Enduring Love

by Bonnie Leon

  “I know you’ve been waiting for this, but I ought to accompany Hannah. And if he were to return unexpectedly, you’re better suited to distract him. I think it best that I be the one with Hannah, just in case he comes back without warning.”

  Lydia released Hannah and slapped her hands to her sides. “I thought it was settled. Me and Hannah were to do the investigating.” Her mouth turned into a pout. “I was counting on it.”

  “No. It’s better if I go.” Dalton’s tone was firm.

  “I’m plenty strong enough to stand up to him.”

  “Lydia, hush,” Hannah said. “Someone will hear. And Dalton’s right. You’ve no business confronting someone in your condition. And if Douglas comes back, you’ll do wonderfully well at stalling him.” She grinned. “In fact, it seems you’ve a talent for deception.”

  “I’m not sure I like that.” A smiled played at Lydia’s lips. “I so wanted to go. Why don’t ye stay, Hannah? Ye’ll do fine at distracting him if need be.”

  “If Douglas were to return, I’d not be able to think of a thing to say.” She moved toward the door. “And John’s my husband . . . I mean, he was. I should go.”

  Lydia folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “All right. But I’m not pleased with this, I want ye to know.”

  “Oh, we know,” Hannah said with a small shake of the head. She glanced into the dining room to see if anyone was about. “It’s time,” she whispered to Dalton and led the way up the staircase to the second floor and down the hallway. Just as she and Dalton reached Weston’s room, a woman stepped into the corridor.

  Hannah stood with her back to the wall and looked up at Dalton, trying to think of something to say to him that sounded conversational. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to visit the wharf,” she said. “They’ve a good selection of fresh fish.”

  Momentarily Dalton seemed taken aback but quickly recovered and said, “A fine idea.”

  The woman smiled as she passed and moved to a room at the end of the hall where she stopped and opened the door, disappearing inside.

  Hannah’s heart thumped hard in her chest. She took a deep breath, checked the corridor again, and then turned and tried the door. It opened. She stepped inside with Dalton close behind.

  The room stank of spirits and cigar smoke. The bed was unmade, and the only chair was nearly hidden beneath a pile of clothing. There was a desk cluttered with books and papers. Hannah moved to the window and gazed out, fearing she’d see Douglas striding up the street toward the boardinghouse. There was no sign of him.

  She turned and faced the room. “He’s not one for tidiness, is he?”

  “I’d say not.” Dalton moved to the bureau and opened the top drawer and rifled through its contents.

  Hannah watched.

  He looked up at her. “You’d best get to it.”

  “Right.” Hannah decided the desk was the best place to begin. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for as she searched through a pile of papers, but hoped she’d know what it was when she found it.

  Dalton pushed the top drawer closed and opened the next while Hannah thumbed through another stack of papers. “He’s collected an awful lot of stuff,” she said as she searched an assortment of correspondence, ink, a pen and a . . . key. She picked it up and examined it. “Could this be anything?”

  “What?” Dalton crossed to Hannah. Taking the key, he examined it. “Too small for a door.” He glanced around the room.

  “What else could it unlock?” Hannah’s eyes went to the armoire. With a pulse of excitement, she strode across the room and opened the cabinet, going through hanging shirts. Nothing. She stood on tiptoe and felt the edge of an upper shelf.

  “Here, let me have a go.” Dalton swept a hand across the top shelf, but found only a hat and gloves.

  “It must fit something here.” Hannah opened a drawer and her heart quickened. There, amidst socks and underclothes, sat a wooden box. She lifted it out and tried to open the lid. It was locked.

  Dalton’s eyes lit up. “So it needs a key, does it?”

  Hannah carried it to the desk.

  Dalton pushed the key into the lock and turned. Opening the lid, he smiled at Hannah, then looked at the contents, taking out a stack of letters.

  “There’s quite a lot there. It will take some time to read them all. He could come back and discover us. How would we ever explain reading his personal mail?”

