Tears threatened, and a sob caught unexpectedly. She was not prepared for this. She was not prepared to meet her mother.
And she was being rejected.
It was as if the breath had been siphoned from her lungs as Cassandra stared at the empty space where her mother had been standing.
The words—the dismissal—hurt more than any dagger ever could.
The one person she had dreamt about wanted nothing to do with her.
Chapter 33
Cassandra knocked on the door to Mrs. Hutton’s cottage. And waited. When no response came, she lifted her gloved hand and knocked again. Harder.
The shock from earlier in the day had been almost more than she could bear.
Her mother was alive.
Now there seemed to be no one who could help her find the truth. Except for one person—Mrs. Hutton.
She continued knocking rapidly until Mrs. Hutton appeared at the door. Immediate recognition—and irritation—flashed. “Miss Hale.”
“I’m intruding, I know.” Cassandra held out her hand to keep the door open. “And I am sorry for it, truly. But I have questions to which I need answers, and I fear you are the only person alive who can answer them.”
At first Mrs. Hutton only stared at Cassandra after the rush of words. But then she expelled a puff of air, rested against the door, and cocked her head to the side. “So you spoke with Mary Smith, did you?”
“How did you know?”
“I figured you’d find her eventually. I heard the church women were headed to her house, what with Silas’s current state. Thought you might be there.”
Cassandra nodded. “It did not go well at all.”
With a sigh that teetered on defeat, Mrs. Hutton pushed the door wider to allow Cassandra to pass.
Once they were settled in the parlor, Cassandra recounted the events that had occurred at the Smith residence. “She was furious, but she did mention you. She said she’d spoken to you about me, so I am hopeful that means you know something about my birth and history. Please, I have so many questions, and now that William Longham is dead, I fear you may be my last hope.”
Mrs. Hutton’s expression remained aloof as she folded her wrinkled hands primly on her lap. “Mrs. Smith has a right to her privacy.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Cassandra hastened to say, “but have I no right to know the truth about where I am from?”
Mrs. Hutton hesitated.
“I promise I will not bother Mrs. Smith,” continued Cassandra. “I’ll leave her alone completely and never contact her again. Any information you share will be with me only.”
Like she had on the first day they met, Mrs. Hutton picked up the big orange cat coiling around her legs and petted it before responding. “Mary Hale was not the first young woman in service forced to give up a child. She had no choice, really. She had to leave you and start a new life.”
Cassandra held her breath, eager to capture every detail.
“I was the housekeeper when Mr. Clark, your father, bought Briarton Park. This was decades ago, mind you. I was immediately fond of his wife, Mrs. Katherine Clark. She was the kindest woman I ever had the pleasure of knowing. She deserved a much better life than the one Mr. Clark gave her.”
Cassandra’s question rushed out. “Was he unkind?”
Mrs. Hutton pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “There were occasions he was very kind, but he was a most selfish man. At times even harsh. Your mother was a chambermaid, and he pursued her, as if he had a divine right to. When she became with child, he denied it, of course, but when she threatened to inform Mrs. Clark, he became quite cruel. He all but coerced her into hiding until you were born, and then he bullied her to sign an agreement to sever all of her ties to you.”
Cassandra’s chest tightened with every new bit of information. “But how could he force her to do it if she did not want to?”
“Oh, I don’t believe you are so naive that you don’t know the answer to that,” she scoffed. “What choice did she have? None. She could not afford to raise you. She could not even afford a roof over her own head.”
“So she simply walked away?”
“What else could she do? She had no family. No other employment.” Mrs. Hutton stroked the cat’s fur. “Do not judge her too harshly. We all could have found ourselves in her position.”
Cassandra stiffened as the statement wound its way through her mind. Had she not had romantic thoughts about the current master of Briarton House? Had she not thought she saw something in Mr. Warrington’s expression that made her think his interest in her went beyond that of servant and master?
She pushed the unsettling thought aside and returned to the topic at hand. “You speak as if you and Mrs. Smith were friends.”
“Not friends, no. Allies? Perhaps. She worked under me, and I saw things. I did everything I could to protect her, young as she was, but your father was a very powerful and persuasive man. She and I kept in contact after she left. I was able to help coordinate references and the like. But her life moved on, as did mine. As did everyone’s.”
Cassandra could not shake the image of the fuming Mrs. Smith from her mind. “Is she happy now?”
“Of course this illness with her husband is devastating to her, I’m sure, but otherwise I suppose she is as happy as any woman could be, given her status.”
“That does not sound very convincing.”
Mrs. Hutton lowered the cat to the floor and then pivoted to face Cassandra. “You know, I was there the night you were born.”
Cassandra raised her head, eager for details. “You were?”
“Yes. I was the only staff member in the house then. When the time drew near, Mr. Clark was concerned that his wife would find out. He was a man driven by obsessions and suspicion. So he brought Mary back to Briarton and sent his wife and all the staff away. But Mr. Longham remained with us, of course.”
The murky picture of how the specifics were connected was starting to materialize. Bits and pieces were beginning to connect, like a puzzle taking form. Mrs. Hutton’s recollections matched the information Mr. Longham had shared with her. But there were still pieces missing—pieces essential to gaining full clarity. How did Mrs. Denton fit into it? To whom did she make a promise? Whom was she protecting?
Now was the time to ask.
“Did you know Mrs. Jane Denton?”
Mrs. Hutton nodded. “I did.”
Cassandra’s heart pulsed. She’d expected Mrs. Hutton to say no, and the familiarity with which she spoke about Mrs. Denton shocked her. “Mrs. Denton told me she’d purposely kept my father’s identity from me—that she had made a promise to someone. Do you know anything of that promise?”
“I do. And I hesitate to tell you”—Mrs. Hutton shifted uncomfortably—“but I suppose everyone involved is dead now. Well, mostly everyone.”
Cassandra held her breath.
“Mrs. Denton was Mrs. Katherine Clark’s sister.”
“S-sister?” The word tasted thick and strange on her tongue.
“Yes. Sister. A few months before you were born, Jane Denton was visiting Briarton Park and overhead Mr. Clark and Mary, your mother, arguing about her situation. To my understanding Mrs. Denton confronted him. She clearly loved her sister very much and wanted to protect her from the pain and humiliation that infidelity would inflict. At that time Mrs. Denton had already been a widow for some years, and her school was quite established. She had a pristine reputation, and she was persistent. She, along with Mr. Longham, advised Mr. Clark to permit you to live at her school. She said she would raise you and keep your identity hidden. I, being one of the few people to know about you, was forced to keep that secret as well, on pain of dismissal. Oh yes, Mrs. Denton despised Mr. Clark, but she was devoted to Katherine.”