The moment passed, the veil fell, but all was changed from that moment on. No, it can not be. Let me bury this love, if it should kill us in the attempt, thought Alfred. He got up, and strode away, on the pretext of bringing Lydia a little water from the stream nearby.
When he came back to her, she was as composed as ever. She accepted the water gratefully, and then spoke again.
“My words were ill-considered – can I truly believe that my stepmother is a murderess? But I do fear she is ill – look at the later entries. She seems convinced she is being watched – she writes of spies set to watch her in the woods when she goes out, Look here. 'went to tea with ST today, the old women followed me all the way home. I felt their eyes on me, I could hear them whispering about me'. and here. 'they are poking about again, I saw them peeking in the window downstairs. I have shut the curtains but they are still there.' and 'slept ill – one of them stood beneath my window all night, whispering. said she would tell, would put me in all the newspapers.'
“She seems to suspect all the servants of plotting against her. She has confined herself to her rooms because of it. When she argued with Estelle, she accused her of being a spy and a traitress.
“Thank goodness she has never yet accused Adeline or I of any conspiracy against her, for at this moment Adeline is completely in her power.”
At this thought, the pair shared another look, but this time one of horror.
Chapter the 19th
Adeline was, for the moment, safe enough, though she confessed, when questioned by Lydia and Alfred, that she was a little frightened of her mother, who at times acted strangely.
“She has locks to everything,” Adeline explained, “and when she requires something, she grudgingly doles out a key, and watches one like a hawk until it is returned.
“At timed she seems afraid of something or someone – I know not what. Often she will send me to the window, sometimes as frequently as every five or ten minutes, and when I report that I see nothing out of the ordinary, she will sigh out – 'Oh, they are too quick for you!'”
This behaviour, though odd, did not seem threatening, for the present, and Lydia's mind was in some measure put at rest. She did not share her dreadful suspicions of Evelyn with Adeline, and for a few days life continued in it's usual tenor.
There was little more to be gleaned from the diary, and so Lydia and Alfred were able to remain at home, to Adeline's great joy. This gentleman was as attentive and tender as ever, but Adeline sensed a sudden change with him.
“I cannot say what is very different, only that he seems somehow more reserved than formerly, as if he is keeping something back from me. No doubt the situation at hand taxes him sorely. I hope he is not ill.” mused Adeline.
Lydia's heart leapt involuntarily within her at this speech, but at the next moment it smote her with guilt and remorse. What was it to her if Alfred's affection for her sister be lessened in the slightest degree? So long as Adeline was not made unhappy – that was all that mattered.
Her reverie was interrupted by a commotion at the door – it was Richard Dodd, come to ask them to walk. How glad they all were to see that gentleman! And how Adeline's heart did flutter when she thought of how he may have some news of her father and sister – may have seen them, have spoken with them!
In less than five minutes the girls had on their bonnets and things, and in less than twenty judged themselves to be far enough from the house to speak without reserve. Little had been said in those twenty minutes – all hearts were too full for mere commonplace chatter.
At last they came to a shady lane, where they could see if anyone was coming from any direction. As they strolled back and forth along the lane, they began to speak.
“Oh, Mr Dodd,” gasped Adeline, “What news? Have you found them?” - and they all began to speak at once.
“Hush, hush!” cried the detective. “You shall hear all, if you'll let me tell it in my own way, and make no interruptions – you can quiz and question me all you like afterward.”
They could make no demur to that proposal, and so Detective Dodd began to pour his tale into the three pairs of attentive ears.
“You may remember that, having traced Mr Wade to London, the trail there went cold. Well, there is more than one way to skin a cat, and it seemed to me that one way to find the father would be to go after the daughter – Catherine, you know.
“The letter from Mr Wade had spoken of the girl as having married, so first I needed to find out what name she goes by now. Well the Captain helped out here, unknowing. One day – we had both chanced to visit here and were walking home together – he chanced to ask me if Mrs Trent had ever lived in the village of Houghton, in one of the Northern counties of England, as she bore a great resemblance to someone he once knew there. This, coupled with my own private suspicions, determined me on my course. I would go to that village, and search the parish registers of all the local churches, on the chance Miss Wade the elder – Catherine, I mean - had been married there – it seemed likely she would have been married from her home.
“To Houghton, then, I repaired, and near wore out my eyesight and choked myself with dust, poking and peering over mouldy old registers in musty old vestries. Not a trace of the Wades did I find – but in the smallest and mustiest of the churches I found a curious thing – one page, within the dates with which I was concerned, was missing, torn clean out of the book. This looked suspicious, and on further investigation I found several more missing pages. This now looked black indeed.
“Applying to the rector of that church (and that was no easy task, for he had the cure of three other parishes besides, and whichever one I was in he was bound to be in another) for information about those missing pages, he seemed somewhat discomfited, but told me that the old churchwarden, one Matthew Thwaite, had kept copies. However, he did not know where the old man was.
