Page 23 of Lady Maybe

Sir John, with Ben’s eager help, made quick work of packing one valise of clothing and another of his books and papers. Hannah took a respite from her own packing and went down to bid him farewell. She stood near the door, Danny in her arms, as he descended the stairs, cane in one hand, holding carefully to the handrail with the other. Seeing them, Sir John hesitated, grimacing as though their presence disappointed or embarrassed him, and she regretted her decision to see him off.

He slowly crossed the vestibule, disguising his limp as best he could, his eyes trained on her face all the while. She held her breath. What did he intend to do? His compressed mouth and intense gaze revealed little. Did he mean to deliver some sharp warning, or a passionate kiss? He stepped closer, then nearer yet, too close for formality or to offer a polite bow. She felt torn between backing up a step or leaning in. He looked into her eyes, then leaned down, farther and farther. Past her lips, her neck, her chest. Only then did she realize his intention. He pressed a kiss not to her face, but to Danny’s. Then, with a gentle finger, he wiped it away.

He turned and left the house without a word. Throat tight, she turned to the window and watched him walk toward the hired chaise, leaning heavily on his cane.

Hannah returned to her packing and found herself surprisingly ill at ease to be in the house now that Sir John had left it. She took her few belongings and only those things of Marianna’s she had altered to fit her or couldn’t do without. She finished in her own room an hour or so later, and then went downstairs to collect the book and her needlework from the drawing room. When a knock sounded at the front door, she started, a heavy sense of foreboding falling over her. An ominous triple knock— rap, rap , rap —at a leisurely pace. Hannah’s heart knocked against her ribs in reply.

“I’ll answer it, Mrs. Turrill,” Hannah called, setting aside her things and going to the door.

Hand on the latch, Hannah shut her eyes and silently prayed, Dear God in heaven. I deserve whatever happens to me, but please protect my son.

She opened the door.

There she stood. Marianna Spencer Mayfield. In the flesh, and very much alive. At first glance, she looked as bright and beautiful as ever, gaily dressed in a purple cape and glimmering golden-yellow gown beneath.

Marianna smiled archly. “Surprise.”

Hannah felt as though she faced a firing squad. Panic seized her throat.

“Come now, Hannah. You’re not going to pretend you don’t recognize me?” One penciled brow rose in part amusement, part challenge.

“W-won’t you come in?” she asked woodenly, and stepped back from the door.

Marianna hesitated, her smile fading. “Is he here?”

Hannah shook her head. “He just left.”

She sighed. “Good. I’ll need a drink before I face him.”

For some reason Hannah didn’t correct her misapprehension that Sir John had merely stepped out and would return soon.

Marianna strode into the drawing room and sat heavily onto the sofa. Hannah perched on the edge of a chair nearby. At closer inspection, she saw that Marianna had applied cosmetics with a heavy hand, her skin beneath lacking its former brilliancy, and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes deeper than she recalled. Her teeth were duller too, stained from perhaps tea or even tobacco. Her dress, visible where the cape gapped, was creased and showed signs of wear. The shoes peeping out beneath were scuffed. The last month or two had clearly been hard on her.

Marianna asked, “Are you surprised to see me?”

Hannah swallowed her panic and murmured, “Uh ... yes.”

“And not happy about it apparently. No joyful reunion for your old friend, back from the dead?”

Hannah faltered, “But your body ... your cloak. Dr. Parrish and his son saw you....”

“No. They saw my red cape tied around a piece of wooden wreckage and shoved out to sea. It worked quite well, I thought. I hid behind the rocks and then made my way north after nightfall. Very clever of me, was it not?”

Hannah slowly shook her head. “We heard a rumor you’d been seen in London. But we didn’t think you’d return here.”

Again, one brow arched. “Hoped I would not, I think you mean.” Marianna leaned back. “Might I have that drink now?”

