“He’s been very busy with you away,” Anna told him, “and that means I’ve been kept fairly busy, too.” Her eyes were raised suddenly to his, a deep anxiety of pleading in their depths. “There’s been nothing else, Noel—no remembering. I’m sorry.”
He took a quick turn about the room before he came to stand beside her.
“Anna,” he said, “I want you to do something for me. I want you to write a letter just as I dictate it. We won’t need this.” He moved the typewriter aside. “I want it to be in your own handwriting. It’s going to your father.”
She swung round, staring at him, but she did not speak. She picked up the pen he laid on the desk, her hand trembling a little as she waited for him to begin.
“Head it ‘Glynmareth Cottage Hospital, Merioneth, North Wales’,” he said. “And the date.”
He waited, and when she looked up a second time he drew a deep breath and started the letter itself.
“Dear Father,
You will see by the above address that I am being taken care of here as the result of an accident. I have unfortunately lost all memory of the past and my doctors believe it can only be restored by a meeting with people I once knew or a return to a familiar scene. You could help me by coming here to see me, and Doctor Melford will make all the necessary arrangements for your journey as soon as he hears from you that you are willing to come.
I am enclosing a snapshot taken in the garden here so that you will see that I am quite well otherwise.
Your affectionate daughter,
Anna Marrick.”
Noel waited after he had uttered the name, tensely expectant, but Anna wrote the full signature as a matter of course and without undue emotion, drawing a firm line beneath it as if it was a task she had accomplished hundreds of times. The action convinced him beyond doubt that they were on the right track and he was conscious of sudden, tremendous elation.
“This is it, Anna!” he cried, catching her by the shoulders to look triumphantly into her questioning eyes. “We’re more than half way there already!”
“You think—my father will come?”
“Of course he’ll come!”
“Supposing it’s wrong? Supposing we’re just making another shot in the dark?”
He shook her very gently, his lips curving in a one-sided smile. “This isn’t a chance shot, Anna,” he assured her. “It’s the end of our quest.”
She crushed down something that was far from the happiness she should have felt, seeing the inevitable end of all this rising to mock her, yet she could not let him guess that she valued her present happiness so much that she would gladly have gambled the past and even the future to retain what she now held for a few brief weeks longer.
“Everything comes to an end sooner or later,” she said. “This had to come. Somehow, I knew it would.”
“We’ll all help,” Noel said, not quite trusting himself to look at her now. “Ruth and Tranby and I are all behind you in this.”
She thanked him as best she could, but an emotion stronger than any she had ever known threatened to crush the words back into her throat, choking her.
“Don’t cry, my dear,” he said gently, his own voice roughened. “God knows, Anna, we may have a steepish hill to climb yet and we are only human. I’d put my faith in Ruth more than in anybody, though. She has never wavered in all my knowledge of her, and I don’t think she’ll fail us now. Even if these people don’t claim you as their daughter, that isn’t the end.”
“If I only knew the end!” Anna cried. “If I could only see a little way ahead!”
The age-old plea, the cry for the power of God so mercifully denied!
“It isn’t fair to you, Noel,” she added after a moment. “All this uncertainty and worry when you are going to a new job—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I thrive on that sort of thing!”
He had forced a lightness into his voice that he was far from feeling and she recognized it and responded to it immediately.
“You have only a few more weeks to thrive!” she smiled, and then stood aghast at the prospect.
They remained facing each other, all their carefully prepared defences down, and with a sudden movement he had taken her into his arms and was crushing his lips against hers.
“My God, Anna, I can’t let you go! I can’t bear to let you go!”
“You must! We can’t—ever mean anything to each other.” She held on to his supporting arm even as she strove to put a world of reasoning between them. “Neither of us is really free. You owe it to your career to go on—and I must go back to—whatever was there before I came to you.”
Her voice broke, and for a moment longer he held her to him as if by the intensity of his embrace he could shut out all that stood between them, and then he put her gently into the chair where he had found her and strode from the room without a backward glance.
CHAPTER TEN
THE LETTER WAS sent off to Northumberland that evening and the tension of waiting for the reply began for them. If Noel had thought to save Anna by telling her only the bare essentials, he realized quite soon that he could not shield her from her own sensitive forebodings, and he was forced to watch the mixture of eagerness and dismay with which she watched each post come and go.
Anna knew that she had not even given the letter time to reach its destination before she was looking for a reply, but the hours seemed to stretch out interminably between post and post, while she attempted to go about her normal everyday tasks as if she was not walking perpetually in the shadow of doubt and fear.
During this time she came closer than ever to Ruth, for without actual words Ruth offered her a sympathy which could only have arisen out of complete love and understanding.
Knowing the full story, Ruth had no doubt that Anna was the daughter of Abraham Marrick, and she managed to view Sara’s version of it with an unbiased mind, coming to the conclusion that they would not be in possession of the real truth and all the details until Anna’s memory was finally restored.
