Lord Umber gave way to his rising anger as his coach pulled away from Upper Berkeley Street. Never, never, had he experienced such rude or sloppy behavior. And, as if that wasn’t insulting enough, to have to listen to such an obvious lie. Of course, the woman was in, but why was she so intent on avoiding him? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that she held the key to Felicia’s identity. Suppressing his annoyance, he vowed that he would force an interview with Lady Ormstead that afternoon, no matter what obstacle she put in his way.
Abruptly he ordered his coachman to drop him at White’s, for he suddenly wished for civilized company and conversation. He felt as though cobwebs draped his brain and that his preoccupation with Felicia’s predicament was becoming an obsession. He had neglected so many things since his mother had been in town, including the delicious widow, Janie Slagle. It was high time he got on with his life and he vowed that after today he would expend his energy in that direction.
Eleven
The door closed behind Felicia with a thump as she stood in the entrance way. Her hand still felt warm from Lord Umber’s clasp, and she put it to her cheek. Enough of this nonsense, she whispered to herself crossly. I must not attach any importance to his actions, for I know they are prompted by pity. She shrugged her shoulders and went forward to greet Dr. Ross.
Very quickly she told him of her dreams the previous night and waited expectantly for him to put her into a trance.
“I think I can clear up that mystery for you, Miss Richards,” he said, deliberately deviating from the usual pattern he followed with Felicia. “Lord Umber saw the woman you are talking about, too, and discovered that her name is Lady Ormstead. Does this name hold any significance for you?”
Felicia stared at him and repeated the name to herself in a strangled whisper. “No! No! It cannot be. Please say it is not so, doctor.” She jumped up from her seat and paced the room in agitation.
He tried to survey her calmly, but the realization that he had at long last broken through without the device of the trance caused an excitement that was almost too great to suppress. “Sit down, Miss Richards,” he said quickly, “and let us try to sort this out. Why does the name upset you so? Who is this Lady Ormstead?”
Felicia didn’t answer. Instead she clenched and unclenched her fists, only pausing in her pacing long enough to cast Dr. Ross a look of naked despair. Without warning she sank down on her knees and covered her face with her hands. The screams started as a low moan that seemed to come from deep within her, but by the time Dr. Ross had reached her side, they were agonizingly loud. Very gently he lifted her to an upright position, chiding himself for not recognizing her symptoms of hysteria sooner. No doubt the feeling of triumph he had just experienced had blinded him momentarily.
She continued to scream until he brought his hand down sharply across her face. Stunned into silence, she stared at him helplessly and then sagged against him limply. All color had fled her cheeks except for the scarlet lines his fingers had left
“Your memory has returned, hasn’t it, Miss Richards?” His voice was carefully controlled. He did not want to frighten her further, yet he knew that he must encourage her to speak before fear once again erased her memory.
“I remember everything. Everything. It’s so awful. Dr. Ross, whatever am I going to do. She was trying to get rid of me. She deliberately sent me to Manchester, knowing there was no position. Why, why, would she be so cruel?” Felicia broke off, suddenly aware of the position she was in. Immediately, Dr. Ross released his hold on her and helped her up, steadying her with an arm.
“I have no answers for you yet, Miss Richards. If you have the strength we can continue discussing not only Lady Ormstead, but the events that led to your obvious fear of the woman.” He led her to a chair and pushed her down into it. “Who is she?”
Felicia took time to compose herself before answering, and by the time she looked up at Dr. Ross an anguished look was chiseled into her face that made him swear softly to himself. “Lady Ormstead is my aunt.” Her voice was devoid of expression.
It was now Dr. Ross’ turn to pace. What a price this young girl had had to pay for his success! By rights he should feel elated for having successfully merged her conscious state with her unconscious mind. Undoubtedly, Mesmer and his colleague Nicolas Bergasse would, when he sent them his papers. His problem was he had allowed himself to become too involved, too close to the patient, for he now felt afraid for her and what the future held as the enormity of her disclosure struck him. “Do you want to tell me everything, as you remember it, or would you prefer that I put you in a trance? I do not want you suffering any more than necessary.”
