Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hannah bent her head once more to the manuscript.

The next morning, Winstead did not appear for breakfast. The servants found him in the courtyard, hanging over the pool and vomiting. Harry ordered the carriage to be sent to town for the physician immediately.

We had the servants take Winstead to bed. They did not want to touch him, but Harry threatened to call an overseer. This frightened them more than the sickness, and they placed him between cool linen sheets in his chamber. I gingerly touched his forehead, but it did not feel hot. Instead it felt cold, but the poor man’s body was shaking as if with fever. Harry and I stayed with him and tried to ease his suffering with cool cloths placed on his forehead.

By the time the physician arrived, Winstead was dead.

After the burial of poor Winstead, Harry consulted with the overseers as to the care of the little girl and the management of the plantation. The head overseer, a German named Gunther Helm, knew the name of Winstead’s attorney. Harry sent for him, and he authorized Winstead’s study to be searched for a will or other instructions.

Winstead had left his important papers in a neat pile on his desk. A will left everything to his daughter. A codicil to the will explained the child was to be reared in England by her guardian, Mr. Hargrove Godder. A sum of five thousand pounds would be sent annually to the guardian until the child had reached the age of eighteen. At that time, she must present proof of her identity to Mr. Charles Smythe, the attorney, or in case of his demise, a person of his naming. The proof would consist of two things: the attached letter written from Winstead to his daughter WITH THE SEAL UNBROKEN, and another item known only to Mr. Smythe or his named agent. All proceeds from the plantation, above and beyond those to be sent to England each year, were to be placed in an account for the child.

Harry’s joy at this turn of events was barely containable. In public, he was Hargrove Godder, very grave and properly grief-stricken. In private, he was Harry Peckham, dancing about and chortling over his great good luck.

I wish I could say I behaved better than Harry, but the thought of having five thousand pounds per year made me nearly wild with joy. I was eager to take a ship back to England and begin my new life as a gentlewoman.

“Oh, Harry!” I cried. “We can get a posh townhouse in London! I can help my mum out and get a tutor for my brother!”

Harry turned toward me with a look of astonishment. “If you think one penny of this money is going to your slatternly mother, you’re much mistaken!”

“But Harry—”

“Molly, I know you can’t help being a stupid cow, so listen carefully to what I say. We can’t live in London; we’d be recognized. We can’t be gentlefolk, can we, if everyone on the street knows us. We’ll settle somewhere in the country, and your mum will never know you’re alive.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Yes, you’re right, of course.”

“And, mind, don’t be sneaking off to see your mum. Because if I find out you did, I’ll make your last beating seem like a stroll down Drury Lane.”

“Yes, Harry.”

“How old is the brat?”

“What? The child? She’s three.”

“That means we’ve fifteen years to figure out how to get our hands on the plantation. Meanwhile, we can live well on five thousand pounds per annum…aye, very well indeed.”

Hannah, I must now leap ahead with my story. For nine years, we lived in Pinley House, and you were tutored by Eliza-Jane Dawkins. Then, suddenly, an unwelcome intrusion came into our lives—Lord Earling! He said terrible things to Harry, accusing him of having murdered Mr. Winstead. I didn’t believe any of it until Earling told us the slave called Annie Maine had seen Harry pour a powdery substance into Winstead’s port the night before the poor man fell ill and died.

Earling said he had had his suspicions about us, and his purpose in calling at Highland that long ago day was to warn Winstead. He had told Annie Maine to keep on the lookout and let him know if anything untoward occurred. After Winstead’s death, she had told him what she saw. It took him several years to find us.

Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. I realized during those terrible days that deep inside I’d known Harry was somehow responsible for Winstead’s death. By asking us to be the guardians of his daughter, Winstead had condemned himself to die!

I was sick at heart, but the worst was yet to come. While Earling and Harry were each trying to bargain with and bluff the other over the course of several weeks (for Earling had gambled most of his estate away and was in need of money), the little fool Eliza tried a trick of her own. I was fully aware she had succumbed to the false charm of my husband and that the two were sneaking about together in a sordid affair, but I didn’t care. Only the money kept me with Harry. Eliza thought me a devoted wife, and I did nothing to disabuse her of that false notion.

