Toblethorpe Manor (25 page)

“I made a real mull of it, Lucy. I was so concerned about her lack of family, about not even knowing who she was, that I realized only very recently that I loved her quite desperately and did not care if her father was a carpenter.”

“Then why should I care that Charles’s grandfather was a nabob, and Rosalind’s too, come to that?” she retorted.

“Cry truce, Lucy. I hear them coming. You will not tell mama what I have said? It can only distress her.”

“Of course I will not tell, Richard, only I think mama knows a deal more than she mentions.”

Lady Annabel and Charles appeared.

“She is sleeping,” said Lady Annabel, “but her head is paining her excessively. I am worried, and I hope Dr. Knighton will soon come. Mary is watching her.”

“If he is not here very soon, I shall fetch him myself,” promised Richard. “Though I have less trust in the man since he recommended that Teutonic nincompoop. However, should he not rapidly effect a cure, we can call in someone else.”

He and Charles were eyeing each other cautiously. Charles wondered what Richard had said to Lucy in his absence. It could not have been too terrible, he decided, or she would not be so calm. He resolved to do all in his power to win over this toplofty gentleman who, quite apart from his objections to his birth, seemed to have taken him in inexplicable dislike.

Richard made up his mind that he must learn to tolerate his future brother-in-law. Being honest with himself, he could find no good reason for his animosity. Perhaps it was simply because the man wanted to marry Lucy? And, dash it, the fellow was not only unconscionably good-looking but always appeared to be right! He must become better acquainted with him, he thought.

“Pray be seated, Major Bowen,” he requested brusquely. Charles sat on the sofa beside Lucy.

“Now that you have found Rosalind here, Charles, surely you will not want to post off to Northumberland, will you?” coaxed Lucy.

“No, indeed. I have told Bell to send the post chaise away when it comes to fetch me. I…it’s a difficult matter to discuss, but I must tell you why I was in such a hurry to leave. It will explain Rosalind’s flight from her home, at least in part.

“Her father and my mother were brother and sister.  You must know that I was orphaned at an early age. Rosalind’s parents brought me up as their own son, and my uncle ran the estate, Bennendale, which had been his father’s until my nabob grandsire bought it. There are several reasons why I entered the army, including a youthful desire to win my spurs. And I did not wish to deprive my uncle of the land that should have been his. That was a consideration that weighed heavily.

“So I purchased a pair of colors, and, as you know, I was later posted to India. I was not displeased to become acquainted with the country from which my fortune proceeded.

“One of the disadvantages of a primitive society is, as you may guess, that the mails are often delayed, or even destroyed. I did not discover until very recently that my uncle and aunt had perished in an epidemic, a year since. Naturally, I at once applied for leave to come home to take care of my affairs and make arrangements for my cousin’s comfort. I had thoughts even then of selling out, which my meeting with Lucy confirmed and brought to fruition. Unfortunately for me, as it turned out, General Frazer had a great victory shortly before my departure, and I was ordered to bring dispatches home with me. My voyage was speeded, but I have since been held kicking my heels in London when I should have been in Northumberland. Not that I can regret the weeks that I have spent in winning the love of my dear Lucy, yet my cousin had desperate need of me, of which I knew nothing.

“For the rest of this tale, I must rely on a letter I received yesterday from Lady Cressman, a close neighbor. It seems that my Uncle and Aunt Stuart were scarce in their graves when my Uncle Henry, my father’s younger brother, arrived at Bennendale, bringing with him a Colonel Overton. He settled into my house and began to press my poor Rosalind to marry the colonel, to whom he owed a large sum of money. Rosalind has fifteen thousand pounds, and the dastard proposed to free himself of debt in this way.

“At first my cousin had considerable freedom, though she was constantly bullied. She saw Lady Cressman frequently, and wrote to me several times, letters which I never received. Gradually her visits ceased. As my uncle dismissed our old servants and hired his own, he gained more control over her even as he discovered her to be adamant in her refusal to marry his creditor. He had taken over the management of the estate and Rosalind’s guardianship on the grounds that my survival was questionable. Either he destroyed my letters or they simply went astray, and no one thought to inquire at my regiment.

