Page 8 of Lady Maybe

The next day, Hannah awoke to find Mrs. Turrill folding back her shutters. Then the housekeeper turned, opened the wardrobe, and began perusing its contents.

Hannah sat up in bed, favoring her wrapped arm. She noticed the tray of hot chocolate and toast on her bedside table.

Mrs. Turrill followed her gaze. “I thought you might like a little something straightaway. You ate so little yesterday.”

“Thank you. You do too much for me, Mrs. Turrill.” Hannah sipped her chocolate.

“Yes, I do.” The woman gave her a saucy wink. “It’s why I have engaged a housemaid to start tomorrow. Her name is Kitty. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. You need the help, managing the house and helping to care for me as you do.” Hannah nibbled a bite of toasted bread.

“It’s been my pleasure.” She looked back inside the wardrobe. “My lady, you’ve been wearing those same two frocks since you’ve been up and about. Let’s try one of your other pretty gowns today.”

Marianna’s pretty gowns, Hannah reminded herself. Since the accident, she had rotated between two of Marianna’s older, simple morning dresses—insisting they were the easiest to slip over her wrapped arm.

Mrs. Turrill pulled forth a dress of lilac sarcenet. “How about this frock? It must look so well with your coloring.”

Hannah eyed the crossover bodice warily. “That’s all right, Mrs. Turrill. I have no need to dress especially well today.”

“Now, I insist. Mrs. Parrish and the vicar’s wife are coming for tea this afternoon, remember?”

Were they? How had she forgotten? “I ... I am not sure...”

“Oh, do humor me, my lady. It is a pity to neglect such pretty things.”

Hannah climbed unsteadily from the bed and began washing for the day. She allowed Mrs. Turrill to help her into a fresh shift and then lace her stays and tie her stockings. When the housekeeper lifted the lilac dress, Hannah tried to demur once more. “Really, I don’t think the gown will suit me. I...”

Ignoring her protests, Mrs. Turrill slid it over her head and shoulders. Nervously, Hannah put her good arm through one sleeve, then Mrs. Turrill helped her carefully and gently manipulate her wrapped arm though the other. Hannah stood, facing the mirror, as Mrs. Turrill began working the fastenings behind.

Hannah’s palms began to perspire. She knew that she and Lady Mayfield had very different figures. Hannah was slightly taller and more slender, while Marianna had been far curvier. The nightdresses, shifts, and loose morning gowns were forgiving, but this formfitting dress made to Marianna’s measurements would surely give her away.

“I have not worn this dress before,” she mumbled. Perfectly true.

Mrs. Turrill asked, “Recently made, was it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Finished with the fastenings, Mrs. Turrill looked over Hannah’s shoulder into the tall mirror. She pulled at the ribbon-trimmed waistline and at the extra material crossing Hannah’s small chest. “It doesn’t fit you very well, my lady.” She frowned. “Have you lost weight since your last fitting?”

“Since giving birth, yes. In the bosom, especially.”

The housekeeper’s brow puckered. “I’m not a dab hand with the needle, I fear. Not with something so fine.”

“Never mind, Mrs. Turrill. I shall give it a go as soon as I regain use of both hands. But for now, perhaps the sprigged muslin? That one will... still... fit me, I think.”

Later that morning, Edgar Parrish knocked on the open nursery door. In his arms, he carried a box of baby things saved from his own childhood—small gowns, caps, and stockings, a finely knit blanket, and a gnarled stuffed rabbit.

Hannah protested, “But you’ll want these for your own children someday.”

“Someday, my lady. Not today.”

“That is kind of you, Edgar. But I’m afraid we’ll spoil them.”

He shrugged easily and glanced around the nursery. “I know it’s been hard for you to set up a place for Danny here, what with your arm and your headaches.”

Must they all be so kind to her?

Hannah said, “I hope your mother doesn’t mind.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face. “No ... Though she doubted a lady like yourself would accept such humble offerings.”

“Of course I will. And gratefully.”

She smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

When he left the room a few minutes later, Becky stepped to the window to watch him go. “Edgar is surely handsome, ain’t he?”

