The Other Cathy

by Nancy Buckingham

  I must talk with you, urgently. If you expect me to believe in your innocence, you must be completely frank with me, telling me everything. If you are not, then I cannot help you. I shall ride today by Black Scar Rocks. Meet me there at three o’clock. E.H.

  She sealed it and went across to the stables, where Seth was sweeping the yard with a long-handled besom.

  ‘I’m asking another favour of you,’ she said. ‘I want this delivered as quickly as possible to Mr Sutcliffe. Since Joseph has come back to work this morning, it won’t be too difficult for you to get away, will it?’

  He took the letter and slipped it inside his jacket. ‘Aye, I’ll see to it, miss. Rely on’t.’

  Emma returned indoors telling herself she must try her best to behave normally, as if there was nothing to cause her this searing anguish. Unfortunately, Nelly had let slip to Cathy the news about the pedlar’s death and her cousin could talk of nothing else. It came as a relief when the door was thrown open and Randolph looked in.

  ‘Hallo, uncle. I thought you’d be at the mill. Didn’t you go back after breakfast?’

  His face was grim. ‘I had to come back to fetch something. Never mind about that, though. I want a word with you, Emma. At once!’

  Apprehensively, she followed him to his study where he turned and glared at her, his eyes like flints beneath his heavy brows. Then his hand shot out and he stabbed a finger at a sheet of paper lying on the desk.

  ‘What the devil is the meaning of this?’

  To her horror Emma recognised her own note to Matthew. She remained silent, shrivelled with misery.

  ‘I asked you a question, girl! Your aunt tells me that only yesterday she had to warn you against Sutcliffe, yet this morning you blatantly defy her and write to the man. A most improper note, too! You’d better explain yourself.’

  ‘Uncle, there is nothing improper —’

  ‘Nothing improper in making a secret assignation, and using a servant to convey it? The lad will have to go, of course. When I challenged him – fortunately I spotted what you were up to from the window – he had the insolence to deny it. But finally I forced him to confess, and I further learned that this was not the first time, either.’

  ‘Oh, please. Uncle Randolph, you mustn’t dismiss Seth. He’s not to blame. I asked him to do me a favour, he didn’t intend any harm.’

  ‘He knew damned well he was doing wrong. No question about it, he’ll have to go.’

  ‘But Seth’s only a young lad,’ Emma protested, then plunged on beseechingly, ‘Cathy will be heartbroken if he goes.’

  ‘Cathy? What is he to Cathy?’

  ‘You know they were playmates as children, uncle. And ever since ... well, Cathy’s had a special feeling for Seth. Having him around the place, just seeing him from a window sometimes, means a great deal to her. It’s a reminder of happier days, when she could get out and about herself.’

  ‘Hmm! Well, I suppose the lad can stay if it matters that much to her. But this alters nothing I’ve said to you.’ He moved to rest one hand on the marble mantelshelf and stood looking at her thoughtfully, his expression a trifle more kindly. ‘My dear Emma, this fellow Sutcliffe is using you, can’t you see that? To have Hugh Hardaker’s daughter on his side must be a real triumph for him. You have a kind and sympathetic nature, lass, and he has played on that for his own ends. Why else do you imagine he has fostered this – this acquaintanceship between you?’

  Emma closed her eyes against the prick of tears, and lowered her head.

  ‘I regret my decision to meet Sutcliffe on social terms,’ Randolph admitted, ‘although I never for a moment anticipated this outcome. Having successfully wheedled his way into our family circle, the wretched man is making up to your Aunt Blanche as well as you.’

  ‘What – what do you mean?’

  ‘He’s been seen calling there on several occasions, leaving the house late in the evening. Not that Blanche has tried to make any secret of it – why should she? I might as well speak plainly, Emma, you are old enough to understand these things. Being widowed isn’t all roses for a woman, and your aunt would welcome the opportunity of getting wed again. But she’s forty years old now, and though she has kept her looks she’s in no position to pick and choose. For all his disadvantages, Sutcliffe would likely suit Blanche very handsomely. In my opinion it’s quite on the cards that they’ll make a match of it.’

