Page 26 of Lady Maybe

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 sever all ties. 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 care for her and provide for 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, and instead he’d 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. He doubted anyone would believe him otherwise.

But seeing the impassioned 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 his own horse. 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 doorway. “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?”

James wondered what the Mayfields would do now—rebuke and rage at one other? Attempt some civil, stilted domestic scene? James found he could not stand the prospect of either. As tempted as he was to keep silent, it was time to put an end to this sham once and for all.

“Sir John,” James began, “do you honestly plan to live with this woman?” He flicked a glance at Marianna, who was staring down into her drink as though for answers.

“You are the one who counseled me against divorce,” Sir John said dully. “Unless—have you found the evidence we’d need?”

“Not exactly. Though I have discovered something that bears on your situation.”

Sir John’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“As you and I have discussed before, divorce is nearly impossible to achieve, scandalous, and typically unconscionable. But there is nothing typical about your case. Because you were never legally married to Marianna Spencer in the first place.”

Marianna’s head snapped up.

Sir John frowned thunderously. “What?”

James continued, “You are only too aware of Marianna’s longtime lover. But Anthony Fontaine is not only her lover—he is her husband.”

“Ha!” Marianna blurted. “I wish!”

Sir John’s scowl deepened. “What are you talking about?”

James glanced at the woman—saw her dark look—but addressed his client as though she were not present. “Marianna Spencer eloped with Anthony Fontaine before her marriage to you. Her father found the wayward couple in Scotland a few days later and, knowing any attempt he made to publicly annul the marriage would end in scandal and ruination for his daughter, he instead bribed Fontaine to hide the elopement and not object to Marianna’s marriage to you. A marriage that would bring his daughter not only the advantages of title and situation, but wealth as well. Wealth that would benefit all three of them.”

Marianna scoffed. “That is preposterous!”

Sir John ignored her. “After everything else we’ve been through today, you must be joking.”

“No. I am perfectly serious.”

“That’s impossible,” Sir John said. “I heard nothing of any elopement. And why would Fontaine go along with such a scheme?”

“I imagine Marianna assured him that her marriage to you would be a marriage in name only and would not hinder them from being together.”

Sir John ran a hand through his hair. “Can you prove any of this?”

Marianna’s lip curled. “Of course he can’t.”

“I can, actually,” James said. “All of it. I have the testimony of the coachman who drove them to Gretna Green, a certificate attesting to the marriage, and—”

Marianna protested, “No such evidence exists!”

James looked at her. “You mean, because the coachman burned it? He only pretended to—burnt a playbill or some such in its stead.”

Marianna stiffened in her chair, white-faced, but met his gaze straight on. “Any certificate you have is a forgery, no doubt.”

“Oh, I think you will find it all too real,” James said. “As would a judge and jury.” He then again focused on his employer.

Sir John’s eyes pierced his. “How long have you known?”

James took a deep breath. “I learned of it just before I received your urgent letter summoning me here.”

“But you didn’t think it worth mentioning at the hearing?”

“Not really, no. If your marriage is to be annulled, that is for an ecclesiastical court to decide. Besides, I was not sure you would wish it aired in public. And...”

Sir John’s eyes glinted. “And you didn’t wish to reveal it for personal reasons.”

“I cannot deny it hindered me for a time, yes.”

Sir John crossed his arms. “Then why tell me now?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And I wouldn’t want Miss Rogers to ... regret any decision she might make, without knowing all the facts.”

Sir John met and held his gaze, expression alight with understanding.

Marianna lifted her chin. “I have done nothing illegal. It was all my father’s doing.”

James shook his head. “I disagree. I think you are guilty of the very charges you tried to lay at Miss Rogers’s door. And worse. For you entered a second marriage contract, knowing you were already legally bound to another man. That is bigamy as well as fraud.” James’s ears pricked up at the sound of stealthy footsteps approaching the room.

“Do you not concur, Mr. Fontaine?”

Anthony Fontaine paused on the threshold and leaned against the doorframe. “Indeed, I do.”

Sir John stepped forward. “How dare you enter my house?”

Fontaine’s eyes flashed. “How dare you marry my wife?”

Sir John threw up his hands. “Can this day get any worse?” He shot Marianna a contemptuous look before turning back to Fontaine. “I had no idea she was married to you, if that is indeed true. While apparently you have known all along and never bothered to protest before—before our engagement or wedding. Why start now?”

“Revenge, I suppose.” Fontaine casually crossed his arms. “I thought to myself, what is good for the goose must be good for the gander. But when Marianna heard I was wooing an heiress, she quickly squashed that relationship by sending an anonymous letter to the girl, letting her know I was already married. The girl cried off, taking her money with her.” He shook his head. “And after I’d been so understanding about Marianna and her knight.”

