A Bitter Truth

by Charles Todd

  “I can manage,” he began, then nearly lost his balance as he rose from his chair.

  Dr. Tilton and I each took an arm to help him to the door, but he caught us unprepared and pulled away, turning around to face everyone in the room.

  “Malcolm isn’t here after all. I must have imagined he was. It was to him—to my brother—that I was speaking. I do apologize if I’ve upset anyone.” His eyes were quite sober now.

  I remembered Roger mentioning earlier that Malcolm was George’s late brother. And it was obvious that the others also knew who Malcolm was. But even I could see the doubt in the faces turned toward us in the doorway. It was a polite lie intended to cover the truth. And it failed.

  “Forgive me,” he added, and then let us lead him through the door.

  As it was closing behind us, I heard Mrs. Ellis say, “Poor man. He hasn’t been the same since—” The rest of what she was about to say was cut off as the door shut with a soft click.

  We got George to his room, where the lamps were already lit and the fire burning well on the hearth, thanks to the ubiquitous Daisy, and in short order we had him in his bed, leaning against pillows.

  “I feel like an idiot,” he said to me as I smoothed the blanket we had pulled over his knees. Then he turned his gaze on Dr. Tilton. “I do talk to my brother sometimes, you know. A habit begun early in life and hard to break. We were close.”

  Dr. Tilton said, “You mentioned a child who looked like Juliana. I thought your brother was dark.”

  “Her mother was fair,” George responded quickly. “A Frenchwoman.”

  But Dr. Tilton was not satisfied. “I thought most Frenchwomen were also dark.”

  George smiled. “I can tell you that some are as fair as any Englishwoman. Miss Crawford can attest to that, I’m sure.” He looked to me for support.

  I said to Dr. Tilton, “That’s true. Now I think we should rejoin the other guests.”

  “Yes, yes, go on down. I’ll be with you shortly.” It was clear he would like to probe further into what Lieutenant Hughes had said. I was sure the family wouldn’t care for that, and Lydia had already warned me that he was a gossip.

  I could understand, then, why Roger Ellis had asked me to accompany the doctor.

  “Dr. Tilton. We have put Lieutenant Hughes to bed. That was our only charge.”

  He looked up at me, on the point of telling me to mind my own business, when he must have realized that I was not simply a nursing sister but a friend and guest of Lydia’s. He wished Lieutenant Hughes a good night and added, “Send for me tomorrow if you feel unwell.”

  We left then, shutting the bedroom door behind us and walking in silence back the way we’d come. The silence between us was uncomfortable, as if Dr. Tilton was clearly not accustomed to having nursing sisters or anyone else contradict him.

  I wondered what had been said in the drawing room after we had taken Lieutenant Hughes away. But the conversation when we opened the door was stilted.

  Gran was saying, “—and the latest reports from France leave one to wonder—”

  Every head turned toward us as we entered, and Mrs. Tilton rose, saying, “My dear, I hadn’t realized how late it is.”

  Her husband said, “Yes, I suspect we’ll meet with patches of fog on the way home.”

  The Smyths rose as well, and then everyone was standing, bidding one another a good night, thanking Mrs. Ellis for the lovely dinner, and five minutes later Roger was swinging the hall door closed after his guests, and turning to face us.

  I realized that Lydia wasn’t there.

  Roger said, “It’s been a long day. Perhaps we should call it an evening.” And before anyone could question him, he strode through the passage door and closed it behind him.

  Mrs. Ellis was running a finger around the now-empty porcelain umbrella stand, not looking at her mother-in-law as she said, “I must say I’m rather tired as well. Good night, Gran. Bess.” She crossed the room to kiss Margaret on the cheek, and then Henry as well.

  Margaret said hastily, “Yes, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” And with a glance at Henry, she followed her mother toward the door, Henry at her heels.

  Eleanor and her brother had slipped away earlier while Roger and Mrs. Ellis were saying their last farewells to the doctor and the rector.

  Gran clearly wanted to return to what had happened in the drawing room, and she looked after them with a frown between her eyes. She stared at me for a moment, as if considering whether to broach the subject with me, and then thought better of it.

