Elizabeth Kent

Dr. Stuart-Smith to Mr. Peter Thompkins, Geralton Castle, Newhaven.

"Dear Lord Wilmersley:

"Lady Wilmersley showed signs of returning consciousness at half-past five yesterday afternoon. I was at once sent for, but when I arrived she had fallen asleep. She woke again at nine o'clock and this time asked where she was. She spoke indistinctly and did not seem to comprehend what the nurse said to her. When I reached the patient, I found her sitting up in bed. Her pulse was irregular; her temperature, subnormal. I am glad to be able to assure you that Lady Wilmersley is at present perfectly rational. She is, however, suffering from hysterical amnesia complicated by aphasia, but I trust this is only a temporary affection. At first she hesitated over the simplest words, but before I left she could talk with tolerable fluency.

"I asked Lady Wilmersley whether she wished to see you. She has not only forgotten that she has a husband but has no very clear idea as to what a husband is. In fact, she appears to have preserved no precise impression of anything. She did not even remember her own name. When I told it to her, she said it sounded familiar, only that she did not associate it with herself. Of you personally she has no recollection, although I described you as accurately as I could. However, as your name is the only thing she even dimly recalls, I hope that when you see her, you will be able to help her bridge the gulf which separates her from the past.

"She seemed distressed at her condition, so I told her that she had been ill and that it was not uncommon for convalescents to suffer temporarily from loss of memory. When I left her, she was perfectly calm.

"She slept well last night, and this morning she has no difficulty in expressing herself, but I do not allow her to talk much as she is still weak.

"I quite understand the delicacy of your position and sympathise with you most deeply. Although I am anxious to try what effect your presence will have on Lady Wilmersley, the experiment can be safely postponed till to-morrow afternoon.

"I trust the inquest will clear up the mystery which surrounds the late Lord Wilmersley's death.

"Believe me,
"Sincerely yours,
"A. Stuart-Smith."

Cyril stared at the letter aghast. If the girl herself had forgotten her identity, how could he hope to find out the truth? He did not even dare to instigate a secret inquiry—certainly not till the Geralton mystery had been cleared up. And she believed herself to be his wife! It was too awful!

Cyril passed a sleepless night and the next morning found him still undecided as to what course to pursue. It was, therefore, a pale face and a preoccupied mien that he presented to the inspection of the county, which had assembled in force to attend his cousin's funeral. Never in the memory of man had such an exciting event taken place and the great hall in which the catafalque had been erected was thronged with men of all ages and conditions.

In the state drawing-room Cyril stood and received the condolences and faced the curiosity of the county magnates.

The ordeal was almost over, when the door was again thrown open and the butler announced, "Lady Upton."

Leaning heavily on a gold-headed cane Lady Upton advanced majestically into the room.

A sudden hush succeeded her entrance; every eye was riveted upon her. She seemed, however, superbly indifferent to the curiosity she aroused, and one felt, somehow, that she was not only indifferent but contemptuous.

She was a tall woman, taller, although she stooped a little, than most of the men present. Notwithstanding her great age, she gave the impression of extraordinary vigour. Her face was long and narrow, with a stern, hawk-like nose, a straight, uncompromising mouth, and a protruding chin. Her scanty, white hair was drawn tightly back from her high forehead; a deep furrow separated her bushy, grey eyebrows and gave an added fierceness to her small, steel-coloured eyes. An antiquated bonnet perched perilously on the back of her head; her dress was quite obviously shabby; and yet no one could for a moment have mistaken her for anything but a truly great lady.

Disregarding Cyril's outstretched hand, she deliberately raised her lorgnette and looked at him for a moment in silence.

"Well! You are a Crichton at any rate," she said at last. Having given vent to this ambiguous remark, she waved her glasses, as if to sweep away the rest of the company, and continued: "I wish to speak to you alone."

Her voice was deep and harsh and she made no effort to lower it.

"So this was Anita Wilmersley's grandmother. What an old tartar!" thought Cyril.

"It is almost time for the funeral to start," he said aloud and he tried to convey by his manner that he, at any rate, had no intention of allowing her to ride rough-shod over him.

"I know," she snapped, "so hurry, please. These gentlemen will excuse us."

"Certainly." "Of course." "We will wait in the hall." Cyril heard them murmur and, such was the force of the old lady's personality, that youths and grey beards jostled each other in their anxiety to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Get me a chair," commanded Lady Upton. "No, not that one. I want to sit down, not lie down."

With her stick she indicated a high, straight-backed chair, which had been relegated to a corner.

