“Yes, but—”
“Did she or did she not pass off her son as master Mayfield?”
“Well, I suppose, though—”
“Did she or did she not take advantage of her situation to help herself to Sir John’s money, his house, his food, his wife’s very clothing?” Lord Shirwell’s eyes blazed.
Dr. Parrish ducked his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
“And what possible excuse did she give for not bringing the child with them to Lynton in the first place?”
“Actually”—he darted a look at his wife—“Mrs. Parrish supplied that reason. She said they must have left the child with its nurse, until they could prepare a proper nursery at Clifton.”
“I never said any such thing, Dr. Parrish,” Mrs. Parrish huffed.
“Yes, you did my dear. Perhaps you forget. And we both decided it was a godsend, for had the little boy been in that carriage . . .”
“But of course he wouldn’t have been, for he wasn’t any child of ours was he?” Marianna interrupted. “He was only an illegitimate whelp Hannah decided to pass off as a Mayfield. For the inheritance.”
Dr. Parrish shook his head. “I can’t believe she ever thought of that. I think she only wanted to be reunited with her son and to provide for him.”
Marianna’s mouth twisted bitterly. “And what better way than to make him a rich man’s heir?”
Lord Shirwell spoke up. “Em . . . thank you, my lady, but perhaps it is best if I conduct the hearing, hm?”
“Oh. Yes, your worship. I do beg your pardon. It just rouses my passion most fiercely to hear of her greedy deception.”
“Here, here,” Mrs. Parrish seconded.
Dr. Parrish spoke up. “But one more thing, my lord, if I may. When Sir John did regain his senses, and was presented with, um, Miss Rogers here as Lady Mayfield, he did not object. Nor did he correct me. In fact he addressed her as his wife and, well, acted toward her as a husband would.”
The magistrate’s brows rose. “Are you suggesting they had marital relations?”
Again the physician blushed. “No, my lord. I suggest no such thing. I only meant that he spoke to her and teased her as a husband might. He gave me no reason to suspect Miss Rogers was not Lady Mayfield. Even invited us to dinner, him at the head of the table and her at its foot. Why would he do that?”
Lord Shirwell entwined his stubby fingers on the desk. “You said he suffered a serious head injury in the accident and nearly died. Is it not possible his senses were still befuddled as Lady Mayfield suggests? That he has yet to, may never in fact, return to his right mind?”
“Pardon me for saying so, my lord, but that seems an awful presumption to make based on one woman’s accusations. When he isn’t even here to defend his actions.”
“Dr. Parrish.” The magistrate’s eyes grew cold, his voice harsh. “Do I tell you how to dress wounds and lance goiters? You will do well to leave my responsibilities to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord. But, I must add that in my professional opinion, Sir John did regain his senses, not immediately, but eventually.”
Lord Shirwell’s lips tightened. “Thank you, Dr. Parrish. For your opinion. Well . . .” The magistrate set down his quill and folded his hands, as though he’d heard enough to pronounce her fate.
“I’d like to say my piece, if I may, your worship,” said Mrs. Parrish.
Oh, Lord, have mercy. Not her, Hannah thought.
Before the magistrate could respond, Marianna beamed encouragement in her direction. “Oh yes, Mrs. Parrish, I am certain you have a great deal to say on the matter, having witnessed so many of the happenings personally.” Marianna widened her eyes imploringly toward Lord Shirwell. “But of course, the decision is up to you, your worship.”
“Very well. But do endeavor to be brief, Mrs. Parrish, if you please.”
“I will, my lord. I only wanted to say a few words. My husband you see, is a good-hearted soul, but blind to the ways of people. Women especially. I may have been taken in for a day or two, while she was still insensible. But as soon as she started babbling about a child and not responding to the title ‘my lady,’ I began to suspect. She acted too common, too humble to be a real lady of quality. And then later I took one look at that scrawny troubled mite of a wet nurse she returned with and knew something was amiss. No self-respecting lady would engage such a low girl for the care of her prized son, not if she could help it.”
