The Other Cathy (23 page)

‘It is unimportant,’ she insisted.

‘Tell me!’

She avoided his searching gaze. ‘Bernard and a doctor friend
of his were dining at a – a restaurant in Wyke one evening,
and – and he saw you there, with someone.’

‘I see! What did he say about it?’

Emma still hung back reluctantly, and he urged her, ‘Come
now, speak out! He saw me in the company of a common whore, is that not it?’

She flinched. ‘Yes.’

‘Bernard Mottram was telling the truth, Emma. And I sup
pose I cannot blame him for misinterpreting the situation. I
had gone to that place purposely to seek out the woman and
question her.’

‘Question her – about what?’

There was a tiny pause, then he said, ‘I persuaded you to be
outspoken, so I should be equally plain with you. I was trying to establish that your Uncle Randolph could not have broken
open your deed box, because he didn’t have the opportunity.
Something I chanced to overhear at the Railway Hotel seemed to point in that direction, and when I tracked the woman down
she gave me definite confirmation. I have no wish to shock
you, but neither must I be squeamish. Your uncle was in that
woman’s company from the time he arrived in Wyke by train,
until he left it early next morning to go straight to the mill. I
am sorry, but it was necessary to tell you.’

‘You should have told me before.’ Emma picked up the poker and prodded the fire, sending flames leaping high into
the broad throat of the chimney. ‘You don’t shock me,
Matthew. Once I was shocked, eighteen months ago when I first came to live at the Hall, then gradually I came to under
stand the sort of man my uncle is where women are con
cerned. I have learned to accept it, just as Aunt Chloe has had
to do. Now, that dark side of his character hardly affects my
love and esteem for him.’ She turned to Matthew and he took
her outstretched hand, regarding her with astonishment.

‘I think, my dear Emma, that the day will never come when
you cease to surprise me.’

She smiled fleetingly. ‘I hope not! I wouldn’t want you ever
to take me for granted.’

‘I shan’t do that, I promise you.’

He drew her to him again and was kissing her tenderly in
the flickering firelight when the door opened and Ursly ca
m in. Emma broke away in confusion, her cheeks hot. But Ursly
seemed unsurprised to find them in her home, Emma
dressed only in a cloak of hers, and Matthew naked to the
waist.

‘I – I hope you don’t mind, Ursly,’ Emma faltered. ‘We
were caught in the storm and got drenched through, so we
came here to find shelter and to dry our clothes.’

Tossing aside the ragged square of sacking with which she
had covered her head, the old woman nodded ironically at the forgotten bundle on the floor.

‘Happen they’d dry faster, lass, if tha was to hang ‘em out
before t’fire.’

‘Oh – oh, yes!’ Embarrassed, Emma draped the garments
over a line strung across the hearth from the wooden mantelshelf. Matthew donned his shirt, but spread out his coat be
side Emma’s clothes.

‘Matthew Sutcliffe, tha’ll be then,’ Ursly said. ‘A lot about
thee I’ve heard.’

‘None of it to my credit, I’ll be bound.’

‘Little there’s said to my credit, neither! But I still live and
breathe and sup my fill, so I’m not grousing.’

‘We were worried about whether you’d found shelter,
Ursly,’ said Emma.

‘Aye! Worrit tha looked, too, when I came in!’ She handed Matthew the blackened kettle. ‘Go fill that, and I’ll mash some
tea. Rain’s slacked off a bit now, which is why I come home.
Happen ’tis a good thing I did, eh?’

When he returned with the water, Emma was talking to
Ursly about the death of the pedlar, Johnny Gone-tomorrow.

‘Nobody but you seems to know who he was,’ she said.

‘Good excuse I had an’ all, not to forget him.’

‘What happened exactly?’ Matthew asked. ‘When was he
here before?’

‘Years agone. And nowt to do with thee, ’tis not.’ Her near
sighted eyes peered up at Matthew. ‘Dost think I killed him,
then? Eh?’

