She sat on the dressing stool while the woman helped her on with stockings. Then Mrs. Turrill picked out a pair of pointy-toe leather slippers with small heels. Hannah sucked in a breath. “Um. Perhaps my half boots instead? The ones I wore when we . . . arrived?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Oh no. Those were all but ruined in the channel, my lady. Salt water is so hard on leather.”
She knelt before her and tried to wedge the shoe onto her foot, but it was too tight. Hannah held her breath, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Was she to be exposed already?
Mrs. Turrill bit her lip, staring down at the obstinate appendage. “Your feet are swollen, my lady. From the accident or lying abed, I’d wager. Shall I send these to the cobbler for a stretch?”
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”
In the meantime, Mrs. Turrill loosened the lacings of a pair of satin slippers and worked those onto her feet instead.
Then Hannah asked if she might go downstairs for breakfast. She was no longer an invalid, she asserted, who required a tray delivered to her bedchamber.
Mrs. Turrill said she was happy to oblige, and to see the sunny dining parlor put to use at last. She insisted, however, on taking her arm and helping her down the stairs.
A week had passed since the accident, and this was the first time Hannah had seen the ground floor of Clifton House. She admired the open, two-story staircase hall, and peeked into the green and white drawing room and mahogany-paneled morning room as they passed.
In the dining parlor, Mrs. Turrill pulled back a chair for her and introduced her to Ben Jones, a young manservant of perhaps seventeen, who opened the shutters and laid a fire in the hearth to dispel the lingering chill.
After the meal, Hannah thanked Mrs. Turrill and Ben. Then she went out into the hall and sat in an armchair to await Dr. Parrish—ready to state her case.
When the physician entered through the side door sometime later, he drew up short, rearing his head back. “Good morning, my lady. What a surprise to see you downstairs. You are looking well, I must say.”
“Thank you. I am feeling perfectly well.”
“And now that you have seen more of your new home, I hope it meets with your approval?”
“Yes, it’s lovely, but I am anxious to return to Bath for my son. You can imagine how I miss him. If someone might drive me to the nearest coaching inn, I shall travel by stage from there.”
“Of course you are eager to collect your little boy. I don’t blame you. But I cannot allow you to travel alone. A lady like you . . . why, it simply isn’t done.”
“I appreciate your concern, Dr. Parrish, but I shall be fine. I have done the like before.”
His brows rose high. “Have you indeed? I am surprised—surprised Sir John would allow it.”
“It was . . . before I knew him.”
“Ah. Yes. But you are Lady Mayfield now and I cannot in good conscience allow you to venture forth alone, especially after your concussion, not to mention a broken arm. I cannot go myself, for Mr. Higgerson is on his deathbed, poor fellow. But we’ll hire a chaise from the inn and Edgar will accompany you. He has some medical knowledge, should you suffer a setback or any problems arise.”
“Dr. Parrish, you are most kind. But I couldn’t—”
“It’s all right. The missus and I have been discussing the matter ever since we learned of the little boy. She thought you might not be comfortable traveling alone with a young man you barely know, so I’ve asked Edgar’s intended to go along with you. Nancy is a sweet girl, you’ll see.”
“Really, it is not necessary.”
He looked at her, clearly bewildered and hurt that she should protest so vehemently. “It is no bother. We insist upon it.”
She felt trapped by kindness and good manners. By his expectation of how Lady Mayfield would graciously behave. If only they had known her!
“Then, I thank you, Dr. Parrish, though I am terribly sorry to put you all to so much trouble.”
“Never mind that, my lady. That’s what neighbors are for. Besides, I believe Nancy will greatly enjoy the excursion.”
Hannah forced a smile. Now what was she to do? How was she to evade Edgar and Nancy once they arrived in Bath? For she could not take them with her into foul Trim Street. Her falsehood would be revealed instantly.
“May I also suggest, my lady,” Dr. Parrish added, “that you might wish to contact Sir John’s solicitor or man of business while you are in Bath? Or at least write to him and apprise him of the situation here?”
“Ah,” she murmured noncommittally, lifting her chin to acknowledge the suggestions, though having no intention of doing either.
—
The trip was arranged for the following day. The journey there and back would be a lengthy one, so they planned to spend one night in an inn before returning. Mrs. Turrill prepared a hamper of food and gathered extra blankets, though the weather was mild. Hannah retrieved her own reticule and packed one small valise, ostensibly to see her through a night in an inn as well as a few things for the baby. In actuality, she took only the essentials for life on her own: a spare shift and gown, bonnet, toothpowder and brush, and the pair of stretched slippers. She wore her own half boots, stained and stiff as they were. And the ring beneath her gloves.
Early in the morning, the hired chaise and four, with a postilion mounted on the lead horse, clattered up the drive and halted in front of the house. From inside the chaise, Edgar pushed open the door and alighted, then turned to hand down a pleasant-looking young woman in plain, but neat traveling clothes.
Stepping outside to greet them, Hannah realized it was her first time out of doors at Clifton. She paused to survey the turreted stone house set amid blooming whitebeam trees and privet hedges. To feel the springtime sun on her skin and breathe in the sweet smell of hyacinth and bluebells.