“Lady Cressman writes that she tried several times to see my cousin at Bennendale but was turned away by shockingly rough-looking characters. Her husband forbade her to do more. Sir Donald is a pacific gentleman who would go to a great deal of trouble to avoid trouble.

“The rest of the story was told to Lady Cressman by Rosalind’s abigail, a few days past, so I have it at third hand. According to her, my uncle grew more and more impatient and unpleasant toward her mistress until at last he confined her to her room. This maid, Joan, was the only one to see my cousin apart from my uncle and the odious Colonel Overton. Imprisonment and a diet of bread and water, while undermining Rosalind’s health, did not shake her determination. She was sure that I must return soon.

“One day, in late February, Joan caught sight of a letter on my uncle’s desk. It was from myself, announcing my arrival in London. She told Rosalind, who unwisely taxed my uncle with the discovery. I think the man must have been partly insane by this time. His only response was to beat my cousin savagely, swearing that she would be wed before I could rescue her. The maid tried to prevent the beating, but was held fast by Colonel Overton. Her attempt, together with her revelation to her mistress of my return, led to my uncle imprisoning her in the same room.

“That night, Rosalind decided on a desperate measure. There is a huge old oak standing near the house, of which one branch reaches nearly to the window of her chamber. As I remember it, the branch is very narrow and weak and does not come within three feet of the casement. Certainly I never attempted the climb in my youth, and I was accounted an intrepid, nay, a foolhardy climber. My cousin had not seriously considered it before, because of the danger and because she had nowhere to flee. Now she was desperate, and she had only to reach London to find me.

“She escaped, of course. The maid was to follow, but was too terrified by the sight of my brave cousin swinging from the fragile branch to make the attempt. My uncle kept her shut up, that she might not inform on him, and only an oversight on his part allowed her at last, after nearly two months, to reach Lady Cressman, who wrote immediately to me.

“The rest of Rosalind’s story, you know better than I.”

“There!” exclaimed Lucy in triumph, “did I not say she was a heroine?”

The Carstairs were not the only ones to have listened to Charles’s exposition with bated breath. In a very short time every servant in the house knew the whole story.

“Miss Lucy’s right,” was the general opinion. “A real heroine, right out o’ one o’ they romantical novels!”

Dr.
Knighton was announced before any further discussion could take place. Lady Annabel took him to Miss Stuart’s chamber.

“What shall you do about your wicked uncle?” Lucy demanded of the major.

“I shall consult my lawyer about legal remedies at once. Otherwise, I can do little for the present. I cannot leave London while Rosalind is ill.”

“You shall stay here,” said Richard, and then wondered if that was going too far. The beaming gratitude in Lucy’s eyes persuaded him that it had been the right thing to say. He also enjoyed the look of astonishment on the major’s face.

“Well,” ventured that gentleman with caution, “it is most kind of you. I had thought to…”

“Of course you will stay here, Charles,” Lucy stated firmly. “Rosalind needs you nearby. After all, she has only just found you after searching for two months! You know,” she added reflectively, “I am inclined to think that Rosalind is very nearly as romantic a name as Clarissa.
As You Like It,
you see.”

The gentlemen could not restrain their laughter, which released the tensions of the past hour.

“At least Shakespeare is a vast improvement over
Count Casimir’s Castle,”
wheezed Richard at last.

“Not only that, but you are quite correct, dearest,” explained Charles.
“As You Like It
was my Uncle Roy’s favorite play. However, I cannot think he ever expected poor Rosalind to live up to her name.”

Lady Annabel was heard bidding the doctor farewell. She came to the library directly.

“I am so happy to hear you laughing, my dears,” she assured them, noting their guilty faces. “Rosalind would not mind, you know. She never relieved her own troubles by forcing them on the rest of us.”

“What did Dr. Knighton say?” queried Richard with eager impatience.

“He can find nothing physically wrong. He approved my prescription,” she said with some pride. “Miss Stuart was too drowsy to answer any questions and he says she is to sleep for twenty-four hours. If she should awake this evening and grow restless, she is to have another sleeping draft. He will come in the morning to see if anything more need be done.”

