Chapter Seven

The next few days were a flurry of activity. Among the various duties involved in the care of the children were numerous trips to the shops in the village to purchase sturdy boots, coats, mittens, and hats. Aaron could not resist bringing home a great many toys and games to amuse them, and Hannah went about purchasing a small library of books to provide for their pleasure and education. With Aaron’s encouragement, she placed orders for books that were not available in the tiny, musty shop in town, happily mulling over publishers’ catalogues for hours, making lists and altering them, and writing letters of inquiry.

Clara proved herself a kind and loving guardian, but after she had been in the house a week, the others noticed a circumstance that inclined them to speculate on whether she might be among them permanently. Hannah first heard of it from Katie in the following manner.

“Miss Winstead,” said Katie one morning as she dusted the parlor where Hannah was busy with her book catalogues.

“Yes, Katie?”

“Have you noticed what this new girl, Clara, has been about?”

Hannah set down her quill. “What do you mean?”

“I declare, Miss Winstead, everyone in this household is blind except meself. Have you not seen that herself, Clara that is, flirts outrageous with my brother?”

“Katie! I don’t believe that for a moment! Clara doesn’t seem the sort to flirt.”

“Well, then, she doesn’t flirt perhaps so much as she looks a certain way when he’s about. And she puts down her eyes and won’t meet his.”

“Indeed? It’s hard to see how she’s flirting if she won’t look at Corey.”

“Well, miss, I don’t know what ’tis then. All I know is that she looks at the floor and he turns red whenever they’re in the same room. And here’s something else…”

Hannah waited.

“She, Clara, told Bertie that Corey was the handsomest boy she ever set eyes on!”

“Corey is very handsome.”

“I suppose,” sniffed Katie. “He being me brother, ’tis hard for me to say.”

Although Hannah smiled to herself at the conversation, she found herself observing the two subjects of it and within a few days had to admit Katie was correct. There was a definite something between Clara and Corey. One rarely saw them say two words to each other, but when both were nearby, there was a strange sort of tension in the room.

Clara behaved herself perfectly; one could not find fault with her. Although she came of a poor, hard-working family, she had been well brought up. She was plainspoken but respectful, and she was fond of the little boys without attempting to take the place of their mother. She was friendly and cheerful with everyone in the household, but where she was chatty and self-confident in her conversations with Katie and Alberta, she spoke haltingly and blushed when exchanging pleasantries with their brother.

Mrs. Carne, surprisingly to Hannah, made no allusions at all to the pair. It appeared her son was not to be admonished against “sinful behavior” and “making a foolish match” the way her daughters were. Indeed, with two little boys running about, books and coats and toys to be thought of, and the busy concerns of the home, farm, and business to occupy all of them to different degrees, none had time to worry about two young people who blushed when speaking. Hannah’s thought was time will tell, and she dismissed it from her mind.

The Christmas season took them all by surprise with its rapid approach. Aaron took the boys out in the sleigh to fell a great pine for the parlor, and a merry family party took place on Christmas Eve. More snow fell that very night, preventing visits among the villagers, but Hannah and the servants entertained the little boys by helping them decorate the stately tree and teaching them Christmas carols. Hot-spiced wine was served, and all the servants gathered in the parlor to drink toasts and exchange gifts.

Hannah was too busy to think of how different this Christmas was from those she had experienced for many years at Pinley House. But when Clara took the children upstairs and she settled into an armchair to sip her wine, she looked about in amazement at the warm room with its bright fire, the happy faces of the assembly, and the proud, broad smile of Captain Clarke. “This,” she said to herself, “is the way a home should be, filled with laughter and noise and good cheer. How fortunate, how very fortunate, I am to be here!”

After the gaiety of Christmas was over and the household resettled into a pattern of normalcy, Hannah began teaching Aven to read. Although the child was only five, he was an intelligent, serious boy and very eager to learn. These sessions, short though they were, gave her some time alone with him and enabled her to know him better. While Andrew, at three, was little more than a baby and was rapidly forgetting he had had any life previous to the one in Captain Clarke’s household, Aven held memories of his mother and father and carried, Hannah soon learned, a great deal of pain over his father’s death.

