CHAPTER 13

The morning dawned grey and dreary, the weak sunlight filtering through the lace curtains of our hotel room. I lay in bed, staring at the moulding on the ceiling, my mind contemplating yesterday and what today may bring. Susan Hale's story, the box of baby things, the portrait…it all seemed like something out of a fairytale. Not my own life. And yet here I was, caught in the middle of a mystery that grew more tangled with each passing hour.

A knock at the door startled me from my reverie. I sat up, pulling the covers to my chin as I called out, "Who is it?"

"Hannah? It's John." His voice was muffled through the heavy wood. "A messenger just arrived from Mr Fredericks. I'll slip it under the door."

I watched as an envelope slid across the wooden floor, stopping just before the fluffy rug beside the bed. As unladylike as it might seem, I climbed over the bed and reached down to retrieve it. Tearing the paper, I pulled out the card inside.

"He wants us to come to his office this morning," I called out.

I hurried to dress. A simple day dress would suffice. I pinned my hair back in a bun, ignoring the strands of hair around my face that hung limp. After splashing some cold water on my face, I stepped out of the bedroom.

John paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. Dressed in the suit once more, he looked up as I entered.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

I breathed out slowly. "Yes, let's see what Mr. Fredericks has to say."

We made our way downstairs and began the walk towards Mr Fredericks' office. Horses' hooves clopped on the cobblestones as they passed us by. Now and then we passed by someone who would nod or tip their hat.

At last, we arrived and Mr Fredericks' clerk showed us into his office. Mr Fredericks sat behind his desk with a thick pile of papers before him. As the doors behind us were closed, he looked up.

"Miss Sheppard, Mr Ingham. Thank you for coming so promptly." He gestured for us to take a seat before sinking back into his own chair with a sigh.

"You found the will?" I prompted, perching on the edge of my chair.

"I did indeed." He placed the folder he held to one side. Opening the drawer in the desk, he retrieved another, much thinner one. "I found your father's will, as well as some other pertinent documents."

My breath caught in my throat. "Other documents? And? What do they say?"

Mr Fredericks hesitated, his gaze flicking to John before settling back on me. "Perhaps it would be best if we spoke privately, Miss Sheppard?"

I shook my head firmly. "I trust Mr Ingham implicitly. Please, do go on."

The solicitor sighed again, then nodded. "Very well." He opened the file and began to read. "According to your father's will, his estate, including Grimmore Manor, was to pass to his male heir upon his death."

"But he had no male heir. I was his only child."

"Precisely." Mr Fredericks looked up. "As you were the only issue recorded but female, the will precludes you from anything more than a yearly allowance of three-thousand."

"Pardon? I have an allowance from the estate?"

Mr Fredericks nodded. "Your cousin would have seen to that."

"Grimmore Manor and everything else passed to him?" I asked.

"Correct. Your father's brother, William, was already deceased, so his son Samuel became the new Lord of the manor."

Mr Fredericks glanced at me over his glasses. "I wasn't the one who did the probate for your other uncle, Lord Nicholson of Frogmere, but I had a drink with the man that did last night. Thomas and Catherine were the only two children and, unlike Grimmore, the estate passed to Catherine on his death, and in turn will one day be yours."

"You mentioned other documents?" I asked.

"Yes, and that's where things get…complicated." He rifled through the papers, pulling out a sealed envelope. "This was included with the will. It's addressed to your father's executor—my late father—with instructions that it only be opened if the will was contested."

My heart raced as I stared at the innocuous-looking envelope. "But it wasn't contested, was it?"

"No. Your mother's claim to the estate was accepted without question." Mr Fredericks turned the envelope over in his hands. "I debated whether to open this, but given your appearance here, it might just be what he intended. Of course, if you prefer it to remain sealed. I will respect that decision."

"I'd like to know what it says."

"Would you like…"

"You read it Mr Fredericks. I fear I may not fully comprehend the contents otherwise."

Mr Fredericks nodded. With trembling hands, he slid a letter opener under the flap. He pulled out a single sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the contents, his frown deepening with each line.

"What does it say?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mr Fredericks cleared his throat. "It's a letter from your father, written shortly before his death. In it, he expresses doubts about your mother's pregnancy and subsequent birth of you."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "What do you mean, doubts?"

"He writes that your mother's behaviour during her pregnancy was…evasive. She refused to see doctors or midwives, kept to herself for much of the time. And the timing of your birth, with him in his sixties and Lady Catherine almost forty, struck him as…a bit too much of a miracle and convenient."

"Convenient how?" John asked, leaning forward.

Mr Fredericks glanced down at the letter. "He states that he never disclosed that Grimmore would only be passed through the male line to Lady Catherine prior to your birth. Your father posits that Catherine may have feigned the pregnancy in order to secure her place as his heir. He notes that she seemed indifferent towards you when he told her and even goes so far as to suggest that you, Miss Hannah…may not be his child at all."

