The Other Cathy (27 page)

There was no time to waste, she must pass on the good news to Matthew at once. With lightning speed she changed
her dress and placed the vital papers in her pocket, then
thrust the rest of the bundles under the bed to deal with later. Tying on her bonnet she ran downstairs to find Nelly.

‘I am going out,’ she told her firmly, ‘and I don’t know how
long I shall be, so you must give Cathy her tea today. I looked
in on her just now and she is still asleep.’

Joseph harnessed the trap for her without comment and Emma started off along the same road she had taken with
Ursly two weeks ago, then branched off towards the head of
the valley. Oakroyd House was perched high on the hillside
sheltered by the wooded slopes rising behind, and was in
Emma’s sight fully ten minutes before she reached the gates, a
fine, solid residence left empty since Sir Richard Armstrong
died eight years ago and his heir went to live in London. The
carriage drive was flanked by lavender bushes which filled the
air with their fragrance. Dashing up to the door, Emma descended from the trap and went up a flight of steps to the
pillared porch. Her summons was answered by a young maid
servant, bright-eyed with curiosity, and she was shown into a
tastefully furnished ante-room. Too tense and excited to sit down, Emma paced the carpet until Matthew came to her.

‘Emma, dearest!’ he exclaimed eagerly, catching her hands
and kissing them. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. But what has
made you risk coming here?
’

She held on to him excitedly. ‘Matthew, I have news! I
have discovered the proof that your father invented the
Condensing Engine! Look! See what I have here! Read it!
No longer can anyone say you were not telling the truth.’

Enthusiastically she spilled out the whole story, and Matt
hew examined the papers she thrust at him, comparing the handwriting of the patent application with that of her father’s
letter. He said nothing. When she searched his eyes for reciprocation of her own gladness she saw only dark un
certainty.

‘What is the matter?’ she cried in dismay. ‘Are you not
pleased?’

‘Would to God I could be! This is proof that my father
invented the condenser – that I was not lying in my claim.
It proves nothing beyond that. We are no nearer being free to
marry.’

‘But I don’t understand, Matthew. Surely this is a complete
vindication of all you have ever said.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed sombrely. ‘And at the same time it will be
held to reinforce my motive for the crime of which I was con
victed. Can you not see, Emma? If I established the invention as my father’s it would bring to light the legitimacy of my
grievance against Hugh Hardaker, instead of the imaginary one
it was believed to be in court. That could only strengthen the case against me and my guilt would be considered all the
more proven. To produce this document now would be of no
help at all. On the contrary! Far better to conceal it for the time being until we can clear my name of manslaughter.’

Emma felt stricken. Unbelievably, Matthew was spurning
this gift she had brought him. Could he really be saying that
the evidence she offered him so generously, even though it tainted her own father, was worthless? Even dangerous?

‘I’m sorry, Emma, but what I say is true,’ he said gently. ‘We will keep this specification and produce it at the right
time. When that will be, alas, I don’t know.’

Her eyes brimmed with tears and repentantly Matthew folded his arms about her, holding her close. But now his
warmth and nearness brought her little joy.

That night Cathy suffered the first massive haemorrhage.
Uncle Randolph was out and Chloe was spending the night at
High Banks, so Emma had to face the frightening responsi
bility alone.

All the evening Cathy had been talkative, which was unusual for her. She was rational for the most part and prattled artlessly while Emma, lost in thought, made appropriate
noises; but every now and then Cathy’s grasp on reality slipped
away and her mind wandered. All of a sudden she was in the throes of a fit of violent coughing which brutally ravaged her
thin frame. Emma shot from her chair to help her and when
at last, gasping and exhausted, Cathy sank back upon her pillows
the blood began to gush from her mouth. Mercifully, Bernard
had warned Emma to expect such an emergency as this and she
was prepared. She held Cathy in her arms to comfort her,
while she ordered Nelly to wring out pads of cloth in cold
water to lay upon Cathy’s chest, and hot stone jars to place at her feet.

