Lydia Trent

by Abigail Blanchart

  “Oh, Lydia, how I honour you for your bravery this evening! How I admire you – how I...” and his voice faltered, but still he must speak, “How I love you. You must know it. I have struggled in vain, I thought I had conquered this passion, I had almost resigned myself to living comfortably, if not happily, with the woman to which my honour is pledged, but today, coming so close to losing you altogether...

  “I know you will upbraid me as false, and so my own heart rebukes me, but I can no longer deny, to myself or to you, that I love you with all my heart and soul. Though my hand is bound to Adeline, my heart is bound to you, for all eternity. What can I do? What should I do? Oh Lydia, my love, my love, what have I done?”

  Lydia had heard all this speech with her face turned from him, she sat so a moment longer, and he darted forward as if to take her hand. At this, she started, and raised to him a face passive and expressionless, though the firelight was reflected from wet cheeks.

  “Mr Denham,” she uttered, in a flat, low tone, “I would rather cut out my own heart than destroy the happiness of my sister. What, has she not lost enough? It was but nine months ago she lost the man she called father. This very day she has lost a mother. Would you thus rob her of sister and lover in one stroke? No matter what my feelings now, how could I respect or love a man who has killed my sister, for kill her it would. You would no longer be the man I have grown to...” here she faltered, swallowing the word that was on her lips, but in a moment she continued.

  “If you find you truly cannot marry Adeline, that to make her happiness would be your misery, then go far from here, forget you ever met either of us. It will be a hard blow, I do not know if she could ever recover, but whatever you do, if you value my regard, do not ask me to betray her.”

  The dignity of Lydia's manner as she thus pronounced his sentence shamed Alfred. He hung his head and was silent, but presently spoke.

  “It will be hard for me to call you sister, when every fibre of my being longs to call you by a sweeter name, but do not fear that Adeline will ever know that my heart is cut asunder from her. I will be as good and loving a husband to her as honour can require – for your sake.”

  “NO!” Lydia blazed up, “Not for my sake, but for hers – for the sake of that sweet, gentle, loving girl – and for your own sake. Let us forget this unhappy conversation ever took place – brother.”

  “You may as well ask me to extinguish the sun – nevertheless, I will try.” and Alfred took an unhappy leave.

  Lydia could not yet give way to the depths of her misery just yet, however, for the doctor, who had been upstairs with Mrs Trent, now tapped at the door and asked to speak with her. Would her trials ever end? Alas, not yet.

  “My dear Miss Trent, I am sorry for today's events, very sorry. I have been with your stepmother, and it is my recommendation that she be removed from here to some place where she can do no harm to herself or others. I can come back tomorrow with a colleague – for two opinions are required on such a matter, but I will also need some member of the family to sign the necessary orders.”

  Lydia was confused for but a moment, but soon collected he was talking of removing Evelyn to an asylum.

  “No, doctor, I cannot sign the order – I am only her step-daughter, you know. And Adeline is... under age. (for it occurred to her that Adeline was no more Evelyn's relation than she herself was)

  “Besides, I have heard of the atrocities committed in asylums, in the name of medicine, and my conscience could not bear the responsibility of condemning another human creature to such a place.”

  “Very well,” said the doctor, reluctantly, “I can recommend two good nurses, skilled in these cases, and with your permission will send them here. I must say, however, that it would be dangerous for you or your sister to remain in this house. Have you any place to go?”

  Lydia perfectly understood nurses to mean keepers, but was nonplussed as to where Adeline and herself might take refuge. Then she brightened.

  “I shall write to our guardian – I should say Adeline's guardian - my uncle, Mr John Trent. Perhaps he will give us a home until things are more settled.”

  “That sounds an excellent plan, my dear, and I would urge you to write or telegraph at once. I shall telegraph the nurses I spoke of, and if they are disengaged they will be here upon the morrow. In the meantime, a close watch should be kept on the patient – I have left some sedative drops, and if she shows signs of agitation they should be given at once, before she comes round fully.”

  Lydia vouched for this course being faithfully undertaken, and, promising to call first thing in the morning, the doctor saw himself out.

  How Lydia found strength to watch that night, after the many and varied agitations of the day, I do not know, but watch she did, assisted by faithful little Maisy. If the patient stirred, Lydia would at once put to her lips a glass of water containing a few drops of the sedative the doctor had prescribed, and thus the long night passed in relative peace. Though Lydia's eyes drooped, she could not sleep, for her cut arm really pained her, though mercifully she was too exhausted to think.

  When the sun arose the next morning, Lydia's eyes fell upon the table by the window. Mrs Trent had broken and destroyed many of her things in her passionate rage, and Maisy and cook between them had tidied up the best she could. Evelyn's writing desk had been one of the casualties, and the splintered wood had been swept up and put out as rubbish, but now the sun's early pink rays rested on the desk's contents, neatly piled on the table. An assortment of crumpled writing-paper and envelopes, a mess of wafers and a torn blotter – and, tied in a ribbon, a bundle of letters.

