by Martha Keyes
For the next three days, there was no opportunity for private conversation, occupied as they both were entertaining their guests.
Mrs. Cosgrove seemed to struggle remembering that she was no longer the mistress of Hazelhurst, and whenever she did remember it, she found occasion to express some veiled criticism or other about the way things were run.
While Mrs. Cosgrove struggled to leave things in the hands of her son and Anne, her husband seemed to have the opposite problem. When Anne attempted to question Mr. Cosgrove on one or two topics related to the estate, he was dismissive and uninformed. It was clear where Tobias had come by his attitude of noninterference toward the steward and why he seemed so unschooled in the particulars of Hazelhurst.
Isabel had attempted to head off her mother's criticisms as much as possible, but it wasn't until Tobias was present for one of his mother's less subtle attacks that anything changed.
"I find it very interesting that you have changed out the brocade curtains in the long corridor, Lady Anne. Of course, it is hardly to be wondered at that you should be ignorant of the best methods of running a household when your experience just prior to this"—she inclined her head, as though everyone might take her meaning without being more explicit—"was highly irregular. You are doing your best, I am sure." She had smiled at Anne, who had flushed up to the roots of her hair from both anger and embarrassment, wrestling with how to respond.
But Tobias had cut in. "Good heavens, Mama," he said with a humorless chuckle, "I should think that, between the two of you, you would be the one to do well in taking Anne's lead on the business of managing a household. When we arrived here, things were in such a state as could only shock someone who grew up in estates like Ingleburn or Ashworth Place, I'm sure."
Such a comment had successfully quelled Mrs. Cosgrove's criticism, and Anne sent her husband a grateful look across the table.
So it was with not a little relief that Anne sent off the Cosgroves a few days after their arrival. She was sad to see the Galbraiths depart and yet eager to return to the calmer routine she had found at Hazelhurst.
It was mere hours after their departure—and Tobias gone Anne knew not where—that an urgent knock sounded at the door. Her hands slowed in the midst of writing a letter, but she had confidence that she would be sought out if she was needed, so she continued scribbling to her sister-in-law Kate until Spears arrived.
He cleared his throat. "I am very sorry to disturb you, my lady, but there is a woman and child at the door."
Anne's brows drew together. Who could it be? Certainly Spears would have shown the woman in immediately if he had recognized her. Anne glanced at her butler's hands, clasped behind his back.
"Does she have a calling card?" Anne asked doubtfully.
"I think it unlikely," Spears said, "that she is in possession of calling cards, my lady. She looks to be in a state of great need."
Anne nodded. "You may fetch my coin purse and give her whatever you see fit, Spears." She turned back to her letter.
He cleared his throat again, and Anne turned back to him expectantly.
"The woman is very agitated, my lady. And she says she has some sort of written message—"
He was interrupted by the sound of a baby wailing, and Anne stood. "I shall come," she said, setting down her quill and following him from the room.
The draught coming through the doorway sent a shiver up Anne's arms when she arrived at the entry hall, piercing the thin muslin she wore so that she chafed her arms as she looked out at the woman on her doorstep.
It was little wonder Spears had been uncertain what to do. The woman looked like she had accidentally come to the main door of the house instead of the servants’ door. She wore a brown dress underneath a black cape, tied under her throat, and she wore a cap rather than a bonnet. Her face was pulled and distressed, but she was certainly a beauty.
The baby in her arms was wrapped up in a blanket, and she rocked him back and forth, shushing the baby's whimpering cries. Both mother and child had pink noses from the chilly, wind-swept air which periodically whipped into the house in small gusts.
Spears stood behind Anne, looking on with his hands still clasped behind his back. Anne leaned toward him, and he approached. "Fetch my coin purse, if you please," she said, and he bowed before departing.
Clearly the woman was in need, but Anne did not recognize her as one of the villagers. How she came to be standing at the door of Hazelhurst was a mystery.
"How may I help you, ma'am?" Anne said, her voice slightly drowned out by the gush of air that blew in. The skin on her arms and back prickled.
The woman continued her soft bouncing, covering her mouth to stifle a cough, but the baby's cries only became more urgent. The woman wrapped the blanket more tightly around the child, glancing at Anne, a frantic look in her eyes.
Anne motioned the woman to come inside, and she sent a look of genuine gratitude at Anne as she stepped into the entry hall.
Anne pulled the heavy wooden door closed against the wind, and the baby's cries echoed jarringly in the hall for a moment before becoming softer and less imperative.
Anne waited as the woman slowly stroked a finger from the baby's forehead down the bridge of his nose, the cries fading to whimpers and then to nothing.
"I am sorry, my lady," she said, glancing down at her baby whose eyes were now closed. "I had nowhere else to turn!"
"Forgive me," Anne said, "but are we acquainted?"
The woman shook her head, a slightly wary look in her eyes. "Not you and I, we aren't."
Anne raised her brows at this cryptic remark. Did Tobias know her perhaps?
The woman pulled a creased paper from within the folds of the baby's blanket, handing it to Anne with trembling fingers.