  “We’ve no justification for our presence here, no matter what he might find us doing.” Dalton moved to the window and looked out. “I don’t see him. He’ll probably be hours, yet. Most likely in the midst of a game of cards and half inebriated already.”

  “Can you go down and make certain he’s not back?” Hannah carried some of the letters to the desk and sat in the chair. “I’ll start reading.”

  “If I don’t return right away, then I’m probably engaged in a conversation with the chap. If so, put the box and letters back and leave.” He opened the door, peered out, and stepped into the hallway.

  Hannah picked up an envelope. It was postmarked from Margaret Bradshaw. Hands trembling, she opened it and pulled out a letter. It began with “My dearest Weston.” Anger smoldered in Hannah.

  Margaret talked about John, life on the farm, and how she hoped all went well. As Hannah read, old wounds felt as if they’d been opened and rubbed raw. She stuffed the letter back into the envelope and went on to the next. There was nothing that would create suspicion.

  The door opened and Hannah’s heart shot into her throat. She pressed the letter against her chest. It was Dalton. “Oh! You frightened me.”

  “Sorry.” He closed the door. “There’s no sign of him. But we’d best hurry. Have you found anything?”

  “Just that Margaret was corresponding with Mr. Douglas.” She handed him a stack of letters and then opened another one with the address in Margaret’s handwriting. This time as she read, her interest piqued. She quickly scanned the letter. “Listen to this,” she said and read, “It won’t be long now and we’ll be on our way to London. I long for your arms and for the day we don’t have to pretend anymore.”

  Hannah stopped reading, her ire flaring. “How dare she!” She looked at Dalton. “They are lovers. And she’s planning to leave John! After everything he’s done for her and all she’s put us through she has no intention of staying.”

  Dalton’s forehead creased. “Here’s something else.” He cleared his throat and read from another letter, “We’ll soon have what we came for. Only a few more weeks and we’ll possess more wealth than we ever dreamed possible. Then we’ll be on our way just as we planned. John has no idea.” Dalton looked at Hannah, grief registering in his eyes.

  “That woman has no heart!” Hannah could feel the threat of tears. How could anyone be so cruel?

  “Do you have any notion what wealth she’s referring to?” Dalton asked.

  “None whatsoever. We never had much. I can’t imagine.”

  They quickly scanned the rest of the letters, hoping to discover more specifics, but there was just more of the same. Discouraged, they returned the letters to the box and set it back in its place in the armoire.

  “That man is a scoundrel of the worst sort,” Lydia sputtered when she heard what Dalton and Hannah had discovered. “And Margaret—she’s worse than a scoundrel. I can’t even say what I think of her.”

  Hannah fumed over Margaret, but she was also angry with herself. She’d nearly done nothing. How like me. If not for Lydia’s insistence . . .

  “We’ve got to tell John,” Lydia said.

  “Yes. But they’ve some sort of scheme worked out,” Hannah said. “We need to find out what it is.”

  The room turned quiet, and then a smile touched Lydia’s lips. “I’ve an idea.”

  Hannah knew Lydia well enough to know it could be outrageous. “I don’t know that I like your tone.”

  “It’s nothing terrible,” Lydia reassured her. “We can do to Margaret what we’ve done
here. She may have the information we’re looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve got to have a look at her papers as well. She may have letters from Mr. Douglas.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?” Dalton asked. “It’s not as if we won’t be noticed driving up to the farm.”

  “I can invite her to tea.” Lydia’s eyes gleamed. “It’s time we got better acquainted, don’t ye think?”

  “She knows you don’t like her.”

  “Yes, but she’s so vain, she’ll most likely believe that even I’d enjoy spending time with her.” She smirked. “I can let her believe that I want to mend fences . . . since John is such a dear friend. And while we’re having tea, you and Dalton can pay a visit to the farm.”

  Hannah could feel the muscles tighten in her abdomen. “All right. When?”

  “I’ll send her a note the minute we get back.”

  “And what of John? What if he’s there?”

  “He ought to appreciate our concern,” Lydia retorted.