“Oh. Of course.” Hannah rose and stepped to the decanter on the side table, removing the stopper and pouring a glass of Madeira with unsteady hands. While her back was turned, she said, “Mr. Fontaine came here looking for you, soon after the accident. He was distraught.”

“Yes. We had quite a passionate reunion, I can tell you. For a few days, a week. Yet not a fortnight had passed before things changed between us.”

Hannah turned and carried the glass to her. “And where is he now?”

Marianna waved a dismissive hand, then accepted the glass. “You know how it is with men. Once they can have a woman anytime they want, all the mystery is gone. The thrill of the chase disappears and then, so does he.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“Are you? Yes, I imagine you are.” Marianna took a long drink. “After Anthony joined me, he and I hid away in Wales for a time. Expecting any moment for Sir John or a constable to come knocking, looking for us. Yet no one ever came. I think Anthony liked the excitement and adventure of living on the run. But that feeling didn’t last.”

She looked down at her ragged fingernails. “He liked being with me when it was forbidden. Stolen moments. Secrets. Not a nagging wife, day after day, with a child on the way. It turns out he had little interest in becoming a father.” She drained her glass.

Hannah glanced at Marianna’s flat abdomen and concluded she had lost the child, but was afraid to ask.

Marianna glanced up, eyes flinty. “I assumed I had been declared dead. That my plot had worked and that was why no one came looking for me. Anthony was angry. He thought I should have stayed in case Sir John did not recover. He derided me for giving up my widow’s jointure. Money we could have lived on quite well. I told him no matter. If Sir John died, I would simply declare I had been lost at sea, lost my memory, and only recently realized who I was and return the grieving widow to reclaim what was rightfully mine. Though I reminded Anthony that Sir John had threatened to change his will and cut me off with only my jointure. Anthony assured me it was all bluster. Another maneuver meant to force me into submission. In the end it did not matter, for Sir John did recover. Lived to spite me, no doubt.”

She lifted her empty glass, and Hannah rose to refill it.

“Anthony and I got bored in the rustics and decided to try life in London—big, anonymous London. Of course by the time we arrived, the season was all but over. Thankfully, some not enamored with country life remained in town and we were able to find some amusement. We stayed away from the finest places I had frequented in the past. We found lodgings in an unfashionable area to be safe. But that soon lost its appeal as well.

“Finally we became brazen and decided to attend a masquerade being held by a casual acquaintance. Where we might enjoy all the fine food, wine, and company we were missing, without fear of exposure. It took me ages to get ready with no proper lady’s maid to assist me. Anthony lost patience and said he was going to his club and would find me at the ball later. We would meet like two masked strangers and flirt with one another as though for the first time. So I arrived at the ball alone. I did enjoy myself for a while. Such august company. Such charming costumes and happy music. I began to look for Anthony, expecting any moment for him to appear at my elbow, declare me the most intriguing creature in the room and beg to dance with me, or to lead me into some shadowy corner to steal a kiss.... But he did not. I began to fear he did not recognize me, for he had left before I donned my mask. So, in desperation or boredom, I became more brazen yet and lifted my mask, hoping he would glimpse my face and rush to my side. Someone did come to greet me, but it was not Anthony. It was a blond officer I vaguely recognized, though I could not have said from where or what his name might be. I slipped my mask back into place, fearing I had been caught. Fearing everyone would now know Marianna Mayfield was alive after all.

“Instead he said, quite merrily, ‘Why, Lady Mayfield, I believe. I am surprised to see you here.’”

“I panicked for a moment, until I reminded myself it was a masquerade ball. He could not prove who I was by one glimpse of my face. So I decided to brush him off. Still, I was surprised that he did not seem astonished I was alive, only that I was in attendance. Anthony had told me there had been no announcement of my death in the papers, but until that moment, I hadn’t believed him.

“I said to the man, ‘I don’t know whom you are referring to, my good sir.’

