The Other Cathy

by Nancy Buckingham

  ‘Mottram? What has he got to say about me?’

  ‘Nothing that matters,’ she replied evasively.

  He tilted her chin and regarded her seriously. ‘Emma, we must be frank with each other, and hold back no secrets. What does Dr Mottram say in my disfavour?’

  ‘It is unimportant,’ she insisted.

  ‘Tell me!’

  She avoided his searching gaze. ‘Bernard and a doctor friend of his were dining at a – a restaurant in Wyke one evening, and – and he saw you there, with someone.’

  ‘I see! What did he say about it?’

  Emma still hung back reluctantly, and he urged her, ‘Come now, speak out! He saw me in the company of a common whore, is that not it?’

  She flinched. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bernard Mottram was telling the truth, Emma. And I suppose I cannot blame him for misinterpreting the situation. I had gone to that place purposely to seek out the woman and question her.’

  ‘Question her – about what?’

  There was a tiny pause, then he said, ‘I persuaded you to be outspoken, so I should be equally plain with you. I was trying to establish that your Uncle Randolph could not have broken open your deed box, because he didn’t have the opportunity. Something I chanced to overhear at the Railway Hotel seemed to point in that direction, and when I tracked the woman down she gave me definite confirmation. I have no wish to shock you, but neither must I be squeamish. Your uncle was in that woman’s company from the time he arrived in Wyke by train, until he left it early next morning to go straight to the mill. I am sorry, but it was necessary to tell you.’

  ‘You should have told me before.’ Emma picked up the poker and prodded the fire, sending flames leaping high into the broad throat of the chimney. ‘You don’t shock me, Matthew. Once I was shocked, eighteen months ago when I first came to live at the Hall, then gradually I came to understand the sort of man my uncle is where women are concerned. I have learned to accept it, just as Aunt Chloe has had to do. Now, that dark side of his character hardly affects my love and esteem for him.’ She turned to Matthew and he took her outstretched hand, regarding her with astonishment.

  ‘I think, my dear Emma, that the day will never come when you cease to surprise me.’

  She smiled fleetingly. ‘I hope not! I wouldn’t want you ever to take me for granted.’

  ‘I shan’t do that, I promise you.’

  He drew her to him again and was kissing her tenderly in the flickering firelight when the door opened and Ursly cam in. Emma broke away in confusion, her cheeks hot. But Ursly seemed unsurprised to find them in her home, Emma dressed only in a cloak of hers, and Matthew naked to the waist.

  ‘I – I hope you don’t mind, Ursly,’ Emma faltered. ‘We were caught in the storm and got drenched through, so we came here to find shelter and to dry our clothes.’

  Tossing aside the ragged square of sacking with which she had covered her head, the old woman nodded ironically at the forgotten bundle on the floor.

  ‘Happen they’d dry faster, lass, if tha was to hang ‘em out before t’fire.’

  ‘Oh – oh, yes!’ Embarrassed, Emma draped the garments over a line strung across the hearth from the wooden mantelshelf. Matthew donned his shirt, but spread out his coat beside Emma’s clothes.

  ‘Matthew Sutcliffe, tha’ll be then,’ Ursly said. ‘A lot about thee I’ve heard.’

  ‘None of it to my credit, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Little there’s said to my credit, neither! But I still live and breathe and sup my fill, so I’m not grousing.’

  ‘We were worried about whether you’d found shelter, Ursly,’ said Emma.

  ‘Aye! Worrit tha looked, too, when I came in!’ She handed Matthew the blackened kettle. ‘Go fill that, and I’ll mash some tea. Rain’s slacked off a bit now, which is why I come home. Happen ’tis a good thing I did, eh?’

  When he returned with the water, Emma was talking to Ursly about the death of the pedlar, Johnny Gone-tomorrow.

  ‘Nobody but you seems to know who he was,’ she said.

  ‘Good excuse I had an’ all, not to forget him.’

  ‘What happened exactly?’ Matthew asked. ‘When was he here before?’

  ‘Years agone. And nowt to do with thee, ’tis not.’ Her nearsighted eyes peered up at Matthew. ‘Dost think I killed him, then? Eh?’

  ‘You? He was twice your size and as strong as an ox. I doubt if you could even have dented his skull.’