‘You? He was twice your size and as strong as an ox. I
doubt if you could even have dented his skull.’

‘Huh!’ she exclaimed, jerking her head contemptuously.
‘Any road, ’tis good riddance I reckon. Good riddance to bad rubbish.’

‘The afternoon before he was killed, we talked together,’
said Matthew. ‘He claimed there were things he could tell me,
worth my while paying him good money to hear.’

‘Did he now?’ The old woman reached for her tin caddy
and spooned her herbal mixture into the pot. ‘Tha’ll not be
hearing it now, eh? Whatever he’d got to tell thee, it died along o’ him!’

From the sound of it, the driver of the vehicle turning in at
the gates was in a great hurry. Emma drew aside the curtain
and, dimly in the lamplight spilling from the portico, she discerned her Aunt Jane. Flinging her heavy body from the trap, Jane vanished out of sight up the front steps. The next instant the bell was jangling loudly.

‘Who is it?’ asked Cathy, as Nelly helped her out of her
crinoline cage. This evening she had dressed for supper down
stairs and had remained a little while in the drawing room.
Tiredness now made her voice sound flat and incurious.

‘Aunt Jane. She seemed in such a hurry. I wonder what
she wants at this time of the evening.’

Emma opened the bedroom door and slipped along to the
stairhead to listen. But her aunt had been ushered into the
drawing room and all Emma could hear was a confused babble
of voices. She hesitated, wondering whether she ought to go
down, but feeling reluctant to get caught up in family affairs
at this moment. Since the afternoon, her life had irrevocably
changed. Her emotions were see-sawing violently, one moment
swinging to a peak of bright optimism with the certainty that
nothing could any longer keep Matthew and her apart; the
next instant, reminded of the practical difficulties confronting
them, plunging into despondency. How were they ever to prove that Matthew was an innocent man? But whether or not they succeeded, theirs was a shared future. Emma knew
this with utter conviction. If Matthew’s name could not be
cleared, then they would simply go away and begin a new life
together somewhere else. With a shiver, she remembered the
gypsy woman at the Donkey Fair.
‘
A dark man ... there is
bitterness and anger. Ye’ll go away from here to some distant land where no one knows ye.’ Was that what fate had in store
for them? And Ursly had once said, ‘The path ahead is
already laid down, waiting to be trod.’ If only she could see the path ahead!

Arriving home bedraggled this afternoon, Emma had ex
plained that she had been overtaken by the storm while out for her walk and had taken shelter under a tree. Chloe, if censorious, had found no fault with this white lie; but it had
been difficult for Emma to conceal her inner excitement from
the family. Chatting to Cathy just now as she helped her
cousin prepare for bed, she had more than once lost the thread
of the conversation.

The drawing-room door opened and Ada, who had been
sent in with the tea tray, came running up the stairs in great
agitation.

‘Oh miss, ’tis shocking! Dr Eade has gone a’missing. He set off to see a patient across t’moor in the midst of the storm this afternoon, and now his horse has come back wi’out him.
Poor Mrs Eade is in a dreadful state, and I’m to fetch
t’mistress’s smelling salts from her room.’

Calling to Nelly to stay with Cathy, Emma sped downstairs. Randolph was just coming out of the drawing room,
and he drew her away from the door.

‘Have you heard?’

‘Yes, Ada told me. What’s to be done, uncle?’

‘I’m going to organise a search for him. The problem is,
Paget was going to a shepherd’s cottage over by Hewgill Fell,
and there are several different tracks he could have taken.’

‘Can I help in any way?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, there is something you can do. It seems
your uncle had an emergency call to a little girl suffering from
what appeared to be a bad attack of croup. Her young brother brought the message, and Paget took the lad back home with
him on his horse. If they didn’t manage to get that far – well,
it’s not only both of them lost, but there’s the sick child, too.
Will you run down to High Banks and see if Bernard is back
yet? He’s been out all the afternoon on his calls. If he isn’t,
then wait there for him. Tell him to get to the child as soon
as possible. The name is Webster, he’ll know where they live.’

