The Emerald Duchess (16 page)

Just then the doctor entered the waiting room, and Miss Horatia turned her back on him, leaving a flustered Miss Hortense to question him about the patient. Doctor Spears had known the Rutherford sisters for a good many years, and so he was not in the least offended by Miss Horatia’s rudeness or the sight of her rigid back.

“She is still unconscious, but I do not think there has been any permanent damage. Fortunately she was wearing a heavy wig that cushioned the blow somewhat,” he said, patting Miss Hortense’s hands and smiling kindly at her.

“Thank heaven for that,” Miss Hortense cried, feeling her prayers had been answered.

“Ask him what treatment he prescribes,” Horatia ordered her. The doctor waited courteously until Miss Hortense had relayed the message he had just heard so plainly before he recommended complete quiet and bed rest in a darkened room. “She is apt to have the headache when she comes to herself,” he added. “
I
should like to see her again to be sure there is no danger of concussion. Head injuries are not to be taken lightly. Can you give me her direction? I take it she is a friend of yours.”

“Oh, dear me, no,” Miss Hortense explained. “We have never seen her before in our lives, Doctor, but it was our horse who kicked her in the head in the first place. What should we do? We do not know where she lives, or ... or anything about her, but—”

“Nonsense, Hortense,” Horatia interrupted. “At least we know she is not what she seems to be, at all accounts. However, since it was your fault and Pegasus’ that she was injured, and since I can find no address for her in Brighton in her reticule, I suppose as Christians we must take her home to the hall to recover. ”

“Oh, thank you, Horatia,” Miss Hortense whispered. “I did not like to suggest it, but I do feel it would be the kindest thing, and—”

“I hope I know my duty, Sister, as well as you do. Ask the doctor to carry the girl to the carriage. I will wait outside.” She moved abruptly to the door and slammed it behind her, and the doctor twinkled at the look of confused distress on Miss Hortense Rutherford’s face.

“No need to explain, dear lady,” he said. “I quite understand. I shall come out tomorrow to see the patient. Shall we say about ten?”

Miss Hortense agreed to the visit and once again climbed into the back of the carriage to hold Emily safe for the journey home.

Rutherford Hall was some six miles from Brighton, and since Pegasus did not feel the slightest urge to hurry, it was some time later before the carriage turned into the gates and made its way slowly up the weed-choked drive. The two sisters had spent the trip speculating about Emily, and now Miss Horatia said as she climbed down from the perch, “We will have to wait until she wakes before we find out any more, Sister. Now we must get her to bed.” She turned and called in a loud voice, “Agnes! Bessie! Gertrude, come at once!”

The door to the hall opened and three elderly maids came down the steps, exclaiming at the unexpected guest and asking a dozen questions all at once.

“Yes, yes, later we will explain everything,” Miss Horatia Rutherford said. “Agnes and Bessie, you will help me carry her into the house. We will put her in the blue bedroom. Gertrude, you and Hortense run ahead and put clean sheets on the bed immediately.”

Still Emily had not moved or opened her eyes, and perhaps that was just as well, for with Agnes and Bessie each supporting her under an arm, and Miss Rutherford taking her feet, she had an awkward journey. The women were not able to avoid bumping her arm on the door jamb or knocking her foot against the newel post as they started slowly up the stairs.

Miss Hortense spared a glance back over the railings as she hurried to the blue bedroom, and not for the first time wished for the assistance of a pair of tall, strong footmen, but she was careful to keep this thought to herself.

9

Four days later, Emily had still not regained consciousness, and Doctor Spears, who drove out every day, was beginning to become alarmed, although he hid this from the dithery Miss Hortense as best he could. He would like to have discussed the case with her more sensible older sister, but Miss Horatia was never present for his visits, and he knew he had not the least expectation of seeing her. Now, as he gazed down at the still, white face of his patient, he frowned, and Miss Hortense shook her head sadly, her gray sausage curls bobbing in her distress.

“Dear Doctor Spears,” she whispered, as if a normal voice would disturb the sleeping girl, “what are we to do?
I
am so afraid that Pegasus has killed her, after all.” She sobbed and raised her handkerchief to her face, and the doctor took her hand in his to comfort her.