The rest of the day passed slowly. They were all anxious to hear Rosalind’s version of the story. Lucy was allowed to watch by her bedside for a while and was there when her friend awoke. Rosalind did not seem to recognize her, but she did not complain of any pain and soon fell asleep again.

When she roused again it was morning, and not long before the doctor was expected. Mary was sitting beside her, mending a torn hem. She had been warned that Miss Stuart might be confused and that she was not to say more than was absolutely necessary.

Miss Stuart looked at her in a puzzled way, and then closed her eyes. “Am I ill?” she asked. “My head hurts abominably.”

“I’ll get ‘ee some breakfast, miss,” said Mary. “Tha’s not eaten proper in two days.”

When she left the room, Rosalind’s headache seemed to be ebbing, but when the maid returned, it came back in full force. She ate a little. Though she was hungry, it was too much effort to eat, nor could she summon up enough energy to think. She vaguely remembered seeing Charles, and willingly abandoned all her problems to him. If she had found him, she knew her uncle no longer had power over her.

When Dr. Knighton arrived, he asked Lady Annabel and Mary to sit on the far side of the chamber, where Miss Stuart could not see them, explaining that he did not want her attention distracted. After examining her and pronouncing her physically fit, he began to ask her a few cautious questions.

Though her head was much improved again, she said she had felt as if it were being ground between two millstones. With great care the doctor probed her memory, until he thought he understood the situation.

“You have had a shock, young lady,” he told her kindly, “but there is nothing seriously wrong with you. I suggest you stay in bed today, read if you want to, sew, whatever takes your fancy. You must be sure to eat properly in order to regain your strength quickly. There is just one other thing I want you to do. If these headaches return, make a note of every circumstance surrounding the onset: who is present, what you are doing, the time of day, what you have eaten immediately prior, you understand the kind of thing? Very well. I shall drop by tomorrow, but I have every confidence that you will be happily up and about.”

Lady Annabel kissed her brow and said, “I am delighted, my dear,” then followed the doctor out. They went to the drawing room, where the others were awaiting the news.

“It is of the utmost importance,” began Dr.
Knighton, “that Miss—uh—Stuart should not be upset in any way. I have no fears for her physical health, you understand. Her mind is another matter. She is, so to speak, standing astride a mental abyss. She remembers with perfect clarity everything in her life up to the moment her horse threw her on the Yorkshire moors. The next thing she remembers is recognizing Major Bowen in a strange room.”

“My library, in which she has often sat,” said Richard thoughtfully. “So she did not know me when she looked at me in that odd way. Is that what you are saying, Doctor? That she does not remember any of us?”

“That is correct, my dear sir. It is possible that the memory of the past few weeks will return gradually as she sees you regularly. Indeed, that seems to be the most likely event. However, I do not want her to see more than one person at a time for the moment. I confess I am worried about the headaches. I should like to bring my German colleague to see her tomorrow.”

“No!” cried Lady Annabel, with uncharacteristic violence. “I will not have that…that monster in the house.”

“Yes, I understood that you had taken him in aversion, my lady, with good cause, I admit. Yet he is a brilliant physician in his field. Should you have any objection to my consulting him?”

“I suppose not,” said Richard grudgingly, “as long as you do not try any treatment he may propose without full permission.”

“Certainly, Mr. Carstairs, though it must lie with Major Bowen to give that permission. Good-bye, my lady, Miss Carstairs, gentlemen. I shall return tomorrow.”

Lucy and Charles were all agog to hear about the “monster” to whom Lady Annabel objected so strongly. By the time the tale had been told, ending with the unforgettable quotation: “I mix up mine lenkvitches, iss all,” they were all helpless with laughter.

“What a pity,” remarked Richard, “that Miss Stuart will not be able to recall the incident. She described it much more amusingly than I can, having been present.”

His comment sobered them all.

“If you do not object, Lady Annabel, I shall go and see my cousin,” proposed Charles. “If she does not see me soon, she may believe she dreamed of our meeting. I hate to think what that would do to her memories.”

After the doctor had left her, Rosalind’s headache came back again. Asking for a piece of paper, she wrote painfully: