Lydia Trent (10 page)

“
No,
Miss.” the detective said, bluntly but kindly.

“
But
you have some clue to him, have you not?” queried Lydia.

“
No,
not that either. I'll tell you how it is. I spent some time asking
about the farms and villages, last I was here, trusting that he had
lodged somewhere nearby, last year, and weary work enough it was, by
the by. Anyhow, I had been at it four days, with as much of a trace
of him as if he had been a ghost, then on my way home on the fourth
day, I found I had missed my way, it being dark, and somewhat cloudy.
However, I spied the light of a cottage, and stopped there in hopes
that I could get a clue to the right road. I don't know why I had not
thought to ask at cottages before, but it occurred to me, once inside
– for the hospitable old body that inhabited the place would not
hear of my setting out again without a little something inside to
warm me, though I don't much care for tea and such slop as that –
where was I? Oh yes, I began to make a few polite enquiries on the
account of our missing friend.

'This
is a very pretty place, it almost makes me loath to leave this
fireside' says I. 'Do you ever let lodging at all?'

'Oh
no, sir, not since my William died,' says she, 'being a woman alone
and all.'

I
commiserated her on her unhappy loss, and enquired when that dismal
event had taken place, to which she informed me it had been but 4
months ago – to wit, January – when her earthly friend and
helpmeet had departed this mortal coil.

'Ah,
well, I expect you are quite right. I suppose you meet some queer
types.' was my next remark.

'Well,
no sir, I can't say as we have had any trouble of that sort. My last
lodger, for instance – if I had been alone I would not have let him
in the door, for he was terrible rough-looking, for all he was so
free with his money. But Mr Wade – Malcolm, as he bid us call him –
was as friendly a gent as you could hope to meet, though oft-times he
would brood and brood, then spring up and go out to walk off his ill
humour.'

Here
was my clue, dropped into my lap by a mis-step!

'Malcolm
Wade?' I enquired incredulously, 'Why, I wonder if it could be the
same Malcolm Wade as I went to school with – last that I heard of
him he had emigrated – Australia or California or one of those
places. Well, if he has come back he must have failed, poor chap.'

'Oh
yes, Mr Wade had just returned from Australia. He used to talk to us
sometimes of the queer things he had seen there – creatures like
giant jumping rats, with pockets in their fronts, and beetles as big
as your hand, and all manner of things, though half the time I
suspect he was jesting, for the good Lord never did give a creature
pockets, I'm sure on it. But to be sure he hadn't failed – he did
not boast or anything, but he never quibbled about a halfpenny and
always seemed to have enough to spare and more.'

'Really?
Well, I'll be blessed. Did he leave you his address at all, or give
any hint as to where he was going? I would dearly love to see the old
chap again and talk over old times.'

'No,
sir. He got a letter that sent him off to London in a fever, last
November it was, but he didn't leave a direction, and he said he
would send for his things, though he never did, and I have his box
still, in hopes as he'd come back for it.'

My
mind was racing at the thought he might have left some clue to his
whereabouts in that box, but how to get at it I knew not.

At
any rate, I now knew the gentleman's full name, and that he was last
seen on his way to London. To London, then, I must go, and I pretty
much ascertained, by asking at all the inns on the road, that he
reached that metropolis. After that, I drew a blank. I did, however,
dispatch a telegram in that gentleman's name, to the good biddy at
the cottage, asking for my – ahem, his – box to be sent to my
private chambers in London. However, there too I drew a blank. The
box contained no correspondence, no papers, no cards, no books,
nothing whatever that could give the slightest clue to the man –
nothing but a few items of clothing, unmarked. I searched for secret
compartments, but could find none, and so must assume that any
private papers he had, any letters from your Mamma, he either
destroyed, or took with him.

My
dear ladies, we need the other half of that correspondence. Mrs Trent
has received letters from him, she may well have them still. I have
yet another tack to try to solve this mystery, which will take me out
of this part of the country, so I charge you with this task. Find the
letters!”

Adeline
and Lydia pledged themselves to get at those letters if they should
still be in existence, but the question was, how?

It
was Lydia who made the first attempt. The plan required acting a
part, which innocent Adeline was incapable of.

“
I
should blush and tremble so, for fear of discovery, and would not be
able to hide my true feelings in the slightest.” she confessed, and
Lydia was fain to agree.

