Lydia Trent

by Abigail Blanchart

  Evelyn responded to this sally with no reply save a look of withering scorn, and passed on.

  "Oh, Miss, whatever can the matter be?" wailed Bessie, for the young ladies had determined that, for safety's sake, nobody should be in the secret but themselves. To deceive the good woman went sorely against the grain with Adeline, who felt as if her heart would burst.

  "I expect my mother is right, there is nothing much wrong with me - I feel so much better now. Really, I am ashamed to have made such a fuss. It was probably nothing but a brief attack of biliousness - no doubt I ate too many of those delicious little cakes at tea-time."

  With a look that said clearly she believed Adeline was making light of a real illness, Bessie fussed round making the 'invalid' comfortable - poking the fire, placing a stool for her feet and a cushion behind her head, and instructing her, as if talking to a child, to ring if she felt the slightest bit worse, or wanted anything. This kindness felt like heaping coals of fire on poor Adeline's head, and she was still blushing as red as a poppy ten minutes later, when Lydia glided quietly into the room.

  "Oh, Lydia! How did you fare? was the desk unlocked? Did you find anything?"

  "Nothing at all." said Lydia in a despondent tone. "The desk was not in her sitting room - she must have taken it into her bedroom, or her dressing-room."

  "Then I suppose we must make an attempt on her bedroom next." sighed Lydia, mortified that she had acted so deceitful a part - and all for nothing!

  They did indeed make several attempts on Evelyn's private apartments, while the widow was out paying calls or drinking tea, but were constantly baffled by Estelle, who had the unpleasant habit of gliding up as silently as a cat at the moment when she was least wanted.

  The girls were sadly disappointed by the failure of these first attempts, but they did not yet despair.

  Chapter the 15th

  Much as the girl's hearts burned to solve the mystery which now hung over their heads, they of course could not devote every waking hour to it's solution. Lydia of course had the demands of the household to contend with, which seemed to take up an unaccountable amount of time, and there were of course the near-daily visits of Alfred and the Captain. It may seem odd that Adeline, who was most closely concerned with the mystery, was the one who could be most forgetful of it, but, of course, she was in Alfred's society, and Alfred was sun and moon to her, eclipsing everything else. To spend a few delicious hours with him, talking over their future, furnishing and refurnishing the pleasant little cottage they would occupy, determining Alfred's future profession and Adeline's daily occupations as his wife - these were subjects which the young lovers never tired of discussing. Alfred would become a lawyer, and defend all the helpless innocents of the county, setting right every injustice - or else a writer, when he would burst forth upon the literary sphere with a novel which would be talked of by everyone, and run into fifteen editions. Adeline would stay at home and mend his shirts, and cook lemon cheese-cakes for his dinner, and every evening they would walk out (for of course every evening would be fine, in that happy fantasy-land), and talk for hours, and never tire of one another's company.

  Lydia was thus thrown much into the company of the Captain. Although in some corner of her mind she seemed always revolving the conundrum of the locked desk, she too could yet be happy, and gay, and talk of everything and nothing. The Captain's health and spirits were prospering finely - he had put on flesh, filling out his hollow cheeks if not his form - while his eyes were more wont to sparkle and his boyish mouth curved upwards into a smile more frequently than heretofore. The friendship, too, prospered. Lydia loved to hear him speak of the strange lands he had visited in his years at sea, and she could happily spend hours questioning him about the habits and customs of Fiji Islanders and Maori tribesmen, the geography of China and the politics of Ecuador, and myriad other nations and peoples. The discourse was of benefit to both - Lydia increased her store of information, while the Captain learned to be less reserved, and to organise his ideas - for Lydia asked a good many intelligent questions which often required reflection before answering.

  Despite all this, the two showed not the slightest symptoms of losing their hearts - the affection that had sprung up naturally between them was that of brother and sister, and nothing more.

  If Lydia had had the slightest inclination in that direction, then an uncomfortable conversation between the two would have nipped it in the bud.

  It was late May, and the little party had decided to mark Adeline's twentieth birthday with a picnic, for the weather was more than usually fine. The Captain had not, as yet, seen the Abbey, and it had been almost a year since the other two had set foot within it's once-sacred precincts, so it was that venerable ruin that they made their destination.

  It was after tea, and Lydia and the Captain were strolling about together in the shade of the Abbey's remaining walls, whilst Adeline and Alfred remained under the trees where they had spread their feast, refurnishing their cottage once more. They had spent the afternoon rambling about, explaining to the Captain their researches amongst the old stones, each presenting their pet theory and arguing in its favour, until Adeline reminded them that they were hungry, and a basket full of good things awaited them in the shade of a venerable oak. They had crowned the birth-day queen with mayflowers, and drunk her health in light sparkling wine, feasted her with cakes, fruit, and merry laughter. They had brought tribute, in the form of birthday gifts. Lydia had worked her sister a delicate set of lace collar and cuffs, over which she had taken many pains, and many a late night, that Adeline would not see them. Alfred had shyly presented a small half-hoop ring of diamonds, with the tender hope that she would wear it for his sake – Adeline scolded him for his extravagance, but nevertheless slipped it onto her hand immediately, and was immensely proud of her diamond ring. Even the Captain gave something – a curious little jade charm for her watch-guard, in the form of an Oriental lion-dog.

