Dorothy Eden (22 page)

“Why, then—” for a second Hetty held her breath as if she were about to jump into freezing water—“I’ll bring her back here. She can live somewhere in this big house and not bother anybody, can’t she? What about the grey room? You all said that was so beautifully quiet for someone in my shocked state when I arrived.”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence among the women, until Julia asked the inevitable question, “And if she recovers her memory?”

Then I’ll have to strangle her, or drown her … The terrible words jumped into Hetty’s mind. However, she was able to answer quite coolly, “In that case, she can be given a position, but I must assure Effie that there’s no danger of her being superseded.”

“How very unexpected this is.” Lady Flora’s usually passive face had taken on an alertness, as if life had suddenly become more interesting. “It will be rather an ordeal, but of course you must go and see this poor girl, Hetty. When will you go?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll call the Embassy today.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Lionel.

Kitty started up. “Don’t be absurd, Lionel. You’re in the middle of your convalescence.”

“Hetty can’t go alone.”

“Why ever not? She isn’t going into a morgue.”

Lionel looked courteously at his wife. “Ah, come, darling, we Hazzards are more hospitable than that. Aren’t we, Mother?”

“Perhaps. But I think you should respect Kitty’s wishes, Lionel. She’s concerned for your health.”

“Oh, goodness me!” Julia cried. “Are we to be landed with a semi-idiot girl, as well as Lionel having a relapse?”

Something exploded in Hetty. She pushed back her chair noisily.

“Shut up, all of you! I shall attend to this as I think best, and I don’t need my hand held. I’ll catch the first train in the morning. Pimm can take me to the station, and I’m old enough to know how to hire cabs, and even to make myself understood in my quaint American language.”

She was flushed and belligerent, taking refuge in anger to conceal her churning fear, whipping up a storm over her hurt that Kitty had thought it necessary to play the possessive wife.

“Bravo!” murmured Lionel, and Lady Flora said soothingly, “There’s no need to get hysterical, Hetty dear. We do all know how that shipwreck haunts you. You should be more like Katharine Eversleigh, who has such a sensible practical temperament. But won’t it be wonderful if that strange woman
is
your faithful maid?”

The train slowly puffed its way out of the small railway station. Pimm, on the platform, gave a respectful salute and turned away. Hetty sank into a seat and allowed herself, for the first time in the last hideous twenty-four hours, to shiver and cry a little. But this was not a situation to be relieved by tears. It was one of overwhelming, nerve-stretching dread.

She was going to look into Clemency’s eyes and Clemency into hers. Clemency’s may well be vacant, but something would stir, some appeal, some accusation.

One thing was certain, she could never never bring a half-witted Clemency back to Loburn, to live there even in the isolated grey room like an unexploded bomb. She would have to plan something else, something kind and humane, but definitely final.

The door of the compartment opened. It was Lionel. “I came after all,” he said simply. “I couldn’t risk you getting lost in London. It’s a big city. Besides, I wanted to come. I thought after you have settled this interview we could go and look at the historical places all visiting Americans like to see. Or, alternatively, since I’m a selfish fellow, I could show you my favourite places.”

Hetty’s tears had dried like magic.

“Lionel! What ever will Kitty say?”

“Do you know something, my dear sister-in-law? I’m getting a little tired of being an invalid. It’s very boring. And Kitty really has let this nursing thing go to her head, really she has.”

“She wants to keep you home and safe.”

“Is that a thing to do to a man?”

That all too rare radiant delight was coursing through Hetty again. It would be gone in a moment. Especially when she began to think of the difficulty of deciding Clemency’s fate, with Lionel watchfully at her side.

So she said nothing but relaxed, leaning back in the seat. Presently he moved across to sit beside her. A little later he took her hand and held it in his. She knew she should take it away, but didn’t.

“You’re scared,” he said. “Your hand’s cold. Give me the other one and I’ll warm them both.”

Inevitably, at the American Embassy, Lionel was mistaken for her husband. After a feeble attempt to get matters straight, Hetty decided that this game of impostors was becoming dangerously addictive. More satisfyingly, she saw that Lionel was enjoying it. He caught her eye, gave a small warning shake of his head, and made no protest when he was addressed as Lord Hazzard.

