Betrayal (24 page)

             
“I live for Thursday afternoons,” George said as he gestured Dan to a nearby chair. “It’s the only time I can get caught up on my paperwork,” he continued, grimacing.

             
“Weren’t you in surgery this morning? I thought I saw you coming out of the OR.”

             
“Yes, that probably was me; that’s my life. Surgery usually begins at six a.m., out by one, a quick lunch; then it’s here until seven or eight, seeing patients, and doing the paperwork; home by nine if I’m lucky, dinner by nine-thirty. And then it’s almost time to start all over again. But on Thursday after surgery it’s a few hours at the paperwork in the afternoon and then home for an early supper with the family,” George continued as he lifted a file from the left side of the desk to his right.  “That’s Brenda’s pile, consults and surgical reports ready to be typed. After I finish this one, want to get a cup of coffee?”

             
“Sure,” Dan said as his eye caught a photograph of George’s family on the desk.

             
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, not much of a life for them. But don’t kid yourself, the kids have the best money can buy, private schools, school trips and ski holidays. It’s Bev I worry about. Our oldest goes off to Queen’s College next September, and the boys will be at boarding school. I worry how she will fill her hours,” George said in a rare moment of confession. “Still, she’ll make out, she always has.  By the way, when are you going to make the beautiful and charming Lydia Hamilton your wife?”

             
Dan groaned.

             
“Oh,” said George as he opened another file folder. “Trouble in paradise. Where is she, by the way?”

             
“Lydia’s over at the University. Stokes is doing another regression session with her.” Dan shuffled his shoes across the carpet, his eyes downcast as if his shoes were of great importance and interest.

             
“So, how do you feel about all this regression and past life stuff, Dan?”

             
“To tell the truth, George, I don’t know. I mean, past lives affecting present life? I just don’t know,” Dan repeated, shaking his head. “I was raised to believe this is it. Make it or break it, our one chance at salvation.  Sure, I’d like to believe in reincarnation especially as a doctor who sees the injustice of physical and mental handicaps.” Dan paused to collect his thoughts. “For many people one chance is not enough. Suppose, George, this is it. What of the sick, the poor, the masses of humanity who will never experience a full belly or a cupful of our wealth. Can God be so cruel to condemn millions to such suffering?” Dan paused as he stood up to pace the small office. He walked over to the window before continuing. “Here is where Lydia’s belief in reincarnation begins to make sense, but to be honest it scares me to death. The idea of continual birth, death, and rebirth, where one life affects the next is frightening.”

             
George Seelye closed the file folder in front of him, shaking his head. Dan continued to stare out the window. The two men grew silent lost in their own thoughts.

***

              Lydia shuffled the papers on her desk preparatory to leaving for her appointment with Alan. Her mind pondered the dream of last night. The dreams had continued to evolve into a panoramic view of the girl, Elisabeth’s, life.

             
Last night the girl was younger, less sure of herself, less comfortable in the company she was keeping. The scene was once more the yellow rose garden. Elisabeth stood knee deep in the sweet smelling flowers. She had picked a large bouquet when she heard her name called. It was a man’s voice, untouched by the niceties of grammar.

             
“Ho, Elisabeth. Ye be wanted. Haste girl! No’un’ll wait for you. Be quick, gel, he’ll no wait for you.”

             
Elisabeth dropped the flowers and hiking up her skirts made haste back to the house. Stopping only when the junior gardener yelled, “Ye best no be wasting his roses. Pick ‘em up gel. He’ll not have his roses treated so.”

             
The girl, red-faced, retreated to the garden and retrieved the scattered blooms.

             
“He can be a hard master as is, girl, no need to flag his anger like you would a bull.”

             
“Aye, you are right, Silas,” she called as she raced for the house. Once inside the great doors she paused to straighten her half-veil before entering the Cardinal’s library.

Pausing to remember in awe the beauty of the Cardinal’s library, Lydia pushed the heavy door of Hazen Hall open. Descending the stairs she hesitated at a window. Hypnotized by a swirling gust of snow, Lydia didn’t hear Alan’s approach.

“Right on time. I could set my watch by your punctuality. Mussolini would have proclaimed you a model of efficiency for Italian train engineers,” Alan teased, his face darkening as he realized he had startled Lydia. Laying his hand on her arm, he continued, “Are you all right?”

“Huh? Oh, I guess I was lost in thought and didn’t hear you approach. What was that about Mussolini?”

“A poor joke, I’m afraid. You know punctuality and trains.”

Lydia stared at him blankly.

“Never mind, let’s just say it lost something in translation. I’m really glad that you are here. Shall we go down to my office?” Alan said, extending his arm in the direction of the stairs. They walked down the two flights of stairs in silence.

The musty sweet smell of freshly burnt incense and the soft tonal notes of Pachelbel’s Canon greeted Lydia as she entered Alan’s subterranean office. She took the chair opposite his desk. Smiling, she nodded towards the small CD player on the bookshelf.

“Do you like it? The Canon, I mean,” Alan said as he slipped into his chair behind the battered wooden desk.

“It’s beautiful, so soothing to the mind.”

              “Yes, I agree,” Alan said, leaning forward across the desk. “I find it very relaxing and quite conducive to hypnosis. I prefer this variation as it uses the sound of ocean waves to help induce a state of complete relaxation. Shall we begin?”

             
“Yes,” Lydia replied, settling back in her chair.

             
“Good. Lydia, we are going to do a past life regression today. I don’t expect we’ll be lucky enough to regress you to your Elisabeth, but I certainly hope to reveal a past life. This will be a directed session unlike the ones we did before where you described the experience after the fact. I will be recording today’s session in hopes we will learn more about your nightmares. Are you ready to begin?”

