“Would she have done it?”
“For the sake of the child? Oh, yes. And her father knew it. In the end, they reached a kind of compromise. She agreed to give up the child and keep its birth a secret, and he gave his word that the child would be educated and eventually inherit half of Lady Emily’s dowry—or all of it, should she never marry.”
“So what happened to her?”
“That very night, after her interminable meeting with her father, she collapsed with a raging fever and putrid sore throat. She was dead in a week.”
“Yet he kept his word?”
“He did, yes. There was much not to like about the Second Earl. But he was a man of his word. He genuinely loved his daughter—and mourned her death. He set things up so that even in the event of his own death, his solicitors would see that the child was sent to school at the age of seven, and that her inheritance would be safe from his son, Albert.”
“When did he die?”
“Four years later.”
“The new Lord Heyworth knew of the arrangements?”
“I assume he was told as soon as he came of age, although I can’t say for certain. The truth is, I’ve had little contact with his lordship since Emily’s death. Will asked me to marry him right after the funeral.” Sarah Hanson gave a short, sharp laugh. “Lady Heyworth was beyond horrified when I accepted. She actually tried to forbid me to do any such thing. After all, what would people think when they learned that her children had been taught by the local innkeeper’s wife?”
Sebastian smiled, “What, indeed?” He studied the former governess’s plump, good-natured face. Sarah Hanson might be both better educated and considerably better bred than her innkeeper husband, but the truth was, she’d been extraordinarily lucky to marry him. Most impoverished, aging gentlewomen lived out their lonely lives in fear and want.
Sebastian said, “Did Emma Chandler know who you were when she came here?”
“No. In fact, she registered under the name Emma Chance. But I knew who she was the instant I set eyes on her. She was so very much like her mother—only darker haired, of course.”
“Did you tell her you recognized her as Lady Emily’s daughter?”
“Not at first, no. I was tempted. But it didn’t seem right, putting myself forward like that. She hired Richard to drive her out to Pleasant Park the next morning. She told me later that she knew nothing about Lady Emily; all she knew was that the Turnstalls had been paying her fees at Miss LaMont’s Academy.”
“Did she give her name as Emma Chance when she went out to Pleasant Park?”
“She did, yes. I think she was afraid they’d refuse to see her if she identified herself to the staff as Emma Chandler. And she was right. It was the Dowager who met with her. As soon as Emma told her ladyship her real name, Lady Heyworth flew into a shaking rage. Called the poor girl a brazen, lying hussy and set up such a fuss that the Earl himself came on the run. It was Heyworth who told Emma he’d call the constables if she ever dared show herself near the estate again.”
“Charming.”
Sarah Hanson’s nostrils flared on a deeply indrawn breath. But all she said was, “Alfred Turnstall is very much his mother’s son.”
“Why was Emma given the name Chandler? Do you know?”
“Chandler was the name of the farm family that fostered her for the first seven years. She told me they were very kind to her. She had no idea Molly Chandler wasn’t her mother until one day when a solicitor from Ludlow arrived to carry her off to Miss LaMont’s Academy.” Her voice hardened. “It was such a cruel, heartless thing to do.”
“Yes,” said Sebastian.
It explained how the Turnstalls had known the reason for Sebastian’s arrival. Even if they hadn’t been closely following events in the papers, they would know that “Emma Chance” was really Emma Chandler. And with all the talk generated in the region by the Ayleswick murders, they would also know that Sebastian was investigating her death.
“When Emma came back from the park,” Sarah Hanson was saying, “she was devastated—both because of the way they’d treated her and because they’d refused to tell her what she was so desperate to know.”
“You mean, the names of her mother and father?”
“Yes. She broke down crying on the stairs up to her room.”
“And that’s when you told her what you knew and showed her the letter?”
“Yes.” Sarah Hanson turned to look at him, her face stricken. “I wish to God I hadn’t. It’s why she went to Ayleswick, isn’t it? She was trying to figure out who her father was. She went there, and now she’s dead.”
“How did she react when you showed her Lady Emily’s letter?”
“At first, she was excited to read it. But by the time she finished, she was pale and shaking. If anything, she seemed more devastated than when she’d returned from Pleasant Park—although I could never understand why.”