  Emma felt dizzy, experiencing a sensation that the solid oak floor boards were buckling beneath her feet. It was beyond her power to hide her dismay, and she clutched at the back of a chair and lowered herself into the seat.

  ‘There lass, it’s come as a shock to you,’ Randolph said sympathetically. ‘And no wonder! Still, now that I’ve explained how things stand, you can stop worrying about Sutcliffe. Banish the fellow from your mind.’

  There was a decanter of madeira on the chiffonier and Randolph splashed some into two glasses, putting one into Emma’s hand.

  ‘Sip a little of that, lass, it’ll make you feel better.’ He drank, savouring the wine, before continuing in a voice that was not quite steady, ‘I’ve something else to say to you, on a different matter. It’s about Cathy. I fear she is going downhill fast. But the other day I was talking to a cloth merchant from London, and he was full of praise of these clinics in Bavaria where they treat the consumption. Seemingly, they can achieve a great deal. I thought it would be worth trying ... anything that might prolong the poor child’s life would be worth trying.’

  Through the tall window Emma could see a line of men emerging from the mill, humping on their shoulders a long length of newly-woven cloth, wet and heavy from the scouring tub. Weighed down with their burden, they commenced their curious shuffling progress towards the hillside field where the tenter frames were set up in parallel rows for the next stage, the drying and stretching. It was a commonplace sight to Emma, yet she stared at the ‘Chinese wedding’ procession as if seeing it for the first time.

  ‘I’ve mentioned this sanatorium idea to your Uncle Paget,’ Randolph was saying, ‘and he’s inclined to the same opinion as me.’

  Emma, trying desperately to channel her bruised thoughts, felt pity for her uncle, Cathy’s father. She replied sensibly, ‘What does Bernard think? He’s Cathy’s doctor.’

  ‘Well, naturally, I shall have to discuss it with Bernard. But he’ll agree with Paget.’

  * * *

  Dr Mottram, however, did not agree with his senior partner. On the contrary, he was utterly opposed to the idea.

  ‘If I thought it would achieve the smallest gain, Mr Hardaker, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it,’ he said. ‘But the disease is too far advanced, alas; your daughter’s lungs are riddled with cavities. Even if all further erosion could be arrested, I fear it is already too late to save her life.’

  Paget Eade was oddly diffident. ‘But might it not keep the dear girl with us for a little longer? Under the ideal conditions of a sanatorium, her chances would surely be a little improved?’

  Bernard shook his head regretfully. ‘In my judgment it would do more harm than good to move her from her home and family. Even when I suggested to Cathy, some time ago now, that a few weeks by the sea would be beneficial, she grew agitated.’

  There was further discussion, but Bernard remained obdurate. In the end, he proposed a compromise, offering to escort his young patient to York to consult a prominent physician who specialised in the field. If Sir Charles Grierson expressed the opinion that a stay in a sanatorium would benefit Cathy, Bernard would give his wholehearted support to the plan. The arrangements were hurriedly made and in three days Emma accompanied Cathy and Bernard in a reserved first-class compartment, bound for York. Cathy had been told that Sir Charles was to be consulted about a possible new treatment. The question of being sent away from home was not mentioned to her.

  Preparing for the journey, Emma had done her best to keep up Cathy’s spirits, while the whole time her personal worry had haunted her, not allowing her a
moment’s respite. How long would it be, she wondered despondently, before she could see Matthew and hear his explanation of the meeting with Johnny Gone-tomorrow? She willed him to tell her he had nothing to do with the crime, that there was a simple reason for the meeting ... but Emma could not think of any. And if Matthew did protest his innocence, could she believe him?