“Then he surprised me. He did not make a scene or go on about my being alive and did I not know everyone thought I was dead? Instead, he smiled and said, ‘Never fear, my lady. I shall not let on you are here. I imagine life in Devonshire must be tiresome. An acquaintance of mine, Mr. Lowden, has spent time there with Sir John and says it’s a remote place. Very rustic. Nothing as civilized as this.’

“Mr. Lowden—that name I did recall. My husband’s solicitor. An older gentleman who thought the world of me, I know. Probably summoned to revise John’s will.” Marianna swirled the golden liquid in her glass. “I was quite confused, as you can imagine. Had he not heard about the crash? That I was missing if not assumed dead? I wondered if someone had seen me leaving the scene of the accident. I said casually, ‘Oh? Does Mr. Lowden not care for Devonshire?’

“The man replied, ‘I don’t say that. He was loath to go in the first place and leave his practice. But I think he was impressed. I know he was impressed with you , Lady Mayfield.’

“What was this? Mr. Lowden had seen me in Devonshire? I was not believed missing or dead, but was rather alive and living in the West Country? I felt quite shocked, I can tell you. I tried to fathom how such a misunderstanding had happened. I said, ‘Come, you must tell me what Mr. Lowden said about me. I’m afraid I was ... not very ... kind to him?’

“The officer chuckled and replied, ‘Lowden admitted you were not what he was expecting. He said nothing critical, however, I assure you. He said you were secretive, but charming, and had the most darling little boy.’”

Marianna widened her eyes. “Imagine my surprise. Not only was I not dead or even missing, but I was charming and had a darling boy in Devonshire.”

She ran her gaze over Hannah. “I did not think of you—not at first. For surely my most loyal companion would not be party to such a hoax. Even so, I asked him how my companion fared. He looked at me strangely and said, ‘Do you jest? Or did I hear it wrong? I am sure Lowden mentioned that your lady’s companion drowned in the accident.’”

Marianna held up her pointer finger. “Ah ... then I realized. I was not missing and assumed dead. You were.” She clicked her tongue. “I must say, Hannah, I am impressed. Quite a little plot you’ve pulled off here in my absence. I guess your years with me taught you something after all.”

Hannah frowned. “I did not plan this. The local doctor who found us assumed I was Sir John’s wife, since he was expecting only the two of you.”

“And you allowed that false assumption to continue. Gracious. That’s quite a promotion. From lowly companion to ‘my lady’ in a single day. What a climbing schemer you are. I would never have guessed.”

“Me, a schemer? When you pretended to drown? To leave Sir John for good, or so we thought?”

“So you thought. Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, loyal friend.”

Hannah flinched at Marianna’s cutting tone. “I did nothing to you. We thought you were dead.”

“Oh, please.” Marianna flapped a dismissive hand. “Don’t play the innocent. You saw me. You opened your eyes and saw me.”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t remember. Before I slipped away from the carriage, I put my finger to your lips to shush you, then pressed my ring into your hand.”

Hannah stared at her. She began, “No. That’s not what I remember.” But a flitting, recurring dream danced on the edges of her mind. Lady Mayfield smiling coyly amid the horrid wreckage. Placing her own ring in her hand...

Hannah sputtered. “I thought it was a dream, my trying to keep the tide from drawing you from the carriage. I grabbed your hand—that is how your ring came to be in mine.”

“Is it?” Marianna shook her head, eyeing her cynically. “I don’t think so.”

“Then why would you give it to me?”

“I didn’t want to wear any such identifying jewelry. And yes, I thought it would reward you for keeping quiet if you lived. I didn’t know if you would—you looked a fright—your head bleeding profusely. And if you died, your body might be identified as mine. Which would buy me some time before anyone came looking for me. Of course nobody came, which I found somehow insulting. Now I know why.”

She took a long drink. “Later, Anthony was furious when he learned I’d left the ring behind. He put a notice in the paper to establish its loss or theft, hoping to claim insurance money for it. I could make no such claim, of course. But the insurance company took one look at Anthony’s debts and dismissed his claim. And who can blame them?”