“Asking round the village I finally found someone who believed that, finding himself of increasing infirmity, old Matt had gone, some years ago, to live with his son, in another village twenty miles distant. Arriving at that village, what should I find but Matt Thwaite in the churchyard, and his son emigrated to America.
“I believe I talked with every fool in that village before I finally found one who had an inkling of what the younger Mr Thwaite's address may be, and then of course I had a long, uncertain wait while a letter found him.
“Find him it did, and in reply to my query as to what had happened to the old man's papers, particularly the copies of the parish registers – for I had represented myself as the curate of Thwaite's old parish, and acknowledged that the original registers had been damaged – he politely begged to inform me that they had been sold to a paper-merchant in Leeds. The young gentleman, requiring money for his passage, had sold everything of his father's that had the least monetary value.
“To Leeds, then, I turned my steps, and let me tell you, a manufacturing town in late August and early September is no joke! Having located the paper-merchant, I immediately took lodgings nearby, and set about trying to find out if the registers were in his posession. I had a suspicion, as Yorkshire folk are said to drive a hard bargain, that if I had revealed my purpose and motive, I may have found the leaves of those dirty old books to be worth more than the paper issued by the old lady in Threadneedle Street. I therefore set myself to watch the man, and find out his habits.
“I soon found out that he was a gentleman of a sporting persuasion – in other words, he could never resist a wager. Within a week I had struck up a friendship with him in the local public-house, and by studying the sporting papers by day, was able to improve the acquaintance rapidly, by discussing such improving topics as which horse might win the 3.30 at Doncaster, or the prospects of the latest pet of the ring.
“It was not long before he invited me to enjoy a sociable evening, involving the consumption of an indifferently boiled leg of mutton and a great quantity of brandy-and-water, at his home – or should I say his warehouse, for he s
eemed to live amongst his stock, the great drifts of paper having encroached so as to almost swamp the humble lodging attached to his shop. Having finally exhausted the subject of the relative merits of the runners at Doncaster the next day, we finally fell to amusing ourselves by making friendly wagers between ourselves.
“This gentleman took great pride in his memory, at least so far as his stock was concerned, and I declared I would put it to the test. I began to make wagers that he could not lay his hand upon certain types of paper article within a given time. Having lost five pounds by his being able to produce, within five minutes, a love-letter, a playbill, and a newspaper dated precisely three years ago, I proposed double-or-quits upon him being able to show me a parish register.
“'Then tha 'ad better get thy ten pounds out, ready, for I can show you three on' them articles, and much sooner than five minutes – try five seconds!' and so saying, he pulled out the very books I had been in search of – from underneath the chair on which I was sitting! I had been so close to my goal and had not known it.
“'Here is your ten pounds, friend' says I, 'I had better not make any more wagers of that kind. Perhaps you might give me one of the articles as a reminder not to challenge you to such a contest again – a sort of souvenir of a most entertaining and agreeable evening.'
“'Take aught tha wish,' says he, rather the worse for the brandy by now, and in the hail-fellow-well-met phase. 'Though what tha 'ould want wi such as that I know not.'
“'Then I shall take one of these volumes, if I may – it will look well on my bookshelf, and serve me a daily reminder never to tangle with an expert.' and with the air of a man choosing at random, I secured the volume covering the dates in which I was interested.
“How feverishly I did examine that mouldering old book the instant I got back to my lodging! And how certain names did jump out at me when I read the pages that had been missing from the original! Here are those names, and the events in their lives which were recorded in that parish church.”
And the detective laid a slip of paper before them, on which he had copied the relevant entries.
The first, dated some thirty years previously, recorded the marriage of Malcolm Wade, bachelor, to Adeline Cottrell, spinster of this parish. It was some time, it seemed, before this union was blessed with fruit, for the announcement of the baptism of Catherine Anne Wade came four years later. It was full another six years before her younger sister, Adeline Elizabeth Wade, was baptised, but then just a few short days before the burial of the unfortunate mother, Adeline Wade nee Cottrell.
The widower proved not inconsolable, however, and within a year of his first wife's death came the register of his marriage to Evelyn Mary Spence.
To Adeline, this was joyful confirmation that she had an older sister, but it was Lydia who, in a moment, grasped the full significance of what was there written.
“Don't you see?” she gasped, “Evelyn is not Adeline's mother!”
Chapter the 20th
The walk back to the house was silent, all being busy with their thoughts. The detective's discovery had stunned them all. Adeline, indeed, could not even think, let alone speak. Lydia's first thoughts were for her sister, while Alfred was guiltily conscious that though he was tenderly concerned for Adeline, uppermost in his mind was anxiety for Lydia. He struggled to repress this thought, and to place concern for his fiancee above thoughts of how the news would affect the woman he loved.
Having been gone about two hours, they arrived home to find the house in an uproar. Maisy met them at the door.
"Oh, Miss Lydia, Miss Adeline!" wailed the distracted girl, "Thank goodness you are here! The mistress has taken on so - such screaming and hollering and ranting as turns my blood cold! She has been screaming as how everyone is against her, and was scheming and plotting to get rid of her, and now..." Maisy's face was a picture of frantic misery, "now she's locked Bessie up with her, and says as she's the chief plotter, and must be watched."
