Lydia Trent (3 page)

Accordingly,
they packed their lunch-things and themselves into the carriage and
set off post-haste.

The
drive home was even less eventful than the drive out – Adeline
remained somewhat silent and absorbed, Lydia and Alfred discussed the
Abbey in particular, and ruins in general, and then ancient
architecture in all it's forms. No slower vehicle impeded their
progress now, and before they knew it Alred was springing from the
carriage to open the gate of the house at Allenham.

Just
at that moment, Adeline's attention was drawn by a strange man of
about fifty or sixty, rough in appearance and manner, deeply tanned
and dressed in workman's clothes.

“
Excuse
me Miss,” inquired the stranger, in gruff tones, “but would I be
speaking to Miss Wade and Mrs Parrish?”

“
Why,
I am Miss Wade!” involuntarily exclaimed Adeline, “But I know
nobody of the name of Parrish.”

Lydia
cried out and Alfred turned to see the uncouth man seize Adeline's
wrist and half-drag her from the carriage. He sprang forward as the
man clasped the resisting girl in a feverish embrace, whispering
hoarsely

“
Adeline,
my little Addy, I'm so sorry. See, I found you at last!”

With
a cry of horror, Alfred tore the man's hands from Adeline's now
drooping form.

“
Get
away from her, you brute!” he cried, “What have you to do with
Miss Wade? Go, or it shall be the worse for you!” and he raised his
carriage whip threateningly. The man sprang away with unexpected
agility, and Alfred made to follow him, but was arrested by a gasp
from Lydia.

“
Oh,
Mr Denham, Adeline! Let us get her inside quickly.”

He
turned to see Lydia struggling to support Adeline's inert body, as
the younger girl swooned in the roadway.

The
bustle and confusion that followed Alfred's carrying the swooning
girl into the house may be imagined. Every servant in the house was
Adeline's staunch ally, her sweetness of manner, her kindness and
consideration for all, winning love from all right down to the little
scullery maid, whose burned fingers had been dressed many a time by
the gentle young mistress. All pressed forward, eager with this or
that remedy, all concern and distress. Lydia and the housekeeper
agreed, that Adeline ought to be put to bed immediately, for she had
sustained a severe shock.

Once
Adeline had been comfortably settled, Lydia felt it her duty to tell
Mrs Trent all that had occurred.

“
Yes,”
said Adeline, who was now conscious but weak, “you had better tell
Mamma. And... is Alfred still here? Please give him my grateful
thanks. I will never forget how bravely he rushed to my aid.”

Lydia
engaged to pass on this message, and descended to the entrance-hall,
where Alfred was pacing back and forth.

“
She
has regained consciousness, and though somewhat shaken I am sure she
will be better after a little rest. She begged me to thank you for
your help – as do I thank you.”

“
What
else could I do? I swear if that brute has harmed a hair of her head
he shall be hunted down!”

“
Pray
calm yourself, Alfred.” - in her depth of feeling, unconsciously
using the christian name that she had forbidden to her sister -
“Adeline will be quite well, rest and quiet for a day or two will
effect a full cure, I am sure of it. And now I must go and tell Mamma
what has happened, so I will bid you goodbye.”

And
shaking Alfred's hand with a warm, grateful pressure, she passed on.

Mrs
Trent took the news of her only daughter's sudden indisposition with
admirable calmness, at least until Lydia narrated the distressing
encounter with the stranger at the gate. At this she turned quite
white, causing Lydia to give her credit for far more motherly feeling
than she actually posessed, and became full of questions.

“
A
strange man? Who? What kind of man? Describe him to me.” Evelyn
demanded.

“
Well,
it happened so quickly I cannot be absolutely sure of details, but I
know he had dark brown hair with streaks of grey, he wore a beard and
was very tanned, as if he had been at sea or used to outdoor life in
some hot climate. His dress was not that of a sailor though – more
like a working man, and very worn and dirty. Let me see – he was
maybe a little shorter than Mr Denham, but heavier set. I would not
like to hazard a guess as to his age – he looked to be fifty or
more, but if he had indeed been used to much exposure to the sun he
may be younger. He seemed absolutely wild – there was something of
the hungry animal in the way he spoke, and, of course, in his
actions. Oh, and he spoke with an accent that was not quite English.”