And
so that very afternoon, Lydia bearded the lion in her den, and tapped
politely on the door of her stepmother's sitting-room.

“
Mrs
Trent, I wonder if I might come and sit with you for a while. I know
that we have not been close of late, but I...” Lydia blushed
prettily and looked down, “I should greatly value your advice upon
a... a personal matter.”

A
look of annoyance flashed across Evelyn's face, but she hid it in a
moment.

“
Of
course, if my advice can be of any value to you, you are welcome to
it. Come in.”

The
two ladies sat in silence for a moment. Lydia poking uncertainly at
her knitting, and Evelyn (oh fate!) engaged in writing a letter. On
the table at which Evelyn sat lay an elegant writing-desk, open, with
several tantalising bundles of paper visible within it's recesses.
Lydia was busy trying to get a good look at these while appearing to
be entirely absorbed by her knitting, when Evelyn laid down her pen
and said;

“
Well?”

Poor
Lydia had only the haziest idea exactly what advice she might be
supposed to require. She had decided the most plausible story would
be a matter of the heart, and she uttered the first name that sprang
into her head.

“
I
don not know exactly where to begin, but it is about – about the
Captain. You may be aware, Mamma – I mean Mrs Trent – of our
growing acquaintance with the young gentleman. We have spent a good
deal of time together, and, without wishing to appear vain, I think -
that is - I begin to suspect that, perhaps, he may be wishing for a
yet closer tie than friendship.”

“
Well?
And what are your wishes?”

“
To
own the truth, I am not exactly sure. That is what I wanted you to
advise me.”

“
What
is the young man's fortune? What are his prospects?”

“
I
believe he has several thousand pounds in prize-money. He is yet
young, and may well rise in his profession.”

“
Hmph,
well, you are not a beauty, and with only two-and-a-half thousand of
your own you could do a lot worse. I do not see any harm in
encouraging him a little.”

“
But
when my feelings are so undecided, would it not be unfair to attempt
to excite in him an affection I may find myself unable to return?”

“
Dear
me, Lydia, what does that have to do with anything? If you wish to
marry well, you must learn to be a little less squeamish.”

Lydia
was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the moment. Not only was
she laying claim to the heart of a man she was certain had never
looked upon her with any warmer feeling than friendship, but every
word that fell from her stepmother's lips was deepening her disgust
of the woman, and of her cold, worldly heartlessness.

It
was a relief when Estelle, Mrs Trent's maid, put her head round the
door to consult with her mistress about something. Evelyn sighed.

“
I
find I must leave you for a few moments,” she said with her
habitual acid sweetness. “Do excuse me.”

Lydia's
heart leapt within her as she thought of the desk – but to her
dismay her stepmother stepped across to the table, shut up the desk,
and turned the key in the lock, before leaving the room.

Lydia
examined the desk and tried the lid, but it was firmly locked with a
patent Bramah lock, and the lid could neither be moved or picked
(even had Lydia known how to pick a lock, which useful science she
was in ignorance).

When
Mrs Trent returned, a few moments later, Lydia thanked her for her
advice, and excused herself.

“
Well,”
she philosophised to herself, “at least we are one step closer in
knowing she keeps some letters and papers in her writing-desk. But
how to get at them?”

This
was a conundrum indeed, but it was not many days before the girls
made a second attempt.

"Please,
Ma'am, Miss Adeline feels awfully ill, and is asking for you?"
said Bessie nervously, half-edging into Mrs Trent's sitting room.

Evelyn
sighed, and put down her work.

"Oh,
how tiresome. Well, I suppose I had better go, though ten to one it
is nothing more than a headache or some other trifling
indisposition." and she swept out of the room, followed by
Bessie.

Adeline
was of course shamming illness, but her nervousness made her pale and
flushed by turns, her throat constricted and her lips were dry,
making her voice weak and uncertain, and her eyes flashed in a way
that was almost genuinely feverish, with the consequence that she
actually appeared to be truly ill. Her goal, of course, was to detain
her mother for as long as possible, in order to give Lydia adequate
time to attempt to gain access to the desk. Fortunately, her natural
reluctance to lie forced her to give evasive answers to the questions
her mother put to her, which actually prolonged the conversation to
almost half-an-hour. At the end of this time, Evelyn declared that
she believed there was nothing much the matter with the girl.

"Aye,
there was nothing much the matter with the master, either."
grumbled Bessie darkly.

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.

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.