Betrayal (49 page)

             
“When there was no girl to inherit, the property is held in trust by the eldest son until a girl is born. That has only happened twice in the history of the house, I believe.  Come let’s go inside. It looks as though it’s going to rain again.”

They hurried across the sodden ground of the garden entering the foyer just as the darkening skies released a heavy downpour.  Henry took Lydia’s coat.  Resting his hand
on her shoulder he said, “I know all this is quite a shock for you.  You must feel quite muddled by it all.”

Lydia smiled weakly. “Yes, just days ago I was working as a secretary in a doctor’s office in Canada and now I am an heiress to an English estate. It’s all a bit confusing and I need some time to get used to the idea.”

“You can have all the time you need,” Henry said soothingly as he led Lydia and Alan back into the lounge with its warm fire.   

             
“Where have you three been?” Ella asked as she followed Jan into the lounge. Jan was carrying a tea tray.  “Lydia, you just missed Dan.”

             
“Was he here?” Lydia asked shocked by the news.

             
“No, dear, he was on the telephone. I looked for you, but could not find you. He said he would try again later.  Such a nice man,” she said.  Turning to Henry she continued, “He wanted to wish us all a Happy New Year.” Ella saw the frown on Alan’s face and mistook it for disappointment.  “Don’t worry, Dr. Stokes, I am sure he will call back. Would you like some tea, Lydia?” Ella asked, raising the silver teapot. When she turned to Alan, Ella was surprised that he had left the room.  “Did I say something wrong?” Ella asked Lydia.

             
“I am sure you didn’t,” Henry said holding out his teacup for a refill. “The man must be tired; he had a long trip yesterday. Now, give me one of those cucumber sandwiches and tell me when our guests will arrive?”

             
Alan stood at the head of the staircase feeling like a child. He had behaved badly in not telling Lydia of Dan’s earlier call. He tried to justify it by telling himself that he needed time with Lydia to arrange another regression, but he knew that that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to be alone with Lydia.  ‘What am I to do? I am falling hopelessly in love with her,’ he thought as he walked down the hallway to his bedroom.  He sat down on the soft bed. Kicking off his loafers he laid down on the patchwork quilt staring at the ceiling.  “I wonder if there are any more journals up there?” he mused aloud.  Alan closed his eyes trying to imagine how the girl Elisabeth knew him. Had he known her in a former life? Did he even believe in reincarnation?  Alan swung his legs off the bed and stood up to pace the large bedroom. He questioned his beliefs and his faith. When it came to religion he had always thought himself an agnostic, perhaps even an atheist. Was there proof in this house that could change that forever?  His head began to ache as he tried to puzzle out his own feelings about the girl, Elisabeth Beeton. “Perhaps I was meant to meet Lydia and to be involved in her quest for the truth?” Alan said as he stoked the coal fire to life. “But what is the truth we are seeking?”  Alan shook his head; he was about to sit down at the desk to write some notes when he heard his name called.

             
“Alan, will you come down, my cousin Christine is here,” Lydia called from the foot of the stairs.

             
“I’ll be right down,” Alan replied, searching for his shoes and straightening his tie.  

***

             
Alan found Lydia in the lounge with a pretty young woman. He stood in the doorway watching their animated conversation. They were complete opposites, where Lydia was fair with straight pale blonde hair Christine had luminous red-gold curls framing her radiant face. Her eyes were green, Christine’s eyes were of the palest green with a hint of brown..  Christine was probably the same height as Lydia and her senior by maybe two or three years.  He wanted to stay and watch them, but Lydia spotted him in the doorway.

             
  “Alan, come meet my cousin, Christine.” She stood extending her arm in greeting.

             
Christine stood up too, smoothing her skirt as she did. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Stokes,” she said extending her hand to Alan.

             
“The pleasure is mine,” Alan replied, directing the women to sit down.

             
“Can you believe it, Alan? All these years I’ve had a cousin and didn’t know it. To have had a family and not to have known,” Lydia said sadly. “He kept so many secrets from me.”

             
Christine leaned forward to take Lydia’s hand.  “It’s okay, Lydia, you’re home now.”

             
“I am so glad you wrote to me,” Lydia gushed as she leaned into Christine’s embrace.

             
“I’m so pleased your father’s cousin relented and sent it on. Uncle Henry once showed me the letters she had returned to Cousin Elizabeth, unopened,” Christine said quietly as she caressed Lydia’s hand.  “But that’s all in the past now.”

             
“Yes,” Lydia said, straightening up. “Would you tell me about yourself? I must admit I expected you to be older than you are.”

             
“My parents married late in life and I was born when my mother was forty years old.  I was born in India, where my father owned a small manufacturing plant. My parents died when I was quite young, so you see we are both orphans,” Christine said, giving Lydia’s hand a squeeze.

             
“Yes,” Lydia said “Uncle Henry told me that they died when you were thirteen.”

“Yes, that’s right. My mother was what is called a brittle diabetic. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes,” Lydia replied, “it means that her blood sugars were hard to control.”

             
“Yes, that’s right, but of course you would have known that working in a doctor’s office. Forgive me, I worked in a diabetic clinic for a few years and I guess I am still a teacher at heart,” Christine smiled shyly.

Alan decided he liked her smile.

After a moment’s hesitation Christine began again. “She had uncontrolled diabetes. My earliest memories are of her numerous trips to hospital. When I was nine my father developed tuberculosis.  My father was already in hospital and dying when Uncle Henry and Aunt Ella came to Goa to care for me. My mother’s fragile health gave out shortly after my father died.” Christine paused; she looked down at the floor, tears filling her pale blue eyes.  Continuing she said “Afterwards I came to London to live with my Aunt and Uncle. I studied nursing at the University of London and there you have it, my life story. You must have been about seven years old when I came to England.  Your grandmother, Olivia, was still alive living here with your mother. Where were you living then?” Christine asked.

