Betrayal (31 page)

             
“You must remember it may not be a boy; it could be a little girl,” Elisabeth instructed. Then, taking a lighter tone she continued, “But the babe will be born in early summer if I have counted right. Are you happy my love?”

             
“Happy? I am delirious.  I am beyond happy.  I am …” he answered, his voice trailing off. He turned from her and sat on the edge of the bed staring blankly ahead before he finished his thought, “married.” He cursed, picking at the fur coverlet and throwing it aside, marveling that it still held the warmth of their lovemaking.

             
Elisabeth began to cry as the reality of the situation sunk in. He was a member of the nobility, the brother of the Queen of England, married to the daughter of Sir Henry Parker, Lord Morley. Jane was related to a most powerful family. They would not easily bear the embarrassment of George’s bastard child. Elisabeth shivered and reached for the coverlet to cover her nakedness. She had been a fool to ever believe George would leave his wife for her. She stared at his tense, naked back, begging God to let her die here and now rather than face his desertion. Why didn’t he speak? Why didn’t he take her in his arms and reassure her of his devotion? The silence between them was deafening. Minutes passed that seemed like hours before George turned to her.

“You must go away, somewhere safe from prying eyes. I will see to it. Now get dressed and clean up this bed. I must go downstairs,” he said, hurrying to put his clothes on. “Do not fear; I will take care of everything. Does anyone else know? No, good, tell no-one,” he said.  “Damn, but I must go to Beaulieu on the morrow,” he cursed to himself.  “Perhaps I can put it off for a few days. I must speak with Anne,” he said hurriedly, as he kissed Elisabeth on the cheek and rushed from the chamber.

              She sat desolate on the great Court Bed, her world shattering around her. She would be cast out; a whore with her bastard.  Elisabeth dissolved into tears, pulling the fur coverlet to her chin, her teeth chattering with fright.

             
How long she lay there she didn’t know, but when she opened her eyes the candles were guttering and the room was cold. She knew she had to get up quickly and prepare the chamber for the Queen’s return. Elisabeth pulled her home-spun nightgown over her head.  Wrapping her woolen robe tight about her hips, she went to the hearth to stir the fire to life. Shivering in her thin robe, Elisabeth stood by the hearth surveying the large room after she had remade the bed.  ‘Everything is as it should be,’ she thought as she settled on her stool by the hearth to await her fate.

TWENTY-ONE

CHRISTMAS DAY

              Lydia awoke from her dream feverish. She looked to the mantle clock to re-establish herself to time and place. She began to pace before the fireplace; questions bubbled in her mind. Relieved to hear Dan’s key in the lock she rushed to the door and barely missed being hit by the heavy door as it swung inward.

             
“Lydia!” Dan cried as he realized how close she had come to being struck. But she had already returned to the living room and was pacing once more near the blazing gas fire.

             
“I have to go to England. I have to go Morely’s Cross,” she said breathlessly. “I must go home.”

             
“Why? What has happened? Has something happened to Henry or Ella? For heaven’s sake, Lydia, stand still! You’re making me dizzy.”

             
“No, no, I’m quite sure they are all right,” Lydia cried as her fingers tore at the tissue in her hands.

             
“Then why are you so upset?” Taking Lydia in his arms Dan tried to comfort her. “Darling, please tell me what has happened.”

             
“I have to go home,” she said wiggling out of his embrace.

“You’re not making any sense. Why do you feel you have to go to England? Why are you suddenly calling it home? Until a few days ago you didn’t even know it existed. And by the way, I consider this,” he continued, his arms spread wide, “to be our home. Is this all about your mother’s diary?”

“Oh, Dan,” Lydia sighed as she collapsed into his arms. “I’m so confused.”

Dan wrinkled his brow; he was tired and had little patience for the game they seemed to be playing. “Enough with the histrionics,” he snapped. “Tell me, what is going on here.”