The room swam before my eyes. Not his child? But then whose? And why would my mother…

"There's more," Mr Fredericks said, interrupting my spiralling thoughts. "Your father instructs that, should these doubts prove founded, Catherine is to receive nothing from his estate. He cites her deception as grounds for disinheritance. She did receive a small allowance of two thousand a year for a period of ten years from the probate since it was not contested. He did make a note that the monthly allowance should continue to you, no matter the outcome. He says, ‘The child is innocent in whatever deception may have taken place. I cannot in good conscience, therefore, inflict more suffering on a child than what she may already bear with any truths told. Her care is to be entrusted to my heir to manage and find her a suitable match when such a time arises.'"

My purpose of unravelling the mystery behind the ring now paled.

"He also included this." The lawyer handed me a folded note, the paper thin and crackling with age. "It's from a doctor, dated just after your birth. He states that Catherine refused all post care and examination, which raised further suspicions, given the difficult delivery she claimed to have had."

I couldn't breathe. The walls of the office seemed to close in around me, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. Dimly, I heard John's voice, felt his hand on my arm, anchoring me.

"Miss Sheppard. Hannah, look at me."

I forced my gaze to his, latching onto the steady blue of his eyes like a lifeline. He squeezed my hand, his calloused fingers warm against my own.

"One step at a time," he whispered.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The letter and doctor's note crumpled in my grip.

"Was that all?" I feebly asked.

"The rest were simply the records of the probate being executed. Your cousin Samuel may be able to provide you with more, but that's all I have."

"Thank you, Mr Fredericks," I managed at last, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "For bringing this to light, difficult as it may be. Is there anything else?"

He shook his head and picked up the papers before him. Standing up, his hand held the papers out to me. "They're of no further use to me."

"I presume, Mr Fredericks, I can count on your discretion in these matters."

"Of course, Miss Sheppard."

Questions. So many questions, swirling in my mind like leaves in a gale. Questions of identity, of family, of lies and secrets and things left unsaid. I felt adrift, untethered, my very self called into doubt.

John helped me to my feet, his hand at my elbow and steadying me as we made our farewells to Mr Fredericks.

I clutched the documents to my chest, staring ahead as we made our way back to the hotel.

"What do I do now?" I asked. "If Father was right…if Mother lied…then who am I? What's to become of me? What if I do find Oliver and he removes me from the estate? Would my cousin take me in now I am grown?"

John took my hand in his. "Shh, you're still you, Hannah. No matter what else comes to light, that will never change. And as for what's to become of you…" He lifted my chin with a gentle finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I don't think you need to worry."

Tears burned at the back of my throat, but I blinked them away. Tears were a luxury I couldn't afford, not now. Not when there was so much still to uncover.

"Thank you, John," I whispered. "I don't…I don't know what I would do without you."

He smiled, a soft, sad thing. "You'd manage. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, Miss Hannah."

We lapsed into silence, the only sound the clop of the horses' hooves and the rattle of the carriage wheels that passed us by. My mind raced, sorting through the revelations of the past hour, trying to make sense of the senseless.

If Father suspected Mother of deception from the start, why hadn't he voiced those suspicions? Why wait until his death to reveal them? And if I wasn't his child…then whose was I?

The answer that kept circling back, each time more insistent than the last, was a simple one - greed. Greed for wealth, for status, for power. If Mother were capable of sacrificing her own brother on that altar, why not her husband as well? Why not me?

Who was my family? The question swirled and eddied as John escorted me back to our suite. He ordered tea and sandwiches, then sat me gently down on the seat, pressing a steaming cup into my hands when it arrived.

"Drink," he urged softly. "You're shaking like a leaf."

I obeyed, the hot, sweet liquid soothing my raw throat. The sandwiches lay untouched on their platter. Food was the last thing on my mind.

"I need to return," I said abruptly, setting the cup down with a clatter. "To Frogmere. I need to confront Mother. To find any clues she might have hidden about Oliver's whereabouts."

John frowned. "Hannah…are you sure that's wise? Your mother…if she's truly responsible for all of this…"

I lifted my chin. "I'm done being wise, John. I'm done playing by the rules of propriety and convention, when my entire life has been a lie. I need answers, and I won't rest until I have them."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Then I'm coming with you. Don't even think about arguing," he added as I opened my mouth to protest. "I told you I'd be by your side and I meant it."

Something warm and fierce kindled in my chest at his words. Gratitude, yes, but something more…something I hadn't dared put a name to until now. He sat beside me, the fabric of his trousers beside my dress. My heart beat faster as my gaze followed the line of his leg, his waist, his chest, until I found myself staring into his blue eyes.

"John." Could he even hear the word over the chirping birds outside?

"I'm here."

I reached my hand out and rested it on his. Was it me that trembled or him? I couldn't tell. When he touched his hand to my face, cupping the side and leaning closer—I knew I wouldn't pull away. When his lips pressed against mine, I felt a firestorm rush through every part of my body. Even when he pulled away, the fire burned.

"I'm glad I pulled you out of the lake," he said. His forehead rested against mine.

"Me too."