Lydia Trent (7 page)

Alfred
was filled with disgust at the way this woman, so recently widowed,
spoke of marrying again, coupled with the coldly casual way she spoke
of her daughter.

“
I
do not believe the woman has an ounce of natural feeling in her.”
he said to himself. However, he merely begged the use of paper and
pen, and to be furnished with the direction of Mr John Trent.

That
good uncle did not leave the young people long in suspense.

'My
dearest Niece,' he wrote

'I
have received this day a letter from Mr Alfred Denham, who begs your
hand in marriage.

Far
be it from me to stand in the way of your happiness, my dear, and I
give my full and hearty consent to your marrying whomsoever makes you
happiest, on the day you come of age. Yes my dear, I counsel you to
wait until you are twenty-one. I understand that the acquaintance
between yourself and Mr Denham has been of long standing, and that
although not positively wealthy he has sufficient income to maintain
a wife in comfort. I give him credit for disinterestedness, for he
tells me he is full aware that you would bring nothing to the
marriage but that small fortune settled on you by my brother, which
he intends to secure entirely to you, and that you have no
expectations in the future (an arrant lie, by the way my love, for
how two girls with a wealthy bachelor uncle, who is affectionately
aware of their merits, and has no other soul on Earth to leave his
money to, can be said to have no expectations, I do not know)

In
any case, fortune or the lack thereof on either side is no objection.
Your ages, however, give me some concern. Mr Denham seems to me to
have powers of intellect that require some vent for him to be truly
settled and happy. I advise waiting, not only so that you can be
quite sure this is the right step to ensure your future happiness -
for matrimony is a great step, Adeline, and nineteen very young to
fully comprehend your own feelings – but also to enable the young
man to take steps to establish himself in some profession that will
contribute greatly to the happiness, as well as the comfort, of both.

Fourteen
months is not so great a time to wait for a lifetime's joy, my dear –
in any event you would have to wait 6 months or so until you are out
of full mourning, so I am only asking you to add another eight months
to that time.

I
am sorry if this verdict gives you disappointment, my dear, but hope
you will take it in the spirit it was intended, and give credit to
the kindly feelings of your affectionate uncle,

John
Trent.'

The
letter was their uncle all over - so very like their Papa, his
brother - all frank kindness and good, solid sense. His arguments
were disappointing to the young people, but his judgement was so
sensible, and so frankly and kindly expressed, that they could not
find a single objection which would hasten the day when Adeline Wade
would become Mrs Alfred Denham.

And
so it was determined that the young couple should put off that happy
day ntil the first day following Adeline's twenty-first birthday, and
that until then Lydia would swallow her pride, and submit to being
regarded as a hired dependent in her father's house.

Lydia
was not the only member of the household to be offended by Mrs Trent.
One afternoon Lydia was surprised to see Bessie the housemaid lugging
a battered portmanteau down the stairs, her face much streaked with
tears, her eyes red and puffy.

“
Why
Bessie, whatever is the matter?” cried Lydia, “No trouble at
home, I hope.”

“
Trouble
there is, but not at home. I've been give warning, Miss.” moaned
the distressed housemaid.

“
Warning?
But why? It would be very unlike you to be remiss in your duties.”

“
Well
it seems Mistress lost some trinket or other, and it's not the first
time things has gone a-walking, by her account, and she demanded the
key to my box, just like that, Miss Lydia, and me a respectable woman
as has always been used to be spoken to kindly in this house.

“
Anyway
I fired up at that, like, for to have the finger pointed at me is
more than I could bear, as has always been honest. And I told her I
weren't no thief and if she wanted to find her things maybe she
should look in that Frenchy Estelle's box first. For the sneaky sly
thing is always creeping round, and seems to have more money than any
of us can account for, she's always dressed up that smart, and sneaks
around telling tales of folks, for it was her that told Mistress of
Maisy being late back from her evening out last week, when the poor
girl had to stay and watch her babby brother as had the croup, til
her mother got back from the doctors, and Maisy got such a scolding
as reduced her to tears, and her next months evening out stopped.

“
Well
Mistress just drew herself up and said summat about how she 'didn't
choose to keep dishonest and insolent servants', and I might take my
months warning, and I said I wouldn't stay another day in a house
where I was supspected and insulted, let alone another month, so here
I am, and off I go, bag and baggage, this very afternoon. And this
the house where I've lived since I was but sixteen, and was my very
first place, and I've watched you young ladies grow up from babbies,
and served you faithful, and always been treated respectful...” and
here the loquacious woman's narrative broke off in a fresh flood of
tears. She was genuinely distressed, and not just at being 'out of
place'. The good creature had served the family faithfully for twenty
years, and this her reward! Lydia was incensed. She bade the
housemaid to go and have a cup of tea in the kitchen, and calm
herself, while she attempted to intercede with the lady of the house.

She
found her stepmother idling over that same long piece of embroidery,
though the chair-back in berlin-wool and beads seemed to have made
very little progress since the first time we saw it.

“
Mamm...
Mrs Trent, I am distressed to learn you have dismissed poor Bessie.”
said Lydia, in as gentle a tone as she could manage. “She is this
moment preparing to leave the house!”

“
Really,
how tiresome.” drawled the widow, “These rustic servants are so
unreasonable, they take one up so. I only asked her for her key,
having missed a bracelet from my dressing-table, only a trumpery
thing, but I have missed things before. However, the bracelet is
found, so it is of no moment.”

“
Then
may I tell Bessie she is no longer suspected, and that she may stay?”