  ‘Huh!’ she exclaimed, jerking her head contemptuously. ‘Any road, ’tis good riddance I reckon. Good riddance to bad rubbish.’

  ‘The afternoon before he was killed, we talked together,’ said Matthew. ‘He claimed there were things he could tell me, worth my while paying him good money to hear.’

  ‘Did he now?’ The old woman reached for her tin caddy and spooned her herbal mixture into the pot. ‘Tha’ll not be hearing it now, eh? Whatever he’d got to tell thee, it died along o’ him!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  From the sound of it, the driver of the vehicle turning in at the gates was in a great hurry. Emma drew aside the curtain and, dimly in the lamplight spilling from the portico, she discerned her Aunt Jane. Flinging her heavy body from the trap, Jane vanished out of sight up the front steps. The next instant the bell was jangling loudly.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Cathy, as Nelly helped her out of her crinoline cage. This evening she had dressed for supper downstairs and had remained a little while in the drawing room. Tiredness now made her voice sound flat and incurious.

  ‘Aunt Jane. She seemed in such a hurry. I wonder what she wants at this time of the evening.’

  Emma opened the bedroom door and slipped along to the stairhead to listen. But her aunt had been ushered into the drawing room and all Emma could hear was a confused babble of voices. She hesitated, wondering whether she ought to go down, but feeling reluctant to get caught up in family affairs at this moment. Since the afternoon, her life had irrevocably changed. Her emotions were see-sawing violently, one moment swinging to a peak of bright optimism with the certainty that nothing could any longer keep Matthew and her apart; the next instant, reminded of the practical difficulties confronting them, plunging into despondency. How were they ever to prove that Matthew was an innocent man? But whether or not they succeeded, theirs was a shared future. Emma knew this with utter conviction. If Matthew’s name could not be cleared, then they would simply go away and begin a new life together somewhere else. With a shiver, she remembered the gypsy woman at the Donkey Fair. ‘A dark man ... there is bitterness and anger. Ye’ll go away from here to some distant land where no one knows ye.’ Was that what fate had in store for them? And Ursly had once said, ‘The path ahead is already laid down, waiting to be trod.’ If only she could see the path ahead!

  Arriving home bedraggled this afternoon, Emma had explained that she had been overtaken by the storm while out for her walk and had taken shelter under a tree. Chloe, if censorious, had found no fault with this white lie; but it had been difficult for Emma to conceal her inner excitement from the family. Chatting to Cathy just now as she helped her cousin prepare for bed, she had more than once lost the thread of the conversation.

  The drawing-room door opened and Ada, who had been sent in with the tea tray, came running up the stairs in great agitation.

  ‘Oh miss, ’tis shocking! Dr Eade has gone a’missing. He set off to see a patient across t’moor in the midst of the storm this afternoon, and now his horse has come back wi’out him. Poor Mrs Eade is in a dreadful state, and I’m to fetch t’mistress’s smelling salts from her room.’

  Calling to Nelly to stay with Cathy, Emma sped downstairs. Randolph was just coming out of the drawing room, and he drew her away from the door.

  ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘Yes, Ada told me. What’s to be done, uncle?’

  ‘I’m going to organise a search for him. The problem is, Paget was going to a shepherd’s cottage over by Hewgill Fell, and there a
re several different tracks he could have taken.’

  ‘Can I help in any way?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, there is something you can do. It seems your uncle had an emergency call to a little girl suffering from what appeared to be a bad attack of croup. Her young brother brought the message, and Paget took the lad back home with him on his horse. If they didn’t manage to get that far – well, it’s not only both of them lost, but there’s the sick child, too. Will you run down to High Banks and see if Bernard is back yet? He’s been out all the afternoon on his calls. If he isn’t, then wait there for him. Tell him to get to the child as soon as possible. The name is Webster, he’ll know where they live.’

  ‘Very well!’

  Emma hurried upstairs again to her cousin’s room, thanking heaven her uncle was here to make the necessary plans in his usual competent way. She didn’t want Cathy upset so she entered the room casually and explained that Uncle Randolph wanted her to go out on an errand. So she said goodnight, leaving Nelly to keep an eye on Cathy. Then, fetching a cloak from her own room Emma hastened downstairs again, asked Hoad for a lantern, and let herself out into the night. It was raining quite hard again, but after the violence of the storm this seemed a triviality.