  “Where’s Lydia?” she asked instead.

  “I don’t know. I thought she came down with us.”

  “Hmmph,” Gran said, and then bade me a good night.

  I was left in sole possession of the hall. I stood by the fire for a few minutes more, relishing the quiet, although I could hear the wind picking up again outside.

  Tomorrow, I thought, will be a stressful day. There will be no avoiding George, and Roger will have his hands full keeping his family from demanding answers.

  And Lydia? What about her?

  I went looking for her then, and found her in the drawing room, staring up at the portrait of Juliana, as if she’d never seen it before.

  I’d just stepped into the room when Gran came in behind me. I could tell she’d been searching for Lydia as well.

  Ignoring me, Gran said directly to her grandson’s wife, “He was drunk, Lydia.”

  She didn’t answer or look away from her contemplation of the portrait. Below it a log fell in the grate as the flames ate through it, making all of us jump, and sparks flew up the chimney in a bright spiral.

  “He does talk to his brother. I heard him only last evening, in his room, carrying on a conversation with Malcolm,” the elder Mrs. Ellis continued.

  “It wasn’t Malcolm he was speaking to,” Lydia said at last, her gaze dropping from Juliana’s face and moving to Gran’s. “Henry was coming out of George’s room as I was going up.”

  “Nevertheless, you know as well as I do that Malcolm’s death had turned his mind. Roger had even suggested that asking him to be here for Alan’s memorial would be too much for him.”

  I’d heard that exchange. But I’d interpreted it to mean that Roger would be made uncomfortable, not George.

  Lydia said, a sigh in her voice, “Gran. Thank you. But there’s no way to undo what was said here tonight. George will try to put a better face on them, and Roger will deny any knowledge of what he was saying, but the words were spoken. None of us can pretend we didn’t hear them. Or know that some sort of truth must lie behind them. The question now is, what will Roger do?”

  “There couldn’t have been a child, Lydia. He’s been fighting in the trenches, for God’s sake. There are no whores in the trenches.”

  “What about his wounded shoulder, Gran? He wasn’t in the trenches then. There was time. Was it a nurse who bore him a child? Or someone else?”

  “Lydia, there is no child!” Gran said, nearly angry.

  “I’m Roger’s wife,” she answered slowly. “I know when my husband is cold to me. I know when he isn’t eager to hold me or tell me he loves me. You’re his grandmother. It’s natural for you to feel he can do no wrong. I can’t fault you for that. But something is different. I’ve known it since the day he arrived, while Alan was so ill. I put it down then to sorrow and impending loss. But at some point—some point in his grieving, why didn’t he turn to me? And why, when I asked him for a child, did he strike me across the face? I thought it was because I’d mentioned Juliana as well. Now—now, I’m not so sure.”

  “You’re overwrought,” Gran told her. “And not making any sense.”

  “I’m making a great deal of sense. For the first time I see my way clearly.”

  “Don’t do anything rash, Lydia. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  “There’s no one else, Gran. Whatever Roger tells you, there is no one else.”

  “In my day, a woman knew when to
look the other way. Not that I ever had to, but I knew my duty all the same.”

  “It isn’t your day and age now, is it? When we were married, Roger promised to forsake all others—”

  “Don’t be naïve, Lydia. A man’s needs are very different from those of a woman,” Gran snapped.

  “I’m not naïve,” Lydia retorted. “I’m jealous. Don’t you understand?”

  “There’s no arguing with you in this mood,” the elder Mrs. Ellis said. “Perhaps you’ll come to your senses in the light of day.” With that she turned on her heel and walked past me and out of the room.

  I think she’d even forgot I was there. For I caught a look of surprise in her eyes as they met mine, and then irritation before she’d closed the door behind her.

  I said after a moment, “Perhaps I should go as well, Lydia. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  “No, stay.”

  We hadn’t heard the door open again—or perhaps Mrs. Ellis hadn’t shut it firmly. Roger’s voice startled both of us.