Hannah willed herself to remain calm. “I don’t understand. You were free of your husband and your marriage, as you had long told me you wanted. Why come back now? What is it you want?”

Marianna smirked. “Why, to see my dear husband of course.”

Hannah’s stomach clenched. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but—”

Marianna leaned forward conspiratorially and wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not, actually. He’s more likely to strangle me than to welcome me back with open arms, I imagine.”

If she didn’t want to see Sir John, what did she want? Money? Hannah would have to tread carefully. The truth was on her tongue. She said it even as she questioned the wisdom and the consequences of doing so: “Sir John would have taken you back. He would have forgiven you, raised your child as his own.”

Marianna’s mouth twisted. “I miscarried the child. Are you saying that was my fault? Had I stayed, I would not have lost her?”

Hannah was taken aback by the bitter anguish in her voice. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m sorry. I am only saying that Sir John would have stood by you either way.”

Marianna regarded her through narrowed eyes. “How highly you esteem him. Almost as if you had fallen in love with him.”

Hannah made no answer.

Lady Mayfield looked about the room, then asked, “Where is this supposed child of mine? Yours, I assume. You left us to bear a child in secret, is that it? I thought you were gaining weight but was too polite to mention it. I hope the father was not Mr. Ward.” She shuddered. “I saw the way the odious man looked at you. Oh, I know! That young man I saw pursuing you the day we left Bath.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “And here I thought you so innocent. Sitting in judgment of me and Mr. Fontaine.”

“I never said a word about the two of you. Never.”

“Oh, but your face did. Like a wan Madonna in a dreary oil painting—such long-suffering disappointment. What a hypocrite you are.”

Marianna leaned back in the chair, putting a hand on each of its arms as though a queen on her throne. “And so here you are,” she said, “trying to pass off your baseborn child as Sir John’s son and rightful heir? That’s incredible. Is John out of his mind? Still insensible that you’ve got away with it this long?”

Hannah’s ire rose. “Why should you care? Do you mean to return, to be his wife?”

“In name, at least.”

Hannah stood. “If you are in earnest, then you have come to the wrong place. Sir John has returned to Bristol. And I plan to leave this house this very day.”

Marianna slowly shook her head, brown eyes glinting. “Oh no, my dear Hannah. You shall not get off so easily. I want to see you explain all of this to your neighbors and to the servants and to Mr. Lowden. I want to see you squirm, and then I want to see you pay. They do have magistrates in this godforsaken place, I take it?”

Mrs. Turrill breezed in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Here I am. Pardon my delay.” She eyed their visitor warily before returning her gaze to Hannah. “May I bring the two of you some refreshment, my lady?”

Hannah felt the final two words pierce her like arrows, and fleetingly wondered how Marianna must feel to hear the woman address her by the title.

She hesitated to reply, but Marianna showed no such reluctance. A feline smile curved her features as she looked from Hannah to the housekeeper. “Yes, I think refreshments would be lovely, thank you. Mrs....?”

The housekeeper stared at Marianna. “Turrill.”

“Hannah, my dear friend,” Marianna said, “won’t you introduce me?”

Hannah felt sick but complied, lifting a limp hand toward Marianna. “Mrs. Turrill, this is Lady Mayfield. Sir John’s wife.”

Hannah risked a glance at Mrs. Turrill. The woman stared at Marianna, eyes wide, mouth slack. She shifted an uncertain glance toward Hannah, and Hannah nodded, her mouth downturned in apology.

For a moment, no one moved or spoke. The pendulum clock punctuated the silence. Tick, tick, tick.

Finally, Marianna prompted, “The refreshments, Mrs. Turrill?”

“Oh. Right.”