  Bernard, on horseback, was just turning in at the gateway when she reached High Banks.

  ‘Emma, what is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked, leaping down from the saddle.

  Breathlessly, she told him exactly what she knew. He considered a moment, then said, ‘You get back to the Hall now, and say I’m off right away. I’d better borrow a fresh horse from the Waggoners’ Inn – this one is tired and Dr Eade’s will be in no condition to go out again. If I discover that all is well with the little girl, then I’ll join the searchers.’

  When Emma arrived home Jane was lying down on one of the drawing-room sofas, sobbing weakly. In a hasty undertone Emma explained where she had been to Chloe, who said, ‘Tell that to your Aunt Jane. It may help to soothe her a little. She’ll not listen to me.’

  Emma sat on a footstool beside the plump quivering figure, and took Jane’s hand.

  ‘Try not to worry too much,’ she said with gentle compassion. ‘Uncle Randolph has organised search parties to comb the moor, and Bernard is out there now, too. They’ll soon find Uncle Paget, never fear. I daresay he was thrown by his horse and has hurt his ankle – something like that,’

  Jane clutched at Emma’s shoulder, heaving herself into a sitting position.

  ‘He should never have gone,’ she wailed. ‘It was madness, madness, in his condition. He is not strong, Emma, but he insisted. A doctor’s duty, he said.’

  ‘You must honour him for that.’

  ‘If only I could!’ With a gasp of dismay Jane fell back against the cushions, moaning, ‘What am I saying? I do honour him, I do! He is weak-willed, perhaps, but not an evil man. You don’t believe your uncle capable of an evil act, child?’

  ‘But of course not!’ said Emma, shocked. ‘Nobody thinks that.’

  Her aunt pounced on the words. ‘No, you are right, nobody thinks it. I have been wickedly wrong, all these years, may God forgive me!’ She lay gasping for breath, tossing her heavy body from side to side in a fever of misery. ‘If Paget is returned to me safely, it will be a sign from heaven, Emma -a sign that I have misjudged him, that I am being given a chance to make amends to the poor unhappy man.’

  ‘You will have Uncle Paget back, I am sure of it,’ Emma soothed her. ‘Now do try and calm yourself, Aunt Jane.’

  How strange, she thought, if good were to result from what at this moment seemed a disaster. If Uncle Paget was brought safely home, his marriage might be miraculously transformed. It only needed Aunt Jane’s forgiveness, Emma felt certain. And he had been summoned to the bedside of a little girl in peril of dying from the croup – just as his own daughter had died, all those years ago. What had been his thoughts, she wondered, as he urged his horse across the storm-ridden wilderness of the moor. Did he reach his patient, and save her? Emma prayed so with all her heart, for Uncle Paget’s sake as much as for the child’s.

  Time dragged by with agonising slowness. For long spells Jane lay very still, whimpering quietly to herself. Then she would rear up and cry out incoherently. Once she surprised Emma by asking in a small, clear voice, ‘What is the time?’ and Emma had glanced at the mantel clock, then exchanged a look with Chloe. Subtracting a whole hour, she had said, ‘A little after ten, Aunt Jane. Try to go to sleep if you can.’

  Cathy, at least, was undisturbed by the night’s alarms, that was one blessing. When Emma had taken the chance to slip upstairs to relieve Nelly, dreading to find Cathy awake and demanding a full explanation, she was sleeping peacefully.

  Emma had stood a while gazing down at her, reflecting upon the dreams that brought such a tender smile to her face. Heathcliff, of course – or Seth. They seemed to have become blurred and interchangeable in Cathy’s fanciful mind,

  Emma returned downstairs, and as the vigil continued, it was very quiet in the drawing room; the only sounds were the rustle of Chloe’s taffeta skirt as she paced the floor and Jane’s erratic breathing, and outside the incessant whisper of falling rain. And then, from far off, Emma heard the crackle of gunshots. She guessed it was a pre-arranged signal, but what did it mean?

  Jane’s head jerked up from the cushions. ‘What was that? I heard a noise.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ Emma lied. ‘Rest yourself, Aunt Jane.’