  “We can’t say anything, not just yet. We need to know more.” Hannah rubbed her temples, hoping to massage away a throbbing headache. “He’s usually somewhere on the property and not at the house.”

  “All right, then. Ye can go during the day . . .” Lydia smiled. “The day I’m having tea with Margaret.”

  John gave Margaret a hand up onto her horse and then swung into his saddle. She arranged her skirts so as not to look improper. “It’s been some time since I’ve ridden. I feel a bit peculiar perched up here.”

  “Riding sidesaddle is unsuitable for this country. You can ride astride, I won’t mind a bit. Hannah used to and said it made riding much easier and felt steadier.”

  “That may be, but it’s outrageous and unladylike.”

  Margaret’s smug tone grated on John, but he said nothing. He remembered how he’d tried to convince Hannah to ride sidesaddle, convinced it was proper. He hadn’t wanted her to appear indecent in public. His reputation is what he’d been thinking of. The memory of his egotism shamed him.

  “You ride as you like, but astride is safer.” He leaned forward just a bit and gently kicked his horse in the sides. As the animal broke into an easy canter, Margaret prodded her mount and moved alongside him.

  “I figure it’s time you saw a bit more of the farm,” he said.

  “Isn’t it an estate? It seems quite large.”

  “I’d not call it something so grand as that, but I’ve acquired a good deal of land. One day perhaps we will be able to call it an estate.”

  Margaret smiled at him. “I look forward to that day. It will be grand, indeed.”

  They cantered across the fields, then slowed to a walk. “When Hannah and I first moved here, we had only fifty acres.”

  “Truly? That’s all? How did you manage to acquire so much, then?”

  “When I moved onto this piece, I hoped one day that the adjoining property would come up for sale, so I saved what I could. When it came available, I bought it.”

  “How much land is there?”

  “Nearly two thousand acres. I’ve payments to make, but as long as the farm continues to do well, I’ll have no problem with that.”

  “Who owned it before you?”

  “A man living in Sydney Town. He never moved out here, though. Returned to England to care for ailing parents.” John moved his hat so the brim shaded his eyes. “Took nearly every cent I had, but it was worth it. Without the extra ground, I’d never have been able to build the kind of farm I’ve always wanted.” He gazed out over the open fields, golden and baking beneath the summer sun.

  “It’s beautiful,” Margaret said. “However, I’ve still not adjusted to the weather. It’s much hotter than England, and this time of year I’m used to it being cold. Seems strange having sweltering heat for the holidays. It shan’t feel like Christmas at all.”

  “You’ll adjust.”

  Margaret sighed. “I miss the green of England and the distractions of London.”

  “I thought you were done with all that.” Disappointment and then suspicion crept inside John.

  “I am. Absolutely. But sometimes a bit of revelry would be nice.” She smiled sweetly and added, “You know I’d never trade the frivolous life of London for what I have now. I adore being with you.”

  John warmed to her affection. He and Margaret may not share the kind of love he’d had with Hannah, but given time it might grow. “We have a fine future here, together—a family and—” “John, if you want a family, you’ll have to move back into the house,” Margaret said with a mischievous smile.

  Embarrassment warmed John’s face. “I suppose you’re right.” Although he knew it was time to commit fully to Margaret, the idea of it made him feel unfaithful to Hannah. “I’ll be gone a few days to purchase cattle . . . when I return, I’ll move back in.”

  Margaret reached across the space between them and took his hand. “I’ve so longed to hear you say that.”

  John felt a flicker of affection and squeezed her hand. I’ve got to put Hannah out of my mind. My life is with Margaret now.

  “Will you be traveling near Sydney Town?” Margaret asked.

  “It would be quite out of my way.”

  “Oh. I was hoping you might possibly stop at my solicitor’s. It seems he has papers I need to sign. Something to do with my parents’ estate. I hate to travel to Sydney Town, the road is so appalling.”

  “There’s always the river.”

  “That’s true. But the barges are quite primitive.”

  “Maybe so, but at least it’s a peaceful mode of travel.”

