Виктория Холт - Daughter of Deceit

I could bear no more.

I left her and went to my room.

I was terribly shaken by Lisa’s revelation, and scarcely slept that night.

The next morning Dr. Doughty paid his periodic visit to Lisa. Lady Constance asked me if I would go up with him, as he liked someone to be there.

Lisa was lying in bed, propped up with pillows. She averted her eyes from me when I entered.

I said: “Dr. Doughty is here.”

“Just the usual checkup, Mrs. Claverham,” said the doctor. “How are you this morning?”

“Not very good.”

“The same old pain in the same old place?”

She nodded, and he spent some time examining her back.

He grunted. “I have some good news,” he said, when she was lying back in her pillows, “and I am optimistic … very optimistic. There has been a breakthrough in spinal problems. It’s an operation, followed by special treatment. I reckon it will be perfected in a few months’ time. And then, my dear Mrs. Claverham, I think we could look forward to a change in your condition.”

“What would it mean?” asked Lisa eagerly.

“Well, I can’t promise you that you will be doing the high kick, or whatever you call it, but you would be able to walk with ease, and there would be a lessening of the accursed pain.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“It could be. We’ll soldier on, eh? And perhaps in six months’ time …”

“I can’t take it in! I thought this was forever.”

“Nil desperandum, dear lady. I think you have a very good chance.”

Lisa looked at me; her eyes were shining. “Isn’t that wonderful news, Noelle?”

“It is indeed.”

In that moment she reminded me of the girl I had seen in bed immediately after the carriage accident.

“Perhaps I should have a word with Lady Constance,” said Dr. Doughty.

He took Lisa’s hand. “Rest assured,” he said, “that I shall get more details of what this entails, and when I have them, I shall be along. I am sure this news will be as good as a tonic to you. By the way, have you plenty of painkillers?”

She looked towards the cupboard, and he opened the door and took out the bottle, opening it. “You’re all right for a few days. Remember, never more than two at a time. I’ll send some along next week. You’ll be all right till then. Effective, aren’t they? Well, let’s hope before long you won’t be needing them.”

He said goodbye and I took him to Lady Constance and left them together.

When he had gone, I went to Lady Constance.

“The doctor has told me,” she said. “He thinks she can be cured, if only partially.”

“Yes, he told us so.”

“I wonder what this will mean.”

“I think it will make her more determined not to give in. She told me yesterday that she would never do so.”

“We must persuade her.”

“I don’t think anyone can do that.”

“One person should not be allowed to ruin so many lives.”

“She clings to Roderick. She clings to this place. She cannot visualize a life without them.”

“So much is at stake.”

“For her, as well as for us.”

“My dear Noelle, think what this means.”

“I think of little else.”

“She must understand.”

“She has suffered a great deal,” I said. And from that moment, my hatred of her, for what she had done to my mother, began to evaporate. It was swamped by my pity for this unloved, bewildered girl-

Later that day, when Roderick returned with Charlie, he immediately went to Lisa. It was clear when he emerged that he was plunged in melancholy. I guessed why. She had given him his answer.

I was with Lady Constance and Charlie when he joined us.

“She insists that she is going to get better,” he said. “The doctor has told her that he has every hope of this.”

“That is true,” said Lady Constance. “He told us that it may be possible in quite a short time … perhaps not a complete cure, but it could improve her condition considerably.”

“That is good news for Lisa,” said Roderick. “I only hope it is true. It would help her a lot. She is naturally elated by the prospect. But at the same time, she is determined not to release me— and I know her well enough to understand that she means what she says. I don’t know whether this has made a difference to her decision.”

I said: “She told me before the doctor came that she had made up her mind.”

“She must be persuaded to change it,” said Lady Constance.

“I am not sure that that is possible,” said Roderick.

“I think I should go back to London,” I put in.

“Oh no!” cried Roderick.

“I must. I can’t stay here. I should not have come.”

