“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.”
Chapter27
Hannah left Devonshire without speaking to James Lowden or seeing Sir John again. She decided Mrs. Turrill was right. It was time to go home and make peace with the past—and with her father. To confess all, and hope for mercy.
Hannah traveled with Becky and Danny by stagecoach to Bristol, a city she’d once doubted she would ever see again. Mrs. Turrill had insisted Hannah not travel alone. But she promised Becky she could return to her and her sister’s house whenever she wished, and had even pressed coach fare into the girl’s palm to seal the promise.
Upon arrival in Bristol, Hannah first secured a room in a respectable lodging house and left their baggage there. After changing and feeding Danny, they walked to the carter’s stall where Fred Bonner worked with his father. Hannah carried Danny while Becky trailed behind, gaping and craning her neck to take in the tall buildings of the unfamiliar city.
“Hannah!” Fred called when he saw her. He jumped down from his cart, reins and horse forgotten, and bounded over to her like the overgrown boy he was. She was relieved to find him there on her first attempt, and not en route to Bath.
