Betrayal (58 page)

“I know you,” he said in a heavily accented voice leaning forward toward the still prone Elisabeth.  “Is me, Vladimir, don’t you know me?”

Elisabeth shuddered as he touched her arm.

“It was in Kent I saw you, do you not remember?” the stranger, said extending his hand to Elisabeth. “If you lie in the mud much longer you look like a pig, all dirty. Come. I help you. The Anya will not be happy if I leave you lying there. Come.”

              “The Anya?” Elisabeth questioned, allowing him to take her hand.

“Yes, my mother, you remember her, don’t you?  Silly woman, you met her at Lady Elinor’s,” he said, watching Elisabeth’s face for any signs of recognition. Getting none he continued “you came at night with a fine Lady and a child. Come now you must remember. Sutton Forest, a small manor house, Lady Elinor Kenryk,” he probed as he helped Elisabeth to her feet.

Suddenly, she remembered.  “You are a Gypsy. You were camped there.  Oh, the Anya, I remember her. Is she here?” Elisabeth asked, anxiously looking around for the old woman.

“We are camped outside the city,” he replied, steadying Elisabeth with his arm.

“Why are you here?” Elisabeth asked, startled by her good luck in being found by this good man.

“Every Friday is a horse fair in West Smithfield. I come to buy, to sell.”

“West Smithfield?” Elisabeth asked.

“Not far.  Can you walk? Here, lean on me,” he said wrapping his arm around her waist. “I will take you to the Anya; she will make you well again.” 

“I must go to Devon. Can you help me get to my cousin at Morely’s Cross? It is the only place I will be safe. I must get to Morely’s Cross,” she cried hysterically.

“You are safe with me, safe with my family.  We are going south this summer to work in the fields we will take to you Devon.  You are safe, save your strength for your baby.”

“My baby, yes I must be strong for my baby.”

They walked off into the darkness. Elisabeth lean
ed heavily on his arm.

THIRTY-FIVE

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, JANUARY 6
TH

             
Henry came in from outdoors to find Dan nervously pacing in the foyer.

When Dan saw him, he frowned.  “I behaved badly yesterday,” he said quietly.

              Henry nodded his head keeping his thoughts to himself. At the sound of steps overhead Henry cocked his head toward the stairs.  “Is that Christine I hear?”

             
Dan said “Yes.” He was at a loss for words; what could he say to Henry. Dan shoved his hands deep into his pockets before finally mumbling, “She has come to take me somewhere,” he said.

             
The sound of steps on the stair caused both men to turn to see Christine coming from visiting with Ella.

             
“Where are you going, my dear girl?” Henry asked.

“We are off to Torquay and if there is time, maybe Paignton Pier.”

              “That sounds a fun trip, but nothing will be open, will there?”

             
“No, I suppose not, Uncle Henry, but at least he’ll have a view of the countryside.”

“Yes my dear, I think he will. Do be careful on the roads.”

“Of course,” Christine replied stretching to kiss her uncle’s cheek.

“Where are Lydia and Alan?” Dan asked.

              “They are in the vestry reviewing the parish records.”

             
“I’d like to say goodbye if I might,” Dan said quietly.  “Where is the vestry?”

             
“Behind Morely’s Cross,” Henry said, walking to Dan.

             
“But this is Morely’s Cross,” Dan replied puzzled.

             
“No, that’s Morely’s Cross,” Henry said, pointing to the ten foot high carved granite Celtic cross beside the small stone church.

             
“I’ve not told you the legend of Morely’s Cross, have I?  Here, walk with me,” Henry said taking Dan’s arm.

             
Dan threw a helpless glance over his shoulder towards Christine whose wide smile was all the encouragement he needed to follow the old man.

             
“Morely’s Cross,” Henry began as he waved his arm to indicate the small village, “was founded upon the site of an earlier Saxon village. It was once owned by the Great Saxon, Iudhael of Totnes. When William came with his Norman Knights, Iudhael gave the land, willing or no, I do not know, to the new King.  King William in turn gave it to Gregory de Morlei.” Henry paused to take in a deep breath before continuing with his history.

             
Dan looked for Christine, but she was nowhere to be seen.  He heaved a sigh and turned once more to the old man.

             
“It is said that when Gregory came to claim his lands he found the ruins of a church with a fine Celtic cross marking its burial ground.  It was here that Gregory built his own church,” Henry extended his hand to point to the small Norman style church of All Saints, “in the year 1085.  But, alas, Gregory died ‘ere he could see it. Having returned to France, he died of fever shortly thereafter.  The farm is called Old Beretun, tradition says because Gregory was from Brittany. No one knows what Gregory intended to call his new home, but over time the village has simply become known as Morely’s Cross.” Henry paused to take another breath, and Dan was relieved to see Christine coming across the garden to join them.

             
“Now, nobody knows if any of this is true, of course,” Henry said smiling brightly at Christine.

             
“That’s true,” she said taking the old man’s hand, “but you delight in telling all visitors the story of Gregory don’t you, Uncle Henry?”

             
“Yes I do,” the old man said proudly.  “But it is true about Iudhael and William the Conqueror. It’s all in the Domesday Book, isn’t it Christine?”

              “Yes, Uncle, it is.  Now where did you say Lydia and Alan were?” Christine asked, anxious to get on their way to Torquay.

             
“Just here, my dear, in here,” Henry said leading the way.

***

              Inside the small vestry of All Saints, Lydia was seated before a long table strewn with leather-bound books and loose sheets of parchment.  Alan stood behind her leaning over her shoulder to scan the open book on the table.