During her free time, Eliza would wander about the house trying to come upon Harry and steal a kiss in some dark hallway. One evening, she crept toward the library, apparently thinking Harry was in there alone. But Earling was with him, and Eliza stopped outside the partially open door, hid in the shadows, and listened. She heard Earling tell Harry he’d written to the authorities in Barbados telling them he’d located a man he believed to be the murderer of Edward Winstead. Further, he said the letter was in safe hands and would be mailed tomorrow morning if he, Earling, did not contact the bearer. He demanded money from Harry, and Harry had no choice but to give it. The dispute became heated, and enough was said for Eliza to put together the entire picture.

If the poor girl hadn’t gasped and given herself away, she might be alive today. But she did, and Harry caught her eavesdropping. He convinced her he was innocent, which was easy because she wanted to believe him.

Eliza went to her mother’s house for a visit, but she left Harry a note telling him she desired two things. When he showed me the note, I didn’t know what she meant, but Harry knew what she wanted: he should divorce me and marry her and tell you, Hannah, the truth about your origins. He said Eliza would tell somebody what she heard in the library if she didn’t get what she wanted.

I told Harry to write her a note saying she was dismissed and not to return to Pinley House, but this wasn’t good enough for him.

“Molly, if the chit Eliza starts telling tales about us,” Harry said, “you’ll be in as deep as me. You’ll hang with me, so don’t harangue me for taking care of the problem in me own way.”

The note from Eliza was somehow mislaid, which infuriated Harry even more. He wrote her a reply full of lies and promises and begged her to meet him at an inn outside London. She did, and no one ever saw her again.

To satisfy Earling, who was a much more canny and clever extortionist than poor lovesick Eliza, Harry had to give up a third of our income. This bought us four more years of peace and a sort of contentment, but then one evening we chanced to see Earling at a private ball. He hadn’t seen you, Hannah, since you were a three-year-old child, and suddenly there you were, a sixteen-year-old beauty, bewitching in your youth and innocence. Earling was struck by the resemblance in nature of you to your mother, and he, having lost her, fell in love with you!

Harry was elated, for now he had a bargaining chip worth its weight in gold! He and Earling, after much negotiation, agreed that Earling would forego future payments if you married him. Further, they agreed that the plantation, when once belonging to Earling as your husband, would be shared between them. They agreed to hold off on the marriage until you were seventeen and that much closer to the year named in your father’s will as the time of your inheriting the property.

It took every trick we could muster to force you to agree to marry Earling, and then—just when we thought all was safe—you confounded us by running away. Earling in his rage blamed Harry, and he sent his threatened letter to Barbados. Harry and I took what money we could lay our hands on and fled.

Hannah laid down the last sheet and rose.

“I can’t sit here. I must move about and breathe fresh air.”

Parton gathered the sheets of paper and helped her to the gig. They trotted slowly about the city while Hannah struggled to compose herself.

She had been reared by her father’s murderer! Dear God, it was too horrible!

The hour was becoming late, and Parton unwillingly turned the tired horse toward the Wilson residence. They rode in silence, for Hannah’s mind was too full for speech. Her father…her dear father…and Eliza-Jane Dawkins, her friend and devoted teacher! Both had fallen prey to the cruelty of Harry Peckham!

She shuddered when she remembered how close she had come to marrying Lord Earling. He was very little better than Harry!

Parton drove on, glancing at her now and then. By the time they drew up under the Georgian façade of the Wilson home, Hannah was calm. Her thoughts were clear, and she knew exactly what she had to do.

She must journey to Barbados.

****

Hannah was delayed by fittings and discussions with seamstresses the next day, although her whole heart was with Mrs. Godder, or Molly, as she now thought of her. Hannah’s mind formulated question after question that only Molly could answer. She moved through the obligatory demands of her day as rapidly as possible, but it was well past teatime when she finally stepped from a cabriolet in front of the Charles Building, hastily paid the driver, and walked quickly through the lobby.

A short time before Hannah’s arrival, Molly had been dozing. When she awoke and saw the lateness of the hour, she called for the nurse to ask if Miss Winstead had sent a message. The nurse did not answer.

“Gone out,” she muttered to herself, “but Hannah will soon be here.”

Molly closed her eyes but opened them quickly at the sound of the door. She was about to call, “Hannah…?” but something about the furtiveness of the sound stopped her. She lay still, her heart pounding with fear.

Then came the sound of soft footsteps, and Molly prayed the nurse was walking softly so as not to awaken her. But her hopes were destroyed when a figure appeared in the doorway—a male figure—Harry!

“Molly, my love! Ye’ve been damned hard to locate in this hellhole of a city!”

“Harry, what are you doing here? I thought you were off to England. You said—”

“Shut up!”

