The Ghost of Christmas Past

by Sally Quilford

  “Very well, I suppose one has to make allowances.”

  The sisters smiled, but Elizabeth saw Mrs. Chatterbuck's smile waver slightly. Her aunt's insult had not gone unnoticed that time.

  Mr. Hardacre left them to return home. Elizabeth noticed with some disappointment that he had not offered anyone else a ride home in his carriage. She excused him because he was no doubt anxious to get home to his sister. Any detours through the town would only delay his return.

  Not long afterwards the party broke up. Mr. Jenkins, Doctor Wheston and Mrs. Wheston went home in one carriage. Liam expressed a desire to walk. Constable Hounds said he would accompany him and take in the night air.

  The sisters, Elizabeth and her father took another carriage, for which Elizabeth was grateful. Both women were rather subdued.

  “You must not let my aunt upset you,” said Elizabeth. In truth she was furious with her aunt for treating their feelings in such a cavalier fashion.

  “Oh, Her Ladyship was most gracious,” said Mrs. Chatterbucks. “And I suppose … well … we are rather tiresome at times.”

  “Please do not think so,” said Elizabeth. She had to admit to often thinking the sisters tiresome, but it did not excuse her aunt’s rude behaviour. “My aunt is rude to everyone, especially to her family. Her wealth and status allow her to get away with much that an ordinary person would not.”

  “Quite,” said the Reverend. “She is a lonely woman who does not realise that if she could open her heart to others – as you both do – she would not be quite so lonely.”

  “We are not lonely because we have each other,” said Miss Graves, her eyes misty. “And we have dear friends like you, who, despite our faults, watch over us.”

  “And we always will,” said Elizabeth. “I am sure that you forgive our faults too.”

  “Oh my dearest girl,” said Mrs. Chatterbucks. “You and the Reverend have shown us nothing but kindness.”

  Elizabeth felt so sure both sisters were about to cry that she dared not say anything else.

  Chapter Five

  During the coach ride home, Elizabeth took to thinking about what she had learned over the past few days. Mr. George Sanderson had been murdered whilst on a business trip to see her aunt. That much was certain. He had mentioned the name Lucinda, and it now transpired that some time ago, before Elizabeth was born, a woman called Lucinda Hargreaves was married to a man who murdered a business associate, after embezzling his money. Then Lucinda Hargreaves is thought to have taken her own life and that of her two young children. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought. Whatever happened with Mr. Hargreaves, and the shame Lucinda might have felt, the children were not to blame.

  Into the confusing equation came the story about George Sanderson's brother, Albert, who, fifteen years previously, had been going to marry her aunt's step-daughter, Lady Clarissa Bedlington. He had been chased off by Lord Bedlington, and had subsequently married another girl. Then he too was accused of murdering a business associate, only his illness and his family connections meant he was incarcerated in a sanatorium instead. After that, his wife, Lucinda, was said to have taken her own life.

  Could it have been the same woman? No, thought Elizabeth, that did not fit. Fifteen years previously, Elizabeth had been nine, which meant that the Lucinda from the first story, which took place at least ten years before that, would have been much older. Nevertheless, there were too many coincidences in the stories. What that meant, Elizabeth did not know.

  To confuse her emotions even more, Liam Doubleday had come into the story. Quite suddenly and at the same time as she found Mr. Sanderson's body. His greeting to his friend, which went something like 'I warrant you're surprised to see your old friend, Liam Doubleday'. Why had it struck Elizabeth as odd? Of course! Before Doctor Wheston could speak, Liam had rushed forward, and let him know the name by which he was to be known, just in case Doctor Wheston had called him by his real name. But why had Doctor Wheston concurred? He seemed a decent, trustworthy man, not given to subterfuge, yet if Elizabeth's suspicion was correct, he was helping his friend to pretend to be someone else.

