Betrayal (43 page)

             
“Insanity!” Lydia gasped.

             
“Well, no, not insanity, a poor choice of words; forgive me.  Your mother was clinically depressed when my sister died. She felt the loss of her mother deeply and that combined with Charles’ refusal to allow her contact with you led me to believe she was having hallucinations perhaps brought on by the cocktail of medications she was on.”

             
“What do you mean by hallucinations?”

             
“She would sit in the garden, as if in a trance, talking about a rose garden and a small child running through it.” Henry paused, embarrassed for his niece’s illness.

             
“Sarah,” Lydia sighed.

             
“Yes, but how did you know? Oh.” Henry paused. “Have you had the hallucination too?”

             
“A friend, a psychologist, I know in New Brunswick calls it a waking dream. He has been helping me to try and understand my dreams.”

             
“What about Dan, how does he feel about all this? I must admit I was disappointed he didn’t come home with you.”

             
Lydia frowned. “He couldn’t get away, but he promised he would come.” Lydia looked around the pasture at the grazing sheep. The high rolling hills and deep valleys relaxed her as she drew in a deep breath.  She didn’t want to talk about Dan so she changed the subject.  “When do I get to meet Christine?”

             
Henry took the hint, smiling as he replied, “She’s coming tomorrow afternoon for New Years. She works as a palliative care nurse in a small hospice in Torquay. She is very excited about meeting you.”

             
“Me, too. I can’t wait.” Lydia shivered as a strong wind blew down from the hills.

             
“Shall we go in?” Henry suggested as he buttoned his Burberry coat.

             
“Yes, please, it has turned cold.”

             
They walked back to the house in peaceable silence, each wondering how to bring up the topic of the dream again.

             
                                                                      ***

Alan arrived in Totnes as Lydia was telephoning Dan in Canada.  He checked into the hotel. Too restless to settle down he decided to explore the town.

              He climbed Fore Street to the Brutus Stone. He was panting for breath as he read of Brutus the Trojan, who legend said was the first to come here and after whom it was said, Britain had been named. Alan chuckled as he read the little poem on the commemorative plaque. It quoted the Trojan:

“
Here I stand and here I rest. And this good town shall be called Totnes.”

Alan doubted the veracity of the claim, but thought it cute as he drew breath to continue his climb up Fore Street.

              Nearby he stopped to admire a beautiful old Tudor-style house. On closer inspection he realized it was The Totnes Museum. Clutching his coat closer in the bitter wind Alan crossed Fore Street to look inside.  He would have liked to go in, but it was closed.

             
Further up Fore Street he passed under the arch of the East Gate, pausing to appreciate the graceful sweep of its curve.  He stepped back to admire the crenellated bay window with the town clock placed just above. Looking higher yet he saw the crenellated bell tower with its bell and weathervane.  He read the nearby bronze plaque, frowning when he read of the fire of 1990 which destroyed the arch. Stepping back again for a better view, Alan smiled in appreciation of its fine restoration.

Passing through the arch Alan stopped to gaze on the red stone church of St. Mary. He wished he had arrived earlier in the day as he would have liked to have gone inside. ‘Perhaps another day,’ Alan thought as he walked on.

The street was quiet yet not empty of people and Alan people-watched as he climbed higher on Fore Street. He wished he had packed his heavy winter overcoat regretting the choice of his London Fog all-weather coat. The wind howled up Fore Street driving Alan on to find somewhere warm. Continuing on he came to Castle Street and its round Norman Castle. He saw the sign for The Castle Pub and feeling suddenly ravenous he went inside.

             
                                                        ***

Lydia stood by the regency table in the hallway shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for her overseas call to Dan to connect. She checked her watch. Doing the mental calculation of time zones she said, “One o’clock.  He should be home.”

              One ring, two, three rings and Lydia began to pace before the marble-topped eighteenth-century sideboard. She ran her hand over its satiny smooth top to where the telephone sat tracing its delicate curves as she counted further rings. “Four, five, come on Dan,” she complained, “answer before the machine picks up. Come on.”

             
“Hello. Hello,” Dan’s voice was breathless as he answered the telephone.

             
“Hello Dan,” Lydia said. “I was beginning to think you might have been called out.”

             
“Lydia, is that you? Where are you?”

             
Lydia frowned, how could he expect her to be anywhere else? Biting back her retort she changed the subject. “How are you?”

             
“Fine, fine,” Dan answered, dismissing from his mind the unwashed dishes in the sink and the sulking cat under the sofa. “How are your Aunt and Uncle? Well, I hope. How is the reunion going?’

             
“Fine, fine,” Lydia replied peevishly. ‘If you won’t give me details, I won’t either.’ “How is Tremayne?” she asked mischievously. “How are you two getting along?”

             
“Fine, Lydia we are actually getting along quite well,” Dan lied.

             
Hearing his Mistress’ name, Tremayne leapt from the floor to land in Dan’s lap. It was the first time Dan had seen him all day

             
“He’s on my lap at the moment,” Dan said, reaching to stroke the cat, but after a moment’s thought he withdrew his hand. He watched in surprise as the cat, purring loudly, circled once and settled on his lap. Holding out the phone so Lydia could hear Dan said, “Here, listen, can you hear him? We are getting along better and better each day. When will you be home?”