“I know who the girl in my dreams is,” Lydia said, crossing the room to retrieve the journal. “This is not my mother’s diary, it’s hers.”

“Whose?”

“Elisabeth Beeton.” Lydia waved the fragile book at Dan. “This is the girl in my nightmares and this is her story. I have to find out more about her.”

“But how can you do that?” Dan asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but somehow her journal came to be found in the attic at Morley’s Cross and I must find out how. She’s Cornish, you know.”

“Who’s Cornish?”

“Are you listening to me or am I talking to myself?”

“I’m listening, but what I am hearing doesn’t make sense. I don’t see what all this has to do with your mother’s diary, or Henry and Ella for that matter.”

Lydia sighed heavily. She stared past Dan into the fire. “I don’t understand,” she said her voice barely a whisper.

Dan flopped down onto the sofa. He sat silently watching as Lydia began to pace again. Feeling sorry for himself, he resented Lydia’s detached behavior and more than ever he resented the girl, Elisabeth. Only a few hours of Christmas remained and he did not want to spend them in discussion of Lydia’s dreams. Raising his eyes from the beige Abusson rug Dan found Lydia staring at him.

“I’m going to call Air Canada and find out how quickly I can get to England.”

“Lydia, it is Christmas!”

“Yes, and so maybe I should call Boston instead. There will be more overseas flights from there. Do we still have the telephone number for American Airlines?” Lydia asked as she crossed to the telephone table.

“Lydia! This is insane. It’s seven o’clock Christmas night, I have been working all day and the presents are still wrapped and under the tree. I’m tired and hungry and I really don’t care whose diary they sent from Devon,” Dan said, pushing himself off the sofa. “I’m going to the kitchen for something to eat.”

“You don’t understand,” Lydia whined.

“You’re damn right I don’t!” Dan snapped as he pushed his way past Lydia.

“Can’t you see that I finally have something concrete, a way to understand my nightmares?”

“All I see is you acting like a crazy woman. It’s seven o’clock at night and you are still in your pajamas. I can’t just run off to England, I have responsibilities. I can’t take off at the drop of a hat and neither should you.”

“Neither should I?”  Lydia growled. “How many times have you told me that no-one is indispensable? Besides …” she stammered, “Oh, Dan, can’t you see how important this is to me?”

“More important than us?” Dan retorted.

“Oh, Dan!” she cried, slumping into a chair.

Dan moved about the kitchen in silence. Lydia drew herself up out of the chair. Wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, she crossed to the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you were hungry so I thought I’d make some sandwiches,” Lydia said, remembering that she had put the turkey in the oven, but had forgotten to turn it on!  Dan set the kettle on to boil while Lydia cut thick slices of homemade bread for their supper.

The strained atmosphere drained Lydia; unhappy memories from her childhood flooded her mind. Staring into her teacup Lydia remembered the coldness of her father’s silence. His silent treatment never failed to bring even the most reluctant and undeserved apology. All these years later, silence still made Lydia uneasy, eager to please, and Dan knew it. He knew that when he withdrew into silence Lydia would become almost frantic to appease him. He had but to stand his ground and she would cave in and the argument would be over. So on this bitter Christmas night he did just that, he remained silent. He ate his sandwich in the kitchen, ignoring Lydia’s suggestion that they eat in the living room before the fire. When he finished he walked back to the living room.

Lydia quickly finished eating her sandwich, straightened up the kitchen, and returned to the living room. Dan had put on a CD of Christmas Carols and the cheerful music filled the air. She saw that Dan was sitting on the floor beside the glittering tree. Lydia was making her way across the room when the telephone rang.

Dan mumbled something unintelligible as Lydia answered the phone.

“Merry Christmas!” she said with a brightness she didn’t feel. “Oh. Hello, Alan. Yes, Merry Christmas to you too.”