She realized that her brother thought so, too, but Noel had to approach the situation from the medical angle, also, and be ready to shield his patient from any sudden shock which, Dennis had explained to her some time ago, might have the reverse effect to the one they wanted.
Dennis was constantly at the villa these days, adding the assurance of his friendship to theirs, and quite often Anna’s heart came near to overflowing when she sat in their company and realized what a precious gift they were offering her for what she considered to be so little in return.
“Ruth, whatever happens I shall never forget these past four days,” she said as they cleared the breakfast-table that Saturday morning. “You’ve given me such faith in human nature that whatever is to happen now, or has happened in the past, I feel that I can face it with some sort of courage, at last.”
“You always had that courage,” Ruth assured her. “It isn’t just born in an hour, Anna. The hour may recognize it, but it is part of us—a fundamental part—or it just isn’t there at all. The folk without it go to pieces in an emergency, but you showed so much courage when you first came here, fighting this thing in the beginning, that I’m quite confident for you now. I’ve heard Dennis and Noel speaking about it often enough, and I’m sure it has made Noel’s work easier.”
A faint flush rose in Anna’s cheeks. Did Ruth know?
“When will he get to Bristol to take up this new appointment?” she asked.
“It’s not official yet,” Ruth said. “There’s all the red tape to unravel yet. Probably he won’t know until the end of the month.”
And I shall know—when? Anna’s heart began to beat suffocatingly close to her throat, and the hand she put to it was trembling. When would she be done with the agony of parting and the heartache and all the useless longing that clamored in her night and day, giving her no rest? To live here always, to keep Ruth’s friendship and Noel’s respect! That was all she wanted, now or ever!
She looked down at the thin gold circle on the third finger of her left hand, seeing it through a mist of tears and the searing white flame of sudden remorse. Ned! she thought. Ned, what happened to us? I couldn’t have married you!
Ruth put a hand over hers, seeing the distress.
“Don’t think too much about it just now,” she counselled. “We have made progress and that, in itself, must be a good thing. You could never have gone on not knowing, Anna.”
“No, I realize that, but—it’s this dreadful feeling of helplessness that’s so paralyzing. I’ve left everything to Noel—”
“That’s in the nature of things where a doctor is concerned. A diagnosis is necessary in every case, and a cure—if possible.”
And what was the cure for love? Anna could not answer that, nor could Ruth, but she got to her feet as the garden gate swung on its stiff hinges, and crossed swiftly to the window.
“Here comes the post,” she said. “I’ll get it, Anna, if you like.”
Anna sat deathly still while Ruth was out of the room. It seemed as if she could not move, as if every muscle in her body was tense, waiting for their verdict in the letter they were expecting, and she felt as a man might while he sat waiting the return of the jury in a matter of life and death. And then Ruth came back into the room and said simply:
“It’s from Northumberland, Anna, but it’s addressed to Noel.” Anna rose unsteadily to her feet, gripping the back of her chair until the knuckles showed white through the flesh.
“Is it from my people, do you think?” she asked with all the old rush of unutterable loneliness sweeping over her at the thought of belonging again. “Do you think it might be an answer to the letter I wrote to my father?”
“I don’t know,” Ruth said, laying the envelope down on the table between them. “Take it to Noel and he will tell you.”
Anna lifted the envelope and held it between her hands, the writing on the outside coming up to meet her in vague, blurred lines, advancing and receding dizzily in a meaningless jumble of letters which yet held their own strange meaning, the handwriting known to her yet just evading her power to put a name to the sender.
“Oh! if I could only think,” she cried bitterly. “If I could only remember everything!”
Ruth let her go out without answering. She will remember, she thought, and that remembering will affect each one of us!
Anna did not know how she managed to reach Noel’s consulting rooms, but when she did her first overwhelming reaction was relief to find that they were empty. He had not completed his rounds of the wards and she was assured of a few minutes’ grace in which to pull herself together, so that she might confront him with at least a semblance of dignity and self-control.
She laid the letter on his blotting-pad and crossed to the window to wait. Whatever the envelope contained, she was determined that the burden of it must not be placed on Noel’s shoulders again, and so adamant was she in this respect that she was almost tempted to open the letter and read its verdict before he came. She shrank from the impulse, however, shaken by the thought of an emotion so powerful that it could all but shatter the principles of a lifetime, and when she heard Noel’s footsteps on the corridor outside she swung round from the window to race him, her cheeks devoid of color and her eyes, with a world of pain in their depths, fixed on the door through which he would come.
There was a feeling of fatality in the sound of the heavy tread she had come to know so well, a sense of events crowding in upon her over which she had no control.
Noel opened the door and stood looking at her for a moment, and then he saw the envelope lying on his desk and he moved across the room and lifted it without a word.
The letter contained two sheets of notepaper covered in neat, symmetrical handwriting, a woman’s handwriting with a purposeful thickness about it on the down strokes which suggested determination and a force of will above the average.