“I suppose so.” Hannah began sorting through the articles in the box. When Becky remained silent, Hannah looked up. The wistful expression on the girl’s face disquieted her. She said gently, “Becky, you know he and Nancy are courting, don’t you?”

Becky shrugged her thin shoulders. “Well, they ain’t married yet.”

“No. Not yet.”

“Not ever, if I have my way.” She gave a little giggle.

“Becky, be careful. The Parrishes have been very kind to us.”

“What has that to say to anything? Mrs. Parrish don’t approve of Nancy. It’s plain as day she don’t. So who’s to say they’ll marry?”

Mrs. Parrish doesn ’t approve of anyone , Hannah thought. But she said only, “Becky, we shall not be staying here much longer. Don’t go forming attachments that cannot last.”

Perhaps she ought to take her own advice, Hannah thought, for she was already fond of Dr. Parrish and Mrs. Turrill, and knew both of them doted on her. She hated the fact that she would soon disillusion them, disappoint them, and sink in their estimations. Yet would it not become only more difficult the longer she allowed this act to go on? Oh, if only her arm would heal so she could leave. But Dr. Parrish thought it might take six weeks to heal fully and two had barely passed. Even then, would she really just steal away with Danny and Becky without a word of explanation to anyone? How Dr. Parrish and dear Mrs. Turrill would worry. Probably even gather a search party. No. At the very least she would need to leave behind a letter, explaining. Apologizing. And hope they might understand and somehow forgive her.

Yet a letter seemed so cowardly. How much better to come out with it, to explain, to admit she had been wrong, and hope they could see that her motive had not been self-gain, but the preservation of her child. How Mrs. Parrish would gloat and rail. Edgar would be hurt, as would his father. Mrs. Turrill? She had no idea how the kindly woman might react, but somehow Hannah thought she would be the most understanding of them all. At least she hoped she would be.

After wrestling with her thoughts all morning, Hannah made her decision. She would confess all to Dr. Parrish. She hoped to catch him in the hall, but by the time she gathered her courage, she heard the door to Sir John’s bedchamber open and close. Taking a deep breath, she left her room and walked across the landing. She knocked and let herself in.

Dr. Parrish was bent low, ear pressed to Sir John’s chest, listening. He glanced up when she entered.

Hannah grimaced in apology and waited near the door. From there, Sir John looked much the same as he had before, his eyes still closed.

A few moments later, Dr. Parrish lifted his head and straightened. “Good day, my lady. Come to see how Sir John fares this afternoon?” He turned to search for something in his medical bag. When she made no reply, nor moved to join him at the bedside, he looked at her over his shoulder. “Did you need something?”

She licked dry lips, heart pounding.

He turned to face her, expression concerned, clearly sensing her anxiety. “Is everything all right?”

“No.” She swallowed and shook her head. “Dr. Parrish, I need to tell you something.”

He tucked his chin. “Oh?”

She clasped her hands tightly. “Do you remember finding us—Sir John and me—in the overturned carriage? Rescuing us?”

“Of course I remember. Far better than you do, I imagine.” He smiled.

“Yes, of course. But do you remember when you first called me ‘Lady Mayfield’?”

His brow puckered in thought. “I don’t recall exactly. Though I know I did call down to you to let you know Edgar and I were there to help.”

“Yes. You see, you kindly assumed that I was Lady Mayfield, when I...”

Her words fell away. Her breath hitched. She stared past Dr. Parrish into the eyes of Sir John Mayfield.

“When you were ... what?” Dr. Parrish prompted kindly.

But Hannah could not remove her gaze from Sir John’s. She grasped the doctor’s arm. “His eyes are open.”

He whirled toward the bed.

“My goodness. You’re right! Welcome back, Sir John.” Dr. Parrish stepped forward, then turned his head. “My lady, I wonder if you would be so good as to introduce us?”

“Oh.” Hannah hesitated. “Of course. Sir John, may I present Dr. George Parrish, who has been caring for you since the accident. Dr. Parrish, Sir John Mayfield.”

“How do you do, sir?” Dr. Parrish smiled, but she noticed how his eyes roved his patient’s face, gauging his reaction. There wasn’t one, at least nothing she could see.

“If I may, Sir John, I am going to take your hand.” The doctor did so. “If you are able, please squeeze my hand in return.”