Dan felt his jaw tighten. He leaned forward to pick up a brightly wrapped parcel; his fingers caressed the silken smoothness of the silver foil. The parcel was addressed to him so he opened it. It was from one of his patients. Dan listened to Lydia in hopes of figuring out what Stokes was saying. Their conversation had been rather bland until Lydia mentioned the journal.

“Oh, no, Alan, it’s Christmas. Yes, I do want to show you Elisabeth’s journal. Can you believe it? The girl in my dreams really lived and lived near Morely’s Cross at that.

“Yes, Morely’s Cross?”

“Oh, I haven’t told you about Morely’s Cross, have I? Morely’s Cross is my mother’s ancestral home, in Devon, near Totnes, I believe. What did you say? Oh, yes, the condition of the journal.  Rather good shape I would say, although there are pages missing, in fact, quite a few.”

Dan groaned loudly. He decided he did not want to wait any longer to open his Christmas presents so he began to sort them into piles of his and hers. Then, taking a pull of his lager beer, he set about opening his gifts.

Lost in her discussion with Alan, Lydia didn’t see what Dan was doing beneath the tree.

“Yes, I want you to see the journal too.” Lydia’s voice heightened in excitement. “Yes, Alan, I know we should strike while the iron is hot. Yes, I agree I do need more regression. Tonight? Oh, no, it’s Christmas! Dan and I haven’t even opened our presents yet,” she said, turning to see Dan had indeed unwrapped his presents. “Well,” Lydia paused before continuing, “I guess it’s just me who hasn’t opened her presents.” Sadly, she watched Dan place his presents under the tree, a high pile of torn wrapping paper and bent bows lay by his feet. Lydia sighed heavily as she remembered her plans to take turns opening their gifts, taking time to enjoy each gift as it was revealed. She remembered the Christmases of her youth when only one or two presents graced the small tree and her father would head off to the University to prepare, he said, for the coming new semester. With all her heart Lydia had wanted Christmas to be a special day in her new life with Dan.  Alan’s insistent questioning called Lydia back to the present.

“Yes, of course, Alan. I do want you to see the journal.”  Lydia looked into Dan’s sad face and continued, “But tonight is out of the question. What remains of the day belongs to the two of us. Yes, tomorrow should be fine. Do you want…? Oh, yes, sure, eleven o’clock at your office. Yes, I will, and Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Lydia hung up the telephone and stood watching the fire’s reflection dance merrily on the colored ornaments on the Christmas tree.

Dan was looking at a book Lydia had given him. He wrinkled his brow as he read the title: ‘
THE TAO OF PHYSICS’
.  He looked up at her, giving her a classic Charlie Brown frown. Lydia smiled. He put the book down, lifting another from the floor.

Lydia stepped closer, resting her hand on his shoulder. The lamb’s wool of his sweater soft to her touch; she began to caress his shoulders. Lydia leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but Dan remained stiff.

Lydia stood up straight. “Dan, we have to talk.”

Dan remained silent, putting the book down he picked up another.

“Please Dan, it’s Christmas. Please talk to me.”

Dan’s face was carved in stone. His eyes avoided her gaze.

“I don’t understand why we are fighting, if indeed that is what we are doing. Are you angry with me?”

“No,” his said in a monotone. Now he held the cashmere sweater Lydia had given him.

She saw it as a chance to draw him into a conversation. “Do you like the color?’ she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

              “I thought the brown looked nicer than the blue. I had a difficult time deciding which to get,” Lydia babbled nervously.

             
“So, you are going to see Stokes tomorrow!”  Dan spit the words out like so many pebbles.

             
“Yes, Alan wants to see the journal.”

             
Dan shook his head. Leaning forward he rested his left elbow on his knee, the hand cupping his cheek. His eyes glazed with sleep, he finally spoke. “Well, I guess if there is no more earth shattering news I’m going to bed.” He straightened his tall frame, stretched his arms over his head and walked past Lydia.

             
“Wait, Dan,” she called, “don’t I at least get a good night kiss?  Will you come with me tomorrow?”