One morning, after the lesson and while she was reading to him, he said, “Miss Winstead, where is your papa?”

Hannah looked at him in surprise. His earnest blue eyes were studying her face, and she realized that he must have been thinking of his own father. She closed her book and took his slender little hand in hers.

“Aven, my papa has gone to Heaven, just like yours.”

“Your papa died and went to Heaven?”

“Yes, he died when I was very young, younger than you.”

Aven took his eyes from hers and gazed into space, as if looking back into the past of his brief life. “My papa died. Clara told me.”

“Clara told you? Did not your mama tell you?”

“No, Clara told me, and I cried.”

“Of course you did, my love. When someone dies, it’s very sad. But you’re lucky in one way, for you were five years old when your papa died, and so you remember him. I was only three when both my mama and papa died, and so I have no memory of them. I have no picture to carry in my heart to make me feel they’re still close to me.”

“Do I have a picture of papa in my heart?”

“If you close your eyes, can you see his face?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have a picture of him in your heart, and you can keep it there all the days of your life.”

She took the little boy in her arms and rocked him gently. A slight noise made her look up. Aaron stood in the doorway.

“Forgive my interrupting,” he said. “When you’re free, will you come to my study?”

“Of course,” she replied. “Is something amiss?”

Aaron glanced at Aven and simply shook his head. He turned and left, gently closing the parlor door.

When Hannah entered the study a few minutes later, she found Aaron reading a paper that looked to be from a news journal. He laid it down, rose, and placed a chair for her.

“Hannah, I’ve received two interesting letters today, and both concern you, though in different ways.”

Some premonition made Hannah’s nerves jump a little, but she said nothing, only looking into his face as earnestly as little Aven had looked into hers.

“This letter,” he continued, picking up a sheet and laying aside the newsprint, “is from my cousin. Despite a rough voyage—to be expected this time of year—she has arrived safely in Bombay. You shall hear what she says.

My dear Aaron,

I hope that your Christmas was better than mine, for I spent it far from the comforts of home, for that matter far from any comforts at all! A hot, dank, crowded ship, baking under the cruel sun, is far different from a cozy parlor with a roaring fire. But I must not complain too much, lest you conclude that I regret my decision to leave Boston. I do not regret it. As you may have guessed, a man was involved. And such a man! An opium merchant, wealthy beyond anyone’s dreams! I refused to marry him until I had seen his estate in Bombay for one cannot be too careful, but I’m here now and it is glorious! We marry in a week’s time.

As to my children, although Jasper knows I’m a widow, he doesn’t know that I spawned two brats. He would not be pleased, and I have no intention of telling him. Therefore, my dear, the children are yours. I give you leave to adopt them, and you’re quite kind-hearted and foolish enough to do so. If you run into any legal difficulties in this matter, contact my barrister in Boston. He has all the information and permissions you will need.

Yours ever,

Anna

Hannah felt her face grow warm as she listened. To toss aside one’s children like extra baggage! It was unthinkable! Before speaking, however, she attempted to gain control of her emotions, for she must remember Anna was a woman whom Aaron had once loved.

“I will not pretend I’m not shocked,” she finally said haltingly. “But this letter is no great surprise to you, I’m sure.”

“No indeed,” he replied. “It’s exactly what I expected.”

“Do you intend to legally adopt the boys?”

“Yes. However, this may prove to be more difficult than my cousin believes. I can’t picture a judge granting an adoption in a case of a mother being alive and well. It goes against nature, to be sure.”

“Yes, I see what you mean, but is an adoption absolutely necessary?”

“No, perhaps not. But I fear Anna will change her mind in time and abruptly instruct me to send the boys to Bombay. Having no legal status, I would have no choice but to obey.”

“Oh dear, do you think that might happen?”

“No, actually, I don’t. I think in a year’s time she will barely remember their names, if indeed she remembers them now.”