“I must admit I expected her to rouse long before this, but even so, there is no immediate danger that I can see. There is so little we know about head injuries; perhaps this long spell of unconsciousness is nature’s way of healing. Let us hope so. You will continue to administer the drops and give her as much water as you can get her to swallow. I know it takes a long time, but it is most important.”

“That does not matter, Doctor, indeed it does not,” Miss Hortense said as he picked up his bag and started for the door. “My sister and I will naturally do all we can for the poor girl. Oh, I almost forgot,” she added as she escorted the doctor down the stairs. “Have there been any inquiries for her in Brighton? We would be so much more comfortable if we knew who her family is. That is almost the worst thing of
all, knowing that somewhere someone is worrying about her, in an agony for not knowing what has become of her. Oh, dear!”

The doctor shook his head. “No, no one has inquired. It is very strange. Surely there must be some kin, a servant even
...
most strange!” He shook his head again and then remarked as he took his hat and cane from one of the maids, “Be sure to send for me immediately she wakens, Miss Hortense. I will come at once.”

Hortense saw him out and then went back to the sickroom to find her sister sitting beside the bed. She did not explain what the doctor had said, for she knew Horatia had been hiding in the adjoining dressing room during his visit, listening carefully. Now she rose, and Miss Hortense took her place beside Emily.

“I shall be back at noon, Sister,” Horatia said in her curt voice. “I do hope it will not be much longer before the girl comes to herself, for then we can dispense with all these visits. It is not at all what I like. Hmmmph!”

She whisked herself from the room, and her sister picked up one of Emily’s limp hands and patted it gently. Even if she is unconscious, the old lady thought to herself, perhaps she will know that she is not alone, that someone cares about her and waits with her.

It was late that same afternoon when Emily slowly opened her eyes. There was a dull throbbing at her temple, and she raised her hand to her head, staring about her in wonder at the quiet, dim room. It hurt to move her head, so she lay still, wondering a little where she was.

“Oh, my dear, at last,” she heard a breathless voice exclaim. “What lovely eyes you have, so unusual. But don’t move, I must tell Horatia at once and send one of the maids for the doctor. Mind now, you must not move.”

Emily watched the tall old lady bustle to the door and smiled. She felt so weak she did not think she could flex a single muscle, and yet the lady seemed to feel she was about to leap from the bed and disappear before she could return. She closed her eyes again and stayed very still until she heard footsteps coming back into the room. “You are silly, Sister,” a harsh voice exclaimed. “You say she woke? She looks remarkably unconscious to me. Are you sure you are not just making it up?”

“Of course not, Horatia, she was awake. I saw her eyes, a lovely shade of green. Oh, my dear, have you left us again?” Emily opened her eyes then and tried to smile. “The Lord be praised,” Miss Hortense said, bending over her. “Now, you must not worry, my dear. The doctor will be here soon.”

“But ... but what happened? Why does my head hurt?” Emily whispered. “I do not understand
...”
Her voice, coming from a dry throat, seemed stiff and rusty to her ears.

“You were in an accident, young lady,” Miss Horatia told her as she poured out a glass of water.

“We have been so worried about you,” the other lady added. “But we will tell you everything that happened, I promise.”

“No more talking now, it will tire you,” Miss Horatia said, helping her to sit up a little so she could drink the cool water. As grateful as she was, Emily was glad to lie down again, for her head was swimming. “Now you must rest until the doctor comes,” Miss Hortense added.

Emily closed her eyes obediently, for she felt very weak and shaky and so she did not see the two old ladies tiptoe to the door. As they went out, Emily frowned. It was all so confusing. There was no sound in the room but the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel, and comforted a little by the homey, familiar sound, she dropped off to sleep.

She slept until the doctor came an hour later, and she woke feeling stronger when she felt his hand on her pulse.

“Welcome back,” he said with a comfortable smile. “You were beginning to worry us, young lady.”

Again, Emily’s hand went to her head. There was a swelling there, tender to the touch, and she winced as the doctor gently probed the spot. “It was much larger four days ago,” he reassured her, and then he asked, “You have the headache, do you not? How else do you feel?”

Haltingly, Emily told him of her weakness, but assured him that she did not hurt anywhere except for the bump on her head.

The doctor nodded and patted her hand. “That is to be expected. You must remain in bed until you are stronger, but I expect some nourishing food will soon take care of that. When you do get up, I do not want you to rush into too much activity at once. I will leave you some powders to ease the pain and help you to sleep.”

