CHAPTER 12

The ride back to the hotel passed in a blur. Hannah's face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She clutched the wooden box to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. I wanted to comfort her, to say something that would ease the shock and pain, but what words could possibly suffice? Her own mother, arranging a murder?

When the carriage rolled to a stop outside the hotel, I helped Hannah down, keeping a steadying hand on her elbow as we climbed the steps. The doorman tipped his hat to us before opening the doors.

"Perhaps some food before we do anything else?" Hannah suggested as we stood in the lobby. "Do I look presentable?"

"You look fine."

She sighed and paused near a large mirror, leaning forward to study her appearance.

"Oh dear," she said. Hannah turned from the mirror and looked at me. "You're so sweet, but I think we might have food sent to our rooms. I look slightly frightful for polite society."

I nodded. The room was more than fine. While I enjoyed being around Hannah, so far all I knew about the rest of her society was that honesty didn't mean much. Besides, eating in a quiet room felt more like being home with Ma.

In the room, Hannah took charge of ordering the meals. In my room, I rid myself of the jacket and cravat. I wiggled my fingers around my neck to free my skin from the starched fabric. Why so many layers were necessary was beyond me. A simple shirt and trousers did the job without the discomfort.

"John?" Hannah's voice broke through my thoughts. She tapped on the door. "John, the food has arrived."

I left the room. I saw her bonnet resting on the box on the couch, her gloves beside them. As I pulled the seat for her to sit, she took my breath away. She was still too good for me.

"No staff?" I said as I sat down.

"Hope you don't mind. We're both more than capable and I couldn't stand having anyone flapping about or lurking in the corners."

"Relieved actually. It's been a long day."

"My mind is racing through everything Mrs Hale said. I feel bad for her too. She risked everything and has nothing."

"Depends on how you view what nothing is," I said. "You view it from the life you're used to, just like I view mine the same way. I don't have what you do, but I still don't feel like I have nothing. I have Ma, and my friends, a job."

"I feel like I've taken something from my cousin. Here I have had so many opportunities and truth be told, I haven't been the best student. If I had applied myself as Mother demanded, then I would be far more accomplished now. It makes me feel selfish, as I don't deserve all that. Everything I have isn't mine."

"You would still have all that, just wouldn't be in Frogmere," I said.

Hannah shook her head as she stirred the soup with her spoon. My own bowl sat empty as the scents of food wafted from the fancy silver domes on the sideboard near the door.

"Would I? Mother said she chose to leave Father's estate for my cousin because she had Frogmere to attend to after my uncle passed. She and my cousin never did get along. Perhaps we wouldn't have been welcomed to stay on. I don't know. Mother married for money, but I wonder just how much wealth was hers. With my father gone, Grimmore went to my cousin…What would have become of her if not for Frogmere? Perhaps my mind is dwelling on it too much. Everything I thought I knew about my family, my mother…" Her voice caught and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

"One step at a time. You'll find the boy and put things right."

"The man," Hannah corrected.

"You're right. You want to try something else to eat?" I asked.

"Pardon?" She glanced down at the soup. No steam rose from it anymore. "I might skip to the dessert."

"I'll get it."

I peeked under each of the covers and found the fruit and marzipan dessert for Hannah. After placing that in front of her, I went back to get the fish with some kind of green things, probably herbs on it, for myself as well as the dish with the vegetables.

By the time I sat back down, Hannah had already started on her plate. I wasted no time in working my way through the plate, leaving only a bit of the green stuff to spoil the white china.

"What do you think is in the box?" she asked, breaking the silence. I followed her gaze as it drifted to the wooden box sitting on the empty chair beside her. "Mrs Hale said there were things for the baby…"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "What kind of things do mothers have for babies?"

Hannah's cheeks grew pink. "I'm not sure."

She ate some of the dessert but stole glances at the box.

"How about we open it and find out what's in there?"

Her face brightened.

"Yes, let's do that."

Hannah moved for the chairs near the table as I stood up. Somehow, I managed not to scrap the chair over the wooden floor. After picking up the box, I walked over to her and placed the box in front of her on the table.

She leaned forward and, with trembling hands, lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a faded scrap of cloth, were a few small items. A rattle, a tiny silver spoon, a lock of dark hair tied with a blue ribbon. Hannah picked up each one and placed them side-by-side on the table.

"It feels strange to hold. They look like they were made yesterday."

Several sheets of brown paper came out next, beneath which sat a stack of papers, each one crisply folded. I reached for them hesitantly, scanning the spidery script. Whatever the language was, I doubted it was English.

"They're in French," Hannah said. "Oh dear, I once told my French professor I'd never need to learn the language, as I had no intention of ever going there. Look here though, I can see ‘Lord Thomas and Lady Rebekah Nicholson' written on it."

I leaned forward to get a better look. "I can see numbers on there. Dates maybe?"

"Definitely some kind of records. I'll try to look over them tomorrow, but I fear my French is too far forgotten to be of much use," Hannah said. She set the papers aside. "I'm sure I can find someone to translate them properly later. Let's see what else is in there?"

Hannah reached into the box once more, pulling out a small blanket, finely woven and edged with lace. As she unfolded it, something fluttered to the floor. I bent to retrieve it, turning it over in my hands. It was a miniature portrait, no bigger than my palm, of a couple holding a newborn baby. The man stood tall with short dark hair and a sharp jawline. The woman, slender and a head shorter, stood with her pale hair tied into a bun, her gaze focused on the baby.

"Turn it over. Oliver Jonathan Nicholson," Hannah read from the back of the portrait, her voice hushed with wonder. "This is him, John. This is their son."

"Can't be very old there."

"Perhaps a day or two? I don't know. Maybe the boy was born much earlier than they planned."

I stared at the tiny face. One baby looked much the same as every other one to me.

"Let's hope we hear from Mr Fredericks soon so I can return to Frogmere. Maybe Mother locking up the room is a blessing. I wonder if my uncle sent this ahead of them for their return. The servants may have set the room ready. Mother may not have known.

"It seems, John, that the only thing this trip has done is to give me an additional mystery to solve."