“I shall be all right, doctor, once I have grown used to the idea that my only living relative sought to ‘lose’ me in Manchester.” She wrenched her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “The only mystery that remains in my mind is why she would want to do such a thing.”
Dr. Ross turned away from her and went over to a decanter that was set on a side table. Quickly he poured some of the amber liquid into a glass and handed it to Felicia. “Here, Miss Richards, drink this down before you begin your story, it will help steady your nerves.”
She smelt the liquid and pulled a wry face.
“It is only a drop of brandy and is very good medicine. Come, don’t worry that you will feel lightheaded, for as you can see I have given you only a drop.”
Felicia tossed the drink back and coughed as the fiery water burned its way down her throat. She gulped rapidly several times in a futile attempt to inhale some air. “Oh! Dearie me,” she gasped.
“Now, drink this water,” Dr. Ross continued, “and you will feel much better.”
She accepted the glass gratefully and swallowed the water greedily. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and felt the churning in her stomach subside. She placed a hand wearily on her forehead and massaged her brow thoughtfully. “I am finding it difficult to know where to begin,” she said finally, “for there is really so little to tell.” She opened her eyes and smiled forlornly at Dr. Ross. “What would you like to know first?”
He looked at her sympathetically, for he knew there was nothing more he could do to help her except ask questions that would ease her back into the past “I take it, from what you said earlier, that your mother is no longer alive?”
Felicia nodded sadly. “She died a few months ago. The doctor said it was due to a lung infection, but I believe now that Mama had lost her will to live.” She glanced at Dr. Ross tentatively and at his smile of encouragement, continued. “After my father was killed, we were forced to seek my aunt’s assistance. It was that, or the poorhouse.”
“There were no other relatives to help you?”
“None that I knew of,” Felicia answered, shaking her head. “You see, my parents eloped and that caused a terrible rift between them and their families which never healed. I do not know who my father’s parents were—indeed they may still be alive—for Papa never spoke of them. Mama once said he was the younger son of an influential family, and after they married, they changed their name to Richards so as not to cause any further embarrassment to Papa’s family. I do not even know Papa’s true name.”
“What of your mother’s parents?”
“They died when Mama was a baby. She and Aunt Gweneth lived with an uncle, and from the little mama let slip about him, he sounded like a tartar.”
“So Lady Ormstead is your mother’s sister?”
“Yes, Aunt Gweneth is Mama’s older sister. I never met her until…until…we were forced to live with her, for like Papa, Mama never mentioned her immediate family.”
Dr. Ross noticed the faraway look returning to Felicia’s face and remarked quickly, “Your parents must have been very much in love to have endured such hardships.”
“They were. Mama always said she never regretted running away.” A more animated expression lit her eyes. “We were all so happy, except when Papa had to go away.” Her face clouded
over briefly at the remembrance of those infrequent trips to London. “But, otherwise, the lack of money never seemed a problem when we were together. And Papa used to earn money playing the piano, and he gave lessons to the children at the manor for a while. Everyone who heard him play said that with more training he would have become famous.”
“Your father taught you as well, I presume?”
“That was the one luxury we allowed ourselves, a grand piano.” She smiled suddenly, and Dr. Ross felt the warmth of it from where he was seated. “If you could have seen it, squashed into the largest room of the cottage we rented, you would have laughed. It looked so ridiculous. It didn’t bother us though, as we all loved to play. Oh! They were such happy days. And the villagers were so kind, insisting on paying for the herbal brews that Mama concocted that eased all manner of aches and pains. She really was very knowledgeable about the medicinal use of plants.”
“What happened after your father died?”
Abruptly, Felicia’s expression changed, and a look of pain came over her eyes. “We could not afford to live on the money Mama made, so we sold the piano and what furniture we had to pay for the coach fare to Chepstow. Mama was too proud to ask Aunt Gweneth to send us the tickets.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Nearly six years. That also explains why my playing is so poor, for until I met Lady Louisa I didn’t play. Aunt Gweneth wouldn’t allow anyone near her piano except Wendy.”