“
An
accent? What kind of accent? Could it have been an Australian
accent?”

“
Why,
yes, that may have been it – but what makes you think of such a
thing?”

“
I
don't exactly know – something in your description brought to mind
the image of a returned convict. This is very worrying. I shall pass
on your excellent description to the constable. And of course, I
trust that neither you nor Adeline shall set foot outside the grounds
without an escort until we are quite certain this ruffian has been
apprehended or has quite left the neighbourhood. Now, if you will
excuse me, this worry has brought on the return of my headache. And,
of course, I must write a note to the constable.”

Lydia
bowed and returned to watch by the couch of her sister, who was now
sleeping, having been coaxed to drink some chamomile tea.

What
of Alfred, while Lydia was undergoing this explanation? His blood was
up and his mind racing as he walked back to the modest residence he
shared with his father, for in the stir he had quite forgotten about
his carriage, and by the time he bethought himself, the horse, tired
with his twelve-mile jaunt, had very sensibly taken himself off in
the direction of his own comfortable stable. He cast his eyes about
him as he walked, eager to catch a glimpse of the ruffianly
blackguard who had dared lay a hand on his Adeline, though to what
end, for explanation or revenge, he knew not. And yes, he now thought
of her as
his
Adeline – as if that one moment of horror and
distress, superadded to her manner toward him in the earlier part of
the day, had awakened all his chivalrous instincts, and bound him to
his liege-lady for ever. How could he ever forget the surge of anger
in his breast at the sight of that tender creature roughly used, or
the pity and indignation he had felt when he looked down on that
pathetic white face as he bore her in his arms? It seems natural that
the distressed one should feel grateful affection toward her
deliverer, but is it not full as natural – if not more so – that
the rescuer should be inspired thereafter with a feeling of tender
responsibility toward the creature he has saved? Affection he had
always felt for the girl, but until today he had felt only the warm
interest of an elder brother. The events of today were in a fair way
to fan the glowing coals of that affection into the bright flames of
a lover's passion.

The
next morning, Alfred betook himself early to the Trent's house,
appearing on the doorstep at an hour when the household would have
usually barely finished breakfast. Today, however, he found all in
alarm and confusion.

“
Lydia,
for God's sake tell me, what is the matter? Is it Adeline? Is she
worse? Has the doctor been sent for?” were the first words out of
Alfred's mouth when Lydia was able to step downstairs to receive him,
after a very uncomfortable interval, which in reality was no more
than ten minutes, but in Alfred's worried state seemd like an hour.
Lydia's face was troubled and pale, and, in the first accession of
his passion, his first and only thought was for his beloved.

“
No,
thank goodness, Adeline is quite well, though we have been forced to
keep the news from her. It is - “ and here Lydia's voice shook a
little with supressed emotion - “It is my father. Though he has
hidden it from us for fear of causing undue concern, of late it seems
he has been subject to spells of dizziness and languor, and this
morning he has found himself too weak to rise from his bed. Oh dear,
he is very ill, and all my courage seems to desert me.” And with
this the brave bright woman, usually so calm and level-headed, burst
into a storm of passionate sobs. The shower was a brief one, however,
and before Alfred could make the slightest move to comfort her she
had regained her composure.

“
Forgive
me,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a clean handkerchief, “the
doctor is expected very soon and I must see him. It will not do for
me to break down in front of Papa or Adeline – she must not be
worried just now, and Papa would be so grieved to see me upset. Would
you do me the great kindness of keeping Lydia occupied while the
doctor is expected? I do not wish her to know he has been here. It
would be a very great service if you could contrive to distract her
somehow.”

And
so Alfred was thus requested to do the one thing he most desired, and
this was to be his very great service!

“
I
do hope the doctor is able to give you encouraging news.” he said,
with genuine compassion in his tones.

