Who?

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER IX

  THE JEWELS

  As soon as the funeral was over, Cyril left Geralton. On arriving inLondon he recognised several reporters at the station. Fearing that theymight follow him, he ordered his taxi to drive to the Carlton. There hegot out and walking quickly through the hotel, he made his exit by arear door. Having assured himself that he was not being observed, hehailed another taxi and drove to the nursing home.

  "Well, Mr. Thompkins," exclaimed the doctor, with ponderousfacetiousness. "I am glad to be able to tell you that Mrs. Thompkins ismuch better."

  "And her memory?" faltered Cyril.

  "It's improving. She does not yet remember people or incidents, but sheis beginning to recall certain places. For instance, I asked heryesterday if she had been to Paris. It suggested nothing to her, butthis morning she told me with great pride that Paris was a city and thatit had a wide street with an arch at one end. So you see she isprogressing; only we must not hurry her."

  Cyril murmured a vague assent.

  "Of course," continued the doctor, "you must be very careful when yousee Lady Wilmersley to restrain your emotions, and on no account toremind her of the immediate past. I hope and believe she will neverremember it. On the other hand, I wish you to talk about those of herfriends and relations for whom she has shown a predilection. Her memorymust be gently stimulated, but on no account excited. Quiet, quiet isessential to her recovery."

  "But doctor--I must--it's frightfully important that my wife (he foundhimself calling her so quite glibly) should be told of a certain fact atonce. If I wait even a day, it will be too late," urged Cyril.

  "And you have reason to suppose that this communication will agitateLady Wilmersley?"

  "I--I fear so."

  "Then I can certainly not permit it. You don't seem to realise thedelicate condition of her brain. Why, it might be fatal," insisted thedoctor.

  Cyril felt as if Nemesis were indeed overtaking him.

  "Come, we will go to her," said the doctor, moving towards the door."She is naturally a little nervous about seeing you, so we must not keepher waiting."

  But Cyril hung back. If he could not undeceive the poor girl, how couldhe enter her presence. To pose as the husband of a woman so as to enableher to escape arrest was excusable, but to impose himself on thecredulity of an afflicted girl was absolutely revolting. If he treatedher with even the most decorous show of affection, he would be taking adastardly advantage of the situation. Yet if he behaved with too muchreserve, she would conclude that her husband was a heartless brute. Herhusband! The one person she had to cling to in the isolation to whichshe had awakened. It was horrible! Oh, why had he ever placed her insuch an impossible position? Arrest would have been preferable. He wassure that she could easily have proved her innocence of whatever it wasof which she was accused, and in a few days at the latest would havegone free without a stain on her character, while now, unless by somemiracle this episode remained concealed, she was irredeemablycompromised. He was a married man; she, for aught he knew to thecontrary, might also be bound, or at all events have a fiance or loverwaiting to claim her. How would he view the situation? How would hereceive the explanation? Cyril shuddered involuntarily. Every minute thechances that her secret could be kept decreased. If she did not returnto her friends while it was still possible to explain or account for thetime of her absence, he feared she would never be able to return at all.Yes, it would take a miracle to save her now!

  "Well, Lord Wilmersley?"

  Cyril started. The doctor's tone was peremptory and his piercing eyeswere fixed searchingly upon him. What excuse could he give for refusingto meet his supposed wife? He could think of none.

  "I must remind you, doctor," he faltered at last, "that my wife haslately detested me. I--I really don't think I had better see her--I--Iam so afraid my presence will send her off her head again."

  The doctor's upper lip grew rigid and his eyes contracted angrily.

  "I have already assured you that she is perfectly sane. It is essentialto her recovery that she should see somebody connected with her pastlife. I cannot understand your reluctance to meet Lady Wilmersley."

  "I--I am only thinking of the patient," Cyril murmured feebly.

  "The patient is my affair," snapped the doctor.

  What could he do? For an instant he was again tempted to tellStuart-Smith the truth. He looked anxiously at the man. No, it wasimpossible. There was no loophole for escape. And after all, hereflected, if he had an opportunity of watching the girl, she mightquite unconsciously by some act, word, or even by some subtle essence ofher personality furnish him with a clue to her past. Every occupationleaves indelible marks, although it sometimes takes keen eyes to discernthem. If the girl had been a seamstress, Cyril believed that he would beable by observing her closely to assure himself of the fact.

