“Isn’t that funny? You used to call yourself Annie Armstrong as a child. How strange you should be an Armstrong at last.”
I betrayed no discomfort. Lying was breathing now. “There are many Armstrongs in the world. My husband and I have had a good laugh about it. I promised it wasn’t the only reason I loved him.”
“Well, you always did like to draw attention to your own cleverness. Where is this man? I’d love to meet him.”
“I doubt that will be possible,” I said frostily.
“You have more children, I hope?”
“More? No.”
She eyed me, but instead of asking the natural question, she chose to needle me once more. “You’re hardly young. Be a shame if you missed your chance. A woman’s family is her legacy.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I didn’t ask what you believed. I told you how things are.”
Her eyes blazed, and I knew we were dangerously close to giving ourselves away. I said nothing in hopes she would collect herself.
Instead, she said, “I suppose, with your choices, you gave up your chance.”
My voice strangled, I said, “I didn’t choose to have a dead child. That happened to me.”
It was her turn to take things in stride. I had never spoken a word to her after the marriage, so it was unlikely she knew what had happened. But she didn’t seem to react as if the child’s death were news.
In an even, almost scolding tone, she said, “You chose to do the thing that led to the child. I didn’t raise you that way.”
“You didn’t raise me at all,” I said.
Her hand flew to her chest, but it looked insincere to me, the most artificial of acts. “Why must you hurt me? I only want what’s best for you.”
“Do you? Have you ever?”
It was her turn to fall silent, remembering our surroundings. We stayed quiet while a strolling couple passed us, and we all inclined our heads to each other in acknowledgment, behaving as people in our position were expected to behave.
I had so much more to say, but I’d already lingered too long, already allowed myself to be trapped and irritated by her, when I had important work to do.
“I must go,” I said. “This conversation is at an end.”
“It is not.”
“You can’t—”
“There you are!” Tim’s interruption would have been welcome at any other time, in nearly any conversation, but now, it was a catastrophe. He appeared at my elbow and heartily said, “Wife, at last. I’d been looking everywhere.”
There was no way around it. “Mrs. Wells, this is my husband. Mr. Armstrong.”
“Oh, is he now?” she replied, extending her hand in a slow, deliberate unfurling, like the movement of a snake.
Tim was looking back and forth from my face to hers. Whether or not he knew the truth at a glance—we did still have that resemblance—he kept his aspect level.
In many situations, we found ourselves perfectly aligned and were able to communicate without words. This was not one of those times. There were no signals, no expressions, for what I was trying to escape.
He said, “Are you fatigued, Annie? Is it time for us to go?”
“Annie?” my mother said, her eyes narrowing.
“Husband, could you excuse us for a moment? I’d love a cup of punch.”
“Certainly,” he said, his face not showing the suspicion he must have felt. Then he was gone, and I did not know how to escape.
She spoke first, laying her hand on my arm, lightly enough that no one would suspect just from looking at us that our topic was deadly serious. I knew though. She was sending a signal.
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” she said, “and I don’t know who you’re hiding from. That man, or someone else. Why don’t I tell him the truth and see what happens?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
She tilted her head and evaluated me. I knew that look of old. “Oh, but maybe he knows, or maybe he doesn’t. But I’m certain I can find someone who would be interested to know your real name. Mrs. Greenhow, perhaps?”
Now, my world might come crashing down. I said nothing, showed nothing.
She added, “So if you could see your way clear to smoothing my path with a few dollars, I think I could keep silent.”
“That’s outrageous! Pay you?”
“I’m destitute. Once your father and I parted ways—”
I was shocked—and almost happy—for a moment. “You finally left him?”
“Yes. More’s my shame. Now, I’m a woman alone.”
“No shame in being alone.”
“Not for you, I suppose. You’re proud of yourself? That’s why you’re hiding under an assumed name, living someone else’s life?”
“I’m going,” I said, forcing my feet into motion.
She called, “Do give some thought to what I said. You can find me at the Bellingham.”
My stomach knotted, because I knew that although I wanted to ignore her entirely, knowing where I could find her was actually quite useful information. I hated that I needed to know anything at all about her, but there it was.
? ? ?
When Tim and I got back to our room, I confessed, telling him who she was and what she wanted. That my parents and I never spoke, and indeed, I had not even been sure she was still alive until I saw her, but that she wanted to extort money from me to keep my identity secret, and I hoped all was not undone. His reaction was swift.
“Let’s leave,” he said, already standing before the second word was out of his mouth. “Just go. Tonight.”
“We can’t,” I said with a sinking heart. “We spent all this time building our cover identities as the Armstrongs. We’ll never get this kind of access again.”
“So what else can you do?”
I could only think of one way forward. “Pay her.”
“You have the money?”
“Yes.”
“Will it be enough?”
I knew he was asking about much more than the actual amount. He was asking about her. I answered as best I could. “For now, it will, I think.”
He looked unsure. “Kate,” he said. “You’re running a very big risk.”