Mr. and Mrs. Parrish walked over from their house next door—the Grange—to bid them all safe journey.
Dr. Parrish drew her aside and asked quietly, “My lady. Have you sufficient funds for the journey?”
She hesitated, glancing at the ring bulging beneath her glove, and then made a show of perusing her reticule. She surveyed the few coins there, left over from those given her by the begrudging Mr. Ward. She had paid Mrs. Beech a portion of what she owed before leaving Bath with the Mayfields, and now only a small sum remained.
She murmured, “How much do you think I shall need?”
“You should carry enough for the inns, tolls, horses, and postilions, but not so much to invite trouble.”
“I had not thought of all that.” Hannah frowned. “I am afraid I haven’t enough to cover those expenses.”
The lines of his face deepened in concern. He said kindly, “With your permission, I shall retrieve ten pounds or so from your husband’s purse, assuming he has that much ready cash.”
She swallowed. It was a great deal of money. Travel by chaise must be expensive indeed. “If you think that would be . . . suitable.”
“Ample sufficient, I am sure.”
“Then, yes. Please do. Thank you, doctor.” She ignored the twinge of guilt and the thought of how Dr. Parrish would react when he someday learned he had given so much money to a mere companion.
A few minutes later, money collected and good-byes said, Dr. Parrish gave Hannah a hand up, and she settled herself inside the carriage. Nancy sat beside her on the single, front-facing bench, Edgar on her other side. And Ben, their young manservant, sat on the rear, outside seat.
Hannah was not looking forward to sharing the cramped space with two people she barely knew and who knew her as someone she was not. She dreaded making small talk and increasing her chances of giving herself away. But it would be rude to remain silent for hours on end.
She asked Nancy about her family, and Edgar about the other properties he managed
for absentee landlords—the Devonshire coast being a popular second-home site for artists and the upper class. In turn, she answered their questions about Bath and its attractions, but replied in vague terms to more personal queries.
Eventually, they stopped at a coaching inn to hire fresh horses. Hannah was glad for the respite—her wrapped arm throbbed from all the jostling it had suffered.
Edgar suggested they step inside for refreshment, and all agreed. As they sat in the parlor and sipped tea, he again politely attempted to engage her in conversation. But noticing her distracted reserve, he soon turned his attention to sweet, shy Nancy instead, who was thrilled to be venturing into neighboring Somerset for the first time in her life.
Later, back in the rocking chaise, Hannah spent the hours cradling her aching arm, feigning sleep to avoid further conversation, and trying to plan what she would do when they arrived in Bath. She certainly didn’t want them to see what sort of establishment and in what neighborhood she had left her child. But how might she dissuade them from escorting her all the way to Mrs. Beech’s door? Or how would she evade them if they did?
She decided to thank them for bringing her to Bath and then insist on retrieving Danny on her own. She would then pay a messenger to deliver a note to them in her stead, saying something unforeseen had arisen and one of her own family would escort her back to Clifton in a few days.
If Sir John had died, “Lady Mayfield” would be under no moral compulsion to return to that house in Devonshire, a place she had not even seen before the accident. She could say she was returning to her former home, to the succor of friends and family. But what sort of a wife would leave a husband alone near death? She shuddered to contemplate what they would think of her.
She hated all these lies. What if she were to confess to Edgar and Nancy that she was not who they believed her to be? But then . . . would she not be guilty of stealing from Sir John’s purse, and possibly arrested for fraud or who knew what other fatal charges? And then what would become of Danny?
All Hannah wanted was to redeem her son from Mrs. Beech, and disappear. Leave Mrs. Beech, Sir John, and even kind Dr. Parrish and his family far behind. Though how she would support herself and Danny she did not know. Especially with her arm bound in splints. But she wouldn’t think about that at present. She had enough money to get Danny back and that was all that mattered—for now.
Hannah prayed again that Becky would keep Danny safe until she got there. She knew the girl took a special interest in him. That thought reminded her of the day less than a fortnight ago when Becky had appeared at the home of Hannah’s new employer. How drastically her life had changed since then. . . .
When Danny was about a month old, Hannah had taken a position as companion to a sour, elderly dowager. The widow lived near enough to Mrs. Beech’s that Hannah could easily slip away to see him and nurse him from time to time. She’d hated to leave him, but felt she had no other choice.
One day, she had been halfheartedly perusing books in the dower house library, selecting several to read aloud to the farsighted widow, when the prim housekeeper came to find her.
“There is a girl to see you at the servants’ entrance, Miss Rogers. A Becky Brown.”
Hannah’s heart thumped in alarm. “Becky?” Oh, God in heaven, please let nothing have happened to Danny.
Murmuring thanks to the housekeeper, Hannah hurried belowstairs to the servants’ entrance. There, Becky stood huddled by the door, shrinking under the speculative gazes of cook and kitchen maid.
“Becky,” Hannah hissed, leading her into the quiet passage. “You weren’t to come here. What is it? What’s happened?”