There was a note of resignation to her voice that caused Dr. Ross to exclaim, “What a dreadful woman she sounds! Why don’t you tell me about her, Miss Richards, for I can see quite clearly now that she is the true cause of your amnesia. The last six years of your life were the ones you were really trying to forget.”
“They were awful years,” Felicia agreed, thankful for his uncanny ability to interpret her fears. “After the serenity of Herefordshire, living at Graystones was a nightmare. Mama and I worked for our keep because Aunt Gweneth said she couldn’t really afford to keep us as ornaments.” A harsh and bitter laugh escaped her. “Mama worked from early morning to dusk in the sewing room and I was given the responsibility of looking after my cousin Wendy and Aunt Gweneth.” The awfulness of those years came back to her in a rush. How could she ever have forgotten her aunt’s cruelty? The delight she had taken chastising her in front of visitors for something left undone. And those friends—like Aunt Gweneth—frustrated, aging widows who enjoyed, nay relished, the punishment meted out.
Felicia shuddered at her recollections. How stupid she must have been not to have realized it sooner, but it now seemed apparent that her aunt had deliberately set out to break both her and her mother’s spirit. The failure to break hers might well have goaded Aunt Gweneth into sending her to Manchester. And to think, but for the coach accident, she would have been totally alone in a strange city, without friends and with only a few guineas. Whatever would have happened if Lord Umber had not decided to rescue her. Oh! Aunt Gweneth, she cried inwardly, I never realized you hated me so much. Her thoughts returned to Lord Umber and his early, improper suggestion for her future. Maybe she should have accepted his offer, for now the future, as far as she could see, held very little.
“We can see where your dreams came from last night,” Dr. Ross’s measured tones interrupted her reverie. “Can you not recall anything at all that would explain your aunt’s behavior toward you and your mother? Such heartlessness, in my experience, is usually based on some deep-rooted fear like jealousy or inferiority.”
Felicia thought for a while before remembering the conversation her mother and aunt had had the day they arrived at Graystones. “There was just one conversation, when my aunt talked about Papa, but I am sure that it is not important.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Miss Richards. Don’t forget that every little fragment counts when you are trying to repair a shattered glass, and that is how I regard your mind. You have been through a grueling time and your memory cracked a little. To repair it completely we must find all the tiny pieces and put them back together.”
Felicia smiled at his analogy. “You make so much sense, Doctor, if only I could think in such logical terms I would be able to stick myself together without any help at all.”
Dr. Ross laughed, and his admiration for her courage and composure increased. “Now, what was this conversation?”
“It happened the day we arrived at my aunt’s. I remember Aunt Gweneth sneering at Mama. Berating her for marrying a wastrel. She said that we deserved everything we got, and that, frankly, she was surprised we hadn’t ended up in the poorhouse sooner. I know Mama did her best to defend Papa, but she was simply no match for Aunt Gweneth’s tongue. Except she did say one thing that quieted Aunt Gweneth for a full minute.” Felicia frowned as she tried to recall it exactly. “She said, ‘you never could accept the fact that Andrew wanted to marry me, could you? You always thought it was you he preferred. I often wondered how you reacted when you found out that I had run off with the man we both wanted. Well, no matter what course your revenge takes, Gweneth, you will never be able to take away my memories, for they are happy ones.’ After a few moments, my aunt started to scream, ‘Happy! Happy! That is hardly the case now, is it, dear sister? Nowhere to go, no money to meet your debts. You come sniveling to me to take you and your brat in, and provide for you both. I have a good mind to turn you out and let you starve.’ It seems to me, Doctor, that after that my mother lost her courage and begged Aunt Gweneth not to turn us away.”
“What you have just told me, Miss Richards, is enough to convince me that your aunt is a highly disturbed person. I would advise you to try and forget the misery she forced on you and do your best to remember the happy times you had when your parents were alive.”