Having seated herself, she took a pair of spectacles out of her reticule and proceeded to wipe them in a most leisurely manner.

Cyril fidgeted impatiently.

Finally, her task completed to her own satisfaction, she adjusted her glasses and crossed her hands over the top of her cane.

"No news of my granddaughter, I suppose," she demanded.

"None, I am sorry to say."

"Anita is a fool, but I am certain—absolutely certain, mind you—that she did not kill that precious husband of hers, though I don't doubt he richly deserved it."

"I am surprised that you of all people should speak of my cousin in that tone," said Cyril and he looked at her meaningly.

"Of course, you believe what every one believes, that I forced Ann into that marriage. Stuff and nonsense! I merely pointed out to her that she could not do better than take him. She had not a penny to her name and after my death would have been left totally unprovided for. I have only my dower, as you know."

"But, how could you have allowed a girl whose mind was affected to marry?"

"Fiddlesticks! You don't believe that nonsense, do you? Newspaper twaddle, that is all that amounts to."

"I beg your pardon, Arthur himself gave out that her condition was such that she was unable to see any one."

"Impossible! He wrote to me quite frequently and never hinted at such a thing."

"Nevertheless I assure you that is the case."

"Then he is a greater blackguard than I took him to be——"

"But did you not know that he kept her practically a prisoner here?"

"Certainly not!"

"And she never complained to you of his treatment of her?"

"I once got a hysterical letter from her begging me to let her come back to me, but as the only reason she gave for wishing to leave her husband was that he was personally distasteful to her, I wrote back that as she had made her bed, she must lie on it."

"And even after that appeal you never made an attempt to see Anita and find out for yourself how Arthur was treating her?"

"I am not accustomed to being cross-questioned, Lord Wilmersley. I am accountable to no one but my God for what I have done or failed to do. I never liked Anita. She takes after her father, whom my daughter married without my consent. When she was left an orphan, I took charge of her and did my duty by her; but I never pretended that I was not glad when she married and, as she did so of her own free-will, I cannot see that her future life was any concern of mine."

Cyril could hardly restrain his indignation. This proud, hard, selfish old woman had evidently never ceased to visit her resentment of her daughter's marriage on the child of that marriage. He could easily picture the loveless and miserable existence poor Anita must have led. Was it surprising that she should have taken the first chance that was offered her of escaping from her grandmother's thraldom? She had probably been too ignorant to realise what sort of a man Arthur Wilmersley really was and too innocent to know what she was pledging herself to.

"I have come here to-day," continued Lady Upton, "because I considered it seemly that my granddaughter's only relative should put in an appearance at the funeral and also because I wanted you to tell me exactly what grounds the police have for suspecting Anita."

Cyril related as succinctly as possible everything which had so far come to light. He, however, carefully omitted to mention his meeting with the girl on the train. As the latter could not be Anita Wilmersley, he felt that he was not called upon to inform Lady Upton of this episode.

"Well!" exclaimed Lady Upton, when he had finished. "All I can say is, that Anita is quite incapable of firing a pistol at any one, even if it were thrust into her hand. You may not believe me, but that is because you don't know her. I do. She hasn't the spirit of a mouse. Unless Arthur had frightened her out of her wits, she would never have screwed up courage to leave him, and it would be just like her to crawl away in the night instead of walking out of the front door like a sensible person. Bah! I have no patience with such a spineless creature! You men, however, consider it an engaging feminine attribute for a woman to have neither character nor sense!" Lady Upton snorted contemptuously and glared at Cyril as if she held him personally responsible for the bad taste of his sex.

As he made no answer to her tirade, she continued after a moment more calmly.

"It seems to me highly improbable that Anita has been murdered; so I want you to engage a decent private detective who will work only for us. We must find her before the police do so. I take it for granted that you will help me in this matter and that you are anxious—although, naturally, not as anxious as I am—to prevent your cousin's widow from being arrested."

"A woman who has been treated by her husband as Arthur seems to have treated Anita, is entitled to every consideration that her husband's family can offer her," replied Cyril. "I am already employing a detective and if he finds Anita I will communicate with you at once."

"Good! Now remember that my granddaughter is perfectly sane; on the other hand, I think it advisable to keep this fact a secret for the present. Circumstantial evidence is so strongly against her that we may have to resort to the plea of insanity to save her neck. That girl has been a thorn in my flesh since the day she was born; but she shall not be hanged, if I can help it," said Lady Upton, shutting her mouth with an audible click.