He moved away to his bag that was set on a table near the bed, and Emily stared at her nurse. “But where am I?” she asked.

“You are at Rutherford Hall, my dear, and I am Miss Hortense Rutherford,” the lady replied, bobbing her curls and smiling. “I live here with my sister, Miss Horatia. Do you remember seeing her before?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “But ... but where is Rutherford Hall?”

“It is some six miles from Brighton, where the accident happened. I was never more shocked in my life when Pegasus ran you down. Dear, dear! I would never have forgiven myself if you had been hurt seriously, although it was all the fault of those nasty bo—
children
.”

Emily closed her eyes again. Rutherford Hall
...
Brighton
...
Pegasus? Nothing made any sense to her.

“Now, dearie,” Miss Hortense said, taking her hand and patting it gently, “you must tell us your name so we can notify your family. We have been so concerned, for we know how they must be worrying about you.”

Emily opened her mouth to answer, and then shut it as her eyebrows came back together in a frown. “I ... I don’t know who I am. My mind is completely blank.”

While Miss Hortense clucked, Doctor Spears came quickly back to the bedside and stared down at her. “I had not foreseen this, but of course with a head injury it is entirely possible. But you are not to worry about your loss of memory, young lady, for it may reappear at any time. Just concentrate on getting well and do not be racking your brains for your identity. It will come back in its own good time. I will return in a few days to see how you are getting along.”

Emily swallowed and nodded a little, as Miss Hortense, her blue eyes wide with shock at what she had just heard, went to the door with the doctor.

As soon as they left the room, Miss Horatia came around the screen set at the dressing-room door. Emily was staring straight up at the canopy of the four-poster bed, frowning a little, as if she expected to see her name written in its soft pleats.

“Now, none of that,” Miss Horatia commanded, straightening the bedcovers and raising her patient to plump the pillows. “You heard the orders!”

“I know,” Emily agreed. “But it is frightening not to know who you are, Miss Rutherford. Oh, what can my name be?”

“From what we can discover, you may have a choice,” the elder lady said dryly, but at Emily’s bewildered look she took pity on the girl and would say no more. “When you are stronger. Do not worry, there is plenty of time.”

Emily drifted off to sleep again and Miss Horatia stalked over to the window to stare with unseeing eyes into the unkempt garden below. “Yes, do not worry, we will keep you safe, my girl,” she whispered. “And yet, why do I have the strongest feeling that you are neither Regina Wiggins nor Margaret Nelson?” She closed her eyes for a moment and then shook herself as she added, “I am sure of it! As sure as I am that all your troubles are the doing of one or more of
them.
Hmmph!”

Physically, Emily regained her strength rapidly now that she was able to sit up and eat the good food that the maids brought her so regularly. She had made the acquaintance of them all, but besides wondering why the Rutherfords kept such elderly servants, she did not ask any questions. In a few days, she was able to take a few steps around the room, supported on either side, and she was glad she did not have to call for a bedpan anymore for her needs. She felt she was enough trouble as it was.

The Misses Rutherford were often with her, and although Miss Horatia was kind in her abrupt way, Emily much preferred her dithery sister. No one was allowed to mention her loss of memory, or ask her if it was coming back by orders of Miss Rutherford, but every morning Miss Hortense would bustle into the room in her dressing gown, the papers she put her curls up with still bristling all over her head, and her faded-blue eyes would look eager for a moment, until Emily shook her head with regret.

And so she became “the young lady” or “miss
”
to the maids, “dearie” to Miss Hortense and “my girl” to her sister.

Miss Horatia had sent Agnes into Brighton to inquire for either a Miss Nelson or a Mrs. Wiggins at all the inns, and the maid returned with Emily’s portmanteaus after settling her bill at the hostelry where she had been staying. The Rutherford ladies went through the baggage carefully, but nothing revealing Emily’s identity came to light, for all her papers and her mother’s letters were at the bottom of her trunk in the box room of Bradley’s Hotel awaiting her new direction.

The doctor continued to visit, at carefully specified times when Miss Horatia was sure to be absent, for Emily was still troubled with an occasional severe headache and dizzy spells, but outside of commending her on her returning good health, he had no new suggestions for any way she might regain her memory, merely telling her that nature would take care of that eventually, and all the fretting in the world would not bring back a single remembrance, either good or bad, before it was time.