“We were living in Halifax, Nova Scotia; my father was an Economics professor at St. Mary’s University.” 

“Nova Scotia, fancy that. We never thought of looking for you in Canada.”

“You wouldn’t have found me if you did,” Lydia said sadly. “My father changed our names shortly after we moved to Canada.”

“Yes, we would have looked for Olivia Hammond not Lydia Hamilton,” Ella said, surprising Alan as he hadn’t seen her sitting in the corner by the hearth.

“Still, what is important is that your mother never gave up hope of finding you,” Christine said.

“Aunt Ella told me,” Lydia said sadly. “All these years wasted.  I believed she was dead, you know.”

“What a terrible time, so much pain and loss.” Christine stood up walking to the window. “But that was then and this is now and you are home. Will you stay?”

Lydia took a deep breath and shook her head.  Alan saw the look of discomfort on her face.  “I don’t know.  My life has been in Canada,” she said pausing. Alan stepped forward to rest his hand on Lydia’s shoulder, but she continued, “I wish Dan was here, I don’t know what to do.” Alan stopped his hand abruptly in mid-air as she spoke. He frowned, withdrew his hand, and stepped back.

Ella, who saw all this frowned too. She liked Alan Stokes.

The room was quiet, the crackle of the wood fire in the hearth the only sound when Henry Hays-Morely walked into the room. “What’s all this sadness on New Year’s Day? Don’t you know you will set the year behaving this way?  Come now, let’s have a drink to welcome the New Year,” he said crossing to the drinks table. When everyone had a glass of wine he raised his glass in toast “To the New Year, to new beginnings, and laying the painful past to rest.”

“Here, here,” everyone said raising their glasses high.  

Lydia sipped her wine, her thoughts not on the recent past, but on Elisabeth Beeton. She looked at Alan whose studied gaze told her he was thinking about Lydia’s dream and the girl Elisabeth too.  Lydia resolved that tomorrow she would begin her search for more of Elisabeth’s journals.

***

              The dinner party for fourteen had begun at nine with Jan serving a delicious potato and leek soup followed by the smoked salmon Lydia had bought at the Halifax airport. Roast Beef with Yorkshire pudding and Turkey came next, served with an array of winter vegetables. Dessert was a variety of apple cinnamon cake, sticky treacle and a delightful fruit trifle.  The evening continued with music and drinks in the lounge.

             
The grandfather clock in the foyer was striking two in the morning as the last of the guests were leaving. Wearily, Lydia stood behind her Aunt and Uncle waving good-bye as the last carload of people drove off.  Alan had made his excuses an hour before and gone upstairs to bed.  Lydia helped Jan and the hired girl, Alice, to clear the glasses and ashtrays from the lounge before going upstairs.

             
The clock tolled three as Lydia undressed for bed. She sat at the dressing table brushing her hair, feeling angry that Dan hadn’t called back. The telephone had rung once during dinner but it was an old friend of Uncle Henry’s calling to wish him a Happy New Year.

             
Lydia laid the silver brush down on the dresser. Resting her elbow on the table she laid her head in her hand; she sat staring sightlessly into the mirror.

             
The mirror clouded and Lydia saw the girl Elisabeth pacing a small semi-darkened room. Lydia could feel the girl’s anxiety as she watched Elisabeth.

             
Deeper into the mirror Lydia leaned, drawn by the scene unfolding before her eyes.

             
Elisabeth kicked at the dirty straw on the floor. Turning toward a rustling sound at her feet she cried out in horror as a rat scurried off into the darkness.

             
Suddenly the sound of a key in the lock drew Elisabeth’s attention to the heavy oak door.  She stepped back unconsciously.  The door swung open allowing a brilliant light to flood the dark room. A tall, thin man stood haloed by the light. Only the white collar peeking out from the fold of his dark clothes revealed his vocation, he was a priest.

             
“Come, girl,” he said grabbing for her arm.

             
Elisabeth stepped further back into the room.

             
“I said come, girl,” he repeated, “see what your writings hath wrought,” he said, his cold hand gentle on her arm.

             
Elisabeth drew back from his touch.  Sinking to her knees she clutched at his cloak as she slipped to the floor. “Good sir,” she pleaded her throat tight with tears, “what is to become of me?”

             
“You?” he asked.  “You are cast out as all who sin against their masters should be,” he continued, his hand violently pulling her to her feet. “Come, it is time to see what your letter has done,” he said, pulling Elisabeth down the narrow staircase into the noon-day sun.

             
As Lydia watched the scene faded but Elisabeth’s voice remained strong. “The letter, find the letter!” she said.             

Lydia shook her head. “What letter?” she asked aloud. 

The voice in her head repeated, “Find the letter.”

Lydia screamed, “Why are you doing this to me?” bringing Alan and Christine to her room.

“Are you okay?” Alan said. Kneeling beside Lydia he took her hand into his.

Lydia was shaking so hard she couldn’t speak.

“Should I call a doctor?” Christine asked helplessly, watching her cousin dissolve into tears.

Lydia tried to tell Alan about the waking dream, but the words wouldn’t pass her lips. She pointed to the mirror and Alan nodded.

“It’s okay, Lydia.  The dream is over. You are safe now,” he cooed softly as he led her to the bed.  “We can talk about this later. You must get some rest now.”

“Do you think we should call a doctor?” Christine asked, repeating her question.

“No,” Alan said as he pulled the quilted comforter over Lydia’s shivering body. “She is overtired and just needs to rest. I will sit with her for awhile. You needn’t stay,” Alan said, dismissing Christine.