  Half an hour went by before she heard men’s voices and the trampling of many feet on the gravel. Emma flew to the front door and wrenched it open. Matthew and Bernard were coming up the portico steps, carrying Uncle Paget between them on an improvised stretcher, while immediately behind came Randolph, giving orders in his firm, authoritative voice.

  ‘Now then, clear the way! Emma, run and light the lamps in the parlour, we’ll take him in there. Nelly, where are you, girl? Have you got the blankets and pillows ready? And fetch dry towels, as many as you can find. The rest of you men, down to the kitchen, with you – warmest place in the house. Mrs Hoad will have some hot broth on the go, and anything else you may want.’

  There was a cry of fear from the drawing room and Jane rushed out, eyes wild and staring.

  ‘Is he – is my darling —’

  ‘He’s alive, thank God! But keep away, Jane, there’s a good lass, while we get him out of his wet clothes and wrapped in blankets. Then Bernard can examine him properly.’ His glance went to Chloe and Emma. ‘Look after her, will you? We’ll call you when we’re ready.’

  The three women returned to the drawing room and waited anxiously, Jane demanding every minute to be allowed to see her husband. At last, someone knocked on the door. It was Matthew.

  ‘Mrs Eade can go in now,’ he said.

  Jane pushed past him, while Chloe followed with more decorum. Emma, left alone with Matthew, asked how her uncle was.

  ‘Pretty bad, I’m afraid,’ he told her. ‘Dr Mottram thinks there is little hope, but he’s likely to linger for some hours yet. We found him in Garsdale Hollow, where he’d fallen from his horse on his way back from visiting his patient. The poor fellow’s been babbling on about his being given this chance to wipe the slate clean. He’s half delirious, of course, and it’s hard to follow exactly what he says, but from what I can gather it’s connected with his little daughter who died. The cases were very similar, it appears, the same malady, both little girls about the same age. But this one he saved, while his own daughter he let die.’

  Emma sighed. ‘Poor Uncle Paget! Aunt Jane has always held it against him, you know. And Annabella’s death was what started his drinking and soured their marriage.’

  ‘Was it?’

  The odd note in Matthew’s voice made Emma stare.

  ‘Surely you can’t have failed to notice Uncle Paget’s condition on the evening you came here to dinner, and that he and Aunt Jane were on bad terms?’

  ‘Oh yes, I noticed!’ Matthew seemed about to say somet
hing more, but merely added, ‘Well, I’d better get down to the kitchen and dry myself out by the fire.’

  When Emma entered the parlour Jane was crouched before the sofa where her husband had been laid, clasping one of his hands and weeping silently. Chloe and Randolph, standing together on the farther side, watched with grave faces, while Bernard hovered in the background. Emma noticed that Paget’s usually ruddy complexion was a sickly grey colour, and the skin looked hot and dry. He was shifting restlessly and mumbling disconnected phrases which she realised had to do with little Annabella; in the wanderings of his feverish mind he was re-enacting the past.

  Could have saved her ...if only ... Jane knew it ... knew all the time.

  His body shuddered and he tried to raise himself on his elbows, but failed and sank back weakly. His blankly staring eyes travelled the circle of faces surrounding him without a glimmer of recognition.

  Guilt ...all these years! What I did ... never forgive myself ... Jane would hate me if she knew the whole truth ... hate and despise me!

  ‘No, my darling, I don’t hate you,’ cried Jane, throwing herself upon him, ‘I tried to understand. You never meant it, I know. It’s dreadful, the way bitterness eats at one’s soul and never gives one a moment’s peace.’

  Bernard stepped forward and gently drew her back. ‘He cannot hear you, Mrs Eade, and you must let him have air, you know.’

  For a few moments Jane’s sobs and Paget’s hissing breath filled the room. Then his muttering began again with a new intensity.

  Should never have kept silent ... but then, afterwards, too late! Coward!

  ‘Poor fellow!’ said Randolph pityingly, and glanced at Bernard. ‘Can’t you give him something to ease his distress? A sedative, perhaps.’

  ‘He is not in any pain, rest assured of that.’

  ‘The pain is in his heart!’ Jane burst out. ‘If only I could reach through to him, to tell him he is forgiven.’ She was trembling with uncontrollable grief. Flinging back her head, she spread her arms imploringly to heaven. ‘Please God, help me! Let me ease the torment he is suffering and has suffered all this long time. There must be an end to it now.’