Harry sat on the bed and looked at his wife. “Dyin’, are ye? No more fancy Mrs. Godder of Pinley House, eh?”

“No.”

“I have news for you, Molly, my love. I retrieved the letter.”

“Do you mean Winstead’s letter to Hannah? How did you get it?”

“How did I get it, ye ask? Well, Earling had it, as you well know! So first we had tea together, and then I said, ‘Lord Earling, if you please, I’d like to have the letter from Edward Winstead to his daughter.’ ” Harry leaned over so his face was close to hers. “How do ye think I got it, Molly? I stuck my dagger in the fool’s neck and took it, that’s how!”

Molly gasped. “Harry!”

“I had to do ’im in! He set the dogs on me over Winstead and the chit Eliza Dawkins.”

Molly said nothing. A cold shiver of fear was working its way through her spine. She tried to glance past Harry to watch for the nurse, but he blocked her view with his wiry body.

“What are you going to do? How will you escape?”

“The same way I always do, Molly, my dearie. I’ll become some other bloke. But I’ve a little chore to do first.”

“What is that, Harry?” she whispered, dreading the answer.

“I must find Hannah Winstead, my love. She done me dirt, and she’ll pay for it.”

“Harry, no! Hannah did nothing to you! We wronged her, ’twas not she who wronged us!”

“Shut up, Molly! You always were the stupidest doxy what ever lived!”

Molly shut her eyes. She was too weary to fight him.

“There’s a young woman of my acquaintance, Molly, and she’s got red hair just like Hannah. Oh, she’s far smarter than you, Molly, and she’ll be a damned more prosperous wife. Once I get rid of Miss Hannah, Judith will become Hannah. Off we’ll go to Barbados with the letter, and before you can say ‘Presto!’ the plantation will belong to Hannah and her husband.”

“Harry…no!”

“Now, Molly, my dear, I have a question for you. Something tells me you know where Hannah is. I spent a fair time in the village of Mystic mucking about with me fiddle, and I nearly had the pleasure of seeing her hang! But then she vanished.” He took Molly’s hand and squeezed it until she winced. “I heard it said she went to Boston, and I thought, ‘Dear Molly’s in Boston…she’ll help her beloved husband find little Miss Winstead.’ ”

“Harry,” whispered Molly, thinking desperately, “I will help you, truly! The gentleman what’s keeping me here told me…Hannah left Boston and returned to the village! She…married the sea captain, the bloke that stole her away from us…married him…and went back to England.”

Harry peered at her, taking in her pasty skin and flittering eyes.

“If ye’re lying, Molly…”

“Not lying, Harry!”

Harry stared at her for what seemed an age to Molly. If Hannah entered, he would kill both of them. Finally, he rose, and Molly let out the breath she’d been holding, coughing from the effort.

“My opinion, dear Molly, is you’re too stupid to concoct such a tale, and even if you could dream it up, you’re too cowardly to lie to old Harry, eh?”

Molly nodded, praying silently that he’d leave.

“Well, then, Judith and I’ll be off to bloody England! But, Molly, love, I wouldn’t want to be a bigamist, now would I?”

Molly’s eyes opened in terror as his meaning sank in. She tried to scream, but he seized a pillow and jammed it tightly over her face. Laughing at her flailing limbs, Harry held the pillow firm until Molly’s body slumped back and the thrashing stopped. He placed the pillow carefully on the bed, lifted Molly’s arms and put them at her side, straightened her hair and nightdress, and covered her with the linen coverlet. He listened carefully for a moment and then slipped from the suite and exited the building through a back door.

****

When Hannah arrived, the nurse—a woman who had seen death many a time—was washing the body. After the first shock of learning Molly had died, Hannah willingly assisted her. Together, they dressed Molly in a fine gown, brushed her hair, and sent a messenger to summon the undertaker.

At the end of the trying day, Hannah rode wearily home. It was dark and bitterly cold, and she felt unbearably saddened by Molly’s death. Molly, besides being the woman whose kindness had been Hannah’s saving grace in a household dominated by Harry, had been the link between herself and her parents. Now the connection was gone, ripped away with so many questions unanswered.

Hannah gazed out at the cold night, with thin snow beginning to fall. Many others in the town of Boston faced troubles worse than hers, and she admonished herself against self-pity. When the cab reached the Wilson home, she gave the driver extra coins.

“I pray you, take a hot drink to prevent a chill. And give your horse extra grain and cover him well. Will you do these things?”

“Thankee, ma’am,” he replied. That was all the answer Hannah received. As the cab rattled away, she entered the house, her heart oppressed by sadness.

****

Hannah opened her eyes slowly, sensing a change in the morning light filtering through the draperies. It was a strong spring light, she realized, and the room was warm. Although it was only the middle of March, suddenly this morning felt as though the long cold winter were finally over. Soon daffodils and tulips would glow in every garden throughout the city.

Hannah rose, pulled on her dressing gown, and threw back the draperies. Indeed, the sun was full out, and a red robin hopped cheerfully about on the lawn below. Buds swelled on the trees, and crocuses bravely bloomed by the carriage house.

Spring! How she adored it! Her thoughts went back to her first spring at River’s Edge, and from there, irretrievably, to Aaron. She sighed. The pain was softer now, but it still remained, ready to catch at her heart when she least expected it.

A maid knocked and, at Hannah’s bidding, entered. She gave Hannah a letter and curtsied out.

It was from Julia. Hannah settled into her cozy wing chair and tore it open.

Mystic, March 11, 1841

Dearest Hannah,

I have much to tell you, but first I want to say I received a note from Lorelei yesterday. She wrote her friends are very unhappy because you’re taking no more orders for gowns! The reason given, according to my cousin, is you don’t intend to remain much longer in Boston. Lorelei said you were very coy about your plans, but she’s quite certain they involve a certain handsome Mr. Parton!

You’ve been very silent on the subject of Mr. Parton, Hannah! But when you hear my news, you might perhaps accuse me of coyness also, so I won’t berate you.

Two weeks ago, my father was delighted to receive Mr. Gabriel Clarke, who had arrived back in New York just a few days before. After paying his respects to my mother and father—and myself, of course—Mr. Clarke went immediately to see the Carne family. There was much joy among the Carnes to see him, as you can well imagine. Mr. Carne being now a gentleman farmer, there seemed no objection to mingling socially, and we had several merry parties together, during which Mr. Clarke told us of his adventures.

As you know, Alberta is now married to Farmer Morley’s son Isaac, and he’s an agreeable man. They seem quite happy. Katie swears she’ll never wed, but Mr. Carne mentioned Parson Gibson, the new curate, and Katie blushed very red! Corey and Clara’s little daughter, Hannah Rose, is plump and dimpled, the image of her mother. Mr. Oliver Brockton was present also and asked to be remembered to you. I heard from Mrs. Gibbons he has been seeing a great deal of Eleanor Whitley, but you know what a gossip Mrs. Gibbons can be!

Mr. and Mrs. Carne are well and would like very much to see you. They understand, however, visiting Mystic might be too unbearably painful for you. Mr. Carne insisted I tell you Blaze is fat and content. Corey plans to put little Hannah Rose on him when she’s of an age to learn to ride.

But now I come to my point, Hannah dear. One evening Mr. Clarke called rather surprisingly late, and we all sat in the parlor—my mother, my father, Mr. Clarke, and me. Little was said for a few minutes, but then Mr. Clarke suddenly stood up and announced in a rather loud and high voice, “Mayor Middleburg, I want to marry your daughter!”

We were all shocked into silence. We simply stared at him. Then, foolish girl that I am, I ran from the room. He ran after me, catching me up at the bottom of the stairs.

“Miss Middleburg!” he called. “Don’t run away, I beg you!”

“How could you say such a thing to my father,” I demanded, “when you have never proposed to me?”

“Will you marry me?” he cried hastily.

“Yes!” I replied.

We stood there looking at each other, quite the pair of fools, but when one is in love, it’s very difficult to think rationally. Somehow or other, I found myself in his arms, but our embrace was very brief for, of course, Mama and Papa rushed in, having heard everything!

I’m sure you’re laughing by now, Hannah!

Our engagement is to be announced tomorrow. We’ll marry in the summer and travel to England to see his mother and father. That will be bittersweet for me, as it means meeting with Maria. I’ll never forgive her for what she did to you, but as Gabriel’s sister-in-law, she has a claim to politeness.

Gabriel had earlier received a letter from his brother; it was waiting for him in New York when he arrived after his voyage of exploration. Aaron wrote to tell him Maria is with child.

Dearest Hannah, I very much hope I can prevail on you to come to Mystic for my wedding. Please write and say yes!