It was a different matter when they arrived at the terraced house in Chelsea, a neat dwelling with bay trees on either side of the front door and a shining bronze door knocker.

The shattering cold had possessed Hetty again. She was gripping her hands to hide their trembling.

“Lionel, it would be best if I were taken alone to see this girl. In case she’s very nervous. I mean, a man, a complete stranger—”

“Might frighten her to death,” said Lionel gravely.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

“Hetty! Hetty! Hold my hand. Stop shaking.”

The door opened and a neatly-dressed parlour maid stood there.

“You’ll be Lord and Lady Hazzard? Will you step inside. The mistress is expecting you.”

A blonde woman, uncomfortably like Clemency’s New York friends, chic, well-groomed and vivacious, came hurrying to take Hetty’s hand.

“Do come in, Lady Hazzard, Lord Hazzard.” She showed them into a small charming drawing room. “Will you have coffee or hot chocolate, or something stronger, before going upstairs?”

Hetty said in a dry hoarse voice completely unlike her own, “I’d rather go at once, if you don’t mind. After all, poor girl, she’s been waiting more than a year.”

“I don’t think she knows much about that, Lady Hazzard. But seeing you might spark something in her memory. That’s what we all thought. I’ll lead the way, shall I? Lord Hazzard—”

“He’ll wait downstairs. He never knew—my maid.”

The girl sat at the window in a small bedroom overlooking a neat garden. She seemed absorbed in whatever it was she saw, roses in bloom, a robin, grey London pigeons on the next door roof. She was slim-waisted, dark-haired, graceful. She only turned her head when the American woman spoke quite loudly.

“Harriet! Harriet, here’s someone to see you.”

The dark head turned slowly, slowly. Hetty groped for something to hold on to, the back of a chair. The room was swimming round her.

The sunburnt freckled face, the turned-up nose, the smallish blue eyes, were not Clemency’s. Pert and merry it must once have been, this poor little bewildered countenance. But never Clemency’s.

Hetty could shake her head, breathing deeply in blessed reprieve.

“Not remotely like her. I’m sorry. All your trouble for nothing.”

“All your trouble, Lady Hazzard. You’ve had a wasted journey. But we felt we must try every avenue.”

“Should I talk to her?”

“She won’t understand.”

“I thought she had only lost her memory.”

“No, worse than that. She’s like a child. Perhaps she always was, who knows? Well, I guess we’ll get her sent back to the States and cared for. Perhaps some day someone who knows her will turn up. Isn’t this war just terrible?”

The vivaciously pretty woman, as sparkling and fresh as a spring morning—already Hetty had forgotten her name because this episode must be completely erased from her memory—led the way downstairs.

Lionel looked up in sharp enquiry. Hetty shook her head.

“A complete stranger. Poor creature. There’s nothing we can do.”

“You’ve had a wasted journey, Lord Hazzard.”

“Not wasted, Mrs Brough.” There, he remembered the woman’s name. He was much more trained in courtesy than Hetty. “We have other things to do in London. So shall we get on, darling?”

Hetty murmured, “I’m so sorry for that poor child. It makes one realise how lucky one is oneself.”

She tucked her hand in Lionel’s arm. She wanted to hurry away before the American woman saw the glow of relief in her face.

Out in the street, the relief came bursting out of her. She gave a little skip, exclaiming in a heartfelt voice,

“Thank goodness that’s over. What a lovely day it is. How shall we enjoy it? Suggest something, Lionel. Could we go on the river? Are there still boat excursions in the middle of a war? There must be something for soldiers and their girl friends to do.” She blushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean it that way for us.”

“Pity,” said Lionel. “Of course we can go on the river. We can walk to one of the landing stages from here.” He was looking at her curiously. “But what a funny girl you are. Half an hour ago you were shivering with terror, and now you’re skipping like a child. Did you escape from some nightmare in that room upstairs?”

Hetty lowered her head. She began counting the paving stones, an old trick to induce calm.

“I suppose I did. Anything to do with the
Lusitania
makes me go cold. I guess it’s always going to.”

“I can understand that, but I don’t understand why you seemed relieved that that poor waif wasn’t who they thought she was.”

