She swallowed. It was a great deal of money. Travel by chaise must be expensive indeed. “If you think that would be ... suitable.”
“Ample sufficient, I am sure.”
“Then, yes. Please do. Thank you, Doctor.” She ignored the twinge of guilt and the thought of how Dr. Parrish would react when he someday learned he had given so much money to a mere companion.
A few minutes later, money collected and good-byes said, Dr. Parrish gave Hannah a hand up, and she settled herself inside the carriage. Nancy sat beside her on the single, front-facingbench, Edgar on her other side. And Ben, their young manservant, sat on the rear outside seat.
Hannah was not looking forward to sharing the cramped space with two people she barely knew and who knew her as someone she was not. She dreaded making small talk and increasing her chances of giving herself away. Yet it would be rude to remain silent for hours on end.
She asked Nancy about her family, and Edgar about the other properties he managed for absentee landlords—the Devonshire coast being a popular retreat for artists and the upper class. In turn, she answered their questions about Bath and its attractions, but replied in vague terms to more personal queries.
Eventually, they stopped at a coaching inn to hire fresh horses. Hannah was glad for the respite—her wrapped arm throbbed from all the jostling it had suffered.
Edgar suggested they step inside for refreshment, and all agreed. As they sat in the parlor and sipped tea, he again politely attempted to engage her in conversation. Perhaps noticing her distracted reserve, he soon turned his attention to sweet, shy Nancy instead, who was thrilled to be venturing into neighboring Somerset for the first time in her life.
Later, back in the rocking chaise, Hannah spent the hours cradling her aching arm, feigning sleep to avoid further conversation, and trying to plan what she would do when they arrived in Bath. She certainly didn’t want them to see what sort of establishment and in what neighborhood she had left her child. But how might she dissuade them from escorting her all the way to Mrs. Beech’s door? Or how would she evade them if they did?
She decided to thank them for bringing her to Bath and then insist on retrieving Danny on her own. She would then pay a messenger to deliver a note to them in her stead, saying something unforeseen had arisen and one of her own family would escort her back to Clifton in a few days.
If Sir John had died, “Lady Mayfield” would be under no moral compulsion to return to that house in Devonshire, a place she had never seen before the accident. She could say she was returning to her former home, to the succor of friends and family. But what sort of a wife would leave a husband alone near death? She shuddered to contemplate what they would think of her.
She hated all these lies. What if she were to confess to Edgar and Nancy that she was not who they believed her to be? But then... would she not be guilty of stealing from Sir John’s purse, and possibly arrested for fraud or who knew what other fatal charges? And then what would become of Danny?
All Hannah wanted was to redeem her son from Mrs. Beech, and disappear. Leave Mrs. Beech, Sir John, and even kind Dr. Parrish and his family far behind. Though how she would support herself and Danny she did not know. Especially with her arm bound in splints. But she wouldn’t think about that at present. She had enough money to get Danny back and that was all that mattered—for now.
Hannah prayed again that Becky would keep Danny safe until she got there. She knew the girl took a special interest in him. Thinking of her brought to mind the day less than a fortnight ago when Becky had appeared at the home of Hannah’s recent employer. How drastically her life had changed since then....
When Danny was about a month old, Hannah took a situation as companion to a sour, elderly dowager. The widow lived near enough to Mrs. Beech’s that Hannah could easily slip away to see him and nurse him from time to time. She’d hated to leave him, yet felt she had no other choice.
The dowager had begrudgingly agreed to pay her allowance weekly rather than quarterly, but even so, when Mrs. Beech began raising her fees, Hannah found herself falling behind andwondering how she might make up the difference. Sell one of her gowns? She would not get much from a secondhand dealer. Take in sewing? The dowager would never allow it.
One day, while Hannah was halfheartedly perusing books in the dower house library, selecting several to read aloud to the farsighted widow, the prim housekeeper came to find her.
“There is a girl to see you at the servants’ entrance, Miss Rogers. A Becky Brown.”
Hannah’s heart thumped in alarm. “Becky?”Oh, God in heaven, please let nothing have happened to Danny.
Murmuring thanks to the housekeeper, Hannah hurried belowstairs to the servants’ entrance. There, waif-like Becky stood huddled by the door, shrinking under the speculative gazes of cook and kitchen maid.
“Becky,” Hannah hissed, leading her into the quiet passage. “You weren’t to come here. What is it? What’s happened?”
“The Jones boy is took bad with a fever, and now little Molly is fussin’. I’m afeared. Afeared the fever will spread through the whole house.”
Hannah’s stomach clenched. “And Danny? How is Danny?”
“He’s all right, I think. So far at least. Nursed well this mornin’. Hardly left any for the others. I nurse your babe first, you know. For you.”
Wary gratitude filled Hannah. “Thank you, Becky. I do appreciate it. Greatly. And you’re sure he isn’t ill?”
“No, miss. Not yet. But I thought you’d want to know.”
“Well, Miss Rogers.”
Hannah whirled at the voice. She hadn’t heard the shrewd housekeeper follow her.
Her eyes narrowed to glinting slits. “You’ll be packing your bags and sharp-like when the mistress hears you’ve a babe, and you not married.”
The housekeeper turned on her heel and marched up the back stairs.