  "Very well," he said aloud. "If you are willing to assume theresponsibility, I will go to my wife at once. But I insist on your beingpresent at our meeting."

  "Certainly, if you wish it, but it is not at all necessary, I assureyou," replied the doctor.

  A moment later Cyril, blushing like a schoolgirl, found himself in alarge, white-washed room. Before him on a narrow, iron bedstead lay hismysterious _protegee_. Cyril caught his breath. He had forgotten howbeautiful she was. Her red lips were slightly parted and the colourebbed and flowed in her transparent cheeks. Ignoring the doctor, hereager glance sought Cyril and for a minute the two young people gazed ateach other in silence. How young, how innocent she looked! How could anyone doubt the candour of those star like eyes, thought Cyril.

  "Well, Mrs. Crichton," exclaimed Stuart-Smith, "I have brought you thehusband you have been so undutiful as to forget. 'Love, honour, andobey, and above all remember,' I suggest as an amendment to the marriagevow."

  "Nurse has been reading me the marriage service," said the girl, with aquaint mixture of pride and diffidence. "I know all about it now; Idon't think I'll forget again."

  "Of course not! And now that you have seen your husband, do you findthat you remember him at all?"

  "Yes, a little. I know that I have seen you before," she answered,addressing Cyril.

  "I gather from your manner that you don't exactly dislike him, do you?"asked the doctor with an attempt at levity. "Your husband is so modestthat he is afraid to remain in your presence till you have reassured himon this point."

  "I love him very much," was her astounding answer.

  Cyril's heart gave a bound. Did she realise what she had said? Shecertainly showed no trace of embarrassment, and although her eyes clungpersistently to his, their expression of childlike simplicity wasabsolutely disarming.

  "Very good, very good, quite as it should be," exclaimed the doctor,evidently a little abashed by the frankness of the girl's reply. "Thatbeing the case, I will leave you two together to talk over old times,although they can't be very remote. I am sure, however, that when I seeyou again, you will be as full of reminiscences as an octogenarian,"chuckled the doctor as he left the room.

  Cyril and the girl were alone.

  An arm-chair had been placed near the bed, obviously for his reception,and after a moment's hesitation he took it. The girl did not speak, butcontinued to look at him unflinchingly. Cyril fancied she regarded himwith something of the unquestioning reverence a small child might havefor a beloved parent. His eyes sank before hers. Never had he felt sounworthy, so positively guilty. He racked his brains for something tosay, but the doctor's restrictions seemed to bar every topic whichsuggested itself to him. If he only knew who she was! He glanced at herfurtively. In the dim light of the shaded lamp he had not noticed thatwhat he had supposed was her hair, was in reality a piece of black lacebound turbanwise about her head.

  "What are you wearing that bandage for?" he inquired eagerly. "Was yourhead hurt--my dear?" he added diffidently.

  "No--I--I hope you won't be angry--nurse said you would--but I couldn'thelp it. I really had to cut it off."

  "Cut what
off?"

  "My hair." She hung her head as a naughty child might have done.

  "You cut off your hair? But why?" His voice sounded suddenly harsh.Strange that her first act had been to destroy one of the few things bywhich she could be identified. Was she as innocent as she seemed? Hadshe fooled them all, even the doctor? This amnesia, or whatever it wascalled, was it real, was it assumed? He wondered.

  "Oh, husband, I know it was wrong; but when I woke up and couldn'tremember anything, I was so frightened, and then nurse brought me alooking-glass and the face I saw was so strange! Oh, it was so lonelywithout even myself! And then nurse said it was my hair. She said itsometimes happened when people have had a great shock or been very illand so--I made her cut it off. She didn't want to--it wasn't herfault--I made her do it."

  "But what had happened to your hair?"

  "It had turned quite white, most of it." The girl shuddered. "Oh, it washorrid! I am sure you would not have liked it."

  Cyril, looking into her limpid eyes, felt his sudden suspicions unworthyof him.

  "You must grow a nice new crop of black curls, if you want to appeaseme," he answered.

  "Oh, do you like black hair?" Her disappointment was obvious.

  "Yes, don't you? Your hair was black before your illness."

  "I know it was--but I hate it! At all events, as long as I must wear awig, I should like to have a nice yellow one; nurse tells me I can getthem quite easily."