“Brown. Harriet Brown. No, I wasn’t relieved about that, Lionel, only that the ordeal was over. Oh God, I don’t want ever to have to think of that horrible time again.” For a moment she was sombre. “But I’ll have to, of course. All my life, I expect.”

The sun was shining warmly on her face, and the horror fading. Euphoria seized her again.

“Lionel, let’s have a lovely day.”

“If you go on looking like that we’ll have an idyllic one. What a strange little creature you are, jumping from light to dark, dark to light.”

“Don’t we all?”

“No one as passionately as you.”

They caught a boat just about to leave on its cruise through Putney, Richmond and Teddington. It was only half full, women with children, some very young soldiers with their girls. Lionel guided Hetty to the bow where there were empty seats. He said that he had never gone down the Thames on a river boat before, and marvelled at the pleasures tourists had.

“Wait until I take you round New York harbour,” Hetty said, and then wondered whatever had possessed her to say such a thing, as if she and Lionel would eventually make much longer journeys than the one today.”

“Did you do that with Hugo?”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t think he would have been interested. We didn’t have much time together in New York.”

“I know that. You married a stranger. You’ve told me.”

“No, that isn’t fair. He wasn’t a stranger. And he was so handsome. I can tell you, all my girl friends envied me madly.”

“Hetty, you’re chattering again.”

“You keep asking questions.”

“Why do you think Hugo wouldn’t have been interested in going round New York harbour? And that I would?”

“Well—Hugo would have preferred a horse to a harbour ferry. And you would choose the boat.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“I have to if I’m not to get angry with you. The way you keep nagging me about why I married Hugo. Do I ask you why you married Kitty?”

“Do you want to know?”

His glance was suddenly so direct and challenging that she flushed and looked away, abruptly nervous.

“I’m sorry, Lionel. It’s none of my business.”

His fingers stroked her wrist lightly.

“No, it isn’t your business. And I have no business asking questions about you and Hugo.” He slid his arm round her waist. “Lean against me. Be my girl properly for today, at least.”

She did as she was told, leaning her cheek against his tunic, half-closing her eyes. If she was to be his girl for today the day must be made to last for a long time. Hugo, Loburn, the possible heir, were yesterday’s and tomorrow’s problems. Today she was going to be in love with the sun and the glassy green water and the floating swans. And Lionel of the gentle thoughtful face, who would look so well in a portrait at Loburn. If Hugo were killed in France, as he could so easily be, Lionel would become the eleventh baron, inheriting Loburn. What then? The thought slid in and out of Hetty’s mind. Would she be the loser after all? Or could she persuade Lionel to leave Kitty and Freddie? She was so deeply committed now by her deceit that even this did not seem too big an obstacle. At all costs, Loburn must remain hers, like salvage from a shipwreck, which, as far as she was concerned, was exactly what it was. She hadn’t sunk herself so far in perjury to end with nothing.

Immersed in her thoughts, her nerves contracted and she gave a great shudder.

“What’s the matter? You can’t be cold.”

“A little. Only a little.”

“Then I’ll hold you closer.”

The problems faded, peace came back.

When they got home, however, just before the summer dusk had turned to dark, it was Lionel who was shaking, not with cold but with fever. Kitty was furious.

“How could you do such a stupid thing, Hetty? How could you allow him to go to London and have such a long day?”

“She—d-didn’t. I s-stole a march on her.” Lionel’s teeth were chattering and he was about to collapse. It had been a dreadful train journey, the illness had come on him so suddenly.

“Well, you were mad. You’re still convalescent. Am I to spend all my time getting you well only to have you behave in this crazy way? Now you’re going straight to bed. I’ll help you upstairs.”

“S-sorry,” said Lionel to no one in particular, and then he was whisked away on Kitty’s capable arm.

Hetty was almost as tired as Lionel. The emotions of the day had exhausted her. She was in no mood for Julia’s interrogation which was about to come.

“Well, tell us, Hetty. What about the girl? Did you recognise her?”

“No.”

“She might have changed a little?”

“She was no one I knew, certainly not my maid.”

“How sad,” said Lady Flora. “Did she talk to you?”

“No. She was like a child. Or half-witted if you prefer that description.”