  What had Liam got to do with it all? Elizabeth guessed he was around ten years her senior, making him thirty-four or thirty-five years old. Any event before she was born would have taken place before his tenth year – and maybe even before he was born because Elizabeth did not know the exact date of the first Lucinda’s story.

  A suspicion started to take hold. Elizabeth did not know why she had not thought of it before! She chided herself for her stupidity. Liam could not be Albert Sanderson, because Lady Bedlington would have recognised him from their earlier acquaintance. Unless her aunt was even more blinkered than Elizabeth thought.

  But he could be the son of the first Lucinda – assuming the woman did not really die and just took her children away with her. Which might mean the lady in question was in Midchester. But where? No, that did not fit either. She would no doubt be recognised. Unless... unless the years had not been kind to her. She would be a much older woman, probably in her fifties, maybe even older.

  Elizabeth was still missing something. Something that had been said about Albert Sanderson's wife. What was it? Yes! That was it. Lady Bedlington had said he had married a young woman. No one would say that about a woman who was older than he, and had the woman been older, Elizabeth felt sure her aunt would have mentioned it as something out of the ordinary.

  So it was possible there were two Lucindas. One older woman, with two children, who disappeared – presumed dead. And Albert Sanderson's tragic young wife who apparently took her own life. In both cases, no bodies had been found.

  Elizabeth came to with a start, realising that the carriage had stopped outside Mrs. Chatterbucks' and Miss Graves' garden gate. The Reverend got out, showing them to the door, causing them to fluster a little. It made Elizabeth smile. Her father was still very handsome, and she could understand his simple kindness would bring a thrill into their lives.

  She watched them make steady steps through the snow to the door, then her eyes glanced over to the other side of the road. Doctor Wheston's house was lit up, and by the gaslight from above the door, she could see a figure walking along the pavement towards it. It was Liam. She felt her heart give a flip, and she wondered how a man she barely knew could engage her emotions so strongly.

  The front door opened, and a figure emerged. A woman. She walked down the path and opened the gate, ready for Liam's arrival. It was Mrs. Wheston. When Liam reached her, she held out her arms and he took her into his. They held each other for a long time, before walking back to the house together arm in arm.

  Elizabeth felt disappointment and heartbreak consume her. So that was the way it was. Whilst John Wheston was shielding his friend from whatever trouble he was in, Liam repaid him by seducing Wheston's pretty young wife.

  As they closed the door, another figure stepped out of the shadows. How long he had been there, Elizabeth did not know. He was an old man, or at least seemed to be, with a shambling gait, dressed in the clothes of a tramp and yet having an altogether different bearing. He looked up at Doctor Wheston's house, as if trying to come to a decision, then appeared to change his mind before disappearing into the night.

  With all the resilience of her youth, Elizabeth faced the next morning somewhat braver than she had felt on going to bed. What cared she about a man who lied about his identity and stole another man's wife? True, Liam may be handsome and charming, but that did not make him a good person.

  She vowed instead to start asking questions. She was given the chance to speak to her father at breakfast, due to Samuel rushing out to go evidence hunting with Johnny Fletcher.

  “Do you think it's wise, Father?” she asked.

  “It's daytime, Lizzie,” said the Reverend. “We can't stop children being children because of one madman's actions. Samuel has orders to be in by lunchtime, and to stay within sight of the town square.”

  “He may not obey.”

  “
He's a good boy. He'll do as I say. All young boys should have adventure.”

  “And what about young girls?” She sounded more brittle than she had intended.

  “Young girls should follow their hearts too,” her father said, mildly.

  “It's just that I was thinking that as Samuel is going away to school next September, I might take a post as a governess. In the newspaper only this week there was a family – a young government consul and his wife – looking for a governess to care for their children in the Orient.”

  “So far away? Could you not take a post that would allow you to come home and see your old father from time to time?”

  “I am afraid that if I don't escape Midchester now, I might never escape,” said Elizabeth with far more passion than she had intended.

