Lady Maybe

by Julie Klassen

  The magistrate gathered up his papers and pushed back his chair. “The justices will want Sir John’s testimony of course. That is, assuming he is in his right mind.”

  “I am.”

  Hannah snapped her head around at the sound of his voice, as did everyone in the room.

  Her heart soared to see Sir John standing there, leaning on his cane, greatcoat splattered, tall boots mucked, face wind-chapped, hat askew. Had he ridden the final stretch on horseback?

  He tossed his hat down on a side table. “And if you dare harm one hair of this woman’s head, or even think of separating her from her child, you will be guilty of a gross injustice, and I for one shall not stand for it.” He slowly ran a smoldering gaze from Lord Shirwell to the Parrishes, to her, to Marianna. He lifted a hand in his wife’s direction. “What pretty tales has the missing Lady Mayfield been telling you?”

  Marianna lifted her chin. “The truth.”

  The magistrate said, “Only that this person, Hannah Rogers, has impersonated her, and defrauded you.” While the magistrate summarized the charges against her, Sir John’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched.

  “Stuff and nonsense,” he said. “She told you just enough to poison your minds to the real story. And how quickly you have sipped at her honeyed hemlock. And swallowed it whole, no doubt.”

  “Can you deny that Hannah Rogers impersonated your wife?”

  Sir John threw up his hand. “It’s about time someone impersonated my wife! Marianna never felt the need to act the part. She was too busy meeting with her lover on a nearly daily—or should I say nightly—basis.”

  The magistrate sent Marianna an uncertain look. “Lady Mayfield is not on trial here.”

  “Then perhaps she should be.”

  Sir John limped a few steps forward. Dr. Parrish rose and offered him his chair, which Sir John sank into gratefully.

  He began, “When the good doctor here came upon the wrecked Mayfield carriage and found only myself and the woman in question, what other conclusion was he to draw? By the time Miss Rogers returned to her senses after suffering a head wound, everyone at Clifton believed her to be Lady Mayfield. And there is only one reason she did not correct them—because she had no other way to return to Bath and collect her infant son. Doctor Parrish gave her ten pounds from my purse, which, yes, she accepted, to finance the journey and to pay the extorter holding her child. That woman, by the way, has since been jailed for illegal and harmful practices. But that is another story. . . .”

  While Sir John spoke, Hannah noticed James Lowden slip into the back of the room. He looked unkempt and windblown as well. Apparently, both men had traveled on horseback, although not together.

  The magistrate addressed Sir John. “Yes, yes. We have heard much of this already. But is it not true Miss Rogers coerced you into naming her illegitimate son as your heir?”

  “Absolutely not. I had already planned to change my will before the accident, to disinherit Marianna Mayfield, my unfaithful wife. Which my solicitor, who is here now, I see, can confirm. But no, since the trip to Bath, Miss Rogers has not asked for, nor accepted, any money for herself, though I offered her a large sum.”

  Marianna’s eyes flashed. “But she fraudulently passed off her base born child as your son!”

  Sir John coolly met her gaze. “No, she did not. For I am the boy’s father.”

  Gasps rose around the room. Lady Mayfield gaped at Sir John as though he were a stranger to her. Mrs. Parrish pressed a hand to her mouth, and Dr. Parrish slowly nodded in understanding.

  Sir John continued. “If anyone should be on trial today, it should be me, or perhaps Marianna, but not Miss Rogers. For I took advantage of her while she was in my employ back when we lived in Bristol. She made no demands on me then. Requested no support for herself or her infant. In fact, she did not even tell me she was with child. Before her condition became evident, she simply left, planning to raise the baby on her own. Only when she believed my wife was dead and I a widower, did she acknowledge that I was the boy’s father, though it was quite obvious to look at him that the lad is a Mayfield.”

  Again, Dr. Parrish nodded sagely. And Hannah noticed that everyone attended Sir John’s account as they had hung on Marianna’s words before.