“
Oh,
tell her anything you like. I suppose it would be tiresome to find a
new housemaid – only you had better tell her to curb her tongue in
my presence. I am mistress in this house, and I will not tolerate
insolence.”

Lydia
softened this message down for Bessie's consumption, and begged her
to remain. The housemaid at first stuck fast to her determination of
leaving the house at once, but when Lydia dwelt on how sad Adeline
and herself would be to part with her, she tearfully consented to
have the manservant take her box upstairs, and resume her duties,
with many blessings on the two young ladies, and direful imprecations
against those who 'were a mite too quick to judge'.

Lydia
found herself quite exhausted by this drama, and shortly rang for
tea. To her surprise, the tray was brought by Maisy.

“
Mistress
is having tea in her room this evening, Miss, and there was something
I wanted to show you.”

The
girl proffered a grubby, creased piece of paper, somewhat singed at
the edges.

“
I
know I didn't ought to have took it, but I found it behind the grate
in the parlour a few weeks back, and I thought I made out Miss
Adeline's name, so I picked it up, curious like. I didn't think
anyone would mind, it being rubbish, as someone meant to burn. Only I
didn't read it, for I can't read handwriting very well just yet, and
it preyed on my mind that if it was something concerning Miss
Adeline, I ought to give it to her. And so I'm giving it to you.”

“
Thank-you
Maisy, it is probably just a note from one of the neighbours or
something. But you did the right thing, I'm sure, though if it was
meant to be thrown away, perhaps you should have poked it in the
kitchen fire. But nevertheless, I'll see what it is before we
decide!” and she good-humouredly held out her hand for the paper.

She
waited until Maisy had set down the tea things and curtsied herself
out of the room, before looking over the paper in her hand, fully
expecting it to be an invitation or a laundry-list.

It
proved to be a letter, in a strange hand, and Lydia was completely
unprepared for the astonishment it's contents gave her.

It
was dated simply 'London, May 17
^th
, 18--' and had neither
signature nor direction, save for initials.

'E,'
it read,

'Well
I expect you never thought I'd turn up again like a bad penny, but
here I am, just returned from Australia. Don't be alarmed, I went
there of my own free will, not her Majesty's, having heard great
things of that continent with regard to seeking one's fortune.

It's
a hard life out there, and a lonesome one, and by and by I got to
thinking of a few things I did as I oughtn't to have, and a few
things I ought to have done different, and a few things I ought to
have done that I didn't. In short, my dear, I fell to thinking of you
and the girls.

I
know things have gone too far wrong between us for us to be
reconciled, that was obvious when you left me all them years ago. I
don't say you ought to have stayed, I was never what you might call a
good husband. But I would like to see my girls, and perhaps make some
amends for my neglect all these years. I hear Adeline is still with
you, and I wonder if you know anything of Catherine. I can't seem to
trace her or her husband – I hope he made a better one than I. It
is Catherine I most want to see, feeling it is to her I have most
amends to make, poor girl. I have been down to the place where they
lived when I left ten years ago, but nobody seems to have seen hide
nor hair of them for many a year. If you know anything of her, I beg
you will tell me where I might find her. Perhaps I might come down
and see you, if the appearance of a rough customer like me won't lose
you your place.

I
don't know if you ever speak to little Addy of her father, perhaps
you can find it in you to give her a kind word regarding her
repentant

M.'

As
Lydia was perusing this letter, with widening eyes and racing heart,
Adeline came in, accompanied as ever by Alfred, her cheeks dyed pink
by the brisk winds of early March.

“
Why
Lyddy, you look as pale as a ghost. Whatever is the matter!”

“
Adele,
perhaps you had better read it yourself, I can't understand it. There
is some mystery or misunderstanding here. It is a letter. It is dated
last May, and I think it is from – your father.”

Who
can describe the consternation, the clamour of tongues, in that
little parlour that evening.

“
My
father? But that is impossible. My father died before I was a year
old, Mamma says.”

“
But
yet here we have a letter from a man called only 'M', who has been
abroad the last ten years, who addresses the recipient 'E' as her
husband, and who speaks of his daughter Adeline. Evelyn begins with
an E, you see. And it was found in this house.”

“
But
wait, he speaks of losing this 'E' her place. Perhaps it is one of
the servants he writes to. Estelle begines with an E, as does Bessie,
for that matter – Elizabeth, you see. I would not blame either of
them for leaving a husband and concealing it, if he were cruel to
her, as this man seems to admit he was.”

“
But
that still leaves the coincidence of 'Adeline' – your name is not a
common one, you know.”

“
Yes
Lyddy, but though uncommon it may not be unique. Oh, if only we had
the envelope, then we might be sure who it was addressed to.”

“
We
need not multiply possibilities, Adele, the name and initial do fit
you and your mother. And the writer may have assumed she was living
here as a servant – perhaps a housekeeper or governess, rather than
as the lady of the house.”

“
But
stop a moment, Lyddy, and think what a terrible light this would put
Mamma in. It would mean she knowingly married Papa while she had a
husband still living. She would have been living with him seventeen
years as his mistress. I know Mamma is not the kindest of women, but
I cannot imagine she would stoop so low. Or perhaps she thought my
father really had died, after she fled from him. Perhaps some cruel
rumour reached her that led her to believe she was free. Oh, what
anguish she must have suffered when she learned the truth!” and
here the compassionate girl shed a tear. It was evident from her talk
that she was becoming more convinced that the letter was addressed to
her mother, and the Adeline there named was herself, though the
honest girl could not believe anyone, let alone her nearest relative,
base enough to live as one man's wife, while married, in the sight of
God and the Law, to another.