Mrs. Parrish went on. “And then Sir John’s solicitor arrived. A younger man and quite good-looking. He’d come to make some changes to the will I overheard. Perhaps to add her son to the will, I don’t know. But I wonder if he was in league with her all along.”
“That’s not true,” Hannah sputtered, but the magistrate silenced her with a glare.
“So you say, but can you deny that I saw the two of you all alone in the garden one morning, very cozy and private like? And him not the first man I saw her with, either.”
Hannah shook her head. “No, but we were only talking. It had nothing to do with the will.”
“Sure, sure. You weren’t behaving like any lady then, I can tell you. I don’t know why Sir John didn’t call you out like the Judas you are. Maybe he wasn’t in his right mind, or maybe you promised him some . . . reward . . . if he let the deception go on.”
Hannah sucked in a shocked breath. “I did no such thing.”
“Silence, Miss Rogers,” Lord Shirwell commanded. “You will have your chance to try to defend yourself in a minute.”
Hannah pressed her lips together and clasped trembling hands in her lap.
Mrs. Parrish smirked. “I noticed the solicitor did not like her at first. Was quite cold to her in fact. But she soon had him eating from her hand. Likely used the same wiles on both men.”
Lord Shirwell made a note in his logbook. Then looked up, quill poised. “Did Sir John not deny the child was his?”
“I couldn’t say, my lord. Though Dr. Parrish mentioned to me that Sir John said that he saw no resemblance between himself and the boy.”
Dr. Parrish hung his head.
“Of course not,” Lord Shirwell said. “Thank you, Mrs. Parrish.”
The magistrate stood and called for a short recess, and departed the room. The clerk rose to stretch his legs and quietly thanked Dr. Parrish for the safe delivery of a niece. Marianna complimented Mrs. Parrish on her testimony and the two women chatted as though at a cheerful charity tea, and not the worst day of Hannah’s life.
—
After a few more days of fruitless enquiry, James had landed upon an idea. Out of curiosity, he looked in the files to find Marianna’s address before her marriage—the former home of Mr. Sydney Spencer, her father, who had died a year or two before. The street wasn’t far, so James decided to walk there, though the day was grey and wet.
Reaching the place, he had to leap out of the way of a coach-and-four pulling into the curved drive. He watched as a footman scurried out with an umbrella, let down the step, and escorted a gentleman inside—the new owner of the place, James assumed. When the passenger had alighted, the coachman drove the horses around back toward the carriage house. It was probably futile, but James followed the coach. If society people were unwilling to speak against one of their own, perhaps a servant would have no such scruples.
James followed as far as the large double doors and from the threshold hailed the coachman. “Hello there. Nasty weather to be out driving in.”
The coachman eyed him warily. “I’m used to it.”
A groom and stable boy came and took charge of the horses.
James squinted through the drizzle at the dark manor. “Is this the old Spencer house?”
“Aye. Though it’s gone to a distant relation. Kirby-Horner’s ’is name.”
“I see. Did you know Mr. Sp
encer?”
“That I did. I was his coachman for five years afore he died. Mr. Kirby-Horner was kind enough to keep me on.” The coachman battened down the carriage for the night.
“And how was Mr. Spencer to work for?”
The man wrinkled up his face. “Don’t get me started. It ain’t polite to speak ill of the dead.”
“Very well. And did you know his daughter, Marianna?”
Again his face puckered. “Look—who’s askin’? What’s it to you?”
“My name is James Lowden. I am a solicitor.” He handed over his card.
The man glanced at the card but made no move to take it. “So?”
“I represent my client, Sir John Mayfield.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Sir John, is it? Well, why didn’t you say so. Sir John I know. I was groom to him years ago. It was him what got me this post here. Knew I wanted to be a coachman, but he already had a capable man, didn’t he? Right decent of him it was, too. Though he was the better master ten times over, I don’t mind tellin’ ya.”