             
“I’ve only been here four days!” Lydia countered.

             
“Seems like four months. I miss you.”

             
“I miss you too.”

             
“So, what are your plans for New Years?”

             
“Uncle Henry is having a dinner party, sort of a welcome home dinner so I can meet family and friends.”

             
“Sounds nice,” Dan moaned, feeling sorry for himself. “Any luck tracing your mystery lady yet?”

             
“No, it hasn’t seemed appropriate yet. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

             
Dan hesitated. Looking down at the sleeping cat he frowned. “I think I’ll cook Tremayne and myself a turkey dinner.”

             
“
You
cook a turkey dinner?” Lydia teased.

             
Dan smarted, his feelings hurt. “I can cook, you know. I wasn’t exactly starving when you moved in, you know,” Dan snapped, sweeping the sleeping cat from his lap with his hand.

             
Lydia, realizing she had hurt him, tried to make up, but the mood of the call had changed.

             
“When will you be home?” Dan demanded.

             
“I thought you were coming here?” Lydia answered, surprised by his tone.

             
“I can’t do anything, talk to anybody, before Tuesday, but at this point I am not hopeful of finding someone to cover my practice on such short notice. It really wasn’t very fair of you to run off like this. I have responsibilities.”

             
“I know you do. It’s just that at the airport you said …”

             
“I know what I said!” Dan shouted.

             
Lydia held the receiver away from her ear, sadly shaking her head that all they seemed to do was argue.  “I know, Dan, I know. Look, I’ve got to go, Aunt Ella is calling me,” Lydia said, softly anxious to end the call before it deteriorated further.

             
“Yes, I can hear her in the background. Look, I’ll call tomorrow, to wish everyone a Happy New Year; do you think that would be okay?”

             
“Oh, yes, Dan, I know they would like that very much. They are looking forward to meeting you and …”

“Look, Lydia, I have to go. I promised to stop back to see Mrs. Rogers. You go see what Ella wants and I will speak with you soon. Okay?”

***

              December 31
st
dawned bright and surprisingly warm. Alan pushed the duvet off, his body slick with sweat. He had turned on the electric heat anticipating a cold night; the heat in the room was smothering. Looking out his window overlooking Fore Street, Alan was amazed to see the street filled with people going about their holiday shopping.  A quick look at his wristwatch revealed that he had overslept and it was approaching ten.  Alan showered; dressing quickly he was out the door by ten-thirty.

             
He stopped in the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast but refused the Full English Breakfast on offer, settling for toast and coffee.  He was too anxious to get on with his quest, to get to Morely’s Cross and Lydia.

             
Collecting his small rental car from the parking lot behind the hotel Alan drove up Fore Street to the High Street and turning left on to the Totnes By-Pass he drove on to the A381. By the time he got to the A3122, the sky had darkened and it was raining.

             
At the turnoff for Morely’s Cross Alan turned left. He was surprised by how little it was; a post office store, an abandoned school, and a pub. Alan thought briefly of stopping at The Black Swan for some liquid courage, but his need to be with Lydia overcame his desire for alcohol. He stopped outside the post office preparing to go inside to ask directions when he saw the sign for All Saints Church. Drawn to it Alan turned down the laneway where he saw the old manor house tucked behind the churchyard. As he turned into the driveway Alan saw Lydia standing in the garden. An old woman stood in the doorway.

             
“Alan, oh Alan!” Lydia cried when she saw him get out of the car.

             
“Alan? I thought you said his name was Dan. That’s Dan isn’t it?” Ella queried in puzzlement.

             
“No,” Lydia cried “that’s Alan Stokes. He’s a friend of ours. Alan, over here,” Lydia called, waving her hand in the air. “What are you doing here? Come inside; it’s starting to rain again. We were just going in to tea.”

             
“I couldn’t stay away,” Alan said, apologizing as he sat down in the comfortable living room. “Have you found her yet?”

             
“Found who?” Ella asked, confused by the sudden appearance of this stranger.

             
“I’m sorry,” Alan said, standing and extending his hand to Ella. “My name is Alan Stokes, I am a psychologist and I have been trying to help Lydia with her nightmares. I’ve come to see if I can be of help.”

             
“I don’t understand how,” Ella said, before recovering her manners and offering Alan a cup of tea and a plate of petit fours.

             
“Lydia told me that Elisabeth’s diary was found at Morely’s Cross and I hoped that if I hypnotized Lydia here we might learn more about Elisabeth and her life.”

             
“I can tell you about Elizabeth,” Henry Hays-Morely said as he crossed the foyer to the lounge. “She was my niece.”

             
“You haven’t told them?” Alan asked incredulously.

             
“There hasn’t been time,” Lydia replied, blushing. “But I suppose it’s the right time now.  Uncle Henry, Aunt Ella, the journal you sent me wasn’t my mother’s diary.”

             
“Of course it was,” Ella interrupted. “I found it in a box of her books.”

             
“That is as may be,” Alan said taking Lydia’s hand in his, “but the journal was written by an Elisabeth Beeton who lived in the sixteenth century, the same girl who haunts Lydia’s dreams.”

             
“And who haunted my mother and grandmother’s dreams, too,” Lydia continued. “The sequences of my dreams are echoed in the journal. Even Sarah is there.”