Aaron rose and walked about the study, rubbing his tawny hair and thinking deeply. Finally, he sat next to her again. “Let’s put aside any further discussion of the children for now. I want to acquaint you with the contents of the other letter, which comes from my father.”

“Your father? How does his letter affect me?”

“I asked him to look into certain matters. One thing I didn’t tell you when we were discussing your life with the Godders is my father is a collector of news journals. He has kept each and every copy of the London Times since he was a boy. He loves printed matter of all kinds and has an extensive library, but he’s particularly fond of newspapers for he says one can read them and step back into the past.”

“I see,” said Hannah.

Aaron smiled at her earnest but slightly bewildered expression. “I asked my father to look at news items from the year 1830 to the present and send me any he thought could possibly relate to you, no matter how tenuous or far-fetched. I told him all the facts you told me, including the situation with Lord Earling. I hope you don’t mind; he’s very discreet.”

“No, of course not. I trust your judgment completely.”

“Thank you. Here is his letter to me.”

My dear boy,

Before I attempt to answer your many questions relating to Miss Hannah Winstead, I must first say your mother and I miss you greatly and look forward to your voyage home next summer. You must stay with us longer this time.

And now on to the mysterious Miss Winstead. These are the facts you sent me, condensed: Miss Winstead was born in London on March 10, 1821. At some point, she journeyed with her parents to India, where her father was in business with Mr. Godder. The Winsteads died in 1824 during a cholera epidemic, and Hannah was taken out of India by the Godders. Unable to locate relatives of the child, the Godders reared her themselves, telling her when she was old enough to understand that her parents’ property had been lost and she was penniless. Hannah had a kind governess when she was a child, a governess who committed some sort of indiscretion and disappeared somehow or other. At age seventeen, Hannah ran away to avoid a forced marriage and was abetted by my foolish son (this last is a jest, dear boy!).

I wrote to my solicitor in London and had him do some research there. In particular, I wanted to find a record of Hannah’s birth. There was none. Is Miss Winstead sure she was born in London?

I combed all journals relating to the years Hannah resided at Pinley House. There was an article about the disappearance of a young governess living in the Godder household. I enclose it for your perusal.

I am attempting to gather information on Lord Earling but have nothing to report as yet. I strongly suspect, as you do, that Miss Winstead does indeed have some property in India and that Earling and the Godders were attempting to bring about a marriage in order to get their hands on it. I set Williams to work corresponding with the East India Company to see if some information about Hannah’s parents could be gathered that way.

Of course, the easiest way to obtain more information would be to ask the Godders. They can’t force Hannah to marry Lord Earling, despite what they told her, so there’s no need for her to fear them. And I do think someone should inform them of Hannah’s whereabouts. They did bring her up, after all, and must be entitled to some consideration.

Hannah will be eighteen in March—an age generally accepted to be the onset of full adulthood—and will then be in no danger of being snatched back to England by the Godders. I suggest you wait until her birthday has passed and then have her write to the Godders and ask very specific questions about her background. If they’re hesitant to give information, it may be that they have something to hide.

When you come to England in the summer, I’m sure that Gabriel would be happy to ride over to Pinley House with you and help you assess the situation. I admit I’m curious about these Godders. They must be quite fearsome to have frightened their poor ward into dashing off in the middle of the night. She was extremely fortunate to fall into the hands of a gentleman and not some blackguard!

Oh, one other thing, my dear Aaron. I have instructed Williams to locate and question, if possible, the mother of this governess, Miss Dawkins. I will write as soon as something has been learned.

Take care, dear boy.

Your loving father,

Gerald Clarke

Hannah looked intently at Aaron as he laid down the letter.

“This seems to indicate that I have been deceived. Good lord, I don’t even know who I am or where I was born!”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Hannah. There may be explanations for all these things.”

“May I see the articles your father sent?”

“Of course.”

Aaron handed her the yellowed sheets. The first was titled “Scotland Yard Dismisses Missing Governess Case.” Hannah scanned the words quickly.

