Toblethorpe Manor (17 page)

“And are you never foolish, dearest?” asked Lady Annabel wickedly.

“Mama, you are a complete hand! Do you expect me to confess to such an impossibility?”

Miss Fell was indeed much improved. Her fever was abated, the headache gone. She felt only an overwhelming lassitude, which made her unwilling to eat or speak, or move a finger unnecessarily. Dr. Knighton had expected the loss of appetite.

“She is in good frame,” he had said. “As long as she takes plenty of liquids, do not press her to eat.”

When Richard entered the chamber, she turned her head and smiled, but it was obviously an effort.

“Do not stir,” said Richard. He lifted her, and her head rested against his shoulder. He decided she had not enough strength to sit in the wing chair by the fire, so he sat there himself, holding her. Every nerve in his body thrilled at her closeness. The sweet scent of her hair was in his nostrils, and he felt her heart beating. Her eyes were closed, so he studied her face in silence while Lady Annabel directed the remaking of the bed.

It was done too soon for him. As he stood up, she stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. He smiled down at her, the smile that transformed his face and made her heart jump within her. She shut her eyes again quickly, lest he should read her thoughts in them.

“Sleepyhead,” he said in a teasing, caressing voice as he laid her on the bed.

She did sleep most of that day. Faithful Mary watched beside her, busy the while with her needle. Downstairs, Lady Annabel sat down to write a letter to Miss Florence, and bade Richard do likewise.

“Need I, mama?” he groaned. “You must know that I actually had a word of praise from her.” He told her what Miss Fell had repeated to him. “I fear this start will blacken me irremediably in her eyes.”

“The more reason to write and present your excuses,” said his mother severely.

“Yes, ma’am,” he meekly submitted.

In the afternoon he went riding in the park for a short while to get some air and exercise. When he returned, Dr.
Knighton was just leaving.

“A fascinating case, Mr. Carstairs,” said the doctor. “Fascinating!”

“Has Miss Fell suffered a relapse?” asked Richard in alarm.

“No, no, nothing of the kind. I must not keep you. Good day, sir.”

Richard ran up the steps and went to find Lady Annabel. “What did Knighton mean?” he demanded. “He kept on about a ‘fascinating case.’ Is something wrong? I thought it was just the grippe.”

“I told him about the loss of memory,” admitted Lady Annabel. “He was asking Clara all sorts of questions about past illnesses, and of course she could not answer.”

“Has he upset her? I’ll have his liver for this!”

“He was merely doing his job,” soothed his mother. “Clara was not upset. Indeed, I think she is too languid to be much concerned over anything.”

“What did he say about the amnesia?”

“He would not say anything definite, but he wishes to return tomorrow with a colleague who specializes in the brain, a German, I believe. I thought it best to concur. He may be able to help her. I daresay there have been advances in treatment of which our Dr.
Grimsdale knows nothing.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Richard reluctantly. “But I’ll not have her bullied. I want to be present when they talk to her.”

“I don’t see why you should not.”

“What of the grippe?”

“Oh, she is quite out of danger. He agrees with Dr. Grimsdale that she has an excellent constitution and doubted that she had ever been seriously ill before. However, she is not to leave her bed for a week. He said that repeatedly interrupted convalescence will undermine the stoutest constitution.”

“I am glad I was not there when he spoke so. I should not have known where to look!”

The next morning, Miss Fell was able to sit up, propped by a mound of pillows, and take a morsel of breakfast. She was glad to lie down again after twenty minutes, her head swimming after two days without food.

Dr. Knighton arrived early, bringing with him a short, square Teuton in an old-fashioned wig. While Dr. Knighton examined Miss Fell and pronounced her well on the way to recovery, Richard entertained Herr Doctor Holzkopf, or rather was entertained by a long and totally incomprehensible disquisition on illnesses of the brain. Then he accompanied him above stairs.

The Herr Doktor was introduced to Miss Fell, who was looking somewhat nervous. Richard resolved to protect her to the death.

“Ach, zo! Ziss iss die jung lady zat nozzink can remember? Zese cases
sind
rara, ve haff liddle experientz,
aber
ve vill
machen
vass ve can,
nicht
wahr?”
He asked Miss Fell several questions, which Richard did not hear, as Dr. Knighton was addressing him.