“
Thank-you,
and again thank-you for your kindness to us. Now, I must go and bathe
my face before anyone sees me. Lydia is in the drawing room,
practising.”

Alfred
bid her a kind farewell and went in search of his old friend and new
lady-love.

Sadly,
the doctor from Allingham was unable to give any encouraging news,
and nor was the London physician later called in to be his coadjutor.
Though neither could find any distinct traces of organic disease, it
was obvious that William Trent was fading daily. At first he could
sit up in bed, to read and talk as brightly as ever, though he was
easily tired. In the early days of his illness there were days when
he would feel better entirely, and defy his doctors by insisting on
getting dressed, when he would return to his usual pursuits – for a
few hours, at least, until a fresh dizzy spell sent him back to bed.
As the weary weeks wore on, however, he slowly lost more and more
ground. First the intervals in which he could sit up grew shorter,
and he required more rest. Then he could no longer read – his eyes
grew blurred if he tried to focus on print, then he could no longer
sit up in bed. His once-hale form began to become weak and wasted,
his appetite dwindled, his mind began to wander at times. A hired
nurse was brought in to aid Lydia – for Adeline could not and
Evelyn would not perform the work – Evelyn pleaded ill-health
herself, and Adeline was too delicate for much watching and anxiety.
She had begged to be allowed to help care for her dear Papa, but
Lydia felt that such a task would destroy her health entirely.
Therefore, Adeline was only allowed to come in once a day to read to
the old gentleman, talk to him and comfort him. She only saw him in
his best light, and he was visibly cheered by her presence, and so
for a considerable time she remained in ignorance of the true state
of the case, but there came a sad day when nothing could hide the
stamp of death in his face from her loving eyes. Her grief was too
deep for tears. she only clung silently to her sister as Lydia softly
admitted the truth.

Remedy
after remedy was tried without success, test after test was applied
to try and ascertain the cause of his sickness, but without avail.
William Trent was dying.

During
this time Alfred came every day to beguile Adeline's lonely hours,
for, excepting that one sad sweet daily pilgrimage to the sickroom,
she was either solitary, or left to the uncongenial society of her
mother. Bitter-sweet were these hours to Adeline – bitter because
of the great sadness that hung over her, sweet because they were
spent in the company of the old friend she had long admired and was
now swiftly coming to love. At first Alfred tried to soothe and
interest her with books and music, but she could play nothing now
except the sweet old songs her father loved, and could read nothing
now except what she read to him. Instead, she talked of happier days
with her dear Papa, the only father she had ever known. Alfred took
her out walking or driving every day, and attempted in vain to
convince Lydia to join these excursions, lest she sacrifice her own
health by constant attendance on the sick man. Adeline did derive
some solace in these outings, in the shape of every cottager or
villager they passed, who, with concerned face and anxious voice,
paused to enquire after the health of the invalid. The desolate girl
was in some wise comforted by the daily reminders of how much her
step-father was respected and loved in the neighbourhood.

Indeed,
everyone was very kind, sending not only polite inquiries, but all
manner of miscellaneous items to relieve the poor sufferer – from
old Mrs Hopwood's gift of a lavender-pillow, 'in 'opes as it would
'elp the gentilman to sleep more natural, like', to fruit and other
delicacies, more or less refined, depending on the donor, to try and
tempt the failing appetite, and the Rector's bottles of very fine old
port, the reverend gentleman having heard that the doctor recommended
a glass of that superior wine daily, and his having picked up a few
bottles, the remnants of a bankrupt Earl's cellar, at a considerable
bargain the previous summer. This last, however, Evelyn declined to
accept. They had a goodly supply of a particularly fine vintage,
which was reserved entirely for Mr Trent's own use. The key of the
bin, which was allowed to pass into no other hand, and from whence
she poured her husband's daily dose with her own hand, was held by
Evelyn herself, much to the discomfiture of the butler, who held that
women had no business in a wine cellar. This was perhaps the only
service the selfish and worldly woman performed for her ailing
husband.