Peggy had been fortunate enough to secure herself a ride on a hay cart that delivered her nearly two-thirds of the way to the gamekeeper’s cabin on the Whitefall grounds. She had not wanted to beg a ride of Miss Nora as the main lane into the estate took a different path, and she had not wanted to explain why she would be making such a strange excursion to visit people with whom she had no acquaintance. Despite their budding friendship, the truth of the reason for her appearance in Riversbend was not something that she had divulged to Miss Nora.
After it was all settled, and she was leaving with her son at her side, everyone would learn the news. But until that time when Adam had been made aware, she kept her cards close to her chest. She hated the thought that the issue would soon become the talk of the town, but there was little avoiding that in such a close-knit community. People would wonder where the boy had gone, and the truth would be told, gossip likely spread in their wake. So long as she had her son, and so long as the mutterings remained in the remote corner of England, she had little to fear.
It took her one-half hour to walk the final stretch to the cottage. It was easy enough to find as she followed the path along the winding fence through the dense forest until it opened into the clearing that she remembered so vividly from the other day.
The cottage looked the same. It was neat and homely, with smoke coming from the chimney that promised that someone was within. She thanked her fortunes for that.
Peggy rapped her knuckles upon the door thrice and held her breath while she waited for it to be opened. Martha, the young girl who was often seen at her mother’s—adoptive or no—side opened the door with a look of confusion.
“What is it child?” a voice called from within.
“It’s a lady,” Martha called back over her shoulder.
Peggy began to shake her head, but Mrs. Finch was already making her way to the door while wiping her hands upon a stained apron.
“The main house is up the way,” Mrs. Finch began. “I’d offer for my husband or sons to drive you, but they are out. If you’d like to wait, Martha can run—”
“I’m not lost,” Peggy said before the woman could continue or before she lost her nerve. “I’m here to see you, Mrs. Finch.”
The woman narrowed her eyes and looked Peggy up and down, from her fine gown to her trembling hands, and nodded. “Go upstairs, child,” she instructed the girl. “Leave us to talk.”
Martha scuttled away, but not without casting a curious look over her shoulder.
“Come in,” Mrs. Finch said as she turned and headed toward the kitchen. “All the way up, Martha! I can hear you on the stair.” A few more steps clomped upward and then a door closed above. Peggy smiled a bit to herself. The women certainly did have a way with mothering.
Peggy followed Mrs. Finch into the kitchen. It was bright and airy with a door thrown open to the back of the house to let out the heat that was billowing from the small stovetop in the corner. There were several cups of flowers on the windowsill in various states of wilting, scraggly bouquets that could only have been plucked by children and placed with pride on display by Mrs. Finch for however long they might last.
“Mrs. Finch, I am sorry for the intrusion,” Peggy began, her voice quivering though, and she begged it to hold steady. It would not. “I’ve come a long way to meet with you. To meet with…” She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. Mrs. Finch pulled out a chair at the worn wooden table and sat, indicating for Peggy to do the same. She did. “I’ve come because…” she tried once more.
“You’re Adam’s mother.” Mrs. Finch declared with a face that gave away none of her thoughts. “I see the resemblance.” She was assessing Peggy, taking her measure, and Peggy could not tell if she would meet with approval or fall short.
She nodded. “I’ve… been away.” Peggy cleared her throat. “Not by choice.” Her words were lost. Her breath escaped her, but Peggy knew she must continue. She had to make it clear that she had not abandoned Adam, even if it meant baring her soul, her traumas, to this woman she did not know. “I was held. Against my will. For four years. It was only after that that I learned that my son, who I love very much, was…” Her voice cracked again and failed her. This was not going as she had imagined. Not at all.
“Was given to me,” Mrs. Finch finished for her.
Again, Peggy nodded. “I come here today to ask you, to beg you, to transfer him back into my care.”
“That simple, is it?” Mrs. Finch asked crossing her arms over her ample bosom. There was a tone that bristled in her voice. At first Peggy was taken aback, but she reminded herself that Mrs. Finch had come to love and care for the boy as her own. She had every right to be leery, to have concern of the woman before her. In the same way that Peggy had wanted to protect Adam from whatever life might have burdened him with, Mrs. Finch now felt the urge to protect him as well. Even if that meant protection from his own mother.
“No, it could never be that simple,” Peggy suppressed a sob. “I know that. I’ve seen you with him these past days. Seen that you love him and care for him. Seen that he loves you.”
“I do. But he’s your son,” Mrs. Finch stated with cool reality.
“Yes,” Peggy whispered.
