Lady Maybe

by Julie Klassen

  “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.

  James 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.”

  Face 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.”

  Mrs. Turrill nodded. “My fault I’m afraid. Told her they were my favorite.” She rose. “I’ll check the rest of the house again.”

  Dread seeped through Hannah’s veins. A knowing. A fear . . .

  She ran back outside and through the garden, calling for Becky. Remembering the girl’s distraught face as she had last seen it, Hannah prayed, Please, God, don’t let her do anything foolish.

  Mr. Lowden followed her out of the house, looking at her in concern, brows drawn low. Only then did she realize tears ran down her cheeks.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What’s happened? Is it Sir John?”

  “No. Have you seen Becky? She took Danny into the garden when you . . . while you and I spoke and now I cannot find them.”

  “Have you checked inside? And the Parrishes’?”

  She nodded. “The maid’s run over to the Grange, and Mrs. Turrill is searching the house again.”

  The young manservant, Ben, came out of the nearby stables, leading a saddled roan. “Here’s your horse, sir. All ready for your morning ride.”

  “Thank you, but Becky Brown has gone missing, her young charge with her. Have you seen them?”

  “No, sir,” Ben replied, eyes round.

  “Borrow a horse from the Parrishes and ride the coast road toward Countisbury,” Mr. Lowden said. “I’ll ride toward Lynton. Ask anyone you meet if they’ve seen her. Make haste.”

  One glance at her teary face and the young man turned and sprinted toward the Grange. Mr. Lowden swung himself up onto his horse.

  He looked down at her. “Stay here in case she returns.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I can’t stay and do nothing. Mrs. Turrill is here. I’m going to search the wood.”

  “I’ll ride a few miles and if I seen no sign of them, I’ll circle back and meet you there.”

  She nodded and turned, jogging downhill and into the nearby wood with its carpet of bluebells. Dear God in heaven, please let Danny be all right. Help me find them. Oh, God, please have mercy. Please.

  Hannah opened her mouth to call out, then hesitated. Might the girl bolt at the sound of her name, fearing she was in trouble? Perhaps a quiet approach would be better. Continuing on, Hannah stepped on a dry branch and it snapped as loud as gun shot in the quiet wood. So much for stealth.

  She called out, “Becky!”

  Hannah hurried on, panic rising. What had the girl gone and done? What had she done by allowing Becky to leave the house with her son? If something happened to him, she would never forgive herself.

  In the distance, she heard Mrs. Turrill’s voice call out, “Becky! Becky my girl!”

  Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. She had not been found in the house nor at the Parrishes’. Hannah trudged on, stepping over logs and pushing away branches, looking this way and that for any sign someone had passed that way.

  Listen, a voice in her mind whispered. Then repeated once more, Listen.

  Hannah paused where she was. She closed her eyes and focused all her attention on hearing.

  What was that sound? The gentle whirring of a dove? No. Of running water. She followed the sound, not sure why, but having no other idea which way to go.

  The Lyn River ran nearby on its way toward Lynmouth and the Bristol Channel. Would Becky be drawn to the water? It was unlikely she could swim. Water and a baby . . . the two words struck terror in Hannah’s heart. She blinked away images of Danny floating away as Lady Mayfield had. Or simply sinking . . .

  “Becky!” she called all the louder.

  Hannah tripped over a bramble and went sprawling. Pain shot through her injured arm. She heard a familiar whimper and looked up from her prone position, belly on the ground. She tried to cry out, but the fall had knocked the air from her lungs and the cry lodged in her throat.

  Ahead, Becky stood on the riverbank, Danny in one arm, the other outstretched for balance. She reached her slippered foot toward a rock amid the rapidly flowing river. Hannah sucked in a wheezy breath and called out, “Becky, stop! What are you doing?”

  The girl turned. “Taking him somewhere safe.”

  Hannah lumbered to her feet and started forward. She would never reach the girl in time. . . .

  Suddenly, Mr. Lowden stepped out from behind a tree. Becky shrieked and leapt from the bank onto the rock. Hannah gasped as Danny bobbled in her grasp.

  “There you are, Becky. I am glad I found you,” Mr. Lowden said, placating palms outstretched. “I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry I was rude to you before. I hope you will forgive me.”

  Becky looked from him to a rock farther out, uncertain.