Sir John’s eyes did not move to follow the doctor’s movements. They seemed fixed on her—or was he merely staring blindly in her direction? She wanted to move away from that disconcerting, blank gaze, but felt rooted to the spot.

Apparently Sir John did not perform the doctor’s request.

“That’s all right. There’s plenty of time for that later. We are very happy to see you open your eyes. You have been, shall we say, asleep, for nearly a fortnight.”

Was that the slightest flicker of his eyes, or merely an instinctive blink?

Hannah whispered, “Is he aware, or...?”

Dr. Parrish raised a hand and snapped his fingers before Sir John’s face. No reaction.

“It doesn’t seem so. Perhaps the muscles of his eyelids simply contracted and opened of their own accord.” As if on cue, Sir John’s eyes drifted closed once more. “Still, it is something new. A good sign, I think.”

Dr. Parrish continued his examination while Hannah chewed her lip ... and her options.

He straightened. “Well, I must go tell his nurse and Mrs. Parrish. If you wouldn’t mind sitting with him until Mrs. Weaver returns? I’ll send her up directly.” At the door, he turned back. “I’m sorry, my lady. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Hannah’s lips parted, then she pressed them together once more. “Um. Never mind. In light of this, it was nothing. I shall tell you later.”

He gave her a distracted smile and hurried away.

Hannah had lost her opportunity. And her courage.

Perhaps it was a sign, Hannah decided. A sign she should leave a letter instead of trying to tell Dr. Parrish in person.

But first, she had to face a visit with Mrs. Parrish and an introduction to the vicar’s wife. Hannah had suggested Mrs. Turrill join the ladies for tea—she was a relative after all—but Mrs. Turrill said it wasn’t her place.

At the appointed hour, the ladies arrived and were seated in the drawing room. Mrs. Turrill quietly served the tea, ignoring Mrs. Parrish’s patronizing smile, and quickly departed.

The vicar’s wife, Mrs. Barton, seemed a pleasant, timid little thing. A perfect foil for confident and outspoken Mrs. Parrish.

The ladies sipped tea and chewed dainty bites of butter biscuits. Then Mrs. Barton said, “My lady, may I ask which church you attended in Bath?”

“Oh...” Hannah hesitated. “I ... that is, I’m afraid we rarely attended in Bath.” Hurrying to redeem herself, she added, “But as a girl I spent a great deal of time in church in Bristol. My father was a...” She stopped, realizing she was about to answer as herself, and not as Marianna. “A churchgoer,” she finished lamely.

“Ah...” Mrs. Barton nodded faintly, clearly unsure what to say to that.

Mrs. Parrish rolled her eyes.

After that, Hannah spoke as little as possible, afraid to make another mistake, no doubt disappointing her guests and proving herself a poor hostess.

Mrs. Parrish took over the conversation, explaining that she had a few friends in Bath, and was sure Lady Mayfield must have heard of them.

“Lady Mayfield” had not. Hannah could, at least, speak with confidence about their former life in Bristol, and the area of Bath where they had resided—the fashionable Camden Place. But could she not tell them of the previous season’s famous newcomers and social events? No, unfortunately she could not.

After an hour of tedious conversation about her supposed life amid polished Bath society, Hannah’s nerves were frayed and she felt exhausted. Perhaps realizing this, the vicar’s wife changed the subject, asking if she might meet her son. Relieved to oblige, Hannah brought Danny down from the nursery, and the ladies politely praised him. They soon after took their leave.

When they had gone, Mrs. Turrill asked her, “How did it go?”

“I failed to impress them, I’m afraid.”

“There’s no need to impress anyone here, my lady. Just be yourself.”

Ah. If only she could be.

Hannah went to bed early that night, suffering from her worst headache in days.

The next morning, Hannah began her letter.

Dear Dr. and Mrs. Parrish, and Mrs. Turrill,

I have left Clifton and taken Danny and Becky with me. You will no doubt be surprised, but please do not be anxious....

Hannah paused. Why should they not be anxious? She was certainly anxious. She still didn’t know where they would go. Where might she find work—and work that paid enough for lodgings as well as food?

Someone knocked sharply at her door. She jumped and quickly hid the letter under the blotter.