“There are two types of amnesia, as explained by my worthy colleague,” said that gentleman. “In many cases the patient can remember nothing, not even how to speak or walk.
Tabula rasa
, so to say. One is left with an adult with the mind of a newborn child. The other type is a selective memory loss. In Miss Fell’s case she appears to be unable to recall any information of a strictly personal nature. The chances are that there is some good reason for this.

“The treatment and prognosis are much the same in both cases. Usually the patient remains in a familiar environment and will gradually regain his memory as he is faced with well-known people, places and situations. When the patient is separated from all that is familiar, there are two possibilities. A sudden shock, such as a blow to the head or an unexpected meeting with, for instance, a family member, may restore the memory wholly or in part. Or the memory may never return. The patient must then take up a new identity and give up all hope of finding the old.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Richard grimly. “Now I know what we are up against, it seems unlikely that Miss Fell has much chance of recovery.”

“Do not despair, young man. The Herr Doktor has some new ideas. You may have heard of Anton Mesmer?”

“The animal magnetism man?” asked Lady Annabel, in puzzlement. “He was in London in my youth, in the eighties, was it not?”

“You are correct, my lady. Herr Doktor Holzkopf has studied with Anton Mesmer at his retreat in Switzerland, and has applied his knowledge to several disorders of the brain with varying degrees of success. He would be happy to try its effect on an amnesiac patient.”

“I’ll not have him upsetting Miss Fell,” insisted Richard.

“I know little of his methods. You had best request an explanation direct from him. Well, I have other patients to see; you will excuse me, Lady Annabel. I think Miss Fell has no more need of me, but you will call me if necessary. Your servant, Mr. Carstairs.”

Richard advanced upon the unfortunate Herr Doktor with a scowling face. The little man was perched on the edge of the bed chatting away with Miss Fell. Seeing that she appeared far from distressed, in fact rather amused, he relaxed.

“Well, Herr Doktor, will you explain to me what you propose to try?”

“Natürlich!
mein Herr. I vill Miss Fell in a deep trantz put, zen I vill her some qvestions ask. Simple,
nicht?
I vould it
mit
pleasure immediately do,
aber der gut
Herr Doktor Knighton say she first several days to rest must.”

Lady Annabel looked blank. The guttural accent, combined with the strange word order, were beyond her comprehension. Richard had difficulty understanding, but he got the gist of the speech.

“In that case, I suggest you return this time next week,” he proposed, “and if Miss Fell is willing, you may try your experiment. I shall be present throughout, of course.”

“Iss understoodt!” beamed the Herr Doktor. “I vill next Friday in ze evnink ze attempt
machen.
Farevell, Miss Fell. I see you again.
Gnädige Frau,
mein Herr, your servandt.” He bowed himself out.

Richard and Miss Fell’s eyes met, and they burst into laughter. Lady Annabel joined in.

“Oh!” cried Miss Fell at last, “my sides hurt! What a dear little man. I shall not in the least mind him putting me in a trantz.”

“The trantz will not help if you cannot understand his qvestions,” pointed out Richard.

“Do not make her laugh any more,” said Lady Annabel severely. “Clara, I am glad you like him and I hope he can help. Now you must try to sleep before luncheon, my dear, or you will have a relapse.” She shooed Richard out.

Miss Fell found she was more than willing to sleep. She woke ravenous in the middle of the afternoon and, as Mary reported proudly to Lady Annabel, ate a slice of boiled chicken and half a custard. She felt she would soon be able to appreciate Monsieur Pierre’s genius once more.

A little later Richard came in and asked if she would like him to read to her. She had been lying gazing out of the window at grey clouds streaming past the chimney pots of the neighbouring houses, and she welcomed a diversion.

“That will be delightful,” she said gratefully. “Something soothingly rural, with trees and streams and cows in it.”

“Not Cowper, however! I’ll see what I can find.”

He returned in few minutes bearing a pair of volumes.

“I hope you like Mr. Wordsworth’s verse,” he said. “I find it has a charming freshness and simplicity.”

He read a number of poems in a clear and natural tone, which allowed the beauty of the verse to speak for itself, then he turned to Blake and chose several of that odd gentleman’s less apocalyptic offerings. He paused. She was watching his face, a slight smile on her lips.

