Lydia Trent (13 page)

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.”

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 another 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.

The
moment passed, the veil fell, but all was changed from that moment
on. No, it can not be. Let me bury this love, if it should kill us in
the attempt, thought Alfred. He got up, and strode away, on the
pretext of bringing Lydia a little water from the stream nearby.

When
he came back to her, she was as composed as ever. She accepted the
water gratefully, and then spoke again.

“
My
words were ill-considered – can I truly believe that my stepmother
is a murderess? But I do fear she is ill – look at the later
entries. She seems convinced she is being watched – she writes of
spies set to watch her in the woods when she goes out, Look here.
'went to tea with ST today, the old women followed me all the way
home. I felt their eyes on me, I could hear them whispering about
me'. and here. 'they are poking about again, I saw them peeking in
the window downstairs. I have shut the curtains but they are still
there.' and 'slept ill – one of them stood beneath my window all
night, whispering. said she would tell, would put me in all the
newspapers.'

“
She
seems to suspect all the servants of plotting against her. She has
confined herself to her rooms because of it. When she argued with
Estelle, she accused her of being a spy and a traitress.

“
Thank
goodness she has never yet accused Adeline or I of any conspiracy
against her, for at this moment Adeline is completely in her power.”

At
this thought, the pair shared another look, but this time one of
horror.

Adeline
was, for the moment, safe enough, though she confessed, when
questioned by Lydia and Alfred, that she was a little frightened of
her mother, who at times acted strangely.

“
She
has locks to everything,” Adeline explained, “and when she
requires something, she grudgingly doles out a key, and watches one
like a hawk until it is returned.

“
At
timed she seems afraid of something or someone – I know not what.
Often she will send me to the window, sometimes as frequently as
every five or ten minutes, and when I report that I see nothing out
of the ordinary, she will sigh out – 'Oh, they are too quick for
you!'”

This
behaviour, though odd, did not seem threatening, for the present, and
Lydia's mind was in some measure put at rest. She did not share her
dreadful suspicions of Evelyn with Adeline, and for a few days life
continued in it's usual tenor.

There
was little more to be gleaned from the diary, and so Lydia and Alfred
were able to remain at home, to Adeline's great joy. This gentleman
was as attentive and tender as ever, but Adeline sensed a sudden
change with him.

“
I
cannot say what is very different, only that he seems somehow more
reserved than formerly, as if he is keeping something back from me.
No doubt the situation at hand taxes him sorely. I hope he is not
ill.” mused Adeline.

Lydia's
heart leapt involuntarily within her at this speech, but at the next
moment it smote her with guilt and remorse. What was it to her if
Alfred's affection for her sister be lessened in the slightest
degree? So long as Adeline was not made unhappy – that was all that
mattered.

Her
reverie was interrupted by a commotion at the door – it was Richard
Dodd, come to ask them to walk. How glad they all were to see that
gentleman! And how Adeline's heart did flutter when she thought of
how he may have some news of her father and sister – may have seen
them, have spoken with them!

In
less than five minutes the girls had on their bonnets and things, and
in less than twenty judged themselves to be far enough from the house
to speak without reserve. Little had been said in those twenty
minutes – all hearts were too full for mere commonplace chatter.

At
last they came to a shady lane, where they could see if anyone was
coming from any direction. As they strolled back and forth along the
lane, they began to speak.

“
Oh,
Mr Dodd,” gasped Adeline, “What news? Have you found them?” -
and they all began to speak at once.

“
Hush,
hush!” cried the detective. “You shall hear all, if you'll let me
tell it in my own way, and make no interruptions – you can quiz and
question me all you like afterward.”

They
could make no demur to that proposal, and so Detective Dodd began to
pour his tale into the three pairs of attentive ears.

“
You
may remember that, having traced Mr Wade to London, the trail there
went cold. Well, there is more than one way to skin a cat, and it
seemed to me that one way to find the father would be to go after the
daughter – Catherine, you know.

“
The
letter from Mr Wade had spoken of the girl as having married, so
first I needed to find out what name she goes by now. Well the
Captain helped out here, unknowing. One day – we had both chanced
to visit here and were walking home together – he chanced to ask me
if Mrs Trent had ever lived in the village of Houghton, in one of the
Northern counties of England, as she bore a great resemblance to
someone he once knew there. This, coupled with my own private
suspicions, determined me on my course. I would go to that village,
and search the parish registers of all the local churches, on the
chance Miss Wade the elder – Catherine, I mean - had been married
there – it seemed likely she would have been married from her home.

“
To
Houghton, then, I repaired, and near wore out my eyesight and choked
myself with dust, poking and peering over mouldy old registers in
musty old vestries. Not a trace of the Wades did I find – but in
the smallest and mustiest of the churches I found a curious thing –
one page, within the dates with which I was concerned, was missing,
torn clean out of the book. This looked suspicious, and on further
investigation I found several more missing pages. This now looked
black indeed.