Yet I had come because she asked me. She had had a compulsion to confess. Poor Lisa! She was as unhappy as the rest of us. And now she was determined to cling to what she had. She was not going to stand aside. She had shown that. I knew in my heart that nothing I could say would deter her.

“What a disaster we have made of things,” murmured Charlie. “Is there no way out?”

“We have to see it from her point of view,” I said, surprising myself, when I remembered the waves of hatred which had come over me when she had confessed that she was responsible for my mother’s death. I understood so well her obsession with her career. Had I not had an example with my mother? She had thought she could pick something out of the ruins and be happy. And then … this. I believed she would never relinquish what she had salvaged.

“I must go,” I said. “It will be best for everyone.”

“Where will you go, Noelle?” asked Charlie.

“Back to London … for a while. I shall see what I can do. I have Marie-Christine. We will try to do something together.”

“I can’t give up hope,” said Roderick.

“Nor I,” added Lady Constance.

That night Marie-Christine came to my room.

She said: “Why is there all this gloom?”

“We are going back to London.”

“When?”

“On Monday. We can’t go tomorrow because the trains don’t run on Sundays, otherwise …”

“Go back to London! In such a hurry and all! I can’t. Jack is going to show me how to clean some pottery.”

“Marie-Christine, we have to go.”

“Why?”

“Never mind why. We have to go.”

“When are we coming back?”

“I think we shall not come back.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know something is going on.”

“You mean about you and Roderick and Lisa?”

“Lisa is going to stay here.”

“Stay married to Roderick?”

“You are too young to understand these things.”

“You know nothing maddens me more than to be told that. Particularly when I understand perfectly.”

“But it is true, Marie-Christine. Lisa is Roderick’s wife and marriage is binding.”

“Not always. Some people part.”

“Well, in this case, Lisa is going to stay, and Roderick with her. That means that we must go away. There is no place for us here.”

“It can’t be! You are going to marry Roderick. We’re going to live here. That is what we want.”

“People don’t always get what they want, Marie-Christine.”

“I can’t bear to go away. I love it here. I love Jack and Fiona … and it’s so exciting. I love the Roman things. I want to learn about them. It has been wonderful. I don’t want to go away, Noelle.”

“I am sorry, Marie-Christine. It isn’t going to work out. It may well be that Lisa is going to be cured. She and Roderick are married.”

Marie-Christine’s face was distorted with misery.

“It mustn’t happen,” she said vehemently. “It can’t. There must be a way to make it come right.”

“We can’t always make things go the way we want them to in life. That’s what you learn as you get older.”

“I don’t believe it. We’ve got to do something.”

Poor Marie-Christine! She had a great deal to learn.

It was afternoon, just after luncheon—a gloomy meal. I was ready to leave the next day, and Marie-Christine and I were preparing to visit Fiona and Jack to tell them of our imminent departure.

I was in my room, putting on my riding jacket, when Lady Constance came in.

She looked bewildered and distraught.

“A terrible thing has happened,” she said. “Lisa is dead.”

The days that followed had taken on a certain unreality. There were comings and goings, whispering voices everywhere. Dr. Doughty had no doubt what had killed her. It was an overdose of the pills which he had prescribed. He had frequently cautioned Lisa as to the strength of those pills. She had needed such an antidote because the pain she had suffered could be very fierce, but he had told her that she was never to take more than two at a time. She could in dire circumstances take as many as six a day—but he preferred her not to do that often—and if she did, they must be spaced out over a period of twenty-four hours.

The autopsy proved Dr. Doughty right. According to the amount of the drug found in her body, she must have taken at least six at one time—a fatal dose.

We were a silent household. The servants went about as though they were in some conspiracy. How much did they know? I wondered. They would be aware that I had once been engaged to Roderick and that I had gone away suddenly, the engagement broken off. Did they know that Roderick had asked for his freedom so that he might marry me? Did they know that Lisa had refused to give it?

Had anyone asked the question: had Lisa been murdered? When there was sudden death which might be murder, people looked for a motive.