Your loving friend,

Julia

Hannah lay the letter down, slowly sank back in her chair, and gazed into space. Maria was with child. The pain of the words could scarcely be borne, yet it must be borne. Maria would have Aaron’s child…while she…

Hannah took a deep breath and picked up the letter. She must not dwell upon that one line. She must rejoice at the happiness of Julia and Gabriel.

Would love find her as well? Mr. Parton had certainly been attentive, and she liked him very much. But whenever her imagination wandered into matrimony, her intractable mind would return to the barn in the thunderstorm and her body would shiver with the memory of Aaron’s hot lips on hers as their passion overwhelmed them. Could she allow another man…?

Perhaps some day…

But not yet.

****

In early May, Hannah finished the gowns her various written agreements had obligated her to. Despite a quiet entreaty from Beatrice to design and sew her wedding gown, Hannah had refused. She liked Beatrice exceedingly, but her whole heart was bent in one direction: she must journey to Barbados. She must see the place of her birth and visit her parents’ graves. If she could claim what remained of her estate, she would do so, but she did not hold much hope of that, for she did not possess the letter from her father. She longed to see the words he’d written, but she felt certain the letter was now in the hands of Harry Peckham. Without Molly to assist her, she had not the least idea how to find him.

Hannah had not confided in the Wilson family. Connard’s engagement had been followed by Lorelei’s to a business associate of her father, and Hannah had not wanted to intrude on their gaiety with her own problems. She spoke to Mr. Parton, however, of her intention, and one evening he surprised her by stating he wanted to accompany her whenever she made a firm plan to travel.

She was busily sewing, but at his words she looked up.

“That’s very kind of you,” she replied with a smile, “but it won’t do. Your mother would not be pleased at your traveling in the company of a single lady. She would never consent to such a scheme.”

“You’re correct, of course, but it’s not always necessary for my mother to know every detail of my existence.”

Hannah had allowed the subject to drop. As much as she respected and trusted Mr. Parton, she had no intention of traveling with him. Such a circumstance would be extremely awkward, and she feared it would obligate her to him in a manner she did not wish to accept.

With these thoughts in mind, Hannah quietly made her own plans. She drew her funds from the banking establishment where she had carefully acquired a modest sum, and she arranged for passage to the Caribbean. To cover the awkwardness of traveling alone, she informed the captain of the Hellebore she had recently lost both parents and was going to live with a cousin in Barbados.

She excused the fib to herself as a necessary breach of honor under the circumstances.

On May 15, Hannah rose at dawn and wrote two letters. The first was for her friends the Wilsons, and she shed a few sad tears as she penned it.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wilson,

I beg you to forgive me for leaving with no notice. I did not want to confide in you earlier for fear you’d suffer anxiety on my account that might diminish the happiness of all of you during this wonderful period of your lives.

I learned from my former guardian my parents are buried on the island of Barbados, and there may be some estate remaining for me to claim. I’m sailing this morning on the Hellebore, and I’ll write you as soon as I arrive in Bridgetown.

Please accept my profound gratitude for allowing me to share your happy home for the past year and a half. I can’t express how much it has meant to me and how deeply I love and esteem all of you.

Pray deliver the letter hereunder to Mr. Elias Parton with my affection and best wishes.

Yours with love and gratitude,

Hannah

Composing the second letter caused her to sigh with regret, but she knew the correct action was to release herself from any further expectation on the part of Mr. Parton.

Dear Mr. Parton,

When you receive this letter, I’ll be at sea on my way to Barbados. I could not accept the compliment of your offer to accompany me; surely you can see as clearly as I such an undertaking would not have been fair or just to your mother. If the knowledge of our traveling together became public, it could threaten your mother’s position in Boston society. Although such a circumstance seems unimportant to you now, your feelings may be different in the future.

I’ll be forever grateful to you for your kind assistance with poor Mrs. Godder and for your warm companionship. I wish you every manner of good things in life—a loving marriage, healthy children, and the continued enjoyment of your many friends.

Pray give my best regards to your mother.

Goodbye,

Hannah

Hannah placed the letters on a side table in the hall, picked up her valise, and slipped quietly down the staircase of the elegant residence. Before exiting into the warm spring morning, she walked slowly into the parlor, taking in the soft gold and cream of the appointments and storing a visual memory of each object in the room.

She had arrived in Boston deeply unhappy, grieving for a love that could never be hers, but time, honest labor, and the loving companionship of friends had softened the pain. Now she must say farewell to this peaceful interlude and journey to a strange island—to seek a past life she could not even recall.

Now she must seek the final truths.