For what seemed like an hour, though in reality but a few minutes, she clung there, ears straining for the slightest sound of movement within the house, but all was mercifully silent.
At last, her goal was within reach. The casement of her stepmother's sitting-room window stood open, but this presented a dangerous obstacle. The window opening toward her, Lydia could not manage to reach round the pane to the iron bar which propped the window open, so she was forced to take her courage in both hands, and swing herself out around the open window. For a moment she felt faint and giddy, her head swam, her hands started to slip, and all would have been lost had her instincts of survival not been strong at that moment. Hardly knowing how she did it, she swung out over the perilous drop, still inching her feet along the ledge, and sank gratefully onto the windowsill. She was in her stockinged feet, and so she was able to slip stealthily into the room.
Lydia was dismayed to find that she could not see the desk, and even her audacity dared not penetrate into the bedroom, but she carefully examined some books and papers lying on the table. By the few words she could make out by the light of the moon, most of these seemed to be milliners bills, invitations and laundry lists, with the occasional magazine of the lighter kind. Her search was rewarded, however, as she lifted a pile of miscellaneous papers, to reveal a small morocco-bound memorandum book. On closer examination, the writing in the book, which was about three-quarters filled, appeared to be in Mrs Trent's hand – though she could not make out a word. Quickly, she slipped the book into her pocket, and restored the papers, as close as she could remember, to their original order – or rather disorder.
She looked round once more for any trace of the desk, and then returned to the window.
There was a drainpipe running down the wall a couple of feet beyond the window, and Lydia determined to descend into the garden rather than risk the journey back the way she had come, for the sun would be rising soon, and her arms screamed with fatigue. With the ivy for handholds, she made a relatively easy descent, though she was forced to jump down the last few feet, as the ivy was very thin at this point.
When Maisy came down shortly after sunrise to light the kitchen fire and take out last night's ashes, she was very surprised to find her young mistress already out in the garden. However, the girl forbore to comment, or even to speculate, and so Lydia quickly slipped upstairs and into Adeline's room.
“Wake up, Adele, wake up!” she stage-whispered, shaking her sister gently.
“Mmm? Lyddy? What is it?”
“I HAVE GOT HER DIARY!”
Chapter the 17th
Adeline's astonishment at the news by which she was so suddenly awakened can well be imagined, but it was nothing to the shock and amazement she felt when she heard Lydia's account of how she had obtained the little volume. Although Lydia attempted to make light of the perilous feat, passing it off as a mere light scramble, barely more taxing than crossing a footbridge, Adeline turned white and fell back among the pillows, her hands clasped over her bounding heart, trembling with alarm.
“Oh, Lyddy, I wish you had not. If you had been discovered – why, I cannot imagine how you could possibly have explained yourself. And, oh, if you had slipped and fallen! It turns me quite faint just to think of it. I could not have done such a thing for the world.”
Lydia gently refuted this, though in truth her heart had had all but burst with fright, more than once, and the recollection of that moment of giddy, sickening, dizzy terror she had almost succumbed to as she swung out past the casement made her tremble even now, when the danger was passed.
Of the first consideration was the question of how to conceal their prize until such time as they had sufficient leisure to examine it. Lydia had, however, already carefully considered this as she strolled in the garden, awaiting the first of the household to awaken.
“It shall not leave my person.” she declared, exhibiting the capacious pocket she had tied around her waist, under her petticoats, for this purpose.
“But, oh dear, Lyddy, whatever will Mamma do when she discovers the diary is gone?”
They did not have long to wait for an answer to this question. The girls had barely finished their toilets, when they were brought out into the corridor by the sounds of a violent argument in Mrs Trent's room. The door swung open and Estelle was expelled forcibly into the passage, expostulating in a voluble torrent of French. Not the prim, ladylike French the girls had had drilled into them at school by Madame Huillard - indeed that dry and genteel lady would in all likelihood have fainted had she heard the words that now poured shrilly forth from Estelle's lips. This was the French of the Paris gutters. Madame mistress, on the other hand, did not receive these execrations unmet.
“Traitress! Thief! Spy! Get out. Oh, have I nurtured a snake in my bosom? Get OUT!” and similar remarks, delivered in an earsplitting screech, punctuated by shoes and books, which were shied at the furious lady's maid as swiftly as the lady could grab them. In a pause between volleys, Estelle drew herself up loftily.
“C'est bien, Madame. I am gone. I will stay here no more to be insulted and accused. No servant could have been more devoted than I. As to your little book, perhaps you burned it in one of your mauvaise moments. I never touched it, certainement. See, I leave this place. Have someone pack my things and I shall send for them.” and with this dignified speech, she glided off, as silent-footed as ever.
Mrs Trent, wild-eyed with fury, sprang across the passage into Estelle's chamber, flung open the window, and began to hurl her belongings, by heaping armfuls, out onto the gravel path below.
“Mamma!” cried Adeline. “Stop, you excite yourself, you will be ill!”
