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 withme. 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?