  “When I told Miss Rogers I wished to support my son financially,” Sir John went on, “she was reluctant to accept. And she refused to allow me to include her in my new will.”

  He flicked a hard glance at his wife. “And no matter what Marianna may have told you, I was in my right mind and knew very well Hannah Rogers was not in reality my wife. In fact, Miss Rogers confessed all to me as soon as I regained my senses—even before I regained the power of speech. She would have confessed all to Dr. Parrish as well, but I forestalled her.”

  “Why on earth would you do so?” Lord Shirwell asked, brows low, papers forgotten.

  Sir John shrugged. “At first I only wanted to test her. To see how far she was willing to take the charade. I wrongly suspected she and Marianna had plotted the switch to allow Marianna to flee with her lover. I wasn’t fully convinced Marianna had drowned, you see. But even though others assumed we were married, Miss Rogers and I were not . . . intimate. Not since the conception of our child, though some gossips”—he eyed Mrs. Parrish—“may have spread that lie.”

  He glanced at Hannah’s burning face, then looked back at the magistrate. “I convinced her to keep up the pretense, since Marianna was believed dead, and had no close family left to mourn her. Because if Hannah was thought to be my wife, then her son could legally inherit my entailed property, as well as my other holdings. Every day I was sure Miss Rogers would cry off and leave. And I know she was tempted to more than once. But she stayed—not for personal gain, but only for her son’s sake. And for mine, since I asked it of her.”

  Sir John gestured toward his wife. “What has Marianna told you? That she had been swept out to sea, lost her memory, and only recently remembered who she was, and came scurrying back?”

  Dr. Parrish alone nodded his head.

  “Rubbish, the lot of it,” Sir John continued. “She saw her opportunity to leave me after the accident and she took it, sneaking away, faking her drowning, leaving her companion bleeding and disoriented. Her husband broken and near death. And I would have died, too, had Dr. Parrish not found us so quickly. Meanwhile Marianna hid for a time, then sought out her lover, as she had done before. It was the reason I decided to move here to Devonshire in the first place—a desperate, futile attempt to separate my wife from her lover. How dismally that plan failed.”

  He shook his head. “Marianna has been in London, attending balls. While Miss Rogers helped nurse me back to health, hour by tedious hour.”

  For a moment Sir John’s eyes met hers, and Hannah’s heart beat hard.

  He dragged his gaze from her face and continued, “And now here she is—traipsing back from the dead.” He looked at his wife. “What happened, Marianna? Did your money run out? Did your lover tire of you and abandon you? So the gossips claim.”

  Marianna lifted her chin but did not deny it.

  “So only now does she resurface. With a mouthful of deceit. And tricks you all with her beauty and artful lies.” Sir John’s gaze swept over the assembled company before returning to the magistrate.

  “Would you like to hear from my solicitor? He has been gathering evidence to prove Marianna has been living in secret with her lover, not as one lost trying to find her true identity, but as one fearing to be discovered.”

  Was that true, Hannah wondered. Or was he bluffing? She looked at James but his flinty expression gave nothing away.

  Lord Shirwell grimaced. “That will not be necessary. Again, your wife is not on trial here. Nor do these accusations against her bear on the present case—the wrongdoing committed by Hannah Rogers.”

  “Of course they do,” Sir John insis
ted. “For there sits Marianna, pretending to be the injured wife, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “Even if that is true, it does not change the fact that Hannah Rogers perpetrated a fraud. She doesn’t even deny it.”

  Sir John rose, cane forgotten, and stood tall and straight. “If you insist on pursuing this farce, if you try to punish Miss Rogers in the slightest degree, I shall avenge her if I have to go to Parliament itself and argue my case. For all the wrong I have done, I could never forgive myself, nor any of you, if any harm befalls this fine woman or her son, because of my stupid, prideful posturing.”

  He speared the magistrate with a fierce gaze. “Do you hear me, your worship? Let this woman go.”

  The magistrate sputtered, “But . . . there has been wrongdoing. Laws have been broken. . . .”