  Although York was scarcely forty miles as the crow would fly, it was a tedious journey necessitating a change at Leeds and by the time they reached the ancient city the afternoon was well advanced and Cathy was tired out. A hired carriage took them at once to their hotel in Petergate, in the shadows of the gothic-towered minster and accessible to the doctor’s consulting rooms in Parliament Street. The rooms reserved for them included a spacious bedchamber for the two girls, a smaller one for Bernard, and a sitting room. While Cathy rested, Emma ordered supper to be served at six o’clock in their rooms, and in due course Cathy toyed with some rabbit stewed in milk, then Emma helped her to undress and she retired thankfully to bed. Bernard and Emma sat talking next door, within call.

  ‘If by some unexpected chance Sir Charles recommends a stay in a sanatorium,’ said Bernard, ‘then you’ll be away with Cathy for many months. I should miss you, Emma, though naturally I would accept the situation gladly, for Cathy’s sake.’

  Emma felt it better to make no comment, but unfortunately Bernard took her silence as encouragement.

  ‘We have to face the fact – you’ve faced it already, I believe – that Cathy cannot cling to life for very much longer. When that sad time comes, and you are free—’ he paused significantly, then went on, ‘I am only a junior partner in the practice and my income is relatively small, but I believe my expectations are sound. Would you ... can I hope that you will wait for me?’

  Much distressed, Emma said, ‘Please – do not speak of that.’

  ‘It seems heartless, I know, at such a moment. But it goes without saying that each and every one of us will do all that is possible for Cathy. We cannot close our eyes to the inevitable, however, and I would never forgive myself if I found I had lost you through not intimating soon enough what is in my mind.’

  ‘Please don’t! It isn’t that I’m not fond of you, Bernard – I have the highest regard for you. But – but I could never contemplate —’

  ‘I ask your pardon,’ he said contritely. ‘I had no right to broach the matter now, at such an anxious time.’

  ‘Now or any other time, it would make no difference. You see, mere fondness – fondness and high regard – these are not enough. Not for me.’

  Bernard sat in silence, his fingers plucking nervously at the fringed chenille cloth which draped the circular table.

  ‘Living as I do with Dr and Mrs Eade,’ he began slowly, ‘I often hear things mentioned between them. They sometimes forget I am not a member of your family. Just lately, I have been greatly troubled to hear your name linked with that of Matthew Sutcliffe.’

  ‘Oh? What have Aunt Jane and Uncle Paget been saying?’

  ‘No more, really, than you have told me yourself, that your Aunt Chloe has been concerned about him calling upon you. She is more concerned, I think, than you realise.’

  ‘She has no cause to be!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He gave Emma a challenging look that brought a bright flood of colour to her cheeks. ‘I tried once before to warn you that Sutcliffe is not a man of whose behaviour you could ever approve. I think that now, perhaps, I had better be more specific.’

  ‘As you please,’ she said, with an attempt at indifference. Under the table her hands were clenched so tightly that her fingernails bit into the flesh.

  ‘Very well, though it is extremely distasteful to me. One evening recently when I was dining in Wyke with a medical friend of mine, Sutcliffe was also in the restaurant, though he didn’t happen to see me. Emma, it was a most disreputable sort of place.’

  ‘You were there too, Bernard!’

  It was his turn to flush. ‘Frederick thought it would be amusing to dine there, but that’s not the point. It is an establishment where – women of a certain type flaunt themselves. Sutcliffe was with such a one. I saw him leaving with the woman on his arm.’ He leaned forward, his voice insistent, ‘I am speaking the truth, Emma. You must believe me.’

  All her instincts cried out in protest, but she knew Bernard was incapable of inventing such a story. Excusing herself she hastily withdrew to her bedroom, overcome by a feeling of desolation. In bed she could find no rest. At some point in the endless hours of the night Cathy, sleeping beside her, cried out in sudden sharp anguish, Heathcliff! Do come to me, Heathcliff! Emma’s heart lurched, and she fell to wondering again about the strange confused fancies of her young cousin’s mind. But what about herself, were not her own dreams as irrational? If she ever cried out in her sleep, Emma knew whose name would be on her own lips.