             
“I’m sorry for the mess,” Vicar Summerfield was saying as he fussed to straighten the loose parchment into a neat pile.  “But you see no-one has wanted to see these things in years and well,” he paused, blushing, “I’m not very organized and when I last had them out. . .” he paused, his eyes darting about the room as he tried to remember when. “Oh, yes, it was when Alice Hardy’s grand-daughter was doing her family history. How long ago was that, now?”

             
Lydia smiled at the Vicar’s antics as he tried to remember. She opened her mouth to say it didn’t matter, but Vicar Summerfield continued breathlessly.

             
“Yes, now what was I saying? Oh, it doesn’t matter; you can see my filing system is hopeless. I do hope you will find what you are looking for. I really must go. I have a meeting with the Parish Council. Just leave everything as it is. I shall clean it up,” he called as he hastened out the door.

             
Alan had leaned forward to kiss Lydia’s cheek when Dan and Henry walked in.

             
“Sorry to interrupt,” Henry said as he pushed the door closed, “but. . .”

             
“I wanted to say goodbye, Christine is taking me to Torquay for the day. I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier.  I really am
quite sorry I blew up.” Dan said, walking to the table. Turning to Alan, Dan continued.  “I hope you won’t go back to Saint John before we’ve had a chance to talk.”

             
“No problem, old man,” Alan replied. “We have a mystery here to solve.”

             
“Thanks, Alan,” Dan said.  Turning back to Lydia he continued, “Well, I guess I had better be going. Christine is waiting for me. See you later.”               

Henry nodded his head as he watched the young man go.  Turning to Lydia he asked, “Now, have you found anything yet?”

              “Not yet,” Alan said lifting another large, leather bound book down from the shelf.

             
“Well, keep up the good work.  I must see to Ella. The doctor says she can get up today for a little while.  Christine stopped in to see her, so I’m sure that cheered the old girl up.  No need to hurry; Jan has planned tea for six tonight,” Henry said as he left the vestry.

***

             
Alan heaved an audible sigh of relief as Henry closed the door behind him.  He watched as Henry crossed the manor garden to where Dan and Christine were standing. Alan nearly leapt out of his skin when Lydia screamed, “I found it!”

             
“Where, where did you find it, in what year, in what book?”

             
“Here, in 1536, see here!” Lydia cried excitedly as she pointed to an entry in the tattered volume.  “But it is the record of the baptism of a child, a girl. The parents are listed as Elisabeth Tremayne, nee Beeton, of Morely’s Cross, and Andrew Tremayne of Lifton. Where is Lifton?  Is it in Cornwall? Can you read it?  I can make out the names, but not much else. What is this, Latin? I can’t read it?” Lydia cried, frustrated by the illegible entry.

             
“Here, let me see,” Alan said leaning close to the sour smelling parchment.  “Yes, it is Latin; let’s see if I can translate.  “Yes, you’re right.  It’s the baptismal record of Elisabeth’s baby, a little girl named Sarah.”

             
“Sarah!” Lydia rolled the name softly in her mouth. “When, when was she born?”

             
“On August 15
th
and she was baptized the same day.  Oh, look here,” Alan cried, pointing to the stained parchment.  “Look who is listed as the child’s god-parents.”

             
“Oh, my God!” Lydia gasped as she leaned closer to the book.  “The handwriting is so hard to read. Does that say what I think it does?”

“Yes, Lydia, it lists James Hays-Morely and his wife Olivia as god-parents; that must be the connection to the Hays-Morely family.”

              “No!” Lydia cried running to the window.

Alan moved to Lydia.  Wrapping his arms around her he held her tight. She wriggled free of his grasp. He continued, “It doesn’t matter, we found her; that’s all that’s
important now.  Perhaps when we find the journals we will learn more. But for now we should copy this information down,” Alan said returning to the long oak table.

             
“This doesn’t make sense. Why do I have the dream? Why did my mother, my grandmother if the Hays-Morely family has no real connection to Elisabeth?” Lydia cried as she turned to watch Alan write it down in his notebook.  “Blessed God, will we ever know the whole of it?” Lydia cursed as she slipped into a nearby chair.

             
“Perhaps not, but we must keep looking.  Perhaps Elisabeth’s baby has nothing to do with the Hays-Morely family.  You must realize that Elisabeth’s connection may simply be that she lived here.”

“And what, she haunts the house and any family that lives in it?  No, she must be family, she must!”  Lydia’s body shivered as tears flooded her eyes.  “What are we going to do?”

              “Keep looking,” Alan said lifting Lydia into his arms.  “It’s all here somewhere,” he said, pointing to the dust covered books. “We’ll just have to keep looking.” Then glancing at his wristwatch he said, “Henry said tea is at six, it’s only four now, shall we keep at it?”

             
“No, I’m tired.  We’ve had our epiphany, our revelation. Let’s go for a walk.”

             
They left the vestry and walked up the hill toward the village of Morely’s Cross.

             
“We haven’t checked the attic yet, you know,” Alan said taking Lydia’s hand firmly in his own.

             
“Yes, we should do that tomorrow.”

             
                                                                      ***

             
Henry took Lydia aside as she and Alan returned from the pub.  “Will you excuse us Alan, there are some things I must speak with Lydia about.  We have to speak about your grandmother, my sister, Livy,” he said as he led her to a small anteroom.  “Do you know anything about her?  Did you father ever speak of her?”

             
Lydia shook her head.