  “Is that how you feel, my Lizzie? Trapped? I know it has been hard for you bringing up Samuel, but it seems to me you will only be doing what you have always done. Looking after children.”

  “I don't want to be here all my life, like the sisters,” said Elizabeth, with the same passion. “I'm not saying I shan't come home, but to have never been anywhere since the day you were born...” She held out her hands, as if the thought were too big for her to articulate.

  “Mrs. Chatterbucks and Miss Graves weren't born here, dearest. They're from Yorkshire originally. Mrs. Chatterbucks travelled the Far East with Mr. Chatterbucks. They only came here when he retired. Miss Graves has also travelled, to America as a schoolteacher, I believe, though I don't know much about her past. But she only came here about ten years ago, if you remember. To live with her sister after Mr. Chatterbucks died.”

  “Yes, I remember now. It's funny, but I'd got it into my head that they had always been a part of Midchester. It certainly feels as if they've always been here. Father, did you know Lucinda Hargreaves? The one who was said to have murdered her husband?”

  “I can't say I did. What, you're not suggesting she's returned as one of the sisters, are you?” The Reverend laughed.

  “Why not? It occurred to me that when strangers come into a community, we only know what they tell us about themselves.”

  “Hardly, dear. Most people who come to Midchester arrive with letters from relatives or friends of existing residents. If they rent their home, they have to provide references from former landlords.”

  “But these things can be forged, can they not? A letter from lord or colonel something or other, saying someone is known to them. Or a letter might not say everything about a person. After all, no one would show an unkind reference.”

  “It would soon be revealed if it were not true.”

  “But who checks? Does anyone write to lord or colonel such and such, asking if they really know that person? Don't we rather take people at their word? I mean, you're alright, because Aunt Arabella definitely knows you, and gave you the post of vicar here. But another young vicar might have arrived, saying he knew the bishop and showing false references, and it's almost certain that Aunt Arabella would not have bothered to check.”

  “Don't you think you're rather mistrusting lately, Lizzie?” asked her father.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, I am rather. It's just … Father?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “When you met Mother, did you ever have any doubts? Aunt Arabella is convinced Mother married you for money.”

  “Most women marry for money, dear.”

  “That's a rather cynical attitude.” Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock.

  “But not untrue. Women have to marry for money, simply because there are so few ways of them earning their own crust. But they also know that they have to live with a man for the rest of their lives, so they're often very careful to fall in love with someone who can provide for them. It's the hunter-gatherer thing, and there's nothing wrong with that.” He winked across the table at her. “But in answer your question, no I never had a moment's doubt. I was a pretty poor prospect back then. I had no income of my own, and had gone into the church because when I left the army I was not fit for anything else. Despite my poor prospects, your mother loved me better than anyone ever could. She loved you, and had she lived to see him grow, she would have loved Samuel. Money can guarantee many things. A roof over your head, food in your belly, but it can't guarantee that you'll love and be loved. That's something you have to work at and earn all by yourself. Sometimes I wish your Aunt Arabella would remember that.”

  “If she ever knew.”

  “Oh, she knew. She didn't turn the Duke of Devonshire down, you know. She adored him, and not just for his money and status. Sadly he was never serious about his feelings. He had long since been promised to a girl from a better family, but hid that from Arabella, and from others before her. It was only then she married for money and status. Not quite as well as she'd hoped, and to a man who was not always kind to her or Lady Clarissa. Now she has her money and she has her status, but she seldom commands love, and even if she did, would be incapable of loving in return.”

  “You always see things better than I do,” said Elizabeth. “Sometimes I feel so angry with people because of the way they are. Only last night, despite the times I've felt the sisters to be tiresome, I was angry with Aunt Arabella for being so rude to them.”

  “Then tell her.”

  “I couldn't!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it's as you say, she has money and status. And besides, Father, if I upset her she may well take it out on you.”