“Understanding?” Marianna sneered. “You were the first to agree when Papa proposed the scheme. I would never have gone along with it, had you not persuaded me to do so. How I longed for you to throw Papa’s plan back in his face and tell him no one could have me, save you. I would have defied him, had you stood by me. But you never could say no to money.”

Fontaine shrugged and gave them a self-satisfied smile. “I can’t deny it. It’s part of my charm, apparently.”

James shook his head in disgust. Anthony Fontaine had initially been reluctant to accompany him to Devonshire, but finding the threatening letter he’d sent to Sir John in the solicitor’s possession had convinced him. Now, James Lowden looked from the smirking dandy to the vain adulteress and thought they made a well-matched pair. For the first time, he felt true sympathy for his client. And he was glad he’d uncovered the truth at last....

James had waited in the dim parlor of the Red Lion, with its smoky fire and men in low conversation all around him. Right on schedule, the coachman, Tim Banks, appeared. James bought the man a pint and the two found a quiet corner.

Banks took a long drink, then began. “I was there, see, the night Mr. Spencer realized his daughter had up and left his house. He guessed straightaway which way the wind blew, and lost no time in calling for his coach and fastest horses. It was me at the reins, and the groom, Joe, alongside. We heard the old man swearing and shouting orders and had little doubt what had happened—his daughter, the spoiled Marianna, had gone off and eloped with Mr. Fontaine, against her father’s express orders to stop seeing him and marry the man he had chosen for her.”

“Sir John.”

“Right. So with Mr. Spencer and his spinster aunt in tow, we went charging out of the city on a direct course for Scotland. We drove day and night, only stopping to change horses. Joe and I took turns driving while the other tried to get a bit of sleep without being tossed to the ground.”

“When we finally crossed the border and reached Gretna Green, we stopped at the blacksmith’s shop. Mr. Spencer, his aunt beside him, asked where they might find a man who per formed marriages. I was supposed to wait with the coach, but I left Joe with the horses and went to listen at the blacksmith’s door. I was curious. After all, had I not just ridden at breakneck speed and barely slept for days to do whatever it was Mr. Spencer was determined to see done?”

The coachman took another drink of his ale. “The parson was called for and soon arrived. At least he called himself a parson, but didn’t look like no parson I’d ever seen. You know in Scotland, any man can set himself up as a minister of weddings. No banns required, no license. Only two witnesses. Had himself a tidy little business from the looks of things. Even kept a room in a nearby inn they called ‘the nuptial chamber’ where couples might consummate their marriage quick-like afterward, to deter an angry father who might otherwise try to undo the marriage. Mr. Spencer asked the man if he kept any record of the marriages he performed, or sent any notice to the registrar. The man said he kept a book for his own records, but did not feel bound to notify the parish, since so many of the couples he wed lived elsewhere. He did say he provided any couple who wanted one—and had a shilling to pay—with a certificate of their marriage.”

The coachman slowly shook his head.

“Then I heard Mr. Spencer tell the supposed parson a tale of woe as I’ve never heard! Why, I barely recognized my master’s voice, so grieved was he. Would he not spare the reputation, nay the life, of his one and only daughter? She and the young man had realized the folly of their ways, he declared. And, filled with remorse, the repentant children had not even consummated the marriage after they’d said their vows. Could the good man not find it in his heart to rub out that entry in his records ... a spill of ink would do the trick, and no one would be the wiser. Might a donation to his ‘ministry’ be unwelcome?

“I was nearly sick to hear him. Especially since we had not even found Marianna yet. And even if Mr. Spencer succeeded in having the record blotted out, there was no erasing the fact that the couple had been alone together—first in a post-chaise, then at an inn—for two or three days and nights.” Again, Banks shook his head. “The parson agreed out of the vast goodness of his heart—and Mr. Spencer’s purse.

“Afterward we went to the inn. When we arrived, Mr. Spencer bade me come in with him, blunderbuss in hand, in case Mr. Fontaine raised a violent objection. We found the happy couple upstairs, lodging under an assumed name. The picture of connubial bliss, I might add. How Mr. Spencer shouted. Marianna shouted back, waving the marriage certificate in her father’s face. He grabbed it from her, crumpled it, and flung it out the window. Then he thought the better of it and sent me to collect it so he could dispose of it more permanent-like. I ran down and collected the crumpled thing. When I returned, Mr. Spencer told me to toss it into the fire. Then he told me to wait outside. I left, hearing his voice change from shouting to cajoling to wheedling, though I did not hear the details of what he said.”