“Lady Mayfield?” Dr. Parrish’s voice. “It’s Sir John. His eyes are open again. He seems more responsive.”

Dread snaked down her spine and pooled in her stomach. Why had she not confessed to Dr. Parrish before? She stood on shaky legs and opened her door. “He’s awake?”

“Come and see.”

He gestured for her to precede him across the passage with such hope in his eyes. Every instinct told her to flee, to turn and run the other way. To gather Danny and Becky and leave Clifton that very moment before Sir John could denounce her. Instead, she numbly allowed Dr. Parrish to usher her into the sickroom. To her unveiling.

Again, the chamber nurse excused herself. Much as before, Sir John’s eyes were open and vaguely focused.

“Good. His eyes are still open,” the physician began. “I am not certain if he is fully sensible or not. He has yet to speak, but he did seem agitated when I first arrived.”

Hannah fisted her good hand, nails pricking her palm. She would have remained several feet from the bed had Dr. Parrish not gently urged her forward.

“Here she is, Sir John. Here is your wife. You see she is well. Nothing to worry about save getting better yourself.”

Hannah’s throat tightened. Sir John’s gaze shifted to her, and her heart pounded. She pressed a damp hand to her abdomen and told herself to breathe.

She would try to explain. Not to excuse herself, but to apologize.

He stared at her with eyes a changeable silvery blue, like a deep, cold lake. A flicker of a frown tinged his brow, then passed as quickly as it had come. Displeasure, confusion, or both?

She held herself stiffly, every muscle tense, waiting for him to scowl and say, “ She is not my wife .”

“Come, my lady,” Dr. Parrish urged. “Come and speak to him.”

She faltered. “I ... I don’t know what to say. Why does he not speak?”

“Perhaps he cannot. His brain is not yet fully recovered. Perhaps he is still fighting to regain his memory as you did. Encourage him. Remind him who he is. Who you are.”

What different words she would have spoken had Dr. Parrish not been standing there—confession, begging forgiveness, for secrecy until she might steal away ...

“You are Sir John Mayfield,” she began instead. “Lately of Bath and before that Bristol. Do you remember Bath? The lovely house in Camden Place? And Bristol—the house on Great George Street? That was where I first became acquainted with your ... household.”

He only stared at her dully.

“Remind him who you are,” Dr. Parrish whispered.

She hesitated. “And of course you know me,” she uttered feebly. The words “ I am your wife ” or “ I am Marianna, Lady Mayfield ,” refused to come. She felt that if she forced out those words, she would lose her breakfast in the bargain.

Dr. Parrish leaned nearer Sir John. “And of course you know this is Lady Mayfield, your wife.”

Sir John’s eyes moved slowly from her face to the doctor’s without change in expression.

The doctor turned back to her. “Tell him about Danny, how he fares, that he is here....”

“Oh.” She swallowed. Must she? Sir John didn’t even know of the child. “Y-yes. You see, I have returned to Bath and collected little Daniel and his nurse. I was so relieved to find him.”

Feeling Dr. Parrish’s stunned gaze on her profile, she hastened to add, “In good health. To find him in good health and faring well. I am so thankful he is here with me, with us, once again. Mrs. Turrill has taken quite a liking to him, but then, you are not yet acquainted with our housekeeper, so I will say no more of her for now.”

How inane she was! Her mind felt as unfocused as Sir John’s glassy stare.

“Perhaps we should bring in wee Danny to see his father?”

She hesitated once more. “Um ... he is napping at present. Perhaps another time.”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid we have tired Sir John as it is.” He patted the man’s arm. “You rest now, sir. And don’t worry. The human brain is a marvelous thing, and you will no doubt be right as a trivet in no time. And when you are, your wife and son will be here to welcome you back.”

Dr. Parrish smiled up at her and Hannah forced a half-smile in return. But she was quite certain neither wife nor child would be there if and when Sir John returned to himself.

She thanked Dr. Parrish and returned to her room, trembling all over. She had escaped the noose for now. A scapegrace, by every measure. Oh, God. Will you ever forgive me? she silently asked. What shall I do? For she knew very well she wouldn’t avoid discovery much longer. Every hour she stayed, she compounded her crime and worsened the fate that awaited her.