It was headed simply “Alnborough, Thursday”, and was the reply, through Noel, to Anna’s appeal of almost a week before. “Dear Doctor Melford,” Noel read,
As my father is unable to reply to the recent communication he received from my sister, Anna Marrick, I am taking the liberty of answering it through you. My father took a slight stroke on receiving the letter, but I am quite sure that I understand his feelings in this matter and can advise you about them without delay.
My father and I want nothing more to do with my sister, Anna Marrick, whose photograph I am returning herewith. My sister went away with my fiancé on the eve of our marriage, so perhaps you will be able to understand my feelings about all this, and my father can never forget that he trusted Anna with her mother’s wedding ring to give to the man she was about to marry, with his blessing on it for our happiness. The unforgivable will never be discussed in this house, and I can assure you that we want no more to do with Anna Marrick that once was.
Yours sincerely,
Jessica Marrick.”
Noel crumpled the strangely-phrased epistle in his hand until it was a tight ball which he tossed into the waste paper basket without comment.
“Noel,” Anna whispered, “was it—about me?”
“I’m not very sure.” He came over to stand beside her, putting a protective arm about her slim shoulders. “We’ve come to rather a ticklish bit in this case history of yours,” he went on with that studied medical impartiality she had heard him use in his work many times during the past few weeks. “It may involve another visit to the north of England, but this time I want you to come with me. We’ll make it a family outing, if you like. It’s quite time Ruth had a week-end free from the eternal domestic round.”
Blessing him inwardly for that casual approach which was calculated to give her courage, Anna went in search of Ruth, and Noel sat down at his desk and lifted the telephone that would put him through to the hospital switchboard.
“Get me Doctor Tranby’s home, will you, please?” he asked. “You can say it’s urgent.”
Dennis came to the other end of the line without delay. “I say, old man, I’m in the middle of my surgery! Is there anything wrong?” he asked.
“I’ll want you to take over here for a couple of days, Dennis,” Noel told him. “I’m going north again.”
“A reply to the letter?” Dennis asked, immediately interested. “Yes, but hardly the reply I had expected.”
“You can’t mean that the old man has refused his help?” Dennis said aghast.
“I’m not quite sure who is refusing,” Noel, answered. “A letter came this morning from the sister. Oh, they’re Anna’s people all right. There seems to be no doubt whatever about that. They recognized her from the snapshot we sent, but there’s some ugly business about a family quarrel that must be cleared up right away.”
“So long as it finally gives the lie to that trumped-up yarn of Sara Enman’s it may not be so bad!” Dennis said hopefully.
“That’s just it.” Noel’s tone was clipped, hiding all emotion. “It doesn’t. It appears to be the same story with a good deal of personal venom thrown in.”
“Look here, old man, I’ve got to come over there and see you. It’s no use us talking over the phone like this. I’m damnably sorry about everything—”
Noel cut him short.
“You needn’t be. I’ve no intention of letting anything under the sun come between Anna and her chance of regaining her memory—not even murder.”
His voice was so emphatic that Dennis would not have argued even if he had felt inclined.
“What do you propose to do?” he asked.
“I intend to make these people face facts in a realistic way. The father has apparently had a stroke of some kind—a shock to the nerves, no doubt. It may or it may not be serious, but in any case I intend to go north at once and I shall take Anna with me—Anna and Ruth.”
“I wish I could offer my help in a less static role,” Dennis said, “but we can’t both be away from the hospital at once. Are you taking S
ara back with you?”
Noel’s most decisive “No!” rang across the distance between them with no suggestion of doubt about it whatever.
“Thank heaven for that!” Dennis observed. “Wherever that woman goes there’s sure to be mischief!”
“She’s had her say,“ Noel returned grimly. “I’m not concerned with Sara any more, though we certainly have her to thank for discovering Alnborough.”
Which will be a most bitter pill for Sara to swallow, Dennis thought when the line had gone dead.
There was no hesitation about Ruth’s decision to accompany them on that fateful journey north, and Anna could only marvel once more at the real meaning of friendship.
Noel was determined that no time should be lost and they set out immediately, their small week-end cases packed with the necessities for a few days’ stay.
Sitting in the back of the car with Ruth, Anna felt utterly dependent upon them both, but she knew that neither Noel nor Ruth grudged the time they were spending on her behalf. Noel had not told her all his plans, but she knew that he would not be returning to Northumberland so quickly if he did not believe that he would find the solution to her problem there, and the nervousness she had been trying to hide ever since he had come back from the hospital increased with each northward mile.
She had not pressed him to tell her the contents of the letter he had thrown into the waste-paper basket beneath his desk, but she knew that it had started then on this journey. It was enough for her that Noel considered their presence in Northumberland necessary, and she knew that it was being made in her interests. She could bring sane and cool reasoning to bear in that respect, but it was useless to try to reason against the dictates of her heart, which saw the remaining hours of her present happiness pouring out like sand through a glass and she powerless to stay it.
Strange Recompense Page 17