  “They are symbols of great good-fortune in the Far East, these creatures, and are found at the entrance of many a temple, being thought to be their deity's watchdogs. I hope it will watch over you, Miss Wade, and bring you good luck.”

  Now the sinking sun seemed to put all four in a quieter, more reflective mood, and at first Lydia and the Captain were entirely silent, though without awkwardness. After they had taken two or three turns of the length of the walls, the Captain spoke in a low tone.

  "Miss Trent, I - I do not quite know how to begin the subject with you..."

  Lydia's heart sank for a moment - she hoped he was not going to make a declaration! There would be an end of all the ease and comfort of their discourse, the brotherly and sisterly footing on which they had so quickly found themselves.

  "It has reached my ears that - well, that one or two people are - well, to put it in the words of the village, they are coupling our names together. Of course I should pay no regard to village gossip, but it occurred to me that - though I do not think I have seen any symptom of it - oh, how vain I must sound! It occurred to me that you may have begun to entertain certain expectations - I am sure that is not the case, but, I felt it my duty to explain some portion of my history, which may make sure matters lie clearer between us, and ensure no village gossip can disturb us."

  Poor Captain! He was now as shy as the day he first arrived in the village. He blushed, and stammered, and looked more like an embarrassed schoolboy than ever. Lydia tried not to show her relief that no declaration seemed to be forthcoming.

  "Of course I shall listen with pleasure to anything you wish to tell me, but I assure you it is not at all necessary. I look upon with you with considerable regard, that is certain, but it is the regard of a sister toward a favourite brother."

  "Then let me tell you, as a brother to a trusted sister, some little of my early life." said the Captain, who seemed, having worked himself up to unburdening himself of some secret, determined to go through with his confession at all costs. Lydia was silent, and he took her silen
ce for assent.

  "Would it surprise you, Miss Trent, to learn that I was married at an early age? Yes, I was - at just fifteen. I did not intend it so, but the thing was done and so I of course made the best of it I could. You may well wonder how a child of fifteen can find themselves wed, but if I tell you I was living in Scotland at the time, that should tell you all. Many an unwary young lad or lass has found themselves married without truly intending to be, according to the strange legal customs of that land. I must assure you, however, that my wedding came about through no sin or dark design of my own, but that I was in some measure tricked into it by my father and my spouse.

  "At any rate, I was married, whether I liked it or not, and though somewhat dismayed at first, made up my mind to be as dutiful and loving a helpmeet as lay in my power.

  “This ambition, however, was never to reach fruition. I soon found that I could neither love or respect the person to whom I was bound for life. A habitual drunkard, and the companion of drunkards, with all the brutality and low morals that attend that class of being. Nevertheless, I persevered, and in the first three years suffered agony after agony – as I endeavoured to lift the companion of my life from the gutter, with all that gentle patience could do. But what can the weakness and inexperience of seventeen do against the habit of a lifetime (for my spouse was older than me by some ten years, and had been a drunkard for fourteen of them)? Time and again, after the commission of some base and bestial act, or some unexplained absence from home, the begging forgiveness, grovelling at my knees - the promises of reform, and those promises acted on for a month, a week, a day – and then the sinking back into the mire of brutality. In what should have been the brightest and best days of my youth, sin and corruption were my constant companions.

  “Then came a new hope. I was blessed with a son, and for a few short hours I had the prospect of having some creature on this Earth I could love. But the dream was short lived – the child died a few hours after his birth, and … his other parent was directly responsible. After this cruel disappointment, we could live together no longer, and so we parted.

  “I have not heard aught of my unfortunate spouse for many years, but I have not heard of that person's death, either, and so I conclude myself to be still married – married to one I cannot still think about without a shudder.” And the Captain did indeed shudder here, and lapsed into silence, as if recounting this painful tale had exhausted both body and mind. Lydia quietly reached out and touched his hand.

  “I had not expected to hear such a story, but I thank you for trusting me with it. You may count on my confidence. You have borne much – I could not add betrayal to the injuries that have been heaped upon you. And if there is aught a sister can do to erase – not the memory, but the bitterness of the past, then I pledge myself to do it.”

  The tears stood in the Captain's eyes at that gentle speech. He restrained himself manfully, however, and in a few minutes was composed enough to thank her, though both remained subdued throughout the remainder of the evening.

  Chapter the 16th

  Two or three weeks had passed, and still Adeline and Lydia had got no closer to their goal, to secure and examine Mrs Trent's papers for some clue to Malcolm Wade's whereabouts. Lydia passed many a sleepless night, as she revolved in her mind, and rejected, plan after plan, stratagem after stratagem.

  Then one dull June day, as she was walking in the garden, in an attempt to clear her head after a particularly fatiguing session with Cook and the household account-books, she chanced to look up at the house, and all at once conceived a bold design.