The coachman belatedly stuck out his hand. “Tim Banks.”
James shook the man’s hand and said, “Then perhaps, Mr. Banks, you might help Sir John by helping me. I am looking into a rather delicate matter related to Lady Mayfield.”
“What’s she gone and done now?”
James hesitated. “You know then, that Sir John married Marianna Spencer?”
“Course I do. Dashed sorry I was to hear it, too.”
“And why is that?”
He glanced about to make sure the groom and stable hand were otherwise occupied. “Come now, man. You can’t have your offices here in Bristol and not have heard the old rumors about her and Anthony Fontaine.”
“I have heard. Sir John is also painfully aware. But all I have are tidbits of gossip and innuendo and no real evidence. Sir John’s coachman won’t say where he took her or whom she met. And I have yet to find an innkeeper who can prove the two stayed together in his establishment. I need evidence. Something I can show in a trial. Now I don’t say Sir John will accuse Mr. Fontaine in court, so please don’t mention it. But he is considering it, that I will say.” James shrugged. “But without evidence . . .”
The coachman frowned. “So she’s still involved with Fontaine? After all this time?”
“She has been, yes. At least we believe so.”
“Thunder and turf. What a couple of scapegraces.”
“Yes.”
Banks pursed his mouth, looking up as he considered, then he took a long breath. “I can do you one better than an innkeeper, friend.”
“Oh?”
“Aye. I’m off duty in half an hour. Meet me at the Red Lion and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Very well. But I hope it is more than mere hearsay.”
“Hearsay?” Banks shook his head. “I was there, wasn’t I? A gen-u-ine eyewitness. Buy me a pint and I’ll tell you a tale to make your ears burn.”
CHAPTER 25
Lord Shirwell returned ten minutes later and took his seat. He faced Hannah and began soberly, “Miss Rogers. You may tell us your version of the events. I remind you that this is not a trial. I am examining evidence to decide if there is a sufficient case against you to commit you to the house of corrections in Exeter until trial in the county courts there. Still, let me warn you that if I find you are dishonest, I will make it my personal vow to see you prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, your worship.” Hannah’s nerves quaked. Most of what had been said against her was true, though not the motivations and exaggerated maneuvering behind her actions. Even if she revealed the truth of her child’s father, they wouldn’t believe her, and would twist it to use against her. Perhaps accusing her of threatening Sir John to go along with her scheme or she would publically accuse him and cause a scandal. Only Sir John himself could authoritatively acknowledge Daniel as a Mayfield. And he was not here. If only he were here!
What could she say in her defense? How tawdry and unbelievable it all sounded now.
Lord Shirwell consulted his notes, then looked up. “Miss Rogers, before you begin.” He gestured toward Lady Mayfield. “Look at this lady and tell me honestly, is she or is she not Lady Marianna Mayfield?”
Hannah glanced over. “She is.”
“And your name is?”
“Hannah Rogers.”
“And did you or did you not impersonate this woman?”
Had she? She had never wanted to be Marianna, no. But Lady Mayfield . . . ?
“They thought I was Lady Mayfield.”
“But you did not correct them?”
“I tried. . . .”
“Tried? Is it so hard to tell the truth. To say, ‘Excuse me Dr. Parrish, but you have it wrong. I am not Lady Mayfield, I am only her companion.’ Are you telling us that was impossible to do?”
Hannah ducked her head. “No, your worship.”
Lord Shirwell entwined his fingers on the desk. “Was it your intention to position yourself and your son as Sir John’s heirs should he die?”
“No, your worship.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I had no other way to return to Bath and rescue my son.”
“But you chose to leave him behind.”
“Only temporarily. He was being held by the matron of a corrupt maternity home. Though I didn’t know the true nature of the establishment when I left Danny under her care. I needed to find a situation not long after I delivered him. And one cannot do so with a child in arms.”
He frowned. “Has this any bearing on the current situation?”