Evelyn rounded on the girl, eyes flashing.
“And what care you for that? What cares anyone for me? Oh, I thought I could trust the woman but she is as bad as the rest of them. A thief and a traitress, spying and watching. Well, no more. I shall have no more strangers to watch and spy on me. You shall wait on me.” pointing at Adeline with imperious finger.
“I shall be glad to do anything I can for you, Mamma, but...”
“Enough. Is it not a dutiful daughter's place to serve her mother? Honour thy father and thy mother, it is written. Come.”
Adeline followed helplessly in her wake as she swept back into her own rooms.
“Adeline, it may be our chance.” hissed Lydia as Adeline passed her. “Watch, dearest, and keep up your heart.”
Adeline had need of this last injunction, for she soon found that to 'wait on Mamma' was no light task. Not only was she to assist her to dress, answer her letters, bring her meals and shawls and anything else she wanted, rise before her in the morning and go to bed after her at night, putting all her things in order before she could herself retire, she was also expected to sit with her when she wanted company, yet not stray beyond call when Evelyn wanted to be alone. Fortunately this was often, so Adeline at least had some leisure hours, though she could not leave the house. Much as she had disliked Estelle, Adeline now accorded her something of respect. Of course, as a hired servant Estelle had had the inviolable privilege of her 'evening out' – something which Adeline did not enjoy.
The girl was really pining for fresh air and exercise. Alfred would bring her flowers every day, but these cut blooms did not replace the wild flowers growing in the meadows and hedgerows. She saw less of her lover, too, for he and Lydia were examining the diary together, which could not be done near the house. Nevertheless, Adeline submitted to her duty, sustained by the hope that Evelyn would let slip something about the past, or that she might get a peep into the elusive writing-desk.
When Alfred heard of the morning's events, he was filled with concern for Adeline's situation, and admiration for Lydia's bravery.
“Poor girl, she will find it hard going I believe – Mrs Trent has never been regarded as an easy mistress, and of course a daughter can be worked harder than a hired maid. It was an unfortunate result – but considering how hard you have been tr
ying to get into your Mamma's room, and here is Adeline invited – nay, commanded – in. It is a bad situation, but something good may yet come of it.
“And you are a brave and noble girl, I am proud to know you. If you were a man I should shake you by the hand.”
“I am not a man, but I do not see how that precludes you from taking my hand.” said Lydia, drily.
“Why, so it doesn't!” exclaimed he, with the air of one making a great discovery, and so saying, shook her hand heartily in both of his. At that, Lydia began to laugh, and shortly Alfred was compelled to laugh too.
“What an ass I must have sounded. I hope you will forgive me. And now shall we take a drive? I am dying to take a peek at this diary, to see if it is worth the fire and water you have gone through to secure it.”
They drove for a while, until they found a comfortable, secluded spot, and there they seated themselves and finally took their first look at the book, but Alfred soon flung it down in disgust.
“Why, it is nothing but garbled nonsense. I cannot make head nor tail of it. There are no dates, and random letters are stuck in every sentence, and there are all sorts of queer words which make no sense to me at all.”
“I do not believe it is nonsense – she uses a private code, that is all. See here; 'I mislike Ws looks, ? he knows – called on DG, out, found remedy in lancet.' Why, this must have been when father first became ill – William, you see? Now, DG, DG... wait, I have it. 'William looks ill, I wonder if he knows it (she may have meant does he know he is ill, or does he know I can see he is ill). Called on Doctor Gillespie, who was out, but found a remedy in a volume of The Lancet.'”
“Why, I do believe you are a genius!” exclaimed Alfred. “For now you come to translate it, I can see the meaning clear, but until you did, it made no more sense to me than if it were Hebrew. But looking for details of your father's illness will not help us now. Let us look farther on.”
Lydia did so, though with some reluctance. Of course her father's fatal illness was of immense interest to her, though she was reassured to find that apparently Evelyn had not been as uncaring as she had appeared to be at the time.
“At least she seems to use people's real initials. Let us look for any references to 'M' or 'MW'. Wait, here we are. 'have I worked so hard for nothing? letter from M, wants to see A and C. I am undone.'
That seems fairly transparent. It must treat of the letter we have – A and C are Adeline and Catherine. Hmm, let us see.” and her eyes continued skimming the pages.
“'have seen M, put off.' and then a few lines later – 'met M by apt, told knew C was in London. tgph, sent him to Lambscourt Hotel. N has promised.' Ah, so Catherine may be in London, and Mr Wade was sent to meet her there. 'tgph' must mean 'telegraph'. We must tell Mr Dodd, he may be able to trace him at the hotel!”
“But who is N, and what did he promise?”
“I do not know – I cannot see another reference to N – oh, wait, a few pages back. 'N came down, put plan to him. He is willing.'. Oh, that is frustrating, no word as to what the plan is. And further on – 'letter from N, all well.' - that could mean anything. Does it mean the plan, whatever it was, went off? Or is she talking about something quite different?”