  “It’s dreadfully humid. And you know how bad the bugs can be.” Margaret peered at him from beneath the brim of her hat, her brown eyes beseeching. “Please, would you mind?”

  “I’ll go, but it will have to be another day,” John said. “I thought all the affairs of your parents’ estate had been taken care of.”

  “It seems my brothers have decided to sell off more of the family property, and they are kindly sharing the profits.”

  “I see. And who shall I speak to?”

  “Weston Douglas.” She smiled. “I’ve inherited a tidy sum. It will be a great help to us and the farm.”

  “I’ll speak to him, but I’d rather you accompanied me.”

  “Go with you to buy cattle?”

  “We could drive them back together.”

  Margaret shook her head. “I dearly love your company, but I truly don’t want to follow a mob of beef all the way from Sydney Town—the dust and flies would be frightful.”

  John nodded, remembering how much fun he and Hannah had when they’d herded sheep together. “Fine. You’ll just have to tell me where to find him.”

  “I’ve the address. As my husband, you can sign any document for me.”

  “I know the law says that, but I’d rather you see what has to be signed.”

  “I trust you implicitly.”

  “All right, then. But I’ll make sure you have copies so that you’re abreast of what’s happening with your holdings.”

  “Of course. That’s very kind of you.” She pulled back on the reins and her horse tossed its head, fighting the restriction. “When do you think you’ll be going?”

  “After I get back with the cattle. Possibly next week.”

  “Fine. That will be just fine.”

  20

  Hannah dusted the windowsill of an upstairs bedroom, then stopped and looked out over the Atherton estate. Brown fields and hillsides cooked beneath a December sun. Her mind flashed back to London Decembers. They’d been nothing like this. Icy patterns glistened on windows and freshly fallen snow lay in mounds along the roads. Too quickly the white blanket would turn black from churning wagon wheels and the soot of countless belching chimneys.

  This is better, she told herself, fighting nerves. Today Lydia would meet with Margaret while she searched John’s house. When Lydia had told her it was all set, she’
d seemed almost gleeful, especially over Margaret’s presumption that Lydia truly desired a friendship with her. “I’d rather die,” Lydia had said. Then with a smile added, “This will be a sweet revenge. I can barely wait to see the look on her face when we confront her.”

  Hannah hadn’t said anything. She knew it was necessary to find out just what Margaret was up to. But nothing about this situation pleased her. The idea of deceiving someone, including a person like Margaret, set her on edge. It wasn’t her way. She’d always admired her mother’s compassion and gentleness and wanted to be like her.

  Sometimes there are circumstances that call for punitive justice, she told herself to bolster her resolve.

  She opened the window, hoping a bit of air would freshen the bed chamber. It was time to go. She headed for the laundry room, where she’d leave the well-used dusting cloth.

  She’d lied to Mrs. Atherton, saying she needed the day off to run errands and to visit Lydia. Catharine, in her usual way, kindly gave her permission. I wish I were running errands. Her stomach flip-flopped. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.

  What else could be done? John deserved to know the truth. If she could help to unearth it, then the risks were worth taking.

  Clutching the cloth in her hands, she hurried down the staircase. Was there any possibility that Margaret was innocent? Hannah hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to be unjustly charged with an offense. The thought sent shivers through her. No. I’m right, and she doesn’t deserve my pity or tolerance. And this is different. I’m not trying to do harm, I want to help. Although she didn’t know what else Margaret might be up to, at the very least, she was an adulteress. The letters to Weston Douglas proved that. Under normal circumstances, Hannah would consider it none of her concern, but this involved John, and that changed everything.

  Mrs. Goudy stood at a sideboard, kneading bread dough, when Hannah walked into the kitchen. Anxious to be on her way, she moved to the washroom.

  “And why are you in such a hurry this morning?” Mrs. Goudy asked.

  “I’m not. Just need to make a trip into Parramatta.”

  “Oh, well, isn’t God good?” She smiled. “I was just thinking I needed some cinnamon. I’ve not enough for the apple cake I promised the Athertons. Could you pick up a bit for me?”