  Mr. Lowden calmly went on, “Master Daniel looks to have enjoyed his walk in the wood. Well done. Let us return him to Lady Mayfield.”

  Becky frowned at Mr. Lowden. “Ain’t Lady Mayfield’s child.”

  Panic seized Hannah. She called, “Becky, Danny is my son. You know he is! You are only upset.”

  Mr. Lowden soothed, “Becky, look at him. No one could look at this handsome lad and not know who his mother is.”

  Becky looked down at the baby.

  “Let me help you,” Mr. Lowden said, reaching toward her. “That’s it, take my hand.”

  With a glance toward Hannah, Becky tentatively placed her hand in Mr. Lowden’s. He held it and steadied her as she leapt back from the rock onto solid ground.

  Hannah released a shaky breath.

  “Shall I hold him for you?” Mr. Lowden asked. “How tired your arms must be from carrying him so far from the house.”

  Becky’s face crumpled. “I never meant him no harm, honest I didn’t.”

  “Of course not.” He gently took Danny from her. “I will be happy to carry him home for you. Perhaps you would like to sit atop my horse?”

  “Your horse, sir? I ain’t never rode a horse in my life.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything. Perhaps Lady Mayfield might prefer to hold Danny and I shall lead you by the reins? Though you must promise to hold on tight. I shouldn’t want any harm to befall you. I know Lady Mayfield depends upon you. In fact, she was just telling me after you left, how much she and Danny need you.”

  “Was she?”

  Hannah walked near, brushing the dirt from her hands. She met James Lowden’s gaze, saw his subtle nod.

  “That’s right, Becky,” she agreed. “We need you. You gave us such a fright when you strayed so far from the house alone. Promise me you shall never do so again. If you wish to walk in the wood, I shall be happy to accompany you in future.”

  “Very well, miss— Um, my lady.”

  Over the girl’s head, Hannah mouthed the words “thank you,” to Mr. Lowden, feeling at the moment that she would like to throw her arms around him in gratitude. However, better sense and a throbbing arm kept her from acting on the foolish impulse. She prayed she had not broken her
arm all over again.

  Remembering Becky’s, “Ain’t Lady Mayfield’s child,” Hannah wondered if more than her arm had been damaged. Or had Mr. Lowden believed her explanation of Becky’s blunder?

  When Hannah and Becky returned Danny to the nursery, Mrs. Turrill was there to meet them. She hugged Becky to herself. Then Danny in his turn.

  “Sorry I’m so stupid,” Becky said, chin quivering. “I didn’t mean to scare everyone. Honest.”

  Mrs. Turrill’s brow furrowed. “You’re not stupid, Becky. Whoever told you that?”

  Becky shrugged. “Everybody. My mum, Mrs. Beech, and them what . . .” The girl’s words trailed away and a haunted look shadowed her face.

  “Them . . . who?” Mrs. Turrill asked, expression pained, jaw tight.

  Becky looked away from the housekeeper’s wide eyes. “Them men what . . .” She bit her lip. “Never mind.” She shrugged again. “I’m sure they was right.”

  Mrs. Turrill shook her head, eyes glinting. “They were not right. They were wrong. Mean-spirited and wrong. You are not stupid, Becky Brown. You are intelligent, and good, and valuable. Do you hear me?”

  “Aww . . .” Becky said it as though she didn’t believe the words—as though she barely heard the words, really. Like a slinking pup who recognized an encouraging voice when it had known only undeserved blows. Becky touched a finger to the woman’s cheek and whispered, “That’s why I love ya.”

  CHAPTER 13

  That evening, Hannah and Mr. Lowden sat near the fire in the drawing room after dinner, somewhat more companionably than before their shared trauma. Mr. Lowden read a book by lamplight and Hannah sewed as best she could with one hand restricted by a sling. Earlier, when they’d returned from the river, Mr. Lowden had insisted Dr. Parrish reexamine her arm. The physician had done so, and applied new starched bandages as a precaution, although he assured her the bone was knitting nicely.

  Now, Mr. Lowden apparently grew restless, for he laid the book aside and rose. He paused beside the game table with an inlaid chessboard made from squares of oak and maple. He picked up the queen, then looked from the piece to her. “I recall my father mentioning a visit you and Sir John once paid him.”