“And I had to lie about my name,” Hattie said. “Your father would never have employed me had he known who I really was. It was a blessing we’d never met prior to my brother’s death.”
“He wasnotmy father, though, was he?” Annie cried. “He also lied to me my entire life. I can barely conceive of it. It’s as if I never knew him at all. Did he even love me, or was that pretense as well?
Hattie leaned forward, her gaze unblinking and intense. “Hear me well, Annie. Clarence Fairfax was your father in every way that mattered, and you mustneverdoubt his love for you. He loved you as his own. I bore witness to it every single day. Please do not judge him too harshly. He was not without fault, but not many men would have done as he did. As for me, I lied my way into a position in his house because it was the only way I could be near you. To watch over you. I’ll not apologize for it, either.”
“Hattie did it for me as much as for you, Annie,” Janet said. “Her presence in that house meant I still had a connection to you and could watch you grow up from afar. There were many times, as well, when I traveled to London to watch you from nearby. From across the street, perhaps, or from a certain spot in Hyde Park.” She reached over and squeezed Annie’s hand, the touch warm. “And, more recently, from the quiet corner of a church.”
An image loomed in Annie’s mind, that of a woman, a mysterious silhouette in the shadows of the nave. “My wedding,” she said. “That wasyou?”
Janet nodded. “I’m so sorry, love. It was a terrible day.”
“For you as well, surely,” Annie said. “You watched your brother die.”
“Yes, I did.” Janet smiled even as tears welled in her eyes. “We hadn’t spoken since before you were born.”
“So much lost.” Annie shook her head. “It’s beyond belief.”
“The deceit was an unfortunate necessity,” Janet said. “I was an unmarried woman carrying a child. I don’t need to tell you that societyspares neither favor nor pity for such women, or the children they carry. They are judged, scorned, and to hell with the circumstances. Clarence and Muriel were childless. I don’t think she was strong enough to bear a child, actually. Maybe that’s partly why Clarence offered to take you, to give you an upbringing I could never have provided. Or maybe, deep down in his heart, he found a morsel of compassion. In any case, it was all arranged beforehand. I stayed with Doctor De Witte till you were born.”
Annie tensed. “Leo’s father?” That little nugget of information likely explained how Leo knew of the hidden truths. But, she wondered, had he always known?
“Yes. It was he who delivered you and who took you to my brother’s house,” Janet replied. “Clarence had staged Muriel’s confinement. Not a difficult thing to do, I suppose, given his profession. He simply made it appear as though she’d given birth, and you were their child. I knew it was for the best, but if you think I gave you up easily, think again. It almost killed me.”
“So many secrets,” Annie murmured, as much to herself as Janet and Hattie. “I’m unable to recognize myself. My entire life has been a lie. Everyone I ever cared about has deceived me.”
“Not maliciously though, pet,” Hattie said. “The intentions were well-meant.”
“So you say.” Annie studied Janet for a moment, seeking similarities in appearance and finding none. “I don’t look like you.”
Janet shook her head. “No. You look more like your father, with your dark hair and your eyes.” Her mouth quivered slightly. “Especially your eyes. They are so like his. It’s remarkable.”
“Did you love him?”
“Oh, yes,” Janet replied, softly. “You were born from love, Annie, I can promise you that. I loved your father very much. I will always love him.”
“What was his name? The letter says merely that he died.”
“His name was…” Janet’s lips trembled, and she pressed a hand to her throat. “His name was David. David Clement Caldridge.”
“David,” Annie repeated as more questions formed in her mind. “Did he know about me?”
“No.” Janet gave her a sad smile. “He died before I knew I wasenceinte. He died a week before we were to be married.”
Annie barely controlled a flinch. “How?”
“Suddenly. His heart, we must assume.” Janet glanced at Hattie. “I wasn’t here when it happened.”
“Here?” Annie gaped at Hattie. “You and my father lived here?”
“No, I lived in Chesterfield, on the same street as your mother. I was merely visiting that day.” Hattie glanced around the kitchen. “David had just inherited the farm from our uncle and wanted to show it off. He had all kinds of plans for it, including raising his family here. He went out to the fields that morning and never came back. They found him in the pasture by the stream. You’ve walked past the spot many times since you’ve been here.”
Annie frowned. “Ferndale Grange belonged to my father?”
Hattie nodded. “Had he not died, this is where you would have grown up.”
“It now belongs to Hattie,” Janet said. “She gave me a home here when Clarence disowned me. I was, to anyone who asked, a cousin and a Caldridge. To this day, no one around here knows my true identity.”
Annie shook her head. “I swear I cannot keep up with it all. And I still cannot fathom why I was brought here as a child. Papa must have known there was a possibility I’d remember some of it. Certainly, it explains why he refused to speak of it.”