             
Lydia smiled nervously. “I guess so,” she said.

             
“Fine.  Now, settle yourself comfortably in your chair. Now I want you to begin by relaxing your body. Listen to the music and begin by tightening and then relaxing your toes and feet.” Alan sat back and watched while Lydia began the ritual of relaxation. She was a quick study, learning this necessary tool of self-hypnosis quickly. As she became more and more relaxed Alan began.

             
“Now, Lydia, your body is completely relaxed. You are standing at the head of a crystal staircase. You can see the stairs leading down to a crystal door. Begin now to climb down the stairs, feeling with each step a deeper sense of relaxation. Ten, down, down, deeper down. Nine, down, down, deeper down.  Eight down, down, down. You are even more relaxed, sinking deeper into the soft leather of the chair. Seven, down, down, deeper down; six, down, down; five, down, down, deeper down. Your breath is slowly relaxing you even more. Four, down, down, down. You are completely relaxed, completely at ease. Three, two, one, the crystal door is before you, Lydia. Can you see it? Raise the forefinger on your right hand if you see the crystal door.”

             
Alan smiled as Lydia’s finger was raised ever so slowly.

             
“Good, good, Lydia.  You may lower your finger now.” He smiled again as Lydia lowered her finger. She was an excellent candidate, going into deep trance easily and quickly.

“Look, Lydia, the door is opening for you. The crystal door opens for you, revealing the secrets that you seek. Enter in and tell me what you see.  Lydia, look at your hands. Tell me what they look like. Are they the hands of a woman or a man?”

Lydia hesitated. Raising her hands before her closed eyes she twisted them fore and back, then holding them out from her face, fingers outstretched with palms down. Alan marveled that it looked as if she was studying her hands, but her eyes were closed. 

“They are a woman’s hands,” she said at last.  “The fingers are short with short squared nails. They are fine hands,” Lydia said, holding them out before her. “But they are hard hands that labor.”

“Look at your hands. Are there rings on your fingers?”

“None but a small gold one given to me by m’lady, I wear it on the middle finger of my right hand,” Lydia said, extending her right hand to Alan urging him to see the ring.

“Now I want you to look at your feet.  Are you wearing shoes?”

             
Lydia frowned as she dropped her hands to her lap. She raised her right foot twisting it to the left and right.  Lydia responded in a small voice, “I am wearing my soft leather slippers.”

             
“Are you wearing stockings?”

             
“Are you daft? Of course not!  ‘Tis summer, no need for woolen stockings,” Lydia said, swinging her legs backwards and forwards. Her voice had a girlish lilt.

             
“Tell me what else you are wearing,” Alan asked gently.

             
“I am wearing my gown of russet with my yellow shawl. Evening is coming on and it is cooler now,” Lydia answered as she chafed her shoulders as if she were sitting in a cold breeze rather than in Alan’s eighty-degree office.

             
He marveled at how she took on the mannerisms of this young girl, whoever she was. He paused.

             
Lydia lifted her head as if she heard a noise and sought its source.

             
“What is it? Do you hear something?” Alan asked.

             
“I hear riders. I must go.”

             
“Wait, stay with me a while yet. I have many questions I want to ask you. Besides it wouldn’t be polite to leave without having told me you name. Now would it?”

             
“Oh, pardon sir. You are quite right, my manners have failed me. Beg pardon sir, my name is Elisabeth Beeton.”

Alan collapsed back into his chair. Without intending to he had found the girl in Lydia’s dream. His mind raced. Questions bubbled in his brain. He decided to probe further and said, “Your pardon, Madame, I am new to the area. Pray tell, where are we?”

“Why sir, you stand with me in the great garden at Greenwich. Surely you are aware of your surroundings.”

“Forgive me, Madame; I have traveled so long I did not know I had reached my destination.”

“You are Scot by accent. Have you come on the King’s business? For if you have, you are come to the wrong place, for none but my lady is in residence here.”

“Pray tell, who your lady is?”

“Pardon sir, but if you be about the King’s business you know full well who resides here. Excuse me, I can tarry no more.”

Alan paused, as Lydia grew silent. He waited. After a few minutes he tried again. “Will you tell me the name of your lady?”

Lydia remained silent.  He was unprepared for this reaction. He glanced at his watch realizing Lydia had now been in a hypnotic state for forty-five minutes. While he regretted the loss of this lively girl, he decided to bring Lydia out of her trance.

“Let me pass. My lady labors to birth her child and I must be at her side,” Lydia cried suddenly pushing forward in her chair.

Alan resisted the urge to question the girl, sensing her resistance. Instead he simply waited. After waiting several minutes Alan could no longer resist the urge to ask “What date is today?”

Lydia’s head snapped up. “Are you a fool, for a fool you act. ‘Tis September 6
th
.”

“The year, my lady, what year is it?”

“Your brain must be addled. It is the year of Our Lord 1533, the 24
th
year of good Harry’s reign. Now be gone, man, I must go, for my night’s duties await. I bid you farewell.”

Alan waited until Lydia relaxed once more in the chair. He was torn between ending the session, which was now approaching an hour or probing deeper into this hypnotic experience. Quietly he addressed Lydia.  “Now, Lydia, it is the next day. Can you tell me what you see?  What is happening?”

“There is too much blood!” Lydia cried, balling her hands into tight fists. “Can’t someone stop the blood?” she cried.

Trying to calm Lydia, Alan said, “The doctors will stop the bleeding.”

“Fool!” Lydia snapped. “They are bleeding her to staunch her pain. Oh dear God, there is too much blood.”