“I will take any advice you have to offer, Doctor, except if you suggest that I return to my aunt. That is something I will never do.”
“And you can rest assured that that is something I will never recommend.”
Turning a limpid, trusting gaze on Dr. Ross, Felicia said, “Perhaps you can help me find employment?”
Startled by the unexpected question, Dr. Ross frowned. “Whatever do you mean? You are employed.”
“Don’t you see that I cannot continue working for Lady Louisa? Now that I know who I am, I must get used to the fact that I have to make my own way in the world. I cannot accept such generosity…it…it is not seemly.”
Dr. Ross eyed her shrewdly. It could not be plainer if she had told him, for her feelings were etched on her face. The chit was in love with Ian. Lordie me, he thought, what a mix-up it is, especially as I doubt she realizes that that is her reason for running away. Unconsciously, she must feel her background is inferior. An unprofessional feeling of concern touched him as he realized how much her happiness meant to him. She appeared as fragile as a tiny bird who cried out for protection, yet underneath there was a self-reliant streak that refused to bend or be compromised. He wished he had more to offer her than advice, but to do so would be unfair and totally unprofessional. And, on reflection, she was right in wanting to put distance between herself and Ian, for if she stayed with Lady Louisa she would suffer every minute of every day.
Felicia surprised even herself when she asked Dr. Ross for his help, and now, in view of his long silence she was afraid she had somehow given offence. “Will you not help me?” she asked again.
“Yes, Miss Richards, I do believe I will, even though Lady Louisa will never forgive me.”
“Oh! Thank you! Thank you!” Felicia cried in relief. “I knew you would not let me down.”
“I will need a few days to make some inquiries, but I am certain that I shall be able to find you a comfortable position with one of my patients.” Any misgivings he felt were eradicated by the look of pleasure Felicia gave him. “However, you must inform Lady Louisa of your plans, for my primary concern is still with her health.”
“Of course, Dr. Ross,” Felicia said quickly. “I am sure she will understand. I
mean, she cannot possibly expect me to stay forever, and it is best for everyone if I go now before we become too accustomed to one another.” The truth was, the prospect of the upcoming interview was daunting, for Felicia knew Lady Louisa would not accept her decision happily. It is for my own good, anyway, she reminded herself. If I stayed with her much longer, I would come to regard that style of living as my own, and that would never do. “And, another reason, Doctor,” she continued lightly, “for my going, is that now that Aunt Gweneth knows where I am, she may plan something even more dreadful than a trip to Manchester.”
“I hardly think she will be given the chance, Miss Richards. Not if I know Ian. It is my opinion that he will deal with her in such a way that you need never give her another thought.”
“Whatever makes you suppose that Lord Umber would put himself about on my account? Is it because he regards me as one of his ‘charities’?”
There was a pain in her voice that saddened Dr. Ross, and he hastened to comfort her. “I don’t think so. Ian is a perpetual defender of the wronged and cheated, and there is no doubt that you have been cheated out of your rightful heritage and savagely wronged by a vindictive aunt. Lady Ormstead is the sort of bully Ian enjoys tearing down. It is also a small way he can repay the debt he feels he owes you.”
“Debt? What debt are you speaking of?”
“The happiness you have brought his mother. You would find it difficult to believe the improvement your short stay has wrought in her. But I do assure you, Miss Richards, that before you arrived, we, all of us, had all but given up hope that she would ever rally her spirits. The effect on Ian was equally bad, for the depression he experienced over his mother’s imagined illnesses sent him hell-bent on his own destruction. He is a highly complex person and almost always manages to hide his true feelings under a flippant facade, but in many ways you have been responsible for both their recoveries.”
Felicia looked at the doctor thoughtfully. She was not surprised by his words, for she had sensed much of what he was saying herself. There had been those few occasions when she had seen Lord Umber lower his guard, when she had glimpsed the considerate, sensitive person he strove to hide behind an inscrutable mien. Even so, she was positive of one thing, and that was she did not want to be at his mercy, especially when he was at his arrogant worst.
Felicia Page 11