  She slept eventually, and wakened in the morning to find that a resolution had formed in her mind which, curiously, gave her a renewed sense of purpose. Whatever she might think of Matthew Sutcliffe, however shamefully he might have used her, he was still entitled to justice if he had been wrongly condemned for the death of her father. Despite everything, Emma felt strangely convinced that, about this, at least, he had told her the truth. Regardless of the pain and heartache it might bring her, she would help him establish his innocence by any means available to her. Somehow, she would arrange to meet him as soon as possible after her return to Bracklegarth Hall. She would question him about the pedlar, and would listen to what he had to say. And then—? Her thoughts would carry her no further.

  Carefully, Emma worked out a plan. She dared not try to use Seth as her messenger again, so the best thing was to send a letter by post from York. If she waited till they were home, it would mean extra delay. Besides, there was no pillar box as yet in Bythorpe so she would have to hand in the letter at the post office, and the clerk would see to whom it was addressed. The letter did not take her long to write. In essence it was identical with the one Uncle Randolph had intercepted, except that the time she named for their meeting was forty-eight hours hence.

  The appointment with Sir Charles Grierson was at eleven o’clock. The great man examined Cathy with gentle thoroughness. His manner was charming, and his tone of conversation so bright and cheerful that Emma felt a surge of optimism. Perhaps, after all, there was to be a miracle and Cathy would be saved. But the expression on Bernard’s face when he emerged from his professional consultation with the physician destroyed her hopes in an instant. Sir Charles’s advice, he said in a low voice when they could speak for a moment alone, was that Miss Hardaker should remain at home in the bosom of her family for the little time that was left to her. In his considered opinion, a stay in a Bavarian sanatorium would serve no useful purpose whatsoever. Furthermore, the exhausting journey to the continent might well prove too much for her surviving strength, and hasten her death rather than delay it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was a stifling day. With the sun hidden above dense layers of haze, the sky was a brazen dome emitting a harsh, hot glare. Emma wore her lightest walking dress, a pale lilac muslin of ankle length. Even so it clung to her body damply before she had walked half a mile. She had not dared ride Kirstie and risk getting Seth into further trouble for letting her go unaccompanied. Neither could she have brought Seth with her. Slowly, pausing now and then to regain her breath, Emma climbed the steep slope of the valley and reached the moorland plateau. It was utterly still and silent; no birds were winging in the hot air and the black-faced sheep stood motionless in the heather. The stunted cottongrass in the boggy patches was like a hanging cloud of vapour, and Black Scar Rocks thrust up stark and sullen against the pitiless sky. At the foot of the crags she saw a movement and a tall figure came into view, arm raised in greeting. Against her will, against reason, excitement stirred within her. Matthew had come, just as she’d asked. She hurried on, then slowed down as he drew near. When they met she searched his eyes for the an
swer to her unvoiced question.

  Matthew said at once, ‘What is it you want me to tell you, Emma?’

  ‘The truth! You must conceal nothing from me.’

  ‘Then ask me what you will. I have nothing to hide.’ Now the moment had come Emma wished desperately that she had not arranged this meeting. She wished she was elsewhere, anywhere, rather than here, confronting Matthew.

  She had given much thought to the questions she would put to him, wanting to be tactful, anxious not to seem accusatory. But now the painfully chosen phrases fled from her mind. Stumbling over the words, she burst out, ‘The man who was killed – the pedlar! You were talking to him, arguing with him, I saw you, down by the river the afternoon before he died.’

  ‘You saw me?’

  ‘I had taken Seth’s grandmother home in the trap,’ she explained, ‘and I was driving back. How did you come to know that man, Matthew? What was he to you?’

  He did not answer at once but stood looking at her with shadowed eyes, taking slow deep breaths as if the very act of breathing was a skill he had not yet mastered.