The housekeeper turned, but at that moment, another knock sounded at the side door. The familiar double knock of Dr. Parrish. Hannah’s heart fell. Dear Dr. Parrish! How she hated to hurt him. But it was inevitable now. Perhaps it always had been.

“Shall I let him in?” The housekeeper directed the question to Hannah.

“Yes,” she sighed, resigned. It was all over now.

Marianna turned to her, brows high. “Who?”

“Our neighbor, Dr. Parrish.”

Marianna’s face became more animated yet. “Yes, by all means, invite him in. The party is just beginning.”

Or the funeral , Hannah grimly thought.

She sat stiffly and listened as Mrs. Turrill’s half boots clicked over the polished floor. She heard the door latch open and then, horror of horrors, Mrs. Parrish’s voice as well as the doctor’s. Oh no.... Not her. Not now.

An anxious Mrs. Turrill led Dr. Parrish and his wife into the drawing room. The couple looked uncertain, and Hannah wondered what, if anything, the housekeeper had whispered to them. But they looked only curious at this point. The worst was yet to come. She would have to deliver the news herself.

The next hour passed in a painful blur: disillusioned people, once-compassionate faces turning flinty, eyes freezing over, frowns of shock and disappointment replacing the smiling faces of her memories. Mrs. Parrish was, of course, the first to denounce her. Hadn’t she said all along there was something odd about this supposed “lady”? She sent Ben to fetch Edgar, took great satisfaction in telling him the news when he arrived, then sent the shocked and disapproving young man to alert the magistrate to the impostor in their midst.

But the worst was Dr. Parrish. Stunned speechless and bent over in pain as though he had been dealt a mortal blow by a bosom friend. Presented with such a clear picture of her betrayal, Hannah did not even attempt to defend herself. Mrs. Turrill was silent as well, although she remained at Hannah’s side.

Edgar returned and announced that the local magistrate, Lord Shirwell, was occupied with houseguests at present, but would hear their case in his office two days hence.

If only Sir John had not left, Hannah thought. Or even Mr. Lowden. But she must face this alone. Well, not completely alone—Mrs. Turrill had not left her. Had God?

Mrs. Parrish took charge, fawning over Marianna with compliments, inviting her to stay at the Grange with them, and asking if they ought not lock Miss Rogers in her room so she would not be tempted to flee.

Marianna declined the offer with pretty gratitude, insisting she should like to stay in her “own home” at last. And, would not a manservant posted as watch outside the house be sufficient? After all, she and Mrs. Turrill would remain on hand to be sure Miss Rogers didn’t stray.

Hannah sat in a haze through it all. It felt like another murky dream from which she couldn’t awaken—the cold weight of it pressed down on her. This time she would sink for sure.

Eventually, the arrangements were agreed upon, a watch posted, and plans made for an early departure to the magistrate’s in two days’ time. Then Mrs. Parrish led a silent and bewildered Dr. Parrish home.

Hannah walked numbly upstairs to the nursery. Becky, who had evidently overheard some of the conversation below, sat huddled on her bed in the corner.

Daniel lay in the cradle, awake and cooing over a drooled fist in his mouth. Hannah took him in her arms and held him close, stroking his little downy head and feeling the tears she’d held at bay fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks at last.

She felt Mrs. Turrill’s warm hand on her shoulder. “What will you do, my dear? What will you say?”

“I don’t know. What can I say? Perhaps I should take Danny and leave. Tonight.”

“If you run, everyone will assume you are guilty.”

“I am guilty.”

“Not of everything she accuses you of. Not half.”

Alarmed, Becky asked, “What is it, Miss Han—uh, my lady. What’s wrong?”

“It’s all right, Becky. You can call me Hannah now. Everyone knows. Our secret is over.”

“Are we in trouble?”

“You are not in trouble. But I am, yes.” At least she hoped Becky was in no trouble. She would have to find a way to make sure of that.

Becky asked, “And what about Danny?”

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. What would become of Danny? The thought of being permanently separated from her son terrified her.

