Betrayal (50 page)

Christine looked nervously over her shoulder as she crossed to the door. “It’s the dream isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Alan said, looking up from Lydia’s pale face.  His hand caressed Lydia’s sweat covered brow as he said good-night to Christine.

She paused at the door. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“No, I think not. I will stay until she is asleep. She’ll be okay,” he replied. Then turning to Christine he asked; “Have you ever had the dream?”

Christine shook her head as she clutched her robe tight. “No, thank God, but I remember being in this house when my cousin Elizabeth had one, it was horrible. She was upset for days. What is it all about?”

“That’s what we are hoping to find out,” Alan said softly as he turned back to Lydia.  “Good night, Christine.”

“Good night, Dr. Stokes,” Christine replied closing the door behind her.

Alan stroked Lydia’s damp cheek as he waited for her shivering to stop. After a few moments she drifted off into a deep sleep. Alan was reluctant to leave her, but he knew he couldn’t spend the night in her room so he unwillingly got up off the bed. Once he was sure she was asleep he turned off the bedside light and left the room.  He paused outside her door listening, hoping she would call out for him. After a few moments he gave up and went back to his room. He lay down on the bed wondering what had just happened, but he knew he would have to wait for morning to find out. He closed his eyes but sleep would not come so he turned on the light and read until dawn.

***

             
At seven o’clock on New Year’s Eve Dan checked his watch and did the math to figure out the time in England.  “Seven plus four,” he said aloud, “it’s eleven o’clock. I’ll wait an hour to call Lydia,” he continued, talking to himself as he poured another whiskey. He had finished his twelve hours on call and gotten home an hour ago.

             
He began to pace before the gas-fired fireplace as he remembered calling England at five-thirty that morning.

             
He had just finished his breakfast. He was pouring a second cup of coffee when he thought, ‘I’ll call Lydia. She’ll be surprised to hear from me so early in the day.’ Dan walked down the hall whistling as he thought of hearing the happiness in her voice when she answered the phone to find it was him.  He entered the foyer feeling pleased with his idea not to wait to call her.

             
He fumbled with the address book on the small telephone table, balancing it precariously as he dialed the impossibly long telephone number. He stood humming to himself as the overseas connection was made. The call went through and at last the telephone in Devon began to ring. Dan unconsciously shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for someone to answer. After a few moments he began to wonder if anyone was home. Finally someone picked up.

             
“Hello,” said the all too familiar voice.

             
“Alan? Is that you?” Dan asked, shocked to hear Alan’s soft Scottish burr.

             
“Dan?” Alan replied.  “Well, Happy New Year old man. How are you?”

             
“What are you doing there?” Dan demanded.

             
Dan cringed at Alan’s reply of “I’ve come to help Lydia.”

             
“Did she ask you to come?” Dan demanded, clutching the telephone cord tightly in his hand.  “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” he screamed but the phone line was dead. He had pulled the telephone cord out of the wall jack.  Frantically he re-dialed the fifteen digit telephone number, but he couldn’t get an open line. After several more unsuccessful tries Dan gave up.

             
When finally he could put off going to work no longer he slipped the small address book into his pocket.  “I’ll try again from the hospital,” he told himself as he locked the door of the townhouse just before six-thirty.

             
At nine-thirty Dan had an unexpected break when the patient he was to see was delayed in x-ray. He dialed the long telephone number, charging the call to his home phone.  He was surprised when Ella answered on the second ring.

“Hello Ella, it’s Dan Taylor. How are you?” he asked pleasantly.

“Hello, Dan, so nice of you to call.”

“Is Lydia there?”

              “Oh, yes, somewhere, I’ll just go and have a look. Please hold on.”

             
Dan sat at his desk listening to Ella’s echoed voice calling Lydia’s name. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the telephone receiver being picked up. “Lydia?” he asked.

             
“No, I’m sorry it is me, Ella.  I can’t find her. She was just in the lounge with Henry and Dr. Stokes and now I can’t find any of them.”

             
She sounded so worried Dan felt he had to reassure her.  “I’m sure they are around someplace. I just wanted to wish you all a Happy New Year.”

             
“Why, thank you,” Ella said, “and the same to you.”

             
“Would you please tell Lydia that I will call back later?”

             
“Of course I will.”

             
Dan started to tell Ella he was at work but he didn’t get the chance as the old woman said goodbye and hung up.

             
Later that evening at home, the remembrance of his failed calls caused Dan to grimace as he swallowed his drink. He checked his watch again before he poured himself another whiskey.  “What is Stokes doing in England?” he asked the crackling fire as he sat down on the sofa.  He turned on the television hoping it would distract him, but the true crime program on was showing a particularly ghastly, bloody scene in a hospital emergency room. Dan groaned as he turned off the television. He settled back down on the sofa to watch the propane fire. His eyelids were so heavy he could hardly keep his eyes open. He hadn’t slept well since Lydia had left and he was exhausted.

             
‘Just a few minutes, I’ll just rest my eyes for a few minutes,’ he thought, leaning back and closing his eyes.  The next thing he knew the clock on the mantle was striking twelve.  “Happy New Year,” he groaned as he struggled to gain his feet. “What the hell,” he said.