Some days later, when Miss Horatia felt Emily was strong enough, they told her about the letters they had found in her reticule. They were all three taking tea in Emily’s room, and as soon as Bessie had curtsied after bringing in the tray and taken herself off, Miss Horatia laid the four letters before their guest.

Emily read the contents with a frown creasing her forehead. “But this does not make any sense, Miss Horatia,” she said. “Why are there two different names? Which one is mine?”

“You were known as Mrs. Wiggins at the Blue Boar, where we found your baggage,” the older lady said, frowning at her younger sister as she broke in to say impulsively, “Oh, do not be Mrs. Wiggins, dearie! Such a common, horrid name. Wiggins-Higgins-Piggins! Please
try
to be Miss Nelson.”

Emily had to laugh at her. “Of course I shall do my best, ma’am,” she twinkled. “I must admit I have no liking for the name ‘Wiggins’ myself. But where do you suppose, if that is truly my name, is
Mr.
Wiggins?”

Miss Hortense gasped and put her hands to her heart, blushing a bright red, while Miss Horatia turned pale and stiffened. Emily looked from one to the other in confusion.

“Well, my dearie, we cannot be sure there is one. No, I quite refuse to consider that such a lovely girl as you are would be burdened with such a name,” Miss Hortense said, speaking quickly and darting little glances at her sister’s rigid face.

Emily was rereading the letters and not attending. “It appears I am a lady’s maid. How strange. I don’t
feel
like one.
”

Miss Horatia deigned to speak again now that the dangerous subject of the possible Mr. Wiggins had passed. “Your educated words and accent are much at odds with the occupation. Perhaps you have been a lady’s maid, but I do not think you were meant to be one. The aura against it is very strong—very strong indeed.”

Emily looked confused again, and Miss Hortense patted her hand and said proudly, “Horatia sees auras, you know. She can sense things that are hidden from the rest of us.”

“I wish she could see who I am, then,” Emily remarked.

“It is impossible to make demands
on the spirits,” Miss Rutherford said, pouring out a cup of tea while her sister concentrated on selecting another cream puff. “The gift comes and goes; I cannot summon it at will.”

“The doctor said it would do you good to go out in the fresh air, dearie,” Miss Hortense said next, as soon as she had swallowed the last delicious bit of her pastry. “Perhaps tomorrow you can come outside to a lawn chair if it is a nice day.”

“I would like that.” Emily smiled. “I feel I must regain my strength so I can leave soon. I have been such a burden to you, and even if I do not know who
I
am, I cannot trespass on your hospitality much longer. Why, I have been here two weeks now.”

Both ladies refused to listen to her plans to go away; in fact, Miss Hortense became quite mournful, and a little tear slid down her fat cheek as she cried, “Oh, do not leave us, my dear! We never have any company anymore and we should enjoy a longer visit.”

Emily promised to remain some while longer to cheer her up, but insisted on helping with the work about the hall as soon as she was able. “I cannot sit in idleness like a grand
lady forever,” she said. “Perhaps if I was a lady’s maid, I could take care of you both, do some sewing or laundry, or
arrange your hair.”

But this, it seemed, was not to be allowed. “You are our guest, and besides, we have more servants than we need
already,” Miss Horatia said sternly.

“
Many
more than we need,” Miss Hortense added. “But Horatia will take them in! Besides Agnes, Bessie, and Gertrude, whom you have met, there is Annie and Gladys and Rose and Millie and Joan and Bertha and Mabel as well.”

“Have you forgotten Daisy, Pauline, Jane, and Sally, Hortense?” Miss Horatia asked, passing the plate of cakes to Emily, who was once again looking stunned at the number of maids the sisters employed.

“No, nor Deirdre and Deborah neither,” Miss Hortense crowed. “You forgot about them.”

“How could I forget when they cook such delicious meals,” Miss Horatia replied, rising from the tea table. “Come away now, Sister, and let the young lady rest. Your chatter has tired her, I know.”

Emily denied she was tired, but Miss Horatia refused to listen and swept her sister before her to the door. After the two had left, Emily sat on in her chair, her hands tightly clasped in her lap and her unseeing eyes staring at the opposite wall as she tried to still the terror she was beginning to feel rise in her breast whenever she thought about this mysterious lapse of memory she was suffering.