  Standing there just inside the threshold, he said, “And I think it would be better if Miss Crawford left,” Roger said.

  “No. Whatever you have to say, she remains. What child was George talking about, Roger?”

  “He told you. Malcolm’s.”

  “We both know he was trying to cover up his gaff. What child, Roger? You might as well tell me. It’s out in the open now, you can’t pretend it’s a secret any longer.”

  “I swear to you—” He cast a look in my direction.

  “Is that why you don’t want us to have a child? There’s someone else, isn’t there? Someone you met in France and love more. Why couldn’t you tell me? Just—tell me.”

  He glanced up at the portrait over the mantel, as if looking for courage. “I don’t love anyone else, Lydia. I never have.”

  “Then she was what? A refugee? A woman of the streets? A girl willing to sell herself for food and a place to sleep that night? Who was she?”

  “Lydia, this isn’t the time or place to be having this conversation.”

  “Why not? He said she was the image of Juliana. It couldn’t be Alan’s child—he’s been on a cruiser in the North Atlantic. If he’d fathered a child in some faraway port, George would never have known that she looked so much like Juliana. No, this child is the reason why you didn’t take leave to come to England when you were wounded, the reason you haven’t had leave to return to England in three years of fighting.”

  “Lydia, you’re letting your imagination run away with you. There was no woman. There is no child. Miss Crawford here can tell you how impossible it is to get leave, even when you’re wounded.”

  “Leave her out of this.” She was looking up at him now, such misery in her eyes that I could have wept for her. I didn’t want to be a witness to this scene. But there was nothing I could do, except watch in silence, pretending I wasn’t there after all.

  Finally Lydia said tiredly, “I don’t know what to believe. In London I’d believed that you struck me because of what I’d said about Juliana. I blamed myself for using such a vile weapon to make my point. I came home to apologize and beg your forgiveness. Well, if the truth has come out finally, it’s just as well. If Bess will have me, tomorrow I’ll be returning to London with her, until I can make other arrangements. Under the circumstances, I shall expect you to give me an allowance, so that I can live at least with dignity, if not comfort.”

  “You can’t leave. We have guests. Mother and Gran—”

  “Our only guests are Eleanor and members of your own family. They will understand—this time—why I need to go away and not think about anything for a while, until I’m able to decide what this has done to our marriage.”

  She rose, walking to the door. “What’s more,” she said, with an overtone of spite, “before I went to London the first time, you were all but accusing me of having an affair with Davis Merrit. And you made me feel guilty, when I had done nothing more than read to the poor man. And all the while, you knew what you yourself were guilty of. I think that’s the most disgusting part of all this.” Her voice finally broke on the last words, and she left, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

  “Damn it,” Roger began, but it was too late, she was gone. He turned to me then, and said, “I don’t know how to reach her. It’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” I prepared to leave as well. “We all heard what Lieutenant Hughes said. You can pretend he wasn’t speaking to you. He can swear that he was drunk and talking to his dead brother. But neither will satisfy your wife.”

  “There is no child!” he exclaimed, angry now.

  “Sadly I’m not one of the people you must convince. Good night, Captain Ellis.”

  “Wait!”

  I stopped but didn’t turn.

  “I must ask you,” he went on, as if the words were forced from him, “what Lieutenant Hughes said to Dr. Tilton.”

  “He stood by what he’d said before he left the drawing room.”

  “And Dr. Tilton? Did he pry?”

  There was nothing for it but to tell the truth. “I’m afraid he tried. But I reminded him that we had done our duty and ought to return to the other guests, and he stopped.”

  “Yes, damn it, that’s precisely what I was afraid he would do. Even what little he knows will be all over Ashdown Forest before tomorrow is out. That’s why I asked you to go with him. I couldn’t—it would look too much like I was trying to rush George away before he could say more.” He hesitated. “Thank you, Miss Crawford. I appreciate your loyalty.”

  I turned then. “It wasn’t so much a matter of loyalty,” I said. “It was disliking the doctor’s taking advantage of Lieutenant Hughes when he was vulnerable. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to know any more. For Lydia’s sake.”

