The Ghost of Christmas Past (7 page)

A
suspicion started to take hold. Elizabeth did not know why she had not thought
of it before! She chided herself for her stupidity. Liam could not be Albert
Sanderson, because Lady Bedlington would have recognised him from their earlier
acquaintance. Unless her aunt was even more blinkered than Elizabeth thought.

But
he could be the son of the first Lucinda – assuming the woman did not really
die and just took her children away with her. Which might mean the lady in
question was in Midchester. But where? No, that did not fit either. She would
no doubt be recognised. Unless... unless the years had not been kind to her.
She would be a much older woman, probably in her fifties, maybe even older.

Elizabeth
was still missing something. Something that had been said about Albert
Sanderson's wife. What was it? Yes! That was it. Lady Bedlington had said he
had married a young woman. No one would say that about a woman who was older
than he, and had the woman been older, Elizabeth felt sure her aunt would have
mentioned it as something out of the ordinary.

So it
was possible there were two Lucindas. One older woman, with two children, who
disappeared – presumed dead. And Albert Sanderson's tragic young wife who
apparently took her own life. In both cases, no bodies had been found.

Elizabeth
came to with a start, realising that the carriage had stopped outside Mrs.
Chatterbucks' and Miss Graves' garden gate. The Reverend got out, showing them
to the door, causing them to fluster a little. It made Elizabeth smile. Her
father was still very handsome, and she could understand his simple kindness
would bring a thrill into their lives.

She
watched them make steady steps through the snow to the door, then her eyes
glanced over to the other side of the road. Doctor Wheston's house was lit up,
and by the gaslight from above the door, she could see a figure walking along
the pavement towards it. It was Liam. She felt her heart give a flip, and she wondered
how a man she barely knew could engage her emotions so strongly.

The
front door opened, and a figure emerged. A woman. She walked down the path and
opened the gate, ready for Liam's arrival. It was Mrs. Wheston. When Liam
reached her, she held out her arms and he took her into his. They held each
other for a long time, before walking back to the house together arm in arm.

Elizabeth
felt disappointment and heartbreak consume her.  So that was the way it was.
Whilst John Wheston was shielding his friend from whatever trouble he was in,
Liam repaid him by seducing Wheston's pretty young wife.

As
they closed the door, another figure stepped out of the shadows. How long he
had been there, Elizabeth did not know. He was an old man, or at least seemed
to be, with a shambling gait, dressed in the clothes of a tramp and yet having
an altogether different bearing. He looked up at Doctor Wheston's house, as if
trying to come to a decision, then appeared to change his mind before
disappearing into the night.

With
all the resilience of her youth, Elizabeth faced the next morning somewhat
braver than she had felt on going to bed. What cared she about a man who lied
about his identity and stole another man's wife? True, Liam may be handsome and
charming, but that did not make him a good person.

She
vowed instead to start asking questions. She was given the chance to speak to
her father at breakfast, due to Samuel rushing out to go evidence hunting with
Johnny Fletcher.

“Do
you think it's wise, Father?” she asked.

“It's
daytime, Lizzie,” said the Reverend. “We can't stop children being children
because of one madman's actions. Samuel has orders to be in by lunchtime, and
to stay within sight of the town square.”

“He
may not obey.”

“He's
a good boy. He'll do as I say. All young boys should have adventure.”

“And
what about young girls?” She sounded more brittle than she had intended.

“Young
girls should follow their hearts too,” her father said, mildly.

“It's
just that I was thinking that as Samuel is going away to school next September,
I might take a post as a governess. In the newspaper only this week there was a
family – a young government consul and his wife – looking for a governess to
care for their children in the Orient.”

“So
far away? Could you not take a post that would allow you to come home and see
your old father from time to time?”

“I am
afraid that if I don't escape Midchester now, I might never escape,” said
Elizabeth with far more passion than she had intended.

“Is
that how you feel, my Lizzie? Trapped? I know it has been hard for you bringing
up Samuel, but it seems to me you will only be doing what you have always done.
Looking after children.”

“I
don't want to be here all my life, like the sisters,” said Elizabeth, with the
same passion. “I'm not saying I shan't come home, but to have never been
anywhere since the day you were born...” She held out her hands, as if the
thought were too big for her to articulate.

“Mrs.
Chatterbucks and Miss Graves weren't born here, dearest. They're from Yorkshire
originally. Mrs. Chatterbucks travelled the Far East with Mr. Chatterbucks.
They only came here when he retired. Miss Graves has also travelled, to America
as a schoolteacher, I believe, though I don't know much about her past. But she
only came here about ten years ago, if you remember. To live with her sister
after Mr. Chatterbucks died.”

“Yes,
I remember now. It's funny, but I'd got it into my head that they had always
been a part of Midchester. It certainly feels as if they've always been here.
Father, did you know Lucinda Hargreaves? The one who was said to have murdered
her husband?”

“I
can't say I did. What, you're not suggesting she's returned as one of the
sisters, are you?” The Reverend laughed.

“Why
not? It occurred to me that when strangers come into a community, we only know
what they tell us about themselves.”

“Hardly,
dear. Most people who come to Midchester arrive with letters from relatives or
friends of existing residents. If they rent their home, they have to provide
references from former landlords.”

“But
these things can be forged, can they not? A letter from lord or colonel
something or other, saying someone is known to them. Or a letter might not say
everything about a person. After all, no one would show an unkind reference.”

“It
would soon be revealed if it were not true.”