Sir Warren Lewis, director of Scotland Yard, announced that the Yard is discontinuing its search for Miss Eliza-Jane Dawkins, a governess at Pinley House near Richmond, who disappeared in early January. Sir Warren informed the members of the journalistic corps that there was no reason to suspect foul play. According to Miss Dawkins’ employers, Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove Godder, the young lady had taken up an indiscreet liaison with a member of a roving band of actors and had likely run off with the troupe.

Sir Lewis read a letter from Mrs. Jonathan Dawkins, widowed mother of the young lady, begging Scotland Yard to continue the search. He expressed his sorrow that his inspectors could no longer be spared to find a runaway girl, and he hoped the widow Dawkins would soon receive a letter from her daughter stating her whereabouts.

Hannah laid the article on the table and looked at Aaron. His eyes met hers.

“What do you make of this?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible that she ran away, but…”

“But it doesn’t seem likely?”

“I was only twelve, so I suppose I wasn’t in the best position to judge her character. But she was so very pleasant and kind! I simply can’t believe she’d run away without taking leave of me. And what actor did she run away with? I don’t remember a troupe of actors performing in the village at that time. Actors usually stay in London in the winter.”

“Yes, and Godder would know that, so why would he tell a story that might raise doubts?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps his story was true.”

“Let’s say for a moment that it was not true. If Godder was going to tell Scotland Yard Miss Dawkins ran away with a man, what better man than an actor, for how could he possibly be traced?”

“Very true. If it were any other man, a good police inspector could find and question him. But an actor who is part of a troupe could be anywhere.”

“Yes, and might not even use the same name.”

“But,” Hannah stammered, “why would Mr. Godder make up a story about Miss Dawkins in the first place?”

“That’s the question, indeed.”

Aaron paced the study and then seated himself in a leather chair a distance away.

“Hannah, did you ever notice anything in Miss Dawkins’ behavior toward Mr. Godder, or in his toward her, that hinted of some sort of relationship between them?”

“No, nothing. I remember one rather odd event, but I don’t see how it would relate to her disappearance.”

“What was it?”

“One morning, shortly after we had begun our lessons, she closed her book and said she wanted to speak with me on an important subject. She hemmed and hawed, choosing her words very carefully, and I don’t remember those words exactly. She said something such as, ‘Dear Hannah, I’m going to give you a name to remember and whatever happens, I implore you to remember it.’ ”

Aaron leaned forward in his chair. “Please tell me you remember it…”

“No, I don’t. Miss Dawkins disappeared just a few days later, and I had not written the name anywhere. I was so distressed by the turn of events, by the time I remembered the odd thing she had said to me, the name had vanished from my memory.”

Once again Aaron paced the study, rubbing his head. Hannah watched him and as she did, a strange sensation came over her. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

“Good God!” she cried suddenly. “She knew something about me! Miss Dawkins had learned something about my past and then…she vanished!”

Aaron sat next to her. “Hannah, you must try to remember that name. Was it an English name? Did it sound familiar to you when you first heard it? Was the name preceded by any sort of title? Was it a man’s name or woman’s?”

Hannah closed her eyes. “It was a woman’s name, English. A simple name. If it had been unusual, I might have remembered it, but it was a plain name…Mary Brown…or Jane Smith…something like that.”

“Was there a title? Miss or Mrs. or Lady?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Will you try to remember it? Tonight, when you retire to bed, think about the morning in question. Picture the room and Miss Dawkins. Try to remember the book you were reading, the expression on Miss Dawkins’ face, everything. Perhaps you’ll then dream of the event. Memories that stubbornly elude us in the day can emerge in a dream.”

“Yes, I’ll try. But what on earth could Miss Dawkins have learned? And how?”

“The question I’d like answered is, how did what she learned relate to her disappearance?”

“And I’d like to know where she is and whether she’s safe and well. I fear she’s not. I fear it greatly.”

Aaron took her hand and rubbed it absently between his. “I fear it too.”