During the late-afternoon hours, as the girls worked on their painting, a knock sounded at the nursery door.
One of the kitchen maids stood at the threshold. “There’s a woman to see you downstairs.”
“To see me?” Surprised, Cassandra stood from where she was sitting and shook out the folds of her skirt. “Who is it?”
The maid shrugged. “She wouldn’t give me her name.”
Cassandra instructed the maid to wait with the girls and made her way down the staircase, through the hall. She rounded the corner to see Mary Smith standing just inside the corridor.
Cassandra stopped short, shocked into silence.
A gypsy straw bonnet was atop Mrs. Smith’s head, and a dark blue shawl caped her shoulders. Her expression was much softer than when they had first met. Even so, Mrs. Smith fixed her cognac eyes on Cassandra and gripped her shawl fiercely. “I know I have no right to come here after how I spoke to you, but I was hoping to speak with you again. Alone.”
With her doubts—and curiosity—quaking within her, Cassandra nodded and led the way to a small parlor off the great hall. Once they were inside, Cassandra closed the door for privacy. “We can speak in here.”
Her mother lifted her gaze to the plaster ceiling and then stroked her fingertips along the flowered wallpaper. “So many memories in this house.”
Still not sure what to say or how to account for the woman’s change in disposition, Cassandra motioned to one of the sofas, and together they were seated.
“How is Mr. Smith?” Cassandra asked, trying to make sense of the visit.
“He’s better, praise be. Doctor says he’ll be good as new in time. And I thank ye for the inquiry, but he’s not why I’m here.” Her mother drew a deep breath, folded her worn hands on her lap, and jutted her chin upward. “I must apologize.”
Cassandra shook her head, resisting the urge to shrink under the directness of the statement. Their last interaction had inflicted so much uneasiness that she was not sure how to interpret the words.She eyed her cautiously. “There is nothing for which to apologize. I shouldn’t have—”
“Please.” Her mother placed her hand over Cassandra’s, silencing her. “Let me speak, else I might not say it at all.”
Cassandra bit her lip and looked at her mother. Really looked at her.
How different she looked by the light of day. The ample afternoon white light spilled through the room’s tall windows and highlighted the mahogany strands in her hair, which closely resembled the color of her own.
Her mother took Cassandra’s hand in both of hers. “I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ’bout what I said to ye. How I said it.”
Eager to make her mother feel more comfortable, Cassandra said, “My presence was a shock, and you were under duress.”
“Doesn’t matter. I gave the impression that I never thought of ye. That was not true. I’ve always wondered about ye. Where ye were. What ye were doin’. What ye looked like. If ye were happy.” Her voice grew raspy, and she cleared her throat. “I’ve three boys now. But you—you’re my only daughter. It has haunted me. All these years.”
Cassandra remained silent as the meaning behind the words soaked into her heart. Her mind.
“Robert Clark was a mighty influential man. Intimidatin’ man. Ye must know I had no choice but to leave ye wit’ ’im. I didn’t want it, but it was how it had to be.” A sob broke her words. “I hope ye can understand that, an’ forgive me.”
Cassandra knew how quickly such events could change a life. How it could have happened with her and Frederick, or Rachel and Mr. Standish. “Honestly, I do understand.”
“And I also want to tell ye that not a day goes by that I don’t regret not having fought harder. But I was so young. And he was so...”
Her words faded, and Cassandra placed her other hand overher mother’s. A powerful desire to soothe the pain this woman had evidently experienced seized control. “I can only imagine what an impossible situation that was for you.”
A tear escaped down her mother’s aging cheek, and she impatiently wiped it away. “Look at me, fussin’ on. I was wrong when I said I wanted nothin’ to do with ye. It was grief talkin’. I hope we can be friends at least. I’d like to know ye, if you’d allow me.”
Excitement began to surge through her. “There is so much I want to ask you.”
“I told me husband about you,” she blurted. “The guilt of lyin’ ev’ry day caught up with me.”
Startled, Cassandra winced. “What did he say?”
“I should have waited until he was stronger, and I ain’t ever seen him angrier, but he’s a proud man. A good man. But he deserved the truth, didn’t he? I’ve lied a long time, and ’tis a stranglin’ weight to bear. I got to thinkin’ how hard this must be on you—to come to a new place. But I see ye doing well for yourself. A governess in such a house.” She gazed around the room. “I wish you more happiness here than I had.”
Cassandra’s heart leapt again at the memory of the moment she had shared with James the previous evening. “Were you not happy here? I wasn’t sure, because...”