  Mrs Trent's apartments were inaccessible from inside the house – either Mrs Trent was occupying them, or else the door was locked, or Estelle was on the prowl. The sly Frenchwoman occupied a room directly opposite that of her mistress, and seemed to have almost preternatural hearing – or else a sixth sense which revealed to her the presence of anyone approaching the door to her mistress's chambers. She was all but guaranteed to appear, silent-footed as a cat, at her own chamber door, should anyone draw near those sacred precincts, disturbing any would-be watcher or listener with a bland enquiry as to whether she could assist them, 'Madame not wishing to be disturbed at this time'. Day or night, the patient spy Estelle could be counted on as an impassable barrier to the girls' quest.

  So, how to pass the dragon which guarded the door? Why, not to go through the door at all!

  Lydia drew nearer the house, and began to make a pretty thorough investigation of the walls of the house. What she saw apparently satisfied her, for anyone very close to her at that moment would have heard her say to herself, with a queer little half-smile – part determination, part excitement, part fear, and part surprise at her own audacity - “It shall be tried tonight”.

  Alas, that evening it set in to rain, and continued raining heavily into the early hours. The audacious plan was by necessity postponed.

  “It is too dangerous in the wet,” said Lydia, grimly. “Nevertheless, I shall not wait long before trying.”

  Fortunately, Lydia had not told Adeline of what she intended, rightly surmising that the sensitive girl would be alarmed, and would try her utmost to prevent the execution of the daring deed. This meant that Lydia had only her own disappointment and impatience to contend with.

  How long and dreary the next day seemed to Lydia, who watched the weather with nervous anticipation. To her grim satisfaction, it remained dry that day, and in the afternoon, the sun broke through the clouds, drying the remains of the previous night's rain. After tea, Lydia made the excuse of having some letters to write, but on retiring to her chamber she did not open her desk, but instead lay down upon the bed. She had hoped she may be able to snatch a little sleep, but her thoughts were racing as she anxiously anticipated the dangers and alarms of the night ahead. Nevertheless, she remained lying down for an hour, at the end of which time the arose and washed her face, feeling a little refreshed.

  The gentlemen were to dine with the young ladies that evening, and so after dinner coffee was served. It was the normal habit of the girls to take tea after dinner, but this evening Adeline was surprised to see her take a cup of coffee. She forbore to comment, however, until the gentlemen had left, and the girls were retiring for the night.

  “Lydia dearest, I am concerned that you may be feeling unwell. You have seemed quiet and preoccupied all evening, and you did not brighten up even when the Captain was telling us all about the Imperial Court of China, and you took coffee instead of tea - do you feel ill? Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Lydia was forced to dissemble.

  “Oh, I have a slight headache, that is all – this muggy weather always makes me feel a little low, does it not you?”

  “A little, perhaps. But if you are really ill I beg you will not hide it from me – take care of yourself, for I could not do without you my dear. Goodnight.” and with a kiss and a tender little caress, Adeline passed into her own room, there to go to bed and dream of her suburban cottage and her Alfred.

  Lydia too retired to her bedroom, but though she removed her dress, she did not get into bed. Instead she took up some sewing, with which she remained indifferently occupied for some two hours. I fear the stitches she set in that anxious time were not so neat as they usually were, and at one point she had to unpick a seam, having set in the sleeve of the child's shirt she was making inside out.

  At midnight, she blew out her candle, but still she did not go to bed. Instead she sat a long while watching a patch of light on the lawn. This light was shed from the candles in her stepmothers room, and it was almost one of the clock before that light was finally extinguished. Still Lydia did not move. She sat until she heard the distant church clock striking two, and then she arose from her hard chair by the table. Her petticoat was bulky, and this she removed, before slipping on the dark grey cashmere gown she had been wearing earlier. Then, with no light but the half-moon, she quietly slipped out of the window.

  There was a narrow ledge, abou
t 6 inches deep, running across the breadth of the wall on that side of the house. It was about three feet below the windows of the upper story, and partly obscured by the ivy that grew thickly over the honey-coloured stone. Turning slightly so she faced into the room, Lydia carefully lowered her feet onto that ledge. Then, slowly, taking care not to make a sound, she began to inch her way along the ledge.

  The thickly-clustering vines of the ivy were both a help and a hindrance. The hard grey-green stems, which looked black in the dim moonlight, afforded plentiful handholds, enabling Lydia to keep her balance. Where they overgrew the ledge, however, they often impeded her feet, and rendered her progress along the wall painfully slow. She had to pass her stepmother's bedroom window, which stood open a little way – fortunately the heavy curtains were closed – and here she paused and listened intently. A slow, measured breathing told her that Mrs Trent was soundly asleep. Lydia breathed a silent sigh of relief at this – she had been about twenty minutes on this slow, silent, creeping journey, and though she was a young woman of active habits, she was still beginning to feel a little fatigued.

  The next obstacle to be passed was the corner of the house – and here she found the ledge narrowed to about four inches, giving her barely a toehold upon the wall, and rendering her ever more reliant on the fragile handholds of the ivy. She had a few very tense moments as, in traversing the corner of the house, her foot dislodged something – a stone, an old birds nest – she could not tell what – which fell to the gravel below with a crunch that, in the dead calm of the night, seemed to echo from the very hills.