  “What was the thrust of Tilton’s questions?”

  “Coloring. If the child was fair, like Juliana, then in theory neither George nor his brother could be the father. While you are fair, and very like your dead sister, if we can draw such a conclusion from that painting.”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes. I understand. Thank you all the same. Go on to bed. It’s very late.”

  It was dismissal, and I was glad to take it.

  I couldn’t read Roger Ellis. Either he was a consummate liar, or he was telling the truth. And I was fairly sure he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

  I went slowly up the stairs, remembering that Lydia was determined to leave in the morning. I didn’t know what advice to give her—to go, or to stay and get to the bottom of what if anything her husband was hiding. She had been deeply hurt for a second time, and she couldn’t convince herself that this time it was largely her fault. And I couldn’t imagine Lydia taking Gran’s advice to look the other way. In an arranged marriage, that might be possible, but in a love match, it was the destruction of trust.

  I opened the door to my room, glad to have the night to consider what to do in the morning.

  Instead I found Lydia lying across my bed, crying.

  For an instant I hesitated. And then I backed out as quietly as I’d come in. The wind rattled the window just as I was closing the door as gently as possible. I waited for several seconds, but Lydia didn’t call to me. Turning, I walked down the passage.

  Where was I to go? All the bedrooms were occupied. And Lydia was safer where she was. With luck, no one would think to look for her in my room.

  The hall was too large and empty and uncomfortable. I wasn’t particularly happy with the thought of sleeping in the room above the hall. Those long windows would be drafty and I’d be cold before morning. In the end I went down to the family sitting room and pulled two chairs together. There was a woolen lap rug over the back of another chair, and I pulled that round my shoulders. The fire here had died down to ashes, but there was still enough of a glow from the embers that I didn’t need to light a lamp. I was just as glad, thinking that at least no one would believe anyone was in here, if the room
was dark.

  I’d been there for well over two hours, unable to sleep, when George Hughes, in his dressing gown, quietly opened the door. He was looking for the brandy, I thought, but found me instead. He fumbled for the lamp and struck a match, the smell of sulfur strong in the air. Just as the light bloomed, I spoke, so that he wouldn’t be startled seeing me there.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. As if the entire household had no reason to lie awake.

  “Lydia is in my room. I think you’d better tell me, Lieutenant. Before this breaks up Lydia’s marriage. I won’t ask you who the father is. Only, where is this child?”

  He sighed. “Her mother is dead. She was put into an orphanage. No one seems to know where. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “In France?”

  “Yes. In France.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “No. But I saw her when she was only a year old. And she is so like Juliana it makes one’s heart stop. If I’d known—if I’d had any idea—I’d have claimed her myself. Brought her to England and raised her as my own. To hell with Roger. But that’s water over the dam. I remember Juliana, you see. Roger never really got over her death. Nor did I, if you want the truth. I thought when I saw Lydia for the first time that she must have reminded him of Juliana in a way. But he said not. I don’t know.”

  “Did he have an affair?”

  “I expect he did. How else do you explain the child? My God.”

  “And the mother? Who was she?”

  “I haven’t any idea.”

  “But you said you saw the child?”

  “Quite by accident, actually. I was—” He broke off, turning toward the door. “There’s someone outside.”

  I got up and went quietly to the door, opening it quickly. But if someone had been there, he or she was gone now. There was no one in the passage outside.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said as I closed the door again. He looked with longing at the brandy decanter, then sighed. “I was sitting there, staring up at Juliana’s portrait, and I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know what happened to that child.” He took a turn about the room, fretful and angry. “I’d waited for Ellis to say something. I’d given him every opportunity. When we were alone in the motorcar. Before dinner. I even mentioned the portrait that first night, to signal that Juliana—and by extension, the child—was on my mind. Instead he avoided the subject. I began to believe there was something he didn’t want to tell me. Had something happened to her? Was she dead? When he sat down near me at the end of the evening tonight, I thought, this was my chance. There might not be another. I intend to leave tomorrow. It will be less embarrassing all round.”