  “Yes, there has been wrongdoing, but not by Hannah Rogers. She has helped me, succored me, aided me. Not harmed me. Do you understand? What sort of a travesty of a trial is this, when the man supposedly defrauded is not even pressing charges, but is defending the falsely accused?”

  “She has done something to Lady Mayfield. She has tried to take her rightful place. She—”

  “Her rightful place?” Fire sparked in Sir John’s eyes. “This woman has done everything in her power to dishonor me and our marriage vows ever since our wedding trip. She has committed adultery with her lover again and again without discretion or thought to my feelings or reputation. There is no shortage of people who know of this affair. She has detested her rightful place and has lost any claim to it in my eyes, no matter what the law says. Now will you release Miss Rogers or must I remove her by force and charge you with lynch law and intention to riot?”

  For several moments Sir John and the magistrate locked gazes. Hannah feared Sir John had pushed too hard against the man so keen on demonstrating his superior power. But at last Lord Shirwell tore the paper in two and handed the pieces back to his clerk. “Very well. Miss Rogers, I hereby dismiss all charges against you based on Sir John’s evidence. You are free to go.”

  Dr. Parrish murmured, “Thank God.”

  Marianna sat stone-faced, while Mrs. Parrish looked at her like a child regarding a cheap toy, quickly broken.

  Hannah rose on shaking legs.

  Sir John turned to Marianna, jaw ticking. “So. Shall we go home, wife?”

  Lady Mayfield formed a sour smile. “For now.”

  Hannah walked out of the magistrate’s office before any of the others. Alone. She trembled all over and felt physically ill. Relief at her freedom washed through her but along with it came nausea from all the seedy tales and lies she had heard this day. Marianna’s lies. Her own past lies. Even Sir John’s lies, in omission if nothing else. She felt coated with tar as foul as sin. All she wanted to do was take Danny and go away somewhere clean and sunny, peaceful and true. And maybe have a long bath.

  She stopped short at the sight of Mrs. Turrill rising from a bench in the hall just outside the door. She barely resisted the urge to throw herself into the woman’s arms.

  Hannah breathed, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I had to come. Don’t worry, Danny is safe at home with my sister. I wanted to be here, whatever the outcome. You’re not vexed with me, I hope?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m glad.”

  Mrs. Turrill smiled. “I heard the last of it, my girl, sitting here as I was. And I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

  “Me, too.” Hannah’s chin trembled.

  Mrs. Turrill put an arm around her and together they walked outside. “Well, thank God, that’s over. What will you do now, my dear?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked at the kind woman. “Mrs. Turrill, why are you so good to me, after all I’ve done? After I’ve deceived you and everyone else?”

  “Oh, not everybody. Sir John knew. He was no victim, no matter what she said. And I had my suspicions. But I saw your heart. Even if you took it too far, I knew you were thinking only of your son.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “And perhaps a certain gentleman.”

  Hannah shook her head. “At this point, I want nothing to do with either of them.”

  “Don’t forget how they rushed in and saved you today.”

  Hannah lowered her head, cheeks flushing anew. “I won’t forget.”

  Mrs. Turrill patted her hand. “Now, come home with me and have some tea. We’ll talk and sort things out, all right? Becky got awful scared when you were taken away. Thought she was next, poor creature. She’ll be over the moon to see you again, and that’s the truth.”

  Hannah hesitated.

  “Come, my dear,” Mrs. Turrill insisted. “You heard the justice. You’re free to go. It’s all in the past.”

  “Is it?”

  “Well, that’s for you to decide, isn’t it?”

  Behind them, the door opened. Nervous, Hannah glanced back, and saw James Lowden step outside. James met her gaze, his mouth drawn tight, eyes intense. Hannah was uncertain what else she saw in his expression, but it wasn’t good. He looked away first.

  He did not approach her. Instead he crossed the drive, signaling a groom to bring the carriages back around.

  The others came out, Sir John and Marianna, followed by a trio of sheepish Parrishes.

  Sir John saw her with Mrs. Turrill and broke away from the others with the help of his cane. “Miss Rogers. Where are you going?”