  "Dear me! But I don't think a wig nice at all."

  "Don't you?" Her mouth drooped at the corners. She seemed on the vergeof tears.

  What an extraordinary child! he thought. But she mustn't cry--anythingrather than that.

  "My dear, if you want a wig, you shall have one immediately. Tell yournurse to send to the nearest hairdresser for an assortment from whichyou can make your choice."

  "Oh, thank you, thank you," she cried, clapping her hands. Her hands!Cyril had forgotten them for the moment, and it was through them that hehad hoped to establish her identity. He looked at them searchingly. Noring encircled the wedding finger, nor did it show the depression whichthe constant wearing of one invariably leaves. The girl was evidentlyunmarried. Those long, slender, well-kept hands certainly did not lookas if they could belong to a servant, but he reflected that aseamstress' work was not of a nature to spoil them. Only the forefingerof her left hand would probably bear traces of needle pricks. He leanedeagerly forward.

  "What are you looking at?" she asked.

  "At your hands, my dear," he tried to speak lightly.

  "What is the matter with them?" She held them out for his inspection.Yes, it was as he had expected--her forefinger was rough. She wasPriscilla Prentice. Everything had fore-warned him of this conclusion,yet in his heart of hearts he had not believed it possible till thismoment.

  "Don't you like my hands?" she asked, as she regarded them with anxiousscrutiny, evidently trying to discover why they failed to find favour inthe sight of her lord.

  "They are--" He checked himself; he had almost added--the prettiesthands in the world; but he mustn't say such things to her, not under thecircumstances. "They are very pretty, only you have sewn so much thatyou have quite spoiled one little finger."

  "Sewn?" She seemed struck with the idea. "Sew? I should like to sew. Iknow I can."

  Further proof of her identity, if he needed it.

  "Well, you must get nurse to find you something on which to exerciseyour talents--only you must be careful not to prick yourself so much infuture."

  "I will try, husband," she answered meekly, as she gazed solemnly at theoffending finger.

  There was a pause.

  "Do tell me something about my past life," said she. "I have been lyinghere wondering and wondering."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Everything. In the first place, are my parents living? Oh, I hope so!"

  Here was a poser. Cyril had no idea whether her parents were alive ornot, but even if they were, it would be impossible to communicate withthem for the present, so he had better set her mind at rest by denyingtheir existence.

  "No, my dear, you are an orphan, and you have neither brothers norsisters," he added hastily. It was just as well to put a final stop toquestions as to her family.

  "Nobody of my own--nobody?"

  "Nobody," he reiterated, but he felt like a brute.

  "Have I any children?" was her next question.

  Cyril started perceptibly.

  "No, no, certainly not," he was so embarrassed that he spoke quitesharply.

  "Oh, are you glad?" She stared at him in amazement and to his disgustCyril felt himself turning crimson.

  "Now I'm sorry," she continued with a soft sigh. "I wish I had a baby. Iremember about babies."

  "I--I like them, too," he hastened to assure her. Really this was worsethan he had expected.

  "How long have we been married?" she demanded.

  "I have been married four years," he truthfully answered, hoping thatthat statement would satisfy her.

  "Fancy! We have been living together for four years! Isn't it awful thatI can only remember you the very weeist little bit! But I will love,honour, and obey you--now that I know--I will indeed."

  "I am sure you will always do what is right," said Cyril with a suddentightening of his throat. She looked so young, so innocent, so serious.Oh, if only----

  "Bah, don't waste too much love on me. I'm an unworthy beggar," he saidaloud.

  "You are an unworthy husband? Oh!" She opened her eyes wide and staredat him in consternation. "But it doesn't say anything in the prayer-bookabout not loving unworthy husbands. I don't believe it makes anydifference to the vow before God. Besides you don't look unworthy--areyou sure you are?" she pleaded.

  Cyril's eyes fell before her agonised gaze.

  "I'll try to be worthy of you," he stammered.

  "Worthy of me?" she cried with a gay, little laugh. "I'm too silly andstupid now to be anything but a burden--I quite realise that--but thedoctor thinks I will get better and in the meantime I will try to pleaseyou and do my duty."

  Poor baby, thought Cyril, the marriage vows she imagined she had takenseemed to weigh dreadfully on her conscience. Oh, if he could onlyundeceive her!