‘And send Seth to fetch Dr Mottram,’ she whispered urgently, ‘Ask for him to come as quickly as possible – this
is worse than anything before.’

Emma’s heart turned over in compassion as she watched
her cousin, so wasted now that she hardly made an im
pression under the bed covers.

Within a quarter of an hour she thankfully heard a horse
outside, and then Bernard came quickly into the room.

‘You could not have done any more,’ he assured Emma, as
he administered a few drops of elixir of vitriol. ‘I think she is
over the worst now.’

He stayed talking quietly to Cathy and giving her courage.
Observing his gentleness with her and the gradual relaxation of the lines of pain on Cathy’s face, Emma was nearer to him in those fraught moments than she would ever be. When he
rose to leave she followed him from the room.

‘I am afraid, Emma, this is the: beginning of the end,’
Bernard said gravely.

Emma did not doubt it – indeed she had almost prayed for
Cathy’s release from suffering – but she could not stop the
wave of sorrow that came over her at the cold meaning of his
words.

‘How – long?’ Her voice was husky.

‘Who knows? A few days, or a few weeks. A couple of
months at the very outside, I fear.’ He studied Emma with a
professional eye. ‘You look rather wan yourself. I do hope
you’re taking proper care. Are you eating sensibly, and getting
sufficient rest?’

‘I’m all right,’ she replied. ‘What about you? I suppose you’re being run off your feet doing the job of two doctors. Will you be taking on a partner soon?’

For once the friendly, outgoing Bernard seemed oddly
uncommunicative. ‘I’m not sure what my plans will be – it’s
early days yet. I – I shall have to see.’ He started along the corridor. ‘I will have a word with your uncle about Cathy
tomorrow. But you must let me know at once if there’s any
change, although she ought to be all right until the morning.’

Randolph Hardaker did not return that night, but he
arrived home for breakfast earlier than usual and came straight
up to see Cathy. She was awake, and smiled wanly at her
father.

‘How is my little lass?’ he enquired softly, bending to give
her a kiss. ‘Bernard rode over to the mill first thing to tell
me you’d had a nasty turn.’

‘I am rather tired, papa,’ she whispered, and even that small effort cost her a bout of coughing.

‘Aye, well you just rest there quietly, my pet.’ He glanced
at Emma. ‘And you’ll be tired too, I don’t doubt. Did you
get any sleep?’

‘Yes uncle, a little.’

Randolph patted her arm sympathetically, then with another glance at his poor sick daughter he shook his head sadly and left the room.

Assisted by Nelly, Emma completed the morning ministra
tions to Cathy; having made her as comfortable as possible,
Emma coaxed her cousin to sip a little warm milk and swallow
a few morsels of thin bread and butter. Later, when Bernard called to see his patient, Emma remembered the strangeness
of his manner last night. Posting Nelly at Cathy’s bedside,
she accompanied him downstairs and invited him into the
drawing room for a few moments.

‘You look worn out, Bernard,’ she said, with concern. ‘You
really must do something quickly about getting assistance.’

He gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’m not sure that I shall be remain
ing here in the Brackle Valley. I might decide to make a new start somewhere else.’

Emma caught her breath in astonishment. ‘But surely – I
mean, I realise that Uncle Paget’s death has precipitated
matters, but it was always understood that you would take
over the practice when he retired. Why this sudden change of heart? Have you discussed it with Aunt Jane?’

‘No, no, not yet. I must decide this for myself. Your aunt is the last person to whom I can turn for advice.’

It seemed to Emma that he was nearing the point of desperation. Cathy would be safe with Nelly for a while, so she
suggested a glass of wine. ‘It will do you good to relax for
ten minutes,’ she said.

Bernard smiled slightly and nodded his thanks, but at the same time he seemed curiously apprehensive. Aunt Chloe was
busy in the garden snipping dead blooms off the rose bushes,
Emma knew, and was unlikely to interrupt. She turned to
Bernard challengingly.