Falling backward onto the sofa he gave up. He sat there helpless as exhaustion and the booze pulled him back into a deep sleep.

***

              Wednesday morning Lydia and Alan were sitting alone in the lounge when Lydia asked, “Am I the reincarnation of Elisabeth Beeton? Is that why I have the dream?”

             
“I thought so at first, but now I am not so sure. How could you be if your mother and grandmother also had the dream?”

             
“And my great-grandmother, don’t forget her.”

             
“I shan’t, but all these women can’t have been Elisabeth in a past life, they were all alive at the same time.”

             
“Alan, I’m frightened,” Lydia sobbed as she reached for his hand. “What’s going on?”

             
Alan paused as he marveled at the perfect smallness of her hand, how well it fit in his own. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her fears away.

             
Alan’s silence frightened Lydia.  “Alan, please!” she cried, thinking he thought she was insane and was planning to leave her. “Help me! Tell me what’s happening to me.”

             
“I can’t, Lydia,” he said his eyes darting from side to side as he tried to figure it out. Finally he spoke “But if she said ‘Find the letter’ it must be findable and we must look for it here at Morely’s Cross.”

             
“Is she a relative, an ancestor of mine? Did she live here? Is that why she haunts the Hays-Morely women?”

             
“Perhaps, I honestly don’t know. But what I do know is she wanted you to come here so that must mean we can find the answer here.”

             
“But who was she? We are talking about a woman who lived more than four hundred years ago. How do you propose to find someone who lived so long ago?”

             
Alan released Lydia’s hand as he stood up from the sofa. He walked to the window overlooking the small Norman church of All Saints. “I have an idea,” he said brightening, “the parish records.”

             
“The parish records,” Lydia repeated.

             
“Yes, churches keep records of births, marriages, and deaths. Perhaps we will find Elisabeth there. I see the Vicar is there; let’s go and ask him,” Alan said extending his hand to Lydia.

             
“Yes, let’s,” she replied, standing and smoothing her skirt.

             
“Where are you two off to?” Christine asked as she entered the room.

             
Lydia flushed. She stammered something about going for a walk. She was relieved when Alan spoke up.

             
“We’re going across to the church, perhaps we can find out something about our mystery lady in the parish records.”

             
“May I join you?” Christine asked shyly.

             
“Yes, of course,” Lydia replied, extending her hand to her cousin.

In comfortable silence the three crossed the garden to the churchyard. The Vicar, John Summerfield, was in the vestry when they entered the small church. Hearing their footsteps he came out to see if he was wanted. “Hello,” he said cheerfully, “may I help you?”

“I hope so,” Lydia said.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you, Vicar, but we are looking for information on someone who might have lived in the area.”

“What is the name?” Summerfield asked reaching into his pocket for his keys.

“Elisabeth Beeton,” Lydia said hastily.

“Beeton, you say. I know of no families of that name. Are you sure it is correct?”

“Yes, I think it is.”

“When was she supposed to have lived here?”

“1536 or 7.”

“Did you say 1536?”

“It may have been later, but I don’t think it could have been earlier,” Alan said leaning against the table in the church’s entryway.

“Our records from before the civil war are sketchy at best,” the Vicar said as he moved back toward the vestry.

Lydia looked puzzled and the Vicar went on to explain. “I mean, of course, The English Civil War of the 1640’s. The war affected large areas of the country and many the records were lost or destroyed in the fighting. While Morely’s Cross did not suffer much from the war we know very little of the village folk of the time. Oh the folks at the Manor, of course and some of the names have come to us through the burial records, but for the most part births and marriages prior to the 1640’s are lost to us. Would a check of the burial records help?”

              “Oh, yes!” Lydia said excitedly.

             
Alan took her hand shaking his head. “Don’t get too excited, Lydia, she may not be listed even if she did die here.”

             
“I know,” Lydia replied sadly.

             
“The old burial plan is here in the vestry. Come through,” the Vicar said, unlocking the door leading to a small room.  “1536 you said,” he continued as he lifted a heavy bound volume down from the shelf.

             
“Well,” Alan said, “I doubt she died in 1536; she was still a young woman then.”

             
The Vicar looked up surprised by Alan’s statement. “The record is not complete, you understand. There have been instances where a body was found in a newly dug grave. There are no grave markers dating from that long ago. But please, feel free to look through the book on your own. I am afraid I have a meeting with the Bishop and I must be going. Just leave the book where it is and I will put it away later.”

             
“Thank you very much, Vicar,” Alan said, shaking Summerfield’s long, thin hand.

             
“What do you hope to find?” Christine asked after the Vicar had gone.

             
“Proof that Elisabeth lived here at Morely’s Cross.”

             
“But suppose she was here as a visitor?” Christine asked.

             
Lydia started to tell Christine about Elisabeth’s journal, but hesitated.

             
Ella’s voice in the garden could be heard calling for Christine.  The young woman frowned heavily as she took her leave. “If you find anything be sure to tell me,” she said as she turned to leave the church.

             
“Alone at last,” Alan said as he and Lydia leaned over the musty old book. Flipping pages carefully they looked at the scant records.  Whole years were missing.