  Hannah was aware of the others ceasing their own conversations and turning to watch them. “To Mrs. Turrill’s. For now.”

  He opened his mouth, thought the better of what he’d been about to say, and pressed his lips together, making do with a terse nod. He clasped his hands, cane and all, behind his back as though they were tied. And indeed, they were.

  Hannah swallowed. “And are you and . . . Lady Mayfield . . . going home?”

  He winced. “Yes. To Clifton for now and then back to Bristol. I shall endeavor to forgive her. To do my duty by her, but I don’t pretend it shall be easy. Especially after today.”

  Tears pricked Hannah’s eyes. She whispered, “You are doing the right thing.”

  He grimaced. “I hope so. But if you need anything—”

  Hannah interrupted him gently, “I appreciate you defending me so gallantly. I do. But that’s the end of it. It’s time I was out on my own.”

  She half expected him to ask, “On your own, or with James?” But he did not. His gaze flickered to the solicitor, who watched them from a distance.

  Mrs. Turrill spoke up. “She’ll be in good hands, Sir John. Her and Danny both. Never you worry.”

  Again, that pained terse nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Turrill.”

  A few minutes later, Hannah walked side by side with her former housekeeper to the yellow cottage at the bottom of the Lynmouth hill. It had been their parents’ home, she explained, which she and her sister had inherited together—and now shared when not employed elsewhere.

  Inside, Hannah warmly greeted Martha Parrish, a spinster, and thanked her for her hospitality. The woman was gracious, though a bit more reserved than her sister.

  In the small sitting room, they drank weak tea together, took turns cuddling Danny, and assuring Becky that all was well.

  Was it? Hannah silently asked herself. Inwardly, she was not as confident as she tried to appear.

  CHAPTER 26

  James Lowden watched Hannah walk away with the housekeeper. Seeing them together reminded him of Hannah’s change in status. At one time, she had seemed far above him as “Lady Mayfield.” Then she’d descended closer to his social equal as a clergyman’s daughter. And now? Side by side with a housekeeper. Was she even lower than that? Fallen woman that she was, and nearly a criminal? Perhaps he should feel relieved to be parted from her and take advantage of the jarring turn of events to make a clean break. A part of him thought it would be
wisest to do just that.

  Another part of him longed to run after her, regardless of who was looking. Beg her to marry him, to allow him to provide for her, take care of her. Remorse filled him. He felt embarrassed, weak—when he thought of how he’d sat there, silent, while Sir John spoke up so nobly and effectively on her behalf, and gained her release. James was the solicitor, after all. Should it not have been him? But he had not said a word.

  Even now, James was hesitant to speak. To make known the information he had learned while in Bristol. He had set out to uncover evidence of Marianna Mayfield’s fate and affair—but he had found so much more. Was he obligated to make it known? He had planned to. After all, he had even brought along a witness to his astounding claim. Otherwise he doubted anyone would believe him.

  But seeing the passionate plea Sir John had made on Hannah’s behalf, and her obvious gratitude afterward, almost made him wish he had not been so hasty in bringing the fellow along.

  It was too late now. He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret what he was about to do.

  James waited until the Mayfields and Parrishes departed in cart and gig—a silent, somber party—before making his way to Lord Shirwell’s stable yard to reclaim the horses. And his guest.

  Arriving at Clifton House a short while later, James left the horses in the stables, and asked his guest to wait outside for a few minutes.

  Then James trudged with leaden legs toward the house.

  In the drawing room, he found Sir John standing at the cold hearth, hand propped atop the mantel, staring at the ashes within.

  Lady Mayfield walked to the decanter on the sideboard and lifted the stopper. She paused when she saw him in the threshold. “Mr. Lowden, I believe? Nice of you to join us. Yes, I do see a resemblance to your late father, now I see you more closely.” She poured herself a tall drink. “May I pour you one as well?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You will join us for dinner, I hope?” She formed a vague smile. “That is, if we still have a cook?”