“Shall I hide him?” Becky asked, eyes wild. “I saw Ben out front, but he wouldn’t stop me. He’s fond of me, I know. I could raise Danny as my own, if they take you away.”

“Becky!” Mrs. Turrill chided. “Don’t say such a thing.” She softened her tone. “I know you meant it kindly, my dear, but Miss Hannah is Danny’s mother and always shall be.”

Hannah turned to Mrs. Turrill. “But what if they send me to prison ... or worse?”

“Surely it won’t come to that.” Mrs. Turrill laid a tender hand on her arm. “If worse comes to worse, I will care for Danny myself. And no doubt Becky will help me. You needn’t fear for his future.”

Hannah nodded, suddenly remembering the trust Sir John had offered. “Whatever happens to me, promise me you will let Sir John know where Danny is, will you? He will help you both.”

“Of course I will.”

“Did you know?” Hannah asked the older woman.

“Not everything. But I knew there was more to the story.”

Hannah laid her hand over Mrs. Turrill’s. “You were right.”

A short while later, Marianna summoned Hannah down to the bedchamber she had occupied these many weeks. Inside, Hannah’s valise and a second case lay open, nearly packed. While Hannah stood in the doorway, Marianna insisted the maid dump it all out again. She wanted to make sure Hannah took nothing that didn’t belong to her.

Hannah cringed. She hadn’t packed many of Marianna’s things, and none of her finest, but she had taken spare undergarments, a nightdress, a spencer, and a few simple gowns.

Marianna plucked one of her gowns and the pink-ribboned nightdress from the pile. “These are definitely mine.”

The maid, Kitty, gaped at her. “Is she to have no nightdress, my lady, or even one spare gown?”

Hannah was impressed with the girl’s courage, though she feared she might lose her place because of it.

“My things were lost,” Hannah said, hoping to defend the maid, and her own actions as well.

Marianna hesitated, then tossed the gown and nightdress back into the valise. “Very well,” she snapped. “If she has worn them, I don’t want them.” Her eyes glinted. “Unlike some people, I have no interest in wearing another woman’s clothes. Or her name.”

Marianna held out her hand. “But I will have my ring back.”

“I wasn’t going to take it.” Hannah gestured across the room. “It’s there on the dressing table, along with your lover’s eye.”

Marianna turned and snatched up the small brooch, quickly pinning it to her frock. “The painting isn’t John’s eye, you know. It’s Anthony’s. Fickle though he is, he belongs to me, and I to him. He’ll remember that soon enough and come back for me. He always does.”

She tried to slide the ring onto her finger, but it caught on her knuckle. It no longer fit her as it once had. Nothing else from her old life did either, in Hannah’s view.

Marianna forced the ring into place at last. Her quick look of triumph fell to a frown. “Now I shall never get it off again....”

Hannah turned and quit the room, leaving Marianna tugging at the band. Carrying the hastily repacked valise in one hand and the case of Danny’s things under her still-splinted arm, Hannah trudged upstairs to a small spare room beside the nursery, leaving Marianna to claim the large, fine bedchamber for herself.

The next morning, Mrs. Turrill carried breakfast up to Hannah in the spare room and helped her dress. As she finished, she gave Hannah’s shoulders a warm squeeze and said, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I am praying for you, my dear.” Then she hurried away to attend Marianna while Kitty and Ben hauled cans of hot water for the woman’s bath.

Hannah tidied the counterpane on the narrow bed and was about to walk over to the nursery when Dr. Parrish knocked on the doorframe, his head down.

“I’ve only come to remove your bandages.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Tentatively, he stepped inside and set down his bag on the dressing chest without looking her in the face.

As he snipped away the stiff bandages, he kept his distance, coming only close enough to perform the task quickly, and refusing to meet her gaze. Gone were his friendly openness, his warm eyes, his eager, lengthy chats.

