“It looks like Hugh,” she said in a hollow voice. “It must be a relative.”
The Doctor shook his head. “I am afraid there is no doubt,” he said gently “I never told you, but on the night when your husband went away, he dropped an envelope on the floor. I picked it up from a sense of tidiness, intending to throw it in the fire, when the name arrested my hand. It was Lord Reckavile, and was part of the letter he had opened in our presence, and which had evidently disturbed him. There is no doubt that it was his real name. He was Lord Reckavile.”
A vague memory floated back to her mind. The parson at their wedding had called him by that name. She remembered the very words.
“ ‘Reckavile, you ruffian, this is the last straw!’ he had said.”
Even then she did not realise the full meaning of the terrible news the doctor had brought.
Hugh was dead, and that stunned her for the time, but Halley was speaking.
“I am so sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, but I felt you must be told. Poor little Roy. It will be dreadful for him.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied wondering. How would it matter when he was too young to understand.
“Mrs. Desmond, you are a brave woman, I know that. Don’t you see what this means. Here is an account of the affair. Lady Reckavile gave birth to a son and heir on the same night.”
“Lady Reckavile!” she whispered. “You mean he was married. He had a wife.”