There were tears in the woman’s eyes, though she was too strong to allow them to fall in front of her guest. Right or wrong, whatever happened, someone’s heart would break this very day. And Peggy hated that she had to do this to this poor woman who had been unable to bear children of her own, who had taken such care with Peggy’s child when she could not. For that, she would forever be thankful, but she wanted Adam at her side, needed him.
“I have a letter from a solicitor in London that explains everything.” She pulled the thick envelope from her pocket and slid it across the table to Mrs. Finch, who placed her hand over it but did not open it. Peggy had been hesitant to divulge too much of her sordid tale to people that she did not know for fear that they might use it to tarnish her newly restored reputation or twist it in ways that were not consistent with the truth. But Mr. Crowley had found a way to describe Peggy’s imprisonment, release, and the following trials that convicted those responsible in such a way as made the matter clear that she had not abandoned her son and still maintained as much of her treasured privacy as possible.
Finally, the woman flipped the envelope over with aching slowness, as if she knew she had to read the contents but wished it were not so. She cracked the seal.
The sound of a wagon out front and cheerful male voices had both women’s heads snapping toward the window. Then, their eyes returned to one another with alarm. It was too soon. There had not been enough time to talk, to explain. To come to an agreement. Peggy felt a cold sweat break out all over her body. She needed more time. As often as she had tried to prepare herself, she did not feel ready.
Oh, how much easier it would have been if she could have hated Mr. and Mrs. Finch. How devastating it was to crush another family just to repair her own. Yet, for Adam, she must. He needed to know how much she loved him. He needed to know that he was the thing that had kept her safe and sane all those years of torment. And she needed him. She had seen little good in this world, save her son. He had been the sole light in her darkness, the one person that she lived for. The one person she loved more than anything else. She could not lose him.
“Martha!” Mrs. Finch shouted up to the ceiling. “Go outside and tell the boys you can all wait out there. And send your father in!”
The sound of the front door slamming meant that Martha had scurried along to do her mother’s bidding. A short while later, the slow, heavy sound of grown male boots entered the house, and Mr. Finch made his way to the kitchen.
“George…” Mrs. Finch stood, giving her husband one deep nod. “She’s here. This is…” Mrs. Finch turned to Peggy with a furrowed brow, and they both realized that they had not actually been properly introduced.
“Peggy Williams.” Peggy stood and offered a nod.
“I see,” the gamekeeper said in a voice that was a deep and soothing timbre. He stepped through the doorway but seemed unsure of what to do next. His eyes remained locked on his wife’s, and they seemed to be able to speak without talking. For so long they stood in silence, and yet Peggy swore it was as if they had shared an entire conversation that she had not been privy to in that time.
The door to the cabin slammed open, and a small form raced in. Peggy turned to see Adam with tears in his eyes.
“It’s not true!” he shouted.
“Adam, deary,” Mrs. Finch began, but the boy was too worked up to listen.
“That isn’t my mother!” he cried. “You said she was dead! You said so!”
“We thought she was,” Mrs. Finch began again, stepping forward to brush a consoling hand over his hair only to have him jerk away as if scalded.
“It’s not true!” he repeated. He turned toward Peggy who was staring, open mouthed and with her heart in her throat. “You can’t take me away! I won’t go! I’ll run away. I’ll run away from all of you! My mother is DEAD!”
With that, he spun on his heels and raced out the door without even bothering to close it behind him. They all stood in silence as they heard the weeping boy arguing with the other two children as they chased after him. Mr. Finch slowly left the room, shut the door to the house, and returned without a word.
“Jemmy will bring him back,” he said when the women seemed too upset to speak.
“Martha must have been listening.” Mrs. Finch groaned. “I’m going to have to have a stern word with that girl, again.”
Peggy plunked into her chair, crestfallen. Not only had that not gone as expected, but it had been worse than she could have ever imagined. He hated her, thought her an imposter, and there was no way that she could force him to come with her in that condition. It would only traumatize him more.
Mrs. Finch turned around and fiddled on the counter until she turned with three tumblers of amber liquid filled to the brim. She handed one to her husband, who threw it back in one gulp, and slid the other to Peggy. Mrs. Finch took a hearty drink, and Peggy, after some trepidation, did the same. The liquor burned and made her eyes water, but the sensation gave her something to focus on. She could not, would not, lose herself here.
“He thinks I died,” Peggy muttered after a long while. It was a possibility that she had considered. In her mind, however, Adam had been so pleased to find her alive that he had flung himself into her arms in relief. She certainly had not imagined the boy shouting at her as if she were an imposter attempting to steal him away for nefarious reasons.