Hannah’s heart ached to see it. She whispered, “I am sorry, Dr. Parrish. Truly.”

His hands hesitated only a moment, then he gathered up the spent bandages and his bag and turned away without a word.

At the threshold he paused, his back to her, and murmured, “So am I.”

Hannah spent most of that day in the nursery with Becky and Danny, hoping to avoid Marianna. Mrs. Turrill kindly brought up their dinner on trays as well.

That night—the night before they were due to see the magistrate—Hannah knelt beside the narrow bed, hands clasped, eyes closed in prayer. Behind her, the door creaked open. Startled, she swung her head around.

Marianna stood there on the threshold, smirking. “See the contrite sinner on the eve of her destruction. Beseeching God for deliverance. You have a lot to atone for, have you not? A child out of wedlock, impersonating another man’s wife, lying, stealing, and fraud—trying to foist off your child as Sir John’s heir. And those are only the things I know about. Did you also sleep with Dr. Parrish to win him to your cause? Is that why his wife despises you?”

“No!” Hannah stared at her, feeling a noose begin to tighten around her neck and the hearing had not even begun.

Marianna crossed her arms. “I see what you’re thinking. You think it hypocritical of me to point a finger at anyone else. But I am not guilty of half of what you have done.”

Hannah blinked, stunned to realize Marianna might be right. How had she allowed it to happen? That she, Hannah Rogers, should be guilty of more wrongdoing than the infamous Marianna Mayfield?

Marianna shook her head, eyes alight in apparent amusement. “Do you really think God will forgive you, after all that?”

Hannah faltered. “I ... hope so. I don’t expect the Parrishes to forgive me, but yes, I hope God will. After all, He forgave a man who not only committed adultery, but who also schemed to have the woman’s husband killed so he might marry her.”

Marianna’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that? Mr. Fontaine did not try to kill Sir John.”

Hannah gaped at her. “Why do you assume I was speaking of Mr. Fontaine?”

Marianna looked away, disquieted at last.

Hannah thought again of the rash letter Fontaine had written. Had his threats been genuine? “I was speaking of King David,” Hannah said. “Not Mr. Fontaine.”

“Of course you were, I knew that.” Marianna turned to go, then looked over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “Go back to your prayers, Hannah. Futile as they are.”

Hannah tried to hold Marianna’s gaze, but shame and guilt forced her eyes to the floor. Head bowed, she could only kneel where she was, listening to the retreating footsteps of her accuser.

A few moments later, Hannah felt a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, then relaxed when she heard Mrs. Turrill’s earnest voice.

“Up with you, my girl.”

Hannah’s legs were numb from kneeling so long, but Mrs. Turrill helped her rise and turned her toward the bed.

“Sit.”

Hannah complied. Head still bowed, she saw only the housekeeper’s skirts and the toes of her boots as Mrs. Turrill stood before her.

“Now look at me.” Gentle fingers lifted Hannah’s chin.

“I heard what that woman said to you, but she is wrong,” she began. “God will forgive you. True, some people may not. And knowing you, my girl, you will struggle to forgive yourself. But God will. He already has, if you’ve asked Him for Jesus’s sake. We have all of us erred one way or another. Your wrongs are some thumpin’ great whoppers, I admit. But nothing is too big for God. No pit we dig for ourselves too deep. He is already reachin’ a hand down to you, ready to pull you up.”

Hannah looked at the woman through tear-blurred eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because He told us so. In the Scriptures. You yourself mentioned King David, did you not? And look at the many blunders he made. Bigger than yours even, I’d say. Yet God calls him a man after His own heart.”

Hannah nodded, then whispered, “But He also allowed David’s son to die, as a consequence.”

Mrs. Turrill nodded soberly. “Yes, my dear. God does not promise to remove the consequences of our sins, at least not in this life.”

Fear prickled through Hannah at the thought. She squeezed Mrs. Turrill’s hand and went to find her son.