“I am not tiring you?”

“Oh no. Pray go on. This is just the sort of poetry I was speaking of. It presents such a clear picture of beautiful things without all the classical imagery to distract one’s attention, or depressing reflections upon the transitory nature of life.”

“‘The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,’” quoted Richard. “I know just what you mean. The cows are there in the next line, but so overhung with a pall of doom that one cannot tell if they be in milk or no.”

“Precisely,” she agreed, thinking that if he were to read her the entire Book of Revelations, she would not tire of the sound of his voice.

There was a knock at the door, and Mary went to answer it. It was James with a tea tray. She took it, and said to him, “Tha’d best bring anither cup, I’m thinking. Mr. Richard is reading to Miss Fell an’ he’ll be wanting some too.”

“Gi’ us a kiss, Mary, an’ I s’ll go fetch it.”

“Get on, ye great gowk. I’m an abigail now, not a housemaid, an’ I’ll thank ‘ee to keep thy kisses to thysen. Ladies’ dressers don’t consort wi’ footmen. ‘Twouldn’t be proper.”

“Much tha knaws. Miss Lucy’s Molly’s bin an abigail a sight longer nor thee.”

“An’ no better than she should be, that Molly. Go fetch a cup afore t’tay’s cold.”

This exchange was carried out in low voices, but Richard and Miss Fell heard every word. They exchanged amused glances. Miss Fell resolved to warn Mary not to be so high and mighty; there was no knowing how long a third abigail would be needed in the Carstairs household and she might find herself a housemaid again any day.

Mary set the tray down and poured a cup for Miss Fell. James returned in a few minutes. “Tha’ll come drink a cup in t’kitchen, Mary?”

“Nay, I canna. Summun must stay wi’ Miss Fell long as t’master’s here.”

“Pour me some tea, Mary, and I’ll be gone the sooner,” said Richard.

Abashed, she hastened to obey, and passed a plate of macaroons. “Begging your pardon, sir, I didna mean to rush you.”

“I know, Mary, but it is time Miss Fell lay down anyway. Enough of poetry for today.”

Miss Fell nibbled a macaroon.

“Are these not delicious, Mr. Carstairs? Poor Gladys could never produce anything so light.”

Mary was heard to snort.

“You are acquainted with Gladys, Miss Fell?” inquired Richard.

She described to him how she had had to deal with panic in the kitchens when Monsieur Pierre had left for London.

“Have my mother tell you what she had to cope with when he arrived here and usurped Mrs. Tupton’s position! Monsieur Pierre is a late addition to my staff, and Tuppy has been ruling here forever. I remember how she used to feed me sugarplums and scraps of pastry when I was a child. Truth to tell, I thought last time I came up to town that she was growing too old for the position, but it would break her heart to be pensioned off.”

“Perhaps now that Monsieur Pierre has relegated her to second place, she would not be so unwilling.”

“That is possible. I will try again if I
cannot persuade her. I wish she would retire to Toblethorpe, it is so much more healthy than London, but she is a Cockney through and through.”

“I canna make out a word she says,” interjected Mary.

“Mary, you must learn not to join in our conversation,” said Miss Fell in kindly reprimand. She was loath to scold her before Richard, yet Mary must learn to behave as a lady’s maid while she could.

Richard was thinking how gently she had corrected the girl. Servants would find a good mistress in her, and she would be a wonderful mother. He flushed slightly at the thought.

Miss Fell saw his cheeks color and wondered in dismay if he was thinking again about her own ambivalent status. He had been such a charming and considerate companion since he had returned to Toblethorpe to fetch her that she had almost forgotten the way he would stiffen at any mention of her situation. She could not, however, dismiss Lucy’s hints from her mind. She had gathered that he was excessively proud of his birth and all too ready to look down upon those he considered encroaching.

Supposing her family were in trade, she thought, almost in a panic, or yeoman farmers, say. He could not then continue to regard her as a sister, or even a friend. She dreaded losing him so entirely.

Richard took her silence for fatigue. He quickly finished his tea and gravely took his leave, wondering how he could be so foolish as to keep her so long from her rest. He was finding it more and more difficult to be long away from her. He decided he must get out of the house and went off to dine at his club.

His solemnity and hurried departure seemed to Miss Fell to confirm her fears.