  Chapter the 21st

  Lydia slipped the letters into her pocket, but decided against reading them then and there – for one thing, she had an irrational feeling that the inert form upon the bed would rise up in fury against such an invasion in her very presence, and for another, the matter concerned Adeline more it did herself, and so she would not read them without her.

  Before she could get her sister alone, and sufficient leisure to read and talk of the little bundle which was burning a hole in her pocket, there were three interruptions. The first of these was the doctor, accompanied by a cheerful, brawny, capable-looking young woman who turned out to be one of the nurses he had spoken of.

  “Rest easy, my dear,” said the doctor, at Adeline's dismayed expression. “I can vouch for Mrs Haig's gentleness – and strength, if need be. Her colleague will arrive in the course of the day, and then they will well be able to make your mother comfortable between them.”

  “Bless me, Miss,” cried the nurse, “If I hadn't handled many such a case. I have my wits about me, at any rate, and as for the poor lady, well constant kindness and constant watching answer best, in my experience. She shall be safe enough with me, and with Sarah George, as I have worked alongside of many a time.”

  Lydia read honesty in the woman's eye, kindness in the lines of her mouth, and strength in the arms and compact figure, and so her mind was set at rest.

  Leaving Evelyn in the capable hands of the nurse, Lydia retired to her room to wash her face and smooth her hair, and change her gown, for until now she had not had leisure to remove the gore-bedabbled one from yesterday. Then she descended to the breakfast parlour, to recruit herself with a cup of strong coffee.

  The next interruption, before she had finished this scanty breakfast, was a telegraphic message, in answer to the one she had sent late last night following her interview with the doctor.

  'Dear girls, come at once. Uncle James' was the reply, and though short, the message carried kindness and comfort in just six words. Lydia immediately set Bessie and Maisy to packing up those necessities which the girls would require in the immediate future, and apprised Adeline of their departure for London on that very day.

  “Oh dear, London?” cried Adeline, “and so soon? But what about Alfred?”

  “Fear not, I do not doubt he will follow us there with no loss of time.” Lydia replied wit
h forced cheerfulness. “Think how good it will be for him! By being in the bustle of town, he may at last start those preparations for a professional career he has so long talked of and so little acted upon.”

  This was a clever stroke, for at the thought that her removal to London would be to her lover's benefit, Adeline was all of a gasp to start at once.

  “Wait, dearest, I have something to share with you.” said Lydia, laying the bundle of letters in her sister's lap.

  They had just got the ribbon off and spread the contents of the bundle out upon the table, when the third interruption occurred, in the shape of the Captain, come to enquire after their health and wellbeing. Seeing them apparently engaged, he was about to withdraw, but on a sudden impulse Lydia called him back.

  “Captain, you once did me the honour to share with me a confidence, and I would be glad if I could return the honour by including you in one of ours. We should value your advice. Besides, Adeline and I leave for London this afternoon, to stay with our uncle and guardian, and so I do not know when we may meet again.”

  The Captain at once expressed dismay at their leaving so soon, and declared himself at their service. At this, Lydia shared, in as brief a manner as possible, the history of their discoveries regarding Evelyn.

  “These papers you see before us,” she finished, “are some of that lady's private correspondence, which we hope will shed some light on the mystery of Adeline's true family.”

  Many of the letters proved uninteresting, being bills from milliners, mantua-makers and the like. Six, Lydia selected as being pertinent, and these she passed to Adeline to read. One, dated almost two years ago, she read to herself only. It appeared from the printed notepaper to come from a London physician, who Evelyn had evidently consulted by letter. Though Lydia did not share this letter, it pertaining only to her private suspicions, I will take the liberty of reproducing it here.

  'Dear Mrs Trent,' it read,

  In acknowledgement of yours of the 23rd inst. I beg to inform you that the drug of which you inquire may indeed be efficacious against the malady you describe, though I would strongly advise that I make a full examination of the patient before prescribing.

  Extreme caution is advised, for if the dose should exceed three grains per diem, then symptoms of dizziness, muscular weakness, and mild paralysis may ensue. The drug must be stopped at the first sign of these symptoms, for continuance is in most cases fatal. I urge that such a course must be undertaken only under the close supervision of a qualified physician, such as myself.

  I am at your service – a telegraphic message will find me at any hour, and I remain, madam, your humble servant,

  Dr R K---'

  This was damning indeed, in Lydia's eyes. Had she been inquiring how best to poison her unfortunate husband?

  Adeline now began to read out the letters which Lydia had placed in her lap. The first appeared to be from Adeline's father. It was dated form a neighbouring village, August last.

