Betrayal (59 page)

             
“No, I suppose not,” Henry said sadly.  “Let me begin by telling you a little of her history. As you know, the first born daughter inherits the estate of Morely’s Cross, a tradition that dates back to the sixteenth century. Livy was born February 9, 1934, here at home. In fact, we were all born here.  She married Richard Milsom, in July, 1952.  He served with the Black Watch Regiment in Korea. He died in the battle of The Hook in Yong Dong, May 26, 1953, leaving Livy a widow at nineteen. He was twenty-two years old.”

             
Lydia frowned. She reached out to hold Henry’s hand. Her touch strengthened him and he continued.

             
“Livy married her second husband, George Gresham in 1960, when she was 28. George was 30. It was a very happy marriage. George had no qualms about the inheritance requirements and his application was before the Courts to change his name legally, when he was killed in an automobile accident in Newton Abbot.  He was shopping for a birthday gift for Livy.”

             
Lydia gasped clutching Henry’s hand tightly.

             
“For years my sister refused to celebrate her birthday.  Your mother was born May 8,
1961, just three months after her father’s death.  Livy had been widowed twice by the age of twenty-nine.  She thought she was cursed, refusing to marry again though there were more than a few offers of matrimony.  She felt jinxed or perhaps that she jinxed the men she married.  These early trials made Livy a strong, independent woman.  She grew to be the dominant force in the family.  Traditions were to be obeyed and challenges were not tolerated.” Henry paused to draw a breath.  After a moment’s pause he continued.  “Your mother, Elizabeth was a sweet child. Her nature was passive, perhaps inherited from her mild-mannered father.  Beth was a reed that bent before her mother’s strong views, she was a malleable child, eager to please her intolerant mother and others; I suppose that is why Beth fell victim to your father.”

             
Lydia pulled her hand away from his. Her back straightened her back as she prepared to defend her father.  “My father wasn’t…”

             
Henry interrupted before she could finish her sentence.  “Of course not, but he was stubborn in his own way.  Beth met Charles at the 1980 New Year’s Eve dance in Totnes. He was twenty-six, she was nineteen. Livy was determined no marriage would take place between them. She and Beth fought day and night.  But she was unprepared when Beth and Charles eloped in June 1981.  For four years she searched England for them, until a private investigator found your parents living in East London.” Henry paused to catch his breath.  “Your mother was pregnant with you and working as a waitress, while your father was attending the University of London.”

             
Lydia’s eyes clouded with tears.

             
“Livy demanded, begged and cajoled until Beth and Charles agreed to return to Morely’s Cross, the heir needing to be born on the estate.”

             
“But, I was born in Totnes, wasn’t I?”

             
“Yes, I will get to that later.  Life here became a battle of wills as Livy and Charles began to butt heads over everything.”

             
Lydia tilted her head puzzled by what Henry was saying.

             
“They fought over everything. How he should dress, about his accent, the living arrangements here in the manor house, what he ate for breakfast. They argued about continuing his education, but most of all they argued over names, whether he should change his surname to Hays-Morely.   From reading Livy’s letters it must have been a war zone, with each wanting Beth to side with them, the poor girl was shattered. It was then that she began to have the dream.

             
Beth begged her mother to help Charles get his Doctorate in Economics.  Livy thinking, I suppose that she would succeed in getting him out of her house agreed to fund his education. For some months there was peace in the house.  Then you were born and the arguments began again, this time over your name.  Livy demanded that you be named for her as is the tradition in the family, while Charles would have none of it. He bucked at every aspect of the Hays-Morely tradition – he refused to change his name to Hays-Morely as generations of men had done before him and he was determined you would be named Elaine after his mother. The battle raged.  No birth certificate was filed until almost six months later when Livy registered you as Olivia Hays-Morely, against your father’s will. The clerk made an error and listed your birthplace as Totnes.”

             
Henry was sweating. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief he took from his pocket.  “That was too much for Charles. I guess he formed his escape plan then though neither woman knew what to expect.  Charles finished his Doctorate in the autumn term of 1986.  He was taken on by the University, but in what capacity I do not know.  He had a flat in Exeter that Livy had purchased for him.  He only came to Morely’s Cross for the occasional weekend. Livy thought she had won. That is, until Charles took you Christmas shopping in Exeter and disappeared. You were only eighteen months old.  My sister was devastated at your loss, your mother inconsolable.”

             
“Why wasn’t my mother living with my father in Exeter?  Why didn’t she go with him? Why didn’t we live in Exeter as a family?”

             
“Because Livy would not allow it, she could not allow it. Her personality would not allow it. It was a terrible time with poor Beth torn between them.  Guilt nearly drove Livy mad after your disappearance. The police and private investigators were unable to locate you.  In her madness she tried to convince Beth to marry again and produce another heir.”

             
Lydia gasped.

             
“Fortunately, Livy came to her senses but she spent a small fortune to no avail. You weren’t in the UK to be found.”   Henry drew a deep breath, expelling it slowly he lowered his head to his chest.  “I have dreaded this day for a lifetime.  But you must know the truth.”

             
Lydia stood up, walked to the window wrapping her arms around herself. She couldn’t hold back her tears. Henry moved to embrace but she turned away.

             
“I have made my sister sound hard-hearted, but Livy had a heart of gold; generous to a fault with those she loved.  I’m sorry love,” he said as he moved away.  “There was no good way to tell you.  Shall I leave you alone?”

             
“No, Uncle Henry, I don’t want to be alone. Please stay.”  Lydia said distantly as she stared out the window.  How long they stayed this way neither of them knew.