‘If you feel unable to speak to Aunt Jane about whatever is
troubling you, then try talking to me. Perhaps it will help a little to put your anxieties into words.’

‘No,’ he replied with a shudder. ‘No, I couldn’t.’

She concluded it was something he considered indelicate
or unfit for feminine ears. But despite his obvious reluctance
Emma had a feeling that he badly wanted to confide in her.

She said coaxingly, ‘Even though we cannot ever be more
than good friends, I still have your interests at heart. You
should know that.’

‘Oh, I do, Emma, I do! But I cannot speak to you on such a matter. I must bear this burden in silence, there is no other
way.’

‘And make yourself ill in the process! Here is your sherry,
it will give you courage.’ Emma felt mildly surprised at her own composure; she might have been the doctor, and Ber
nard a nervous patient. ‘Now,’ she commanded, ‘tell me what
it is.’

He sipped the wine, then put the glass down on the table
with a hand that shook. ‘Just before Dr Eade died, I told
you he had not long to live.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘But I expected him to linger for a few more hours. His
death did not seem imminent. When I was called back from
the kitchen after only a few minutes and found he was dead,
I was astonished. Looking at him then, I – I was forced to one
conclusion. In a word, Emma, I do not believe that your uncle
died an entirely natural death.’

A finger of terror touched her spine. ‘What are you imply
ing, Bernard?’

‘Oh God, what
am
I implying? But I must say it now; I
believe it to be true. There were signs – though it is largely
instinct that guides a doctor in such circumstances – signs of
suffocation. Deliberate suffocation! Do you understand?’

Emma felt stunned. Her throat was dry and taut.

‘But – how is that possible? Who —? Aunt Jane was with
him at the end.’

‘Yes, Mrs Eade herself! It must be so. There is no other
explanation.’

Her numbness was pierced by a shaft of anger. ‘How dare
you say such a thing – even hint at it! To suggest that Aunt Jane could be capable of such an unspeakable act – against
her own husband! It is unthinkable, you must know it is.’

‘Do you think I haven’t told myself that a hundred times?
But always I come back to the memory of Dr Eade lying
there, and my conviction grows that his death was hastened.
I dare not speak out, even if I wanted to, for no one would
believe me. Any more than you believe me. I should be
written off as mad, or vindictive, trying to bring disgrace upon
a lady who had always been goodness itself to me.’ He paused,
then added in a heavy, despondent voice, ‘That is why I think
I must go away from here, Emma. What else can I do?’

‘You must stop worrying, Bernard. You must stop believing
this dreadful thing. I’m sure you are mistaken. My uncle summoned up the strength to speak to Aunt Jane, but per
haps the effort of saying those last few words proved too much
for him. Could not that have been sufficient?’

Bernard nodded his head slowly, but his eyes avoided hers.
Emma knew he was not convinced. Through the window she
could see Aunt Chloe coming towards the house, and she was
anxious that her aunt should not find Bernard in this state.

‘You had better leave now,’ she told him. ‘But I beg you to
do nothing precipitate. We
need
you here in Bythorpe. You
are passing through a difficult period just at the moment, being
so overworked, but when things become easier you will be
able to view this matter in perspective. I am confident of it.’

But when Bernard had gone and Emma went back to
Cathy her thoughts were in a turmoil. What he had suggested was truly unthinkable, but now the doubt had been implanted in her mind would she ever be able to banish it? She felt an urgent need to talk to Matthew and share her misery with
him. They had arranged that each afternoon he would wait for
half an hour in the grove of silver birch trees near Brackle
garth Hall, in the hope that she could get away from the house
to meet him. But during the next two days she had no opportunity to leave Cathy; almost every moment she feared
another haemorrhage. On the third day
s
however, her cousin
seemed more settled. The cough was not so troublesome now,
and she looked less feverish. Just before three o’clock Emma
rang for Nelly and told her she was going out for some fresh
air.