  'Dear E,

  I must thank you for agreeing to meet. I have established myself in lodgings close by your home, though not so close as to raise comment among your neighbours.

  I am sorry I raised such a stir last month, in truth I was so overjoyed to see my poor girl that I quite forgot she would have no idea who I am, having last seen me when she was but a baby. I look forward to seeing you on the 27th, being very anxious for news of my other daughter.

  Yours,

  M'

  The next letter, dated early September, from London, at last revealed the identity of the mysterious 'N'.

  'Dearest Evie,

  I was mightily surprised to receive your last, thinking you had quite forgot you had a brother, and would have happily continued to forget, had you not needed something.

  Nevertheless, blood is thicker than water, so they say, and being at a loose end just now, being out of place through no fault of my own, I am quite at your service. I will be down at Allingford on the date you mention, strolling about the lanes, and would be most happy should you chance to meet me there.

  Til then, I am as always, your brother

  Nathan'

  So Evelyn had a brother, did she? And one of who some service was required. What that service might be, the rest of the letters may reveal, but we must return first to Malcolm Wade, who wrote, in early September, quite out of spirits.

  'Dear E,

  I was very disappointed that you would give me no news of C the other day. I know I was not a good father to her ten years back, but believe me that I am desperate now to make amends.

  I know her husband died about three-and-a-half years after their marriage, can not you at least tell me what name she goes by now? Did she marry? Did she resume her maiden name? Or is she Catherine Parrish still?

  Given my past conduct I am not surprised that you might wish to punish me – but surely you can find a more noble way to punish me than in keeping from me information about my eldest daughter?

  Malcolm'

  “So my sister is called Catherine Parrish, perhaps.” said Adeline. “I wonder where she might be?”

  The fourth letter was again from Evelyn's hitherto unheard-of brother. Dated in October, it read

  'Evie,

  Well I am all ready, I have installed myself at the hotel you specified, under a false name – if you should need to write to me then a note to Mr Williams should find me.

  If I understood you correctly, I am to wait until a gentleman arrives enquiring after a Mrs Parrish, at which point I am to – hum - take such steps as I find necessary.

  I do say as I find this business weighs somewhat on my conscience, however blood is thicker than water, and gold thicker than all, so I remain your most obedient brother,

  Nathan'

  This looked black indeed for poor Malcolm Wade, as the plot against him began to take shape in Lydia's mind. That unfortunate gentleman wrote to Evelyn, in better spirits, late in October.

  'Dear E,

  Thankyou and bless you for agreeing to meet once more, and for your promise to share what you know of poor C at that time. I look anxiously forward to the 5th of next month, and until then remain your

  M'

  Finally, establishing once and for all the chain of events, was that letter and announcement that Lydia had seen once before, at the breakfast table last November. 'It is done'. How fateful those words seemed now as Lydia read again the story of the poor man who fell – who was pushed, perhaps, by the unscrupulous brother of a murderous woman – from a hotel window, and was taken up lifeless in the street below.

  Adeline, too, could no longer be blind to the truth.

  “So, she has murdered my father.” she said, quietly, and began to cry. Moving to console her, Lydia opened her mouth to speak to the captain, who – was not there! At some point that gentleman, for reasons unknown, had slipped quietly from the room.

  “And he did not bid us goodbye!” cried Adeline in astonishment.

  With the shadow of a murderess haunting that house, Lydia and Adeline could not hasten their departure enough. A note to Alfred had brought the assurance that he would of course escort them as far as their uncle's house, and he arrived in the fly which was to take the sad party to the station. Lydia and Adeline bid a tearful goodbye to Bessie – for she was to stay and keep watch on Mrs Trent and the nurses, at the girls' especial request, whilst Maisy had been promoted all at once from scullery-maid to ladies-maid, and accompanied them.

  Lydia's hand was upon the door of the carriage, when she was surprised by an unknown lady running up the drive, calling “Stop! Wait, I must speak with you!” Lydia turned, and Adeline leaned out of the carriage, as the lady came up with them.

  “I am the woman you seek, I am Catherine Parrish!” and so saying, the lady pushed back her bonnet to reveal the face of – the Captain!

  Chapter the 22nd

  The girls were too surprised to do anything but bundle the lady into the fly, that they might ask their questions on the journ
ey.

  They had fairly begun moving along when all started to speak at once. The Captain – I should say, Mrs Parrish – held up a slim hand to still Adeline's eager questions, and Lydia's more pertinent ones.

  “Please, please, be assured that I have not taken leave of my senses – I am just as much a woman as either of you, upon my word, and if you will listen, I shall tell you my story, which may go some way toward explaining why I have hitherto concealed that fact.”

  The young ladies were more than willing to hear the story, indeed, they were all agog, and accordingly stilled their tongues.

  “Some portion of my history, albeit disguised, I have already given you, Miss Trent.” began Catherine, with a slight bow toward Lydia.