“The Jones boy is took bad with a fever, and now little Molly is fussin’. I’m afeared. Afeared the fever will spread through the whole house.”
Hannah’s stomach clenched. “And Danny? How is Danny?”
“He’s all right, I think. So far at least. Nursed well this mornin’. Hardly left any for the others. I nurse your babe first, you know. For you.”
Wary gratitude filled Hannah. “Thank you, Becky. I do appreciate it. Greatly. But you’re sure he isn’t ill?”
“No, miss. Not yet. But I thought you’d want to know.”
“Well, Miss Rogers.”
Hannah whirled at the voice. She hadn’t heard the shrewd housekeeper follow her.
Her eyes narrowed to glinting slits. “You’ll be packing your bags, and sharp-like, when the mistress hears you’ve a babe, and you not married.”
The housekeeper turned on her heel and marched up the back stairs.
Becky’s face crumpled. “Sorry, Miss Hannah.”
Hannah groaned. “I told you not to come here, Becky. You might have sent word and I would have met you somewhere.”
“I’m sorry. I was just so worried.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes.
Hannah bit her lip to stifle another rebuke. “I know. It was good of you to think of Danny. And me. There now, don’t cry. You meant well.”
“But how will you pay Mrs. Beech if you haven’t a post?”
Hannah blinked back tears of her own. “I don’t know.” One idea came to her. But it was a possibility she’d avoided resorting to before.
As the housekeeper predicted, the dowager dismissed Hannah soon after Becky departed, and vowed that Hannah wouldn’t find another situation in Bath with any decent woman of her acquaintance.
Hannah swallowed back bile at the cruel words the woman had slung at her, words like “undeserving, deceitful,” and worse.
Hannah packed her belongings into her valise, and left with a heavy heart, knowing what she must do. She had promised herself she would never return. Yet she found herself walking north, up Lansdown Street, and turning in to Camden Place. To that gate, that door, that house she had left a half year before.
She let herself in at the low wrought iron gate, hoping not to encounter Mr. Ward, who would likely greet her with a lewd offer or send her away with a harsh word before she’d even seen Lady Mayfield.
She hesitated to knock on the front door. She had to remind herself that she had not been in service—she had been Lady Mayfield’s companion. A gentlewoman, though a poor one.
Without change of expression, the stoic butler, Hopkins, let her in, allowed her to leave her valise in the hall cupboard, and showed her into the morning room while he went to see if Lady Mayfield was at home to callers. Thankfully there was no sign of Mr. Ward. Still, Hannah wrung her gloved hands, fearing her former mistress might refuse to see her, especially as she had left her so abruptly.
A few moments later, Lady Mayfield burst into the room. “Hannah! My goodness. I never expected to see you again.”
Marianna went on, exclaiming how pleased she was to see her. Then the woman surveyed her from head to toe, speculation gleaming in her brown eyes. “You appear in good health. If a little tired. And thin.”
Oh yes, Hannah was considerably thinner now than she had been when Marianna had last seen her.
Hannah clasped her hands tightly together, pulse pounding to be in the presence of a Mayfield once again. Then she sheepishly asked for her final allowance.
Marianna agreed, and in short order Mr. Ward was summoned to bring it.
At the mention of his name, Hannah shivered. Mr. Ward, along with several other servants, had come with the Mayfields from their primary residence in Bristol. How she’d detested his leering glances and wandering hands.
While they waited, Hannah listened in stunned silence as Lady Mayfield begged her to accompany her as traveling companion, even going so far as to offer her double her former allowance. Hannah hesitated. It was a good offer. No—what was she thinking? She could not leave. She had a child now, though she hadn’t the courage to tell Marianna Mayfield that.
But, could she afford to refuse such an offer? Especially when Marianna said Hannah could leave whenever s
he wanted—which would be just as soon as she earned enough. And at the offered rate, it wouldn’t take long, assuming Mrs. Beech didn’t raise her fees again. But what if Becky came to look for her with more worrisome news, and she was nowhere to be found? What if something happened to Danny before she could return? What then?
Mr. Ward came in with her allowance—minus what he’d subtracted for her early departure without notice. She avoided his cold eyes and laid out her palm, feeling like a beggar. I earned this fairly, she reminded herself, though the discomfort did not ease. He dropped several sovereigns and shillings onto her outstretched hand, careful not to touch her. He had not been so careful before.
When he left, Hannah studied the coins in her hand. It would help. It would reduce the amount she owed greedy Mrs. Beech. But it wasn’t enough. It might buy her some time, though. Assure a measure of safety for her son, until she could earn the rest.
She told Lady Mayfield she was grateful for the offer, but needed time to think about it.
Marianna Mayfield studied her. “Well don’t think too long,” she said. “We’re leaving at four this afternoon, according to Sir John. Unless I can persuade him to forgo this idiotic notion. Jealous fool.”
Sir John had the right to be jealous, Hannah knew. She chewed her lip and considered. Dare she throw in her lot with tempestuous Lady Mayfield, her wily lover, and her imposing husband? She had promised herself she never would do so again. But had she any other choice?
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