Anne took it from her, her eyes lingering on the woman for a moment before she opened it.
My love,
I have failed you again and cannot bear it any longer. I must leave before I am taken to gaol and tried. You and James must find a place to stay without delay, or else I fear you will be taken as well. I leave with you all the money that remains. Use it to purchase a seat on the Mail and go to this address:
Hazelhurst, Dorset
Lady Anne is mistress there. She has a kind heart and will not turn you away. With Anne, you are in good hands.
Kiss James for me, and give him my love.
All my love,
Nicky
Anne stared at the words, rereading them with wide, incredulous eyes. She looked up at the woman before her, unwilling to believe.
"My name is Louisa Hackett," she said in a raspy, failing voice as she watched Anne warily.
Anne willed her lungs to take in air, combatting the way her heart pounded and the way her chest began to rise and fall rapidly.
This was Anthony's wife. His real wife. And yet it seemed evident from the letter Anne held in her hand that Louisa Hackett hadn't any idea whose house she stood in—or what Anne's relationship with her husband was.
"Hackett. As in Nicholas?" She tried to keep her voice level, but it was strange to use the name. For so long after William had told her of Anthony's past, Anne had pictured his face, trying to see him as Nicholas Hackett rather than Anthony Haywood. But, try as she might, he would always be Anthony to her.
The woman nodded. "He is my husband."
Anne nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Questions and thoughts fluttered around chaotically in her head. Had Anthony left this woman in order to marry Anne? And then left Anne to return yet again to his wife?
"Is it true, my lady?" She indicated the note in Anne's hand with her head. "Will you take pity on us?" She glanced down at her baby, swallowing as her chin trembled slightly, and then met Anne's eyes again. "Is your heart as kind as he says?" She coughed again, and the baby shifted in her arms.
Anne stood speechless. How was she to respond to such an entreaty? And all from a woman ignorant that she stood before someone who had shared a roof, a l
ife, and a name—false though it proved to be—with her husband for months?
And what kind of audacity would lead him to send his wife and baby to Anne for help? To the woman he had married under false pretenses and then abandoned, without a word—without even a note like the one she held in her hand.
It was unfathomable to Anne, and her head spun. Nothing about it made sense. And yet the woman in front of Anne was so obviously genuine in her distress.
"We've nowhere to go," the woman pleaded. "They've chased us from our home, and we've no money—the last of it spent on the fare for the Mail coach."
Anne's eyes moved to the baby, his little hand grasping his mother's cape as he slept. She shut her eyes and breathed out slowly.
"Where is your husband, ma'am?" she said, swallowing down the nausea that accompanied the word husband. He had never been Anne's husband. Not really.
The woman's lip trembled. "I hardly know. He left us nigh on a year ago, with nary a word, but enough money to see us through for some time—come by through gambling, from all I could tell. And then he returned of a sudden a few months since, wishing to see his child." She smiled down sadly at the baby in her arms, but slowly her lips turned down at the ends, her chin trembling anew. "I fear that this time, he has left for good and with only enough money to bring me and the babe to you."
Anne clenched her eyes shut, seeing in the woman's despair some of her own hurt when Anthony had left her—to return to his baby, it seemed. And yet they were here in need of food and shelter. What had Anthony done with the enormous sum he had stolen off with when he left? How did he come to leave his wife and baby destitute when he had had such a sum at his disposal?
And to send his abandoned wife to the door of the woman he had duped and deceived so heinously, expecting her to take them in? It was beyond what anyone could expect of a woman who had endured what Anne had endured, surely. No one would blame her for turning them away.
The baby stirred, and Louisa made soft shushing noises until suddenly going into a fit of coughing. Anne watched with a worried brow as the coughing increased in intensity and violence, jostling the sleeping child.
Anne reached for the baby, and Louisa handed him off to her, her face red with exertion, her eyes just as red and watering.
The baby stirred more, and Anne swayed from side to side, saying, "Shh, shh." She swallowed and shut her eyes, seeing Anthony's features so obviously reflected back in the small face of the baby.
The baby gave a great sigh and settled into her arms, and Anne looked down on him with warring emotions. He was so small, so fragile, and so very innocent. He hadn't any notion what type of man his father was, the things he had done, the people he had hurt. He was pure, without fault or culpability.
And he had nowhere to go.
Louisa reached for him, thanking Anne, whose eyes followed the baby into his mother's arms.
As angry as she was at Anthony, as much as it stung and galled her to think of complying with his letter, Anne could not leave a helpless, innocent woman and baby to face the elements, abandoned and penniless.
Spears came up beside her, handing her the small coin purse she had sent him for. She thanked and dismissed him, turning back to Louisa, who was staring down at her baby with a deeply-creased brow.
Anne could give the woman the coin purse, sending her on her way, trusting that some kind soul would take them in and care for them. She would never have to see them again, never see such a tangible reminder of the way her husband had deceived her so fully.
But Anne knew herself too well to believe she was capable of such a thing. She would not forget this woman and her baby. She would wonder about them, fretting over whether she had done right, plagued with visions of the unhappy ends they might have met due to Anne's unwillingness to confront their pain and put aside her own pride.