Though the girls could not entirely understand this garbled account, they grasped the main point, and ran upstairs to Mrs Trent's rooms.
"Who is there?" screeched a wild voice. "More spies and traitors, I'll be bound. Be off, I want none of you." and the door was shaken as some heavy object was flung against it.
"Mamma! It is I, it is Adeline!" called the younger girl, though her blood ran cold at that moment. "Is Bessie there? I need to speak to her about something."
"Oh miss, miss!" came a second voice. "She has got me tied up to a chair, and is so wild-like! I'm frighten...mmmf" and the voice was suddenly muffled.
"Alfred, quick, run for the doctor." called Lydia, "And bring James or Mr Scott, if you can find them (both manservant and butler being absent that morning, having business in the village) - or if not, some other man you can trust. Go, quickly, for a life may depend on it!"
Alfred did not waste an instant. Without even stopping to snatch up his hat, he was off as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Mamma," said Adeline softly, "Won't you let me in? It is almost dinner time, you know. Shall I come and help you dress? Or perhaps you are not well - shall I fetch you some tea, and a little buttered toast?"
There was another crash as some glass object splintered against the back of the door.
"Get away!" came a great wild screech. "Viper! Traitress! None shall enter this room! None shall leave this room!"
There was a muffled scream from the terrified housemaid, and Adeline was beyond measure alarmed.
"Oh Lyddy!" she sobbed, "What shall we do? Poor Mamma, poor Bessie! How can we get in? How can we stop some terrible act of violence being committed?!"
Lydia made no reply - she was walking quite composedly into her own room!
"Lyddy! Where are you going?" wailed Adeline, not divining her purpose. "Oh, do not desert us!"
Lydia reappeared, carrying with some effort a heavy old-fashioned wash-stand from her room. This she dashed with all her strength aginst the locked door - once, twice, three times. At the third blow, the washstand came to pieces in her hands, but her object was achieved - the lock of the door was splintering. With almost superhuman strength, Lydia flung herself at the door, which suddenly gave way with a crash and pitched Lydia over a pile of broken glass and splintered furniture onto the floor of her stepmother's sitting room.
With a scream of rage, Evelyn snatched up a paper-knife from the table, and advanced on Lydia, who, somewhat stunned from her fall, was picking herself up from the floor.
"Lydia! Look out!" cried Adeline from the doorway.
With a sudden spring, Evelyn pounced on her stepdaughter, but the girl had moved quick as a flash, and Evelyn stumbled as her knife met no resistance. Lydia saw her advantage, and stepped forward, pinning Evelyn's arms to her sides.
The crazed woman fought with all her strength, and as they grappled it became apparent that Lydia was doomed to lose the contest. She struggled valiantly, the minutes seeming like hours, and at one point it seemed she had the advantage, but with a sudden, spasmodic jerk Evelyn slipped from her grasp, flinging the heroic girl to the floor and raising the knife. Lydia rolled, managing to slide partly out of the way as the knife descended once, then was raised again. Helpless, she shut her eyes and waited for death, knowing all was over, but the second blow never came, and Lydia opened her eyes to see Alfred and the Captain, pinning the struggling madwoman between them. Quickly, she snatched up a pair of stockings from the litter on the floor, and as the men pulled Evelyn's hands behind her, she bound them tightly.
"Curse you all, meddlers! Spies!" screamed the frantic Evelyn. "Enemies wherever I look!" and she sank to her knees with a cry of despair.
The cry was echoed by Adeline, who suddenly saw the sleeve of Lydia's gown, stained and dabbled with crimson.
"Oh, my poor Lydia, she is hurt, she is bleeding!" moaned Adeline, and, turning white, promptly fainted.
Alfred rushed to Lydia's aid, the Captain to Adeline's, while Maisy, her mouth a round o of surpr
ise and horror all this time, had crept in and liberated the unfortunate Bessie, who was found to be unhurt, though very much frightened. A minute later the doctor arrived, and within a very short time had sedated the raving Evelyn, who now lay in a heavy stupor upon her bed, and bandaged Lydia's arm. Fortunately, the cut, though a deep one, was only a flesh-wound. Adeline he promptly sent to bed, with Maisy to look after her, while poor Bessie he prescribed copious sweet tea and a seat by the kitchen fire.
The Captain, having seen all the ladies safe, departed, feeling that at such a time the family would wish to be left to themselves. Alfred, having been upstairs and exchanged a few words with Adeline, now descended to the morning-room, where Lydia sat, staring into the fire. She had not yet rung for candles, though the evening was growing dark. She did not look up as Alfred entered.
“How is your arm, Lydia?” the gentleman enquired in a brisk tone, then, giving her no time to respond to that question, his voice softened and changed, and the words fell in a rush as if they were being forced from him.
Lydia Trent Page 10