  A discreet knock sounded at the door.

  The nurse made her appearance.

  "The doctor thinks Mrs. Thompkins has talked enough for the present,"she said.

  Cyril rose with a curious mixture of relief and reluctance.

  "Well, this must be good-bye for to-day," he said, taking her small handin his.

  She lifted up her face--simply as a child might have done. Slowly heleaned nearer to her, his heart was pounding furiously; the blood rushedto his temples.

  Suddenly he started back! He must not--he dare not----!

  For a moment he crushed her fingers to his lips; then turning abruptly,he strode towards the door.

  "You'll come to-morrow, won't you?" she cried.

  "Yes, to-morrow," he answered.

  "Early?"

  "As early as I can."

  "Good-bye, husband. I will be so lonely without you," she called afterhim, but he resolutely closed the door.

  At the foot of the stairs a nurse was waiting for him.

  "The doctor would like to speak to you for a moment," she said as sheled the way to the consulting-room.

  "Well, how did you find Lady Wilmersley's memory; were you able to helpher in any way to recall the past," inquired the doctor.

  Cyril was too preoccupied to notice that the other's manner was severaldegrees colder than it had been on his arrival.

  "I fear not." Cyril felt guiltily conscious that he was prevaricating.

  "You astonish me. I confess I am disappointed. Yes, very much so. But itwill come back to her--I am sure it will."

  "I say, doctor, how long do you think my wife will have to remain here?"

  "No longer than she wishes to. She could be moved to-morrow, ifnecessary, but I advise waiting til
l the day after."

  "You are sure it won't hurt her?" insisted Cyril anxiously.

  "Quite. In fact, the sooner Lady Wilmersley resumes her normal life thebetter."

  "How soon will I be able to talk freely to her?" Cyril asked.

  "That depends largely on how she progresses, but not before a month atthe earliest. By the way, Lord Wilmersley, I want you to take charge ofLady Wilmersley's bag. The contents were too valuable to be left about;so after taking out her toilet articles, the nurse brought it to me."

  "Ah! and--and what was in the bag?" asked Cyril fearfully.

  "Lady Wilmersley's jewels, of course."

  Jewels! This was terrible. If they were those belonging to his cousin,their description had been published in every paper in the kingdom. Itwas a miracle that Smith had not recognised them.

  "Of course," Cyril managed to stammer.

  The doctor went to a safe and taking out a cheap, black bag handed it toCyril.

  "I should like you, please, to see if they are all there," he said.

  "That isn't the least necessary," Cyril hastened to assure him.

  "You would greatly oblige me by doing so."

  "I'm quite sure they are all right; besides if any are missing, theywere probably stolen in Paris," said Cyril.

  "But I insist." Stuart-Smith was nothing if not persistent. His keeneyes had noted Cyril's agitation and his reluctance to open the bag madethe doctor all the more determined to force him to do so.

  But Cyril was too quick for him. Seizing the bag, he made for the door.

  "I'll come back to-morrow," he cried over his shoulder, as he hurriedunceremoniously out of the room and out of the house.

  A disreputable-looking man stood at the door of his waiting taxi andobsequiously opened it. Shouting his address to the driver, Cyril flunghimself into the car and waved the beggar impatiently away.

  No sooner were they in motion than Cyril hastened to open the bag. Abrown paper parcel lay at the bottom of it. He undid the string withtrembling fingers. Yes, it was as he feared--a part, if not all, of theWilmersley jewels lay before him.

  "Give me a penny, for the love of Gawd," begged a hoarse voice at hiselbow. The beggar was still clinging to the step and his villainous facewas within a foot of the jewels.

  Cyril felt himself grow cold with apprehension. The fellow knew who hewas, and followed him. He was a detective!

  "A gen'lman like you could well spare a poor man a penny," the fellowwhined, but there was a note of menace in his voice. Cyril tried to geta good look at him, but the light was too dim for him to distinguish hisfeatures clearly.

  Hastily covering the jewels, Cyril thrust a coin into the grimy hand.

  "Go!" he commanded, "go, or I'll call the police."

  The man sank out of sight.

  "My poor little girl, my poor little girl," murmured Cyrildisconsolately, as he glanced once more at the incriminating jewels.