Page 28 of Betrayal from Beyond
“He kept coming back?” Kara asked gently.
“Many nights. Most nights. I…I didn’t know what to do. My father, having settled me, had taken a position in York. I tried to tell the headmistress, but she turned the subject. She didn’t want to hear.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kara whispered.
“I felt trapped. My room and board were considered my pay. I had no money. Nowhere to go.” The girl’s eyes closed. “When I discovered I was with child, I wrote to my father, asking for help.”
Kara dreaded hearing more, given that the girl had ended up here.
“He wrote a scathing response. Called me a whore. Said I’d wasted his money and my own opportunity for a better life. He washed his hands of me.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. I lived in dread, waiting until the inevitable happened and my secret was discovered. The students began to whisper about my expanding belly, and the headmistress was forced to deal with me then. She shouted at me. She cried. She cast me out.” Miss Martin gave Kara an agonized look. “I had nothing. Just the clothes I wore. Not even my books. I just stood there on the pavement, numb. Terrified. Alone. I had just resolved to go and throw myself in the river when one of the footmen came out. He took me several streets away, to a tiny little house on Pelton Road. He had the key. He let me in and told me I would be staying there, then he just…left.” She put a hand over her eyes. “I sat down, waiting. The rest of the afternoon, I sat there alone. The headmaster arrived that evening. He carried on as if nothing had changed. All the way up until the baby came.”
“But how did you end up here?”
“I think something went wrong with the birth,” she said, low. “The headmaster was ready to resume his activities right away, but I was still in pain. Perhaps something hadn’t healed? I don’t know. There was a servant who came in most mornings, but she wouldn’t speak to me. Never. Not once. Not a word. So I had no one to ask. I started to cry every time he came to the house. I fought him, pleading and screaming. I think the neighbors heard. One night, I ran crying into the street.”
“What did he do?”
“He left. But he showed up in a carriage the next morning. He hustled me and the babe inside it and brought us here. He left us. That was a month ago.”
“Miss Martin, what of your child? Where is it? In the nursery here?”
She shook her head, staring ahead, her face blank. “A couple came to talk to me. They wanted to adopt him. They were barren. The gentleman was a barrister.” She shrugged, but tears shone in her eyes. “They could give him a real life. What should I have done? Allowed him to be raised in all this?”
“No. No, of course not.”
A door slammed, and the matron hustled toward them, complaining as she came. “This is all very irregular. Very unusual.”
Kara stood. “No, Mrs. Ash. It isn’t, is it? And that is the problem.” She tugged the woman away. “Come, let us give Miss Martin some privacy to change, and then she will be coming away with us.”
Kara and Niall would deal with Matthew Hanlin. Afterward, they would see to Petra Scot.
And then…then she would see.
Chapter Seven
The entire Hanlinhousehold appeared to be rattled to find a duke and duchess unexpectedly on their doorstep. Niall and Kara had been left in an admittedly impressive hall done up in carved wooden panels, niches with busts of ancient scholars, and several tall-backed benches. The footman who had taken word of their arrival to his employers must have whispered the news along the way, for several giggling maids peeped out from doorways and from the gallery above. Niall straightened as a lady emerged from a passage to the left, while a gentleman clattered down the stairs ahead of them.
Perhaps Hanlin had not recognized Niall’s title, for he drew up short, pausing several steps up as he got a good look at them. For a moment, Niall thought it was even odds whether the man would turn and bolt. After a moment, though, he clearly decided to bluster his way through.
“Good afternoon, good afternoon,” he said heartily. “I am Mr. Matthew Hanlin, proprietor of the school.” Approaching, he gave them a courtly bow. “Your Graces. I bid you welcome.”
At Niall’s side, Kara regarded the man blandly. Hanlin was not much taller than her. He was slim, with a heavy beard and dark eyes. The man’s wife moved closer, stopping just behind and to the side of her husband. Niall bowed, taking note of the downward turn of her mouth and the heavy look of unhappiness in her eyes.
“Thank you for receiving us,” Niall said without inflection. “We should like a private word with you, Mr. Hanlin.”
“Actually, why don’t we ladies withdraw and allow the men to address business?” Kara had fixed her attention on the wife. “We’ve had a long morning, I fear. I confess, I would welcome a quiet cup of tea, Mrs. Hanlin.”
“Of course.” The woman stepped back and swept a hand to indicate a parlor to the left. “Let us go and sit a bit. I’ll have a tray sent up to the study as well.”
“Don’t bother,” her husband said, smiling at Niall. “It is not every day that a duke comes calling. We shall break out the good brandy.”
Kara gave him a look as she followed the wife, and he set off upstairs after Hanlin. The educator led the way, pointing out rooms and features, speaking of the courses they offered as if Niall were a prospective parent. He supposed it was a comfort to fall back on a familiar routine, and hoped that meant he was making the man nervous.
“Come in. Come in.” Hanlin led him into a well-appointed study. Again, he pointed out the art on the walls and spoke of first-edition books in his library. Niall found the man as cocky and irritating as a banty rooster.