“I tell you what, Lydia – Miss Trent I mean -”
“Oh,” interrupted Lydia with a smile, “In less than a year you will be my brother – I think I may safely grant you permission to use my Christian name.”
“I tell you what, Lydia,” continued Alfred, smiling as he uttered her name, “All this skipping backwards and forwards will do us no good. We must go about this systematically, start at the beginning, translating and making notes as we go, lest we miss something. If we write our notes on small squares of paper or pasteboard, we can easily shuffle them round until we see the connections. In the meantime, I'll telegraph to Mr Dodd to let him know the name of that hotel, as it may be of use to him.”
“You are quite right, Alfred – see how I return the honour – that does indeed strike me as an excellent plan.”
Chapter the 18th
It took the pair more than a month to 'translate' the whole diary, working together, making notes and suggestions each when the other foundered in a bog of initials.
They did in fact find very little other mention of either Malcolm Wade or the mysterious 'N' – it seemed that Mrs Trent had met with Mr Wade – we ought to say, with her husband - some three or four times, but except on the final occasion, when she had sent him to London in search of Catherine, the diary contained no details of these meetings. 'N' was not mentioned again.
The diary did contain other things, however, which troubled Lydia greatly. As well as pages of self-centred plaints about real or imagined slights and sufferings at the hands of husband, daughters, servants and villagers, much of which made Lydia blush crimson with outrage and indignation, there were a great many references in the early part of the little volume, for example, to the 'remedy' which she had discovered in a medical journal whilst waiting at the village doctor's consulting rooms.
“See here,” said Lydia to Alfred, one early-August afternoon, as they sat together in their now-familiar sheltered spot. “This whole thing puzzles me greatly. All these entries here – see, there is a great block of them together on this page – nothing much else of moment must have happened in that period – 'W 3 doses today. W dined out – 1 dose at breakfast, one in tea. W 3 d – see, now she has shortened 'dose' to just 'd' – W from home all today, could not give d'. It seems she was slipping this mysterious 'remedy' to him without his knowledge.”
“Perhaps he was unwilling to take physic which the doctor had not prescribed.” commented Alfred.
“Perhaps. But it gets odder still. 'my remedy is effective. W worse today, confined to bed. 3xd in port daily' – that would explain why she was so protective of his 'particular' wine. And then further on – 'W is at crisis. Should I continue? yes – for the best.'
“How can she say in one entry that the physic is effective, and that Papa is worse? The two things contradict one another.”
“Perhaps they are not one entry – perhaps they are two entries on the same line. On one day Mr Trent appeared to be better, and she believed the medicine was working, the next day he collapsed. But why continue to give it if it seems to do no good? Why say 'it is for the best' when it appears to be completely useless? You are right, it is indeed a conundrum.” and there was a pause while both pondered this puzzle.
“Alfred!” said Lydia suddenly and slowly, as if the words were being wrung from her against her will. She had blanched to the roots of her hair, and she trembled slightly as she spoke.
“Alfred, we have been looking at this the wrong way round. The remedy was not for Papa, it was for her. She did not mislike his looks because he was looking ill, and she thought he knew he was ill. She misliked the way he looked at her - she suspected he knew her secret, the still-living husband. She could with all honesty say the remedy was effective as he died before our eyes, because it was not meant to cure him, but to kill him! My father was murdered, by slow poison.
“Oh, say I am wrong!” she cried out, her voice wild and despairing, hiding her face in her hands. “though every sign points that way, surely she cannot be so evil as that. She has not been the tenderest of mothers or most loving of wives, but surely even she would not stoop so low as man-slaughter! Oh Alfred, Alfred, help me bear it!”
Alfred was stunned. Not only at the crime Lydia had accused her stepmother of – for the more he now turned over the evidence in his mind, the blacker it looked for Mrs Trent – he was more shocked at Lydia's sudden loss of self control. In all the time he had known her, he had never once seen her show her true emotions as completely as at this moment.
And as she raised her head and her eyes, wild and despairing, met his, as her voice cried his name in a passion of grief and dread, it was as if the veil which concealed all the innermost feelings of her heart was, for a moment, lifted. And in that heart he read an
other secret, more jealously guarded and concealed than any other. And that secret met in his an answering one, hidden, until now, full as deep.
Their eyes met for just a moment, but in that moment heart spoke to heart, and Alfred suddenly awoke to the horror of his position. She loved him with all her soul – and he loved her, measure for measure, and yet he was honour bound to her sister! He hardly knew how it had happened – the gentle, lovely Adeline had bewitched him, he believed. Encouraged by her complete adoration of him, he had fancied himself in love, but in truth it was but an infatuation. Adeline was all that is charming and good and lovely, but now the scales had fallen from his eyes, he could not remember a time when he had not truly loved Lydia – clever, resourceful, loyal, brave, noble Lydia.
Lydia Trent Page 9