“Yes. The matron said I could not have Danny until I paid her exorbitant fees. Fees she’d raised over and over again after I’d agreed to her initial terms. I could not pay them. That’s why I returned to the Mayfields in Bath and asked for the allowance I’d previously earned there as lady’s companion, but had never collected. When Lady Mayfield asked me to travel to Devonshire with her as her companion, I thought I would stay with her just until I earned enough money, and then return for Danny.”
“That is not the way Lady Mayfield recounts the events. She said you came begging for a place. Are you calling her a liar?”
It was a trap, and how tempting a trap it was. If she began speaking ill of her former mistress, the magistrate would of course defend the lady of his own class. It never went well for anyone who spoke against her master or mistress.
Hannah said carefully, “I sit in judgment of no one, your worship. Perhaps she and I saw the arrangement differently.”
His eye glinted. “Lady Mayfield is right, you are cunning.”
She shook her head. “No, your worship. I am only a mother, who did what she had to do to rescue her son. Did I do wrong? Yes. But did I intend to take more money from Sir John, for either myself or my son? No. I did not.”
“I will decide who did wrong, Miss Rogers. That is why we are here, after all.” He returned his gaze to his notes, then said, “If this sorry tale is true, why did you not end the ruse when you were reunited with your child? Why return to Lynton at all?”
Hannah nodded. It was a logical question. “I thought about it, your worship. But Edgar Parrish was so concerned about me, it felt rude . . . wrong . . . to refuse to return with him. How they all would have worried. Besides that, my arm had been broken in the crash. I could not very well find another post until it mended. How was I to provide for Danny on my own? So I returned to Clifton, thinking I would stay until I had the full use of both arms and then I would try to find a post somewhere in Devonshire.” She self-consciously cradled her arm. “Dr. Parrish only removed the bandages yesterday.”
“So, you do not even deny that you allowed these good people to believe you were Lady Mayfield.”
“I cannot deny
it. Though my reasons—”
“Reasons? What care I for your reasons? Can reasons excuse deceit? Theft? Fraud?”
Hannah tried to hold his burning gaze, but she could not succeed for long. He was vehemently set against her. Thanks to Marianna. Thanks to the truth. And he was right. She had done wrong. Knowingly committed fraud. God may look at the heart, but the law cared little.
He gestured toward his clerk for some document. “I have heard enough. There is clearly enough evidence to have Miss Rogers committed to the house of corrections until a trial date may be set in the county courts.” He dipped a quill and signed the paper with a flourish.
Dr. Parrish sputtered. “But Miss Rogers has a child! Surely there is no cause to separate mother and child for such a period.”
“There is more than sufficient cause, Dr. Parrish.” He fixed the doctor with an icy glare. “And I am the only judge of that here today.”
Hannah thought she would be sick. Everything she had done to try to protect Danny . . . and now she would sit in jail and he would be taken from her. Would the court even allow Mrs. Turrill to keep him? And even if Mrs. Turrill were willing, could she care for Danny and support herself? Not to mention Becky?
Hannah was back to where they had started. Her hands tied. Danny out of reach. What if Becky ran off with him again? She recalled the image of Becky huddled over him in a Bath alleyway and shivered. Oh, God in heaven, have mercy! I deserve this, but he does not. Please help him, watch over him. . . . Tears streamed down Hannah’s face.
The magistrate spoke quietly with his clerk, giving him some instructions. The clerk, in turn, wrote something in his register.
While they were occupied, Hannah looked at Marianna, hoping to see a crack in her cold facade. “Why?” she whispered. “Is it not enough to simply send me away in shame? Why are you determined to destroy me?”
Marianna lifted her chin. “You were my companion. You were supposed to stand by me, remain loyal, no matter what. That you of all people should betray me . . . ?” Her dark eyes sparked with ire.
Hannah shook her head. “I did nothing to you. I took nothing from you—nothing you wanted. But you will take everything from me?”