But what could she do for them? Whatever charity Anne could find within herself for the woman and baby, the thought of harboring them in her home, with such a constant reminder of Anthony—it was unthinkable.
And what would Tobias think? Surely he would have something to say to such an arrangement.
But neither did Anne think he would wish her to forsake a woman and baby in distress. How that might change if he knew their identity, Anne couldn't say.
She sucked in a determined breath. She would consult with him over the matter when he returned. But for now, Louisa's cough needed attending to, and both mother and child could surely use a warm bath and some food. Those were things Anne felt completely able to arrange for, let the future bring what it might.
11
Tobias stopped short on the threshold of the drawing room. A stranger sat within, sipping from a cup of tea opposite Anne, who held a bundle of blankets in her arms, looking up as she heard the door open.
She stood carefully, moving to the stranger and transferring what Tobias now recognized as a baby into her arms. "I will return shortly, Louisa."
Anne approached Tobias, and he looked a question at her.
"Come, and I will explain," she said.
He followed her down the corridor and into the library, and she shut the door behind him.
Tobias sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, wondering what in the world Anne was about to say to him—what would lead her to seek a private audience with him rather than simply introducing him to the strangers in their home.
"I am so very glad you've come home," Anne said. "I need your wisdom."
Tobias smiled appreciatively. "I have plenty and to spare, of course. But pray tell what my wisdom has to do with the woman and infant you were with just now."
Anne clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers fiddling lightly. "They need our help, Tobias." She hesitated, scanning his face before continuing. "They've been abandoned and have neither food nor shelter. Louisa—she's the woman you saw—is ill, and the baby malnourished, I think."
Tobias frowned. "We must help them, of course. But how do they come to be here? Is she from nearby? I could swear I've never seen her face before. Can she not apply to the parish for assistance?"
Anne swallowed. "She says she was turned away—she could appeal to the diocese but has neither time nor the connections to facilitate such a thing. At this time of year"—she glanced out of the window— "a night without shelter could mean the direst of consequences." Anne shook her head, coming closer to Tobias and looking him in the eyes. "I can't bear the thought of that poor baby suffering in the cold. And Louisa, too, ill as she already is."
Tobias nodded his agreement. It was evident that Anne was very concerned for the woman and her baby. But he was still puzzled how they came to be at Hazelhurst at all.
"How did you come to learn of her predicament?" he asked. Why did Anne's face look so stricken at his question?
"She came here," Anne said, looking down at her clasped hands. "She was given my name as a person who would provide assistance."
Tobias frowned. "By whom?"
Anne looked at him, scanning his face and hesitating before saying, "I don't know."
"Hmm," he said.
He found her behavior perplexing. She was obviously very moved by the plight of the woman and child, though, and he wished to put her at her ease. The mystery of her behavior was something that would have to be sorted through at some later time. It had been a long few days with his parents visiting. "She has been abandoned by her husband?" he asked.
Anne nodded. "I hoped you might have some suggestions for how we might help her."
Tobias rubbed his chin. The situation of a mother and infant was difficult indeed. It was unfortunate that the vacant house was not ready to be lived in.
But before they decided upon a more permanent solution to the woman's predicament, she and her child would need a roof over their heads and food to eat. "There is a family in the village we might inquire with—the Turners. They live in the largest of the houses and have for decades, but most of their children are no longer at home—two have married and t
wo are serving in the navy, I believe. Perhaps they would take the woman and baby in. They are a kind family from what I know."
Anne nodded quickly, smiling her gratitude. "A wonderful idea. If I leave now, I think I shall have enough time to go inquire at the Turner's before dressing for dinner."
"Shall I come with you?" Tobias said, a strange bout of nerves flaring up at the harmless question.
She walked up to him and reached up on her tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, causing his breath to catch in his throat.
"If you would like to come," she said, "I would enjoy your company."
Resisting the impulse to touch the spot on his cheek she had just kissed, Tobias smiled and said, "I think I might be of some use in the discussion with the Turners—a familiar face, you know?"
Anne agreed with his plan, but she insisted first upon introducing him to Louisa and little James. "For, if you are anything like me, the sight of the little babe will wring your heart until you feel willing to do anything in your power to save him even the slightest discomfort."
Tobias stole a glance at Anne as she said this, walking down the corridor. Was she so attached to infants? They had agreed to put off any talk of heirs for the time being, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder if she might be rethinking that part of the agreement. After all, they hadn't specified when they would revisit the topic.
But Tobias was hardly ready to be a father. He still wasn't quite sure how to be a husband. He was always doubting himself—wondering if he should perhaps be spending more time with his wife, escorting her to parties and such, or even hosting such parties.
And yet, at other times, he thought he was too easily slipping into becoming one of those husbands who followed their wives around like a silly little puppy. He enjoyed Anne's company far more than he had anticipated—enough that it concerned him—but he comforted himself that his presence on this trip into town was motivated by a desire to ensure a positive response from the Turners, and not by any silly wish to spend time with Anne.