“But
who checks? Does anyone write to lord or colonel such and such, asking if they
really know that person? Don't we rather take people at their word? I mean,
you're alright, because Aunt Arabella definitely knows you, and gave you the
post of vicar here. But another young vicar might have arrived, saying he knew
the bishop and showing false references, and it's almost certain that Aunt
Arabella would not have bothered to check.”

“Don't
you think you're rather mistrusting lately, Lizzie?” asked her father.

Elizabeth
smiled. “Yes, I am rather. It's just … Father?”

“Yes,
dear?”

“When
you met Mother, did you ever have any doubts? Aunt Arabella is convinced Mother
married you for money.”

“Most
women marry for money, dear.”

“That's
a rather cynical attitude.” Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock.

“But
not untrue. Women have to marry for money, simply because there are so few ways
of them earning their own crust. But they also know that they have to live with
a man for the rest of their lives, so they're often very careful to fall in
love with someone who can provide for them. It's the hunter-gatherer thing, and
there's nothing wrong with that.” He winked across the table at her. “But in
answer your question, no I never had a moment's doubt. I was a pretty poor
prospect back then. I had no income of my own, and had gone into the church because
when I left the army I was not fit for anything else. Despite my poor
prospects, your mother loved me better than anyone ever could. She loved you,
and had she lived to see him grow, she would have loved Samuel. Money can
guarantee many things. A roof over your head, food in your belly, but it can't
guarantee that you'll love and be loved. That's something you have to work at
and earn all by yourself. Sometimes I wish your Aunt Arabella would remember
that.”

“If
she ever knew.”

“Oh,
she knew. She didn't turn the Duke of Devonshire down, you know. She adored
him, and not just for his money and status. Sadly he was never serious about
his feelings. He had long since been promised to a girl from a better family,
but hid that from Arabella, and from others before her. It was only then she
married for money and status. Not quite as well as she'd hoped, and to a man
who was not always kind to her or Lady Clarissa. Now she has her money and she
has her status, but she seldom commands love, and even if she did, would be
incapable of loving in return.”

“You
always see things better than I do,” said Elizabeth. “Sometimes I feel so angry
with people because of the way they are. Only last night, despite the times
I've felt the sisters to be tiresome, I was angry with Aunt Arabella for being
so rude to them.”

“Then
tell her.”

“I
couldn't!”

“Why
not?”

“Because
it's as you say, she has money and status. And besides, Father, if I upset her
she may well take it out on you.”

“Arabella
won't do anything to me, and if she does, then there are other parishes. I may
not have been worth much when she gave me the Midchester parish, but I fancy
I've earned a few more honours with the Church of England since then.”

“Then
she might take it out on Samuel. If not for her, he would not be going to
school next year. That is what I try to remind myself when I am angry with her.
That despite her rudeness, she is capable of kindness, even if it does not
always feel like kindness. Oh I hate being dependent on others, Father. If I
could just get away...”

“Do
you hate it here so much, child?”

“No,
not hate. I love Midchester. But I read so much about other places, and I would
so like to see them.”

“What
if I were to rent a house near the sea come the summer? I would not be able to
accompany you, because I have my duties here. But Sam could go, and … well you
may not like this bit.”

“What?”

“The
sisters could accompany you.”

“As
chaperones, you mean?”

“You
are a young, unmarried woman. I couldn't in all conscience leave you to live
alone, Lizzie.”

“A
house by the sea would be wonderful, Father.” Elizabeth smiled, and kissed her
father's head. “Yes. I may write, you know. That's what some ladies do to earn
a living. Not that I shall be very good at it. But I can pretend.” She stood up
and almost danced out of the room, barely noticing the expression of impending
loss on her father's face.

Chapter
Six

Elizabeth
spent the rest of the morning on chores, readying the house for the Christmas
festivities. Her father and Samuel had fetched a tree the day before, and it
stood in the corner of the parlour, awaiting decoration. She knew that Samuel
would be upset if she started without him, so instead she set about putting
newspaper around the base, to catch the falling needles. As she put the papers
into place, she idly read the news. Some of them were years old, having been
stored in the attic then forgotten about. Suddenly her eyes alighted on one
particular headline from a newspaper dated five years previously.

The
Strange Case of the Returning Wife,
it read.
There
was an exciting development in the  case yesterday when, Mrs. Prudence Rivers,  the
wife of Bertram Rivers, who was believed to have taken her own life, returned
and declared she was very much alive. Her husband, Bertram Rivers, had been
tried and condemned for the murder of his elder brother and it was believed the
shame had driven his young wife to her own death.

Mrs.
Rivers, a beauty with golden locks, claims that she fled to a remote part of
Scotland, where she was unaware of the murder enquiry. “Had I known, I would
most certainly have come forward,” she told our reporter. “Bertram may not have
been the kindest of husbands, but he was no murderer. I only found out he had
been hanged because I happened to visit Edinburgh and saw it in the newspaper.”

Mr.
Rivers' family have long since argued his innocence, and strongly refute claims
that he was a brute to his pretty wife. Mr. Rivers' sister, Mrs. Flora Pertwee
insisted she had seen Mrs. Rivers whilst visiting a friend in Scotland during Mr.
Rivers' incarceration.

Mrs.
Rivers is expected to be able to claim Mr. Rivers estate, which amounts to an
annuity of £100 per year.

A
similar case took place in Calais several years ago, when the husband of a woman
hanged for the murder of her rich uncle arrived several days after her
execution. He too was thought to have taken his own life, but claimed he had
merely been at sea for several months.