Betrayal (32 page)

             
Dan’s lips brushed her cheek as he moved past her in the hall. “No, you go by yourself, I’m too tired.” He walked down the hall to their bedroom closing the door behind him.

Lydia watched his retreating back, then turned back into the living room; as she stood looking down at her presents she decided she didn’t want to open them. She crossed instead to her favorite chair and sat down. Lifting the slim volume from the
nearby table she opened it to where she had left off reading. Lydia closed her eyes trying to imagine what Andrew Tremayne looked like.

             
                                                                      ***

              Dan leaned heavily against the closed bedroom door. His eyes scanned the dim-lit room. He listened for her steps in the hall; with a sigh he realized she had not followed him. Dan tore off his shirt, his lip curling into an angry sneer as the buttons scattered on the hardwood floor. He wadded the shirt into a ball and threw it against the wall. He cursed silently. Undoing his belt he let his jeans fall to his knees, leaning against the dresser he kicked his legs free, leaving the pants on the floor.

             
It had been a terrible day from start to finish. Mrs. Thurber had died. Her lingering death from bowel cancer had been hard beyond belief. Dan leaned into the dresser, his hands splayed on its glossy top. Staring into the mirror he remembered the day he had told Jean Thurber and her husband Bill of his diagnosis. That had been three years ago, she had been twenty-eight years old. Dan cursed the fates for taking a loving mother from her young family.

             
“Why on Christmas? Why did she have to die on Christmas Day?” Dan asked his reflection.

             
Shaking his head as a dog does after a heavy rain, Dan tried to clear the sight of Bill Thurber and his young son from his mind. Dan stared unseeingly into the mirror; in his mind’s eye he saw another woman, in another hospital bed, his grandmother. Tears rolled down his cheeks forming puddles on the dresser.

Death had always been the enemy, first his grandmother then his grandfather, six months later.  Dan had seen himself in Davy Thurber’s sad face. Dan shook his head again.

When he had come home at noon he had hoped to talk out the experience with Lydia, but no, she was lost in her mother’s journal. The turkey wasn’t even in the oven, let alone ready to eat. He had trudged back up King Street in the slush and ice, his stomach churning with grief and frustration.

When he arrived home again he ached to tell Lydia about Mrs. Thurber, feel her arms embrace him. He needed her soothing words, her solace. But what did he get? The nattering of a mad woman. He had little patience with her babbling and just when she was beginning to make sense the health center had called again. Once more he faced the ice and cold. Three hours later his shift was done. Dan remembered that he had whistled coming home, expecting carols and hot buttered rums while they unwrapped, at last, their Christmas gifts. Dan’s hands curled into tight fists.

“This was not how it was supposed to be,” he told his reflection in the mirror. Unable to look at himself any longer Dan turned his back on the mirror. With his arms crossed tightly against his chest he stared at the painting over the bed. Out of a morning mist rose the squat lighthouse at Brant Point. He remembered their picnic there. The trip to Nantucket hadn’t been planned, but oh how they enjoyed it. A smile crept over his lips as he remembered the seagull that had watched them eat; the gull moving closer, ever bolder in hopes of getting a tasty morsel. He had held out a bite of cheese to the bird while Lydia snapped a photo. There had been no nightmares during that trip to Cape Cod. They had wandered along route 6A as the mood moved them. They had toured Dennis, Falmouth, and at Hyannis decided just minutes before it sailed to take the ferry to Nantucket Island. They had been so happy then. Why couldn’t they be like that at home?” 

             
Dan turned once more to the mirror, blocking out memories of their early autumn holiday.

             
“Was she serious?” Dan asked his reflection. “Would she really go to England without him? And where did Alan Stokes fit in all this?”

             
The fatigue of the day washed over him. He longed to call Lydia to his arms, to rest his head on her breast, lose himself in her embrace. He moved toward the door, stopping before his hand reached the knob. “No,” he said aloud, “she must come to me. I did nothing wrong.” He turned from the door, walked into the bathroom and took a long shower.

             
He expected to find Lydia waiting for him, but she wasn’t there. His anger flared as he climbed between the cold sheets of their conjugal bed. Sleep overcame him, washing all thoughts from his head, easing him into a dreamless sleep.

             
The ringing of the telephone woke both Dan and Lydia. She had fallen asleep in her chair by the hearth. Dan answered before Lydia could disentangle her long legs from the old quilt.

             
“Lydia!”  She heard Dan call

             
“Yes, I have it,’ she replied.

             
“Hello! Hello, can you hear me?”

             
“Yes, Aunt Ella, we have a very good connection. Merry Christmas!”

             
“It’s Boxing Day now, you know. Oh, but they don’t have Boxing Day where you are, do they?”

             
“Yes, we do, Aunt Ella. Today is a holiday here too.”

             
“Yes, yes, did the books arrive in time for Christmas? I did so want to talk with you yesterday but I couldn’t get an open line, too many people trying to call out, you know. I did so want the books to be there in time for Christmas.”

             
“The box arrived Christmas Eve day.”

             
Lydia could hear shouting in the background and then heard her aunt repeat, “The box arrived Christmas Eve!”

             
Henry Hays-Morely took the telephone from his wife. “Just a box of old books, but I do hope you will enjoy having some of your mother’s things.”

