upstairs to the small room Mrs. Turrill had begun fitting out as a nursery. There, she had arranged the cradle, along with a side table, dressing chest, and rocking chair. She asked Ben to help her carry in a single bed for Becky. White lace curtains and a cheerful braided rug brightened the room.

“It’s lovely, Mrs. Turrill. Thank you.”

“Becky, why don’t you put your things in this dressing chest as well. Or if you prefer, we can bring in another from one of the other rooms.”

Becky shook her head saying timidly, “That’s all right. I don’t want to be no trouble.”

“No trouble at all, Becky. This room is yours and Danny’s now. Or, if you’d like your own room, there is a spare one just next door.”

“A whole room, just for me? Oh, no. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

Again Hannah found the housekeeper studying Becky. She then shifted her gaze to Hannah, her brows high with questions.

Hannah ignored them.

Once they had put away Danny’s few things, Mrs. Turrill asked Becky to run downstairs to fill the pitcher for the basin. When the girl had hurried from the room to do her bidding, the woman turned to Hannah and asked, “My lady, I am curious. A girl like Becky. Sweet to be sure but a little . . . well, simple. Lost. How is it you came to engage her as Danny’s nurse?”

Hannah’s pulse quickened. Though living a lie, she hated each falsehood she uttered. What could she say that was truthful without mentioning the maternity home? Recollecting the haunted look on Becky’s face when she found her in the alley, Hannah swallowed and said, “Becky needed us . . . needed Danny . . . as much as we needed her.”

Mrs. Turrill considered her reply, expression somber. “Her wee one died, is that it?”

Hannah nodded. “A little girl.”

The housekeeper nodded her understanding. “She’s barely more than a girl herself. I’m surprised her family could part with her.”

“She hasn’t any family that I know of. I believe she is all alone in the world.”

The housekeeper’s dark eyes misted. “Well, she is not alone any longer.”

L
ate that afternoon, Hannah ate a simple meal in the dining parlor alone. She had offered to eat her meals in the small servant’s hall with the others, but Mrs. Turrill would not hear of it.

Afterward, Hannah went upstairs and kept Becky company while she nursed Danny. When the girl began repositioning her dress, Hannah rose and gently took Danny from her.

“You go to bed, Becky. I’ll rock Danny until he falls asleep.”

“But I’m the nurse; I’m to do that. Mrs. Turrill says I need to learn the duties of a proper wet nurse.”

“And you shall. But tonight you look ready to drop from exhaustion. You go to bed and get some rest.”

Becky complied. While Hannah gingerly gathered Danny in her good arm and settled into the rocking chair, Becky stripped down to her shift and climbed into bed. Hannah made a mental note to provide Becky with a nightdress as soon as she could.

Pulling the bedclothes up to her chin, Becky said wistfully, “Mrs. Turrill is nice, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Very.”

“It’s strange to hear her call you ‘my lady’ or ‘Lady Mayfield.’”

Hannah quickly glanced toward the door, then whispered, “Becky, you mustn’t speak of it, remember. That is my name here. You, too, must call me ‘my lady’ or ‘ma’am.’”

Becky sighed. “I’ll try, Miss Hannah.” She closed her eyes and said no more.

Heaven help me
, Hannah thought. Her secret was in this poor girl’s hands.

—

The night passed uneventfully, and Hannah began to breathe a little easier. She enjoyed her breakfast in the sunny dining parlor, strolled through the garden, and then returned to check on Danny. A short while later, Mrs. Turrill came up and found her in the nursery, where Hannah sat rocking Danny and talking quietly to Becky.

“A gentleman is here, my lady,” she began, her usual smile
absent, “asking, or rather demanding, to see the lady of the house.”

Hannah started. “Who is it?”

“He refuses to give his name. Shall I send him away?”

Who would refuse to identify himself, and why? Hannah wondered. She felt Becky’s panicked look, but ignored it, forcing her own voice to remain calm. “Did you tell him about the accident? That Sir John is . . . incapacitated?”

“I told him nothing, my lady. He never asked about Sir John. Only you.”

“How odd.” Hannah’s thoughts whirled. “What does he look like?”

She shrugged. “Dark curly hair. Handsome, in his way. He’s dressed like a gentleman.” Mrs. Turrill sniffed. “Though his manner contradicts that impression.”

Hannah’s stomach churned. Could it be? The description, though not specific, could easily describe Lady Mayfield’s lover, Mr. Anthony Fontaine. If so, how had he discovered where they’d gone, and relatively quickly, too? Hannah knew she could not refuse to see him, for Marianna would never have done so. And he was unlikely to leave after one refusal. He would probably assume Sir John was preventing his wife from seeing him, and dig in his heels.

Did Mr. Fontaine deserve to know his lover had died? Hannah owed him nothing, yet she didn’t want the man hanging about, causing trouble for them all.