  “Arabella won't do anything to me, and if she does, then there are other parishes. I may not have been worth much when she gave me the Midchester parish, but I fancy I've earned a few more honours with the Church of England since then.”

  “Then she might take it out on Samuel. If not for her, he would not be going to school next year. That is what I try to remind myself when I am angry with her. That despite her rudeness, she is capable of kindness, even if it does not always feel like kindness. Oh I hate being dependent on others, Father. If I could just get away...”

  “Do you hate it here so much, child?”

  “No, not hate. I love Midchester. But I read so much about other places, and I would so like to see them.”

  “What if I were to rent a house near the sea come the summer? I would not be able to accompany you, because I have my duties here. But Sam could go, and … well you may not like this bit.”

  “What?”

  “The sisters could accompany you.”

  “As chaperones, you mean?”

  “You are a young, unmarried woman. I couldn't in all conscience leave you to live alone, Lizzie.”

  “A house by the sea would be wonderful, Father.” Elizabeth smiled, and kissed her father's head. “Yes. I may write, you know. That's what some ladies do to earn a living. Not that I shall be very good at it. But I can pretend.” She stood up and almost danced out of the room, barely noticing the expression of impending loss on her father's face.

  Chapter Six

  Elizabeth spent the rest of the morning on chores, readying the house for the Christmas festivities. Her father and Samuel had fetched a tree the day before, and it stood in the corner of the parlour, awaiting decoration. She knew that Samuel would be upset if she started without him, so instead she set about putting newspaper around the base, to catch the falling needles. As she put the papers into place, she idly read the news. Some of them were years old, having been stored in the attic then forgotten about. Suddenly her eyes alighted on one particular headline from a newspaper dated five years previously.

  The Strange Case of the Returning Wife, it read. There was an exciting development in the case yesterday when, Mrs. Prudence Rivers, the wife of Bertram Rivers, who was believed to have taken her own life, returned and declared she was very much alive. Her husband, Bertram Rivers, had been tried and condemned for the murder of his elder brother and it was believed the shame had driven his young wife to her own death.

  Mrs. Rivers, a beauty with golden locks, claims that she fled
to a remote part of Scotland, where she was unaware of the murder enquiry. “Had I known, I would most certainly have come forward,” she told our reporter. “Bertram may not have been the kindest of husbands, but he was no murderer. I only found out he had been hanged because I happened to visit Edinburgh and saw it in the newspaper.”

  Mr. Rivers' family have long since argued his innocence, and strongly refute claims that he was a brute to his pretty wife. Mr. Rivers' sister, Mrs. Flora Pertwee insisted she had seen Mrs. Rivers whilst visiting a friend in Scotland during Mr. Rivers' incarceration.

  Mrs. Rivers is expected to be able to claim Mr. Rivers estate, which amounts to an annuity of £100 per year.

  A similar case took place in Calais several years ago, when the husband of a woman hanged for the murder of her rich uncle arrived several days after her execution. He too was thought to have taken his own life, but claimed he had merely been at sea for several months.

  Elizabeth barely had time to think about why the story had arrested her attention when there was an almighty banging at the front door. She rushed through to the hall, just as her father was running down the stairs.

  “What on Earth?” she said, flinging the door open. Liam Doubleday stood before her, soaked to the skin and shivering. At first she thought he held a bundle of rags in his arms, then with a scream of horror, she realised it was Samuel.

  “Quickly,” said Liam, darting into the house. “Take me to a room with a good fire, and bring towels and blankets.”

  Despite her horror, Elizabeth was able to calm herself enough to do as he asked, leading him into the parlour. As she bustled around, looking for towels and blankets, she could hear her father speaking to Liam, asking questions.

  “What happened?” she said, coming back with the towels. “I've asked Abigail to boil some water,” she added.

  “He fell into the pond,” said Liam. “The ice broke. Luckily I was walking nearby, and saw him crying for help. Reverend, bring some warm brandy. It won't hurt him in this instance.”