‘Very well!’

Emma hurried upstairs again to her cousin’s room, thanking heaven her uncle was here to make the necessary plans in his
usual competent way. She didn’t want Cathy upset so she
entered the room casually and explained that Uncle Randolph wanted her to go out on an errand.  So she said goodnight, leav
ing Nelly to keep an eye on Cathy. Then, fetching a cloak from
her own room Emma hastened downstairs again, asked Hoad
for a lantern, and let herself out into the night. It was rain
ing quite hard again, but after the violence of the storm this
seemed a triviality.

Bernard, on horseback, was just turning in at the gateway
when she reached High Banks.

‘Emma, what is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked, leaping down from the saddle.

Breathlessly, she told him exactly what she knew. He con
sidered a moment, then said, ‘You get back to the Hall now,
and say I’m off right away. I’d better borrow a fresh horse from the Waggoners’ Inn – this one is tired and Dr Eade’s
will be in no condition to go out again. If I discover that all is
well with the little girl, then I’ll join the searchers.’

When Emma arrived home Jane was lying down on one of
the drawing-room sofas, sobbing weakly. In a hasty undertone Emma explained where she had been to Chloe, who said,
‘Tell that to your Aunt Jane. It may help to soothe her a
little. She’ll not listen to me.’

Emma sat on a footstool beside the plump quivering figure,
and took Jane’s hand.

‘Try not to worry too much,’ she said with gentle com
passion. ‘Uncle Randolph has organised search parties to comb the moor, and Bernard is out there now, too. They’ll
soon find Uncle Paget, never fear. I daresay he was thrown by
his horse and has hurt his ankle – something like that,’

Jane clutched at Emma’s shoulder, heaving herself into a
sitting position.

‘He should never have gone,’ she wailed. ‘It was madness,
madness,
in his condition. He is not strong, Emma, but he insisted. A doctor’s duty, he said.’

‘You must honour him for that.’

‘If only I could!’ With a gasp of dismay Jane fell back
against the cushions, moaning, ‘What am I saying? I do
honour him, I do! He is weak-willed, perhaps, but not an evil
man. You don’t believe your uncle capable of an evil act,
child?’

‘But of course not!’ said Emma, shocked. ‘Nobody thinks
that.’

Her aunt pounced on the words. ‘No, you are right, nobody
thinks it. I have been wickedly wrong, all these years, may
God forgive me!’ She lay gasping for breath, tossing her heavy body from side to side in a fever of misery. ‘If Paget
is returned to me safely, it will be a sign from heaven, Emma -
a sign that I have misjudged him, that I am being given a
chance to make amends to the poor unhappy man.’

‘You will have Uncle Paget back, I am sure of it,’ Emma
soothed her. ‘Now do try and calm yourself, Aunt Jane.’

How strange, she thought, if good were to result from what
at this moment seemed a disaster. If Uncle Paget was brought safely home, his marriage might be miraculously transformed.
It only needed Aunt Jane’s forgiveness, Emma felt certain.
And he had been summoned to the bedside of a little girl in
peril of dying from the croup – just as his own daughter had
died, all those years ago. What had been his thoughts, she
wondered, as he urged his horse across the storm-ridden
wilderness of the moor. Did he reach his patient, and save her?
Emma prayed so with all her heart, for Uncle Paget’s sake as
much as for the child’s.

Time dragged by with agonising slowness. For long spells
Jane lay very still, whimpering quietly to herself. Then she
would rear up and cry out incoherently. Once she surprised
Emma by asking in a small, clear voice, ‘What is the time?’ and Emma had glanced at the mantel clock, then exchanged
a look with Chloe. Subtracting a whole hour, she had said, ‘A
little after ten, Aunt Jane. Try to go to sleep if you can.’