             
They were interrupted when Alan knocked at the door.   “Have you told Henry what we found this morning?” he asked when Lydia opened the door.

             
“Not yet,” Lydia replied looking at Henry.

             
Henry excused himself leaving Lydia the freedom to tell Alan what she would of their conversation.

             
                                                                      ***

              Lydia awoke in the early dawn hours of Monday morning feeling terribly excited. She dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt. After pulling on her sneakers she peeked out into the corridor.  She was pleased to see that no-one was about.

             
She crept along the hallway past her Aunt and Uncle’s bedroom, wincing when a floorboard creaked loudly.  Stopping, Lydia held her breath as she waited for any movement in their bedroom. Hearing none she continued toward the attic stairs.

             
‘This is my responsibility,’ she thought as she pulled on the heavy oak door. “I have to do this myself.’  The door groaned softly as she pulled it open.

             
Upstairs in the long loft of the old Manor house Lydia was amazed by the abandoned treasures she saw scattered about.  She paused for a moment at the head of the stairs as her eyes adjusted to the bright light of the ceiling fixture.

             
It was a scavenger’s paradise.  The room contained an assortment of wooden and cardboard boxes, a broken Wheel-back Windsor chair, a Pembroke table that had one of its side flaps missing, a round music stool and a magnificent marble eagle table. Everything carried a fine peppering of cobwebs and dust. Along the walls were stacks of paintings and framed photographs.

             
On the table to her left sat an antique Edison victrola, its wax cylinder still in place; beside it stood a beautifully worked needlepoint Victorian fire-screen.

             
“This place is an antique hunter’s paradise,” Lydia said aloud as she carefully crossed the smooth wooden floor, hesitating when the wood complained. She headed for the first box of books that she saw, sighing heavily when she saw that it only contained a series of cook-books from the late nineteenth century. “These would be worth a fortune on the antique market, but why anyone would want to have them is beyond me,” Lydia said, moving on to another box.

Now covered with a fine layer of dusty cobwebs Lydia was dismayed that she couldn’t find what she was looking for.  Groaning at the feel of it she flicked a sticky cobweb from her hair as she slipped down into a beautiful Comb-back Windsor chair to survey for a likely spot for her mother’s box of books.  “In the corner under that eave,” she said in a whisper.  “That’s where I’d stick my treasure.” Smiling, she stood up and crossed to the spot she had picked, and there under the eave was a box of books, old books.  Eagerly Lydia knelt down beside the box tucking her long hair behind her ears. Wishing she had tied it up in a ponytail, she leaned over the box.  Carefully she began to remove the books one by one.  Some were so old the titles had worn off the spine of the book. Lydia sighed. These were mostly eighteenth and nineteenth century novels. Closing the box Lydia stood up and looked around.  It was here somewhere, but where? She wished she had asked Ella where they had moved the box to.  As she stepped on a board it groaned loudly, stopping Lydia in mid-step. Then she saw another box, an old wooden
butter box behind a Victorian upholstered Spoon-back chair. Stepping as gently as she could Lydia crossed back to the chair.

She knelt down in the dust, her jeans now white with it. Nervously pushing at her hair to get it out of her face, she leaned over the box. Once more she found only old novels by authors whose names she did not recognize. In disgust she stood up to cross to the chair when a floorboard moved under her foot. Lydia knelt down on the dusty floor to examine the board more closely. Carefully, she pressed down on one end of the plank watching in amazement as the other end of the board lifted slightly. ‘I wonder,’ she thought as she lifted the wooden board up. She peered into the dark hole between the floorboards and reaching her hand in she felt it. There at the bottom was a sealed packet of letters.  Lydia paused, sitting back on her heels. Nervously pulling at her hair; she drew in a deep breath. This was it; she was sure.  Gently, she removed the packet from the hole.  Lydia stood up and walked to the Spoon-backed chair to sit down.

              Once seated, Lydia caressed the smooth parchment packet.  She paused, almost afraid to open it, afraid she would be wrong again and it wouldn’t be Elisabeth’s.  Tenderly, she broke the seal and lifting the end page she sighed as she read:

             
‘January 1, 1569

I am old now. My life is nearly done. Thirty-three years separate me from that terrible time yet I...  The hour is upon me and I must tell thee of my life since from that fateful day in 1536.  My children must at last know the truth.

              Sarah, my beloved daughter, this letter is for you. I owe you the truth, for you suffered because of the lies of a monster for my sake. 

              Tho’ he has been dead these years, yet I live everyday with his ghost in the faces of his children. But you know you are not his, do you not? Yes, I think thee knew, almost from the start.

             
I fear to tell thee the truth. Do I speak of it at last?  You who are safely married and Mistress of your own home, do you need to know all this?  Yet at night the demons come with their pitch-forked memories stabbing at me in the dark and I can deny them no more. I must tell ye.’

Lydia jumped up, nearly knocking over the eighteenth century bird’s eye maple tri-pod table nearby in her excitement. “I must find Alan!” she cried as she ran for the stairs.

***

              “Alan, Alan!” Lydia shouted as she ran down the attic stairs.  “I found it!”

             
Henry Hays-Morely was wrapping his dressing gown around his ample waist as he opened his bedroom door to see Lydia running down the hallway toward him.  “Found what, what did you find?” he called as she scurried by

             
“Elisabeth’s letter!” Lydia cried as she stopped breathlessly before Alan’s bedroom door.  Hammering on the door she paused with her hand mid-air to tame her ragged breathing. Lydia dropped her hand in surprise when Alan opened the door.