             
“And the diary,” Ella called in the background.

             
“Yes, right old girl. Yes, and the diary, have you had a chance to look at it yet?”

             
“It’s not my mother’s diary!” Lydia said excitedly.

             
“What! Not Elizabeth’s! No, girl, I am quite sure you are wrong. It is my niece’s notebook. I remember seeing her as a girl scribbling away in a book just like that.”

             
Lydia paused.  After a moment’s thought she decided the telephone was not the medium to use when she questioned her aunt and uncle about the diary. “I would like to come to England,” she said instead.

             
“Of course dear, summer is a lovely time to visit Devon; crowded but lovely and we would so love to have you. Do come.”

             
“No, Uncle Henry, I want to come now.”

             
“Now! Well…nothing is open. Wouldn’t you rather come in summer when all the shops are open?”

             
“No, I would really like to come now, if that is okay?”

             
“Well, of course my dear. When would you be coming?”

             
Lydia turned to see Dan standing in the doorway. “I haven’t made my reservations yet, but I would like to come before the first of the year.” Lydia flinched as she watched Dan’s mouth twist into a frown. She was about to speak to him when he turned and walked back up the hallway to the kitchen. Lydia felt her heart sink, but she continued anyway. “I’ll call you when I know the exact date, if that is okay?”

             
“Of course, my dear, I shall tell Ella you are coming. She will air out your mother’s old room. Yes, yes, and I will call Christine to tell her you will be coming. Oh, this is a treat.”

             
“Yes, Uncle Henry, it will be a treat for me too. But this call must be costing you a fortune, so I will say goodbye for now and I will talk with you again soon.”

             
“You have our telephone number? Ella put it in the box, I think.”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Good then we shall wait for your call. I don’t drive anymore so I will have to get Willis; he tends the garden now, lives in a cottage on the estate, to come to London for you. Nice fellow you will like him and his wife of course.”

             
Lydia could hear Ella, sotto voce, in the background. “You’re dithering, old man, and the cost of this call will be dear.”

             
“So I am, dearest, quite right. Hello, Lydia, do telephone with the date and time of your arrival and someone will meet you in London.”

             
“I’ll probably call you within a day or two; I have a meeting later today I can’t miss. Since it’s a holiday here it is probably best to wait a day before I call the airline.”

             
“I agree. Holidays are busy times, best to wait. We will look forward to your call. Do wish Dan a Happy Christmas for us. Goodbye.”

             
“Goodbye.”

             
Lydia listened as the call disconnected, reluctant to face Dan just yet.

             
“So, you are really going to England?” Dan said, surprising her as he re-entered the living room.

             
“Yes, Dan, I have to.”

             
“Have to? That is your reason for destroying our lives? Have to,” he growled as he began to pace before the hearth. “What about us, Lydia?”

Lydia closed her eyes, summoning the words that would ease his mind. Words boiled in her brain, but they were all the wrong ones.  Finally she blurted out, “It’s hopeless; you have never understood my need to know about the girl, Elisabeth.” Lydia bit her lip.

She wanted to stop before she said too much, but the words came pouring out before she could stop them. “I love you, Dan, I really do, but before I can become the kind of wife you deserve I have to know who I am, where I come from. I have to find out about Elisabeth Beeton and how her journal came to be in my mother’s attic. Until I can figure out why she haunts my dreams, I will never be able to be who you want me to be. Why can’t you understand that?”

             
“I want you to be my wife, the mother of my children. I want you to be fulfilled in our life together, here and now!” Dan shouted.

             
“How can I be when Elisabeth haunts me so? I will never give up my search for her.”

             
“What happens if you fail? Elisabeth has been dead for over four hundred years; how can you hope to find someone who has been dead that long?”

             
“I have her journal and with Alan’s help, I have regression.” Lydia sighed heavily; the argument was draining her as her own fears bubbled in her mind.

             
“Alan,” Dan growled.

             
“Yes, Alan.”

             
“I suppose he’ll go to England with you.”

             
“I don’t intend to ask him.”

             
“And if I asked you not to go, begged you not to go?”

             
“Please, Dan, don’t,” Lydia pleaded, as she pushed past him, running down the hall and into the bedroom. Closing the door and resting against it Lydia cried, hot tears staining her face. “Oh, Dan,” she moaned, “why can’t you see I am doing what I have to do?” When at last she wiped her face Lydia opened the door to find Dan gone.

***

              Twenty minutes later Lydia pulled into the parking lot beside Hazen Hall. The lot was deserted except for a beat-up delivery van and a black Mercedes, which Lydia recognized from Dan’s description as Alan’s car.

             
Lydia hesitated. The place looked so deserted, as if all life had left with no plans to return. She climbed the steps to the brick building. Pulling the heavy door open she stepped inside. The air smelt stale, a mixture of sweat socks and sour milk, which strangely reminded Lydia of a school she had attended as a child. Perhaps it was the sour milk smell.

             
Lydia looked around the empty lobby, the corridors silent on this holiday Wednesday. The silence was uncomfortable and Lydia wondered at her agreement to meet with Alan. She turned at the sound of footsteps.

             
“Ah, Lydia, I hope I didn’t startle you. I have put some coffee on in the lounge and I was coming up for a cup. Want one?”

             
“I don’t suppose there is any Earl Grey tea?”