Banks paused, looking up at the hop-strewn beams above them as he reviewed the memory in his mind. “An hour later, Marianna emerged from the inn, pale, packed, and dressed, and climbed inside the coach with her aunt and father. Mr. Fontaine watched her leave from the inn doorway, oddly calm about the whole affair. Which made me suppose Mr. Spencer had promised him a great deal of money to forget the thing ever happened. Later I heard he paid his aunt a handsome sum to spread the tale that she’d escorted Marianna on some sightseeing trip, to cover for her absence.”

The coachman cringed. “He gave Joe and me money too. Bonuses for the long trip and for our discretion in keeping to ourselves the ‘unfortunate events’ of the previous few days ’til the grave. Joe, I know, has done so, for he has a wife and five children to support and couldn’t afford to lose his place.”

“And you?”

“I’m ashamed to say I’ve kept quiet too. Had I known Mr. Spencer planned to marry her off to Sir John so quickly, I might have gone to him straightaway and told him what I knew. But I only learned of the wedding after the fact, by special license, I understand. And then I figured, well, Sir John won’t welcome such news now. Not when he’s gone and married her. It would ruin his reputation as well as hers. But I should have. Now that Mr. Spencer has passed on, I don’t feel the need to keep quiet anymore. Not if I can help Sir John.”

“Could you give me the name and direction of this Scottish ‘parson’?”

The coachman looked at him and shook his head. “I can do you one better. I can give you the marriage certificate.” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket, slight wrinkles remaining from its long-ago crumpling, but otherwise intact.

“I’ve kept it all these years. I only pretended to burn it, tossing an old playbill on the fire instead. I don’t know why. I had no specific plan, it just seemed a clever thing to do at the time.” He shrugged. “Talking to you now, maybe it was.”

James could not believe his good fortune. Yet he felt no sense of victory. Only regret and distaste. He nearly wished he had never gone to the old Spencer house.

He roused himself from his misery and reached into his pocket. “Allow me to give you something for your help....”

The coachman raised a hand, palm forward. “No, thank you, sir. I never felt right about accepting Mr. Spencer’s money to keep quiet. So I won’t take a farthing this time.”

Afterward, James had gone in search of Anthony Fontaine to confirm the story. Then he called at Sir John’s Bristol house. The butler had met him with the news that Sir John had left in haste for Devonshire. He’d handed him a note, left unsealed. Sir John’s hasty scrawl explained the urgency.

Special messenger arrived from Dr. Parrish. Miss R. in dire trouble. Accused of fraud by M.S.M. Called before Lord Shirwell, J.P. Hearing on the twelfth. Come as soon as possible. She will need a good lawyer. And our prayers.

James had left Bristol without delay. Though he feared it might already be too late. For him.

Standing in the Clifton drawing room now, James saw no victory on Sir John’s face either. He wondered what his client would ask him to do next and hoped it would not involve bigamy charges. Whatever the case, James was ready to shake the Devonshire dust from his boots forever. If only Hannah would be willing to leave it all behind as well.

The night of the hearing, after Danny and Becky were asleep and Martha had excused herself to prepare for bed, Hannah and Mrs. Turrill sat up late talking.

“You are very generous, Mrs. Turrill, but I can’t stay with you for long. Not when everyone here knows what I’ve done and suspects me guilty of even more, at least where Sir John and Mr. Lowden are concerned. For myself I wouldn’t care so much, but I don’t want Danny growing up under a cloud of scandal. I need to go somewhere new and start fresh.”

Mrs. Turrill said gently, “But think what running from the truth has wrought, my girl. How guilty you’ve felt. Why not stay and face your past? Shine the light of truth on all them dark days?”

Hannah expelled a weary sigh. “How far back in the past would I have to go? Back to my father—tell him I’m alive, that I’ve had a child, and by whom?”

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Turrill said, dark eyes wide and sad. “Wouldn’t he want to know?”

“It would break his heart.”

“More than thinking you dead and lost to him forever?”

Hannah nodded bleakly.

“Are you certain? Don’t forget, whoever conceals their sins shall not prosper,” she paraphrased the proverb, “but whoever confesses and forsakes them finds mercy.”

Mercy... Oh, how Hannah longed for it—from God and her father. “I’m afraid to face him,” she said. “I don’t know how merciful he’ll be. And I don’t want to hurt him more than I already have.”

Mrs. Turrill squeezed her hand. “Think of how you feel about Danny. Imagine him grown. Would you love him any less if he made some big mistake? Would you wish him dead? Even if you were hurt and disappointed by his wrongdoing, wouldn’t you want to know he was all right? That he had made his way back to the straight path? That he still loved you?”

Hannah nodded again, tears filling her eyes. “Yes.” Her throat tightened. “But my father is a clergyman.”

Mrs. Turrill brought her face near and looked solemnly into her eyes. “Yes,” she agreed. “But the clergyman is also a father.”