“WELL, IT IS one of the queerest things I ever heard of!” Garth Davenant’s dark face looked puzzled. “You say the girl cannot give any account of herself at all?” Mavis shook her head.
“No, she has for the time being entirely lost her memory. Dr. Grieve says she has had some great shock, and that she is in a state of intense nervous prostration.”
“Grieve is a muff, in my opinion,” remarked Mr. Davenant irreverently. “If the girl is as bad as you say, she ought to have other advice.”
“Oh, I don’t think so!” Mavis dissented. “Dr. Grieve says that what she needs is absolute rest and careful nursing; then he thinks her memory will come back to her gradually.”
“Umph!” said Garth sceptically. “And where is I this rest and nursing to be obtained, may I ask? Lady Laura will hardly wish to keep her indefinitely at the Manor, I conclude?”
“She will stay with us until she is well,” Mavis said indignantly. “Don’t be so hard-hearted, Garth. I am sure mother will not let her go; she thanked us all so prettily this morning for what we had done for her, and; seemed so distressed to think of the trouble she was giving, and I fell quite in love with her.”
Garth pulled his brown moustache moodily as he looked at her flushed face. The two, having met at the park gates, were now walking up to the Manor together, and Garth had been listening with amazement to Mavis’s story of the discovery of the unknown girl in the park the preceding evening.
“Was there absolutely no clue to her identity about her clothes?” he asked after a pause.
“Her things were all marked ‘Hilda’ or with a big ‘H’ which means the same thing. We think she must have been staying somewhere near and have had some great trouble,” Mavis went on speculatively. “We have no idea what it might have been, but I cannot help wondering whether she had quarrelled with the man she loved; perhaps he had played her false in some way or other. I don’t think anything could be quite so bad as that, Garth,” with a shy, trustful glance. “I—I know it would make me very miserable.”
Garth Davenant’s eyes were very tender as he looked down at her; he caught her slender fingers in his. “My darling!” he whispered.
Mavis blushed prettily as she drew them away, but she was too thoroughly in earnest to be turned away from her subject.
“So, you see,” she went on after a moment, “that is a reason why I feel that I ought to be especially good to this poor girl. Think of all that she may have suffered before her brain gave way under the strain and left everything a blank. I must do what I can for her; if one is very happy oneself one ought to try to help other people. Don’t you think so, Garth?”
‘Y–es!” Garth hesitated. “Only, Mavis, I cannot help saying that, though things may certainly be capable of a perfectly innocent interpretation the whole affair is so extraordinary that one cannot help regarding it with a certain amount of suspicion. And I cannot bear to think of your being brought into daily contact with a girl who may be little better than an adventuress.”
“Garth!” Mavis cried indignantly. “If you had seen her you could never apply such an expression to her. Why, even Arthur says that she is simply one of the prettiest and sweetest-looking girls he has ever met!”
“Don’t you think that, as I have not seen her, I may possibly be all the better able to look at matters without prejudice on that very account?” Garth suggested mildly.
“Without prejudice, indeed!” Mavis repeated scornfully. “I think mother and Arthur can quite be trusted to look after our companions—Dorothy’s and mine. No, Garth”—as he tried to take her hands again—“I am not pleased with you.’’
There was no one in sight; the big trees of the avenue screened them from sight of the house. Garth ventured to slip one arm around the girl’s waist.
“Aren’t you, Mavis? Won’t you forgive me, if I promise to take this newly-discovered young woman at your valuation for the future?”
For a moment the girl held back stiffly, but Mavis never bore malice; the next moment she had turned to Davenant with her own sunny smile.
“Certainly I will! And, Garth’’—with an effort—“I know I was wrong. I must not expect you always to think as I do, and I know that a barrister must be brought into contact with all sorts of people, and naturally becomes distrustful. We must,” smiling bravely, “agree to differ; that is it, isn’t it?”
Garth drew the slight form closer to him and bent his head until his dark moustache just brushed the soft cheek.
“Darling, you know I—”
“Hallo! You two—”
The sudden shout discomposed them, and they sprang apart, looking considerably startled as Sir Arthur cantered up behind them.
“Many apologies!” he began, laughing at Mavis’s hot cheeks. “I am extremely sorry to disturb you good people, but I have just been over to Chadfield on the chance that they might know something of our mysterious visitor; and I am anxious to get back to hear Dr. Grieve’s report. They told me at his house that he had already come up to see the stranger.”
“Did they know anything at Chadfield?” Mavis interrogated breathlessly.
“Not a word.” Arthur took off his hat and rubbed his forehead. “It’s a queer affair altogether. What do you make of it, Davenant?”
“I should prefer to see the young lady before I commit myself to an opinion,” Garth replied diplomatically, with a glance at Mavis’s averted face.
“Well, I think we have now pretty well exhausted the houses around here,” Sir Arthur went on, walking his horse beside them. “Chadfield was really my last hope. How on earth the girl got into the Park I cannot imagine; no one seems to have seen her, and the lodge-keeper is sure that the gate was locked all the evening.”
Garth made no reply, but as they walked on to the house together his face was very grave. Fond as he was of Mavis’s brother, neither his very real affection for him nor the fact of his relationship to Mavis could disguise from him Arthur’s weakness of will and instability of purpose.
Thus he was doubly inclined to mistrust the introduction, in such extraordinary circumstances, of a new inmate amidst the family at Hargreave Manor. Arthur turned to him as they reached the house.
“You will come in, Garth, and hear what the doctor says?”
After a momentary hesitation Davenant assented, and they entered the house together, just as Dr. Grieve came downstairs.
“Oh, Dr. Grieve, she is better, isn’t she?” Mavis asked, after shaking hands with him. “Can she remember anything yet? Have you found out her name?”
“One at a time, my dear young lady, one at a time! The patient is not in a very satisfactory state, I regret to say. There is a good deal of cerebral excitement, and the action of the heart is weak—decidedly weak!”
Sir Arthur opened the dining-room door.
“Come in, doctor; you must try a glass of my port, and tell us what is the best thing for your patient.”
Jenkins, the butler, produced glasses and a decanter, while the doctor beamed upon them complacently and Mavis fidgeted impatiently.
“Splendid colour, Sir Arthur,” Dr. Grieve remarked appreciatively as after a sip or two he held the glass up to the light and regarded it critically. “I remember Sir Noel laying it down before you were born, or Miss Mavis there,” with a reminiscent chuckle. “Yes, my memory carries me back a long way! I’m not like our young friend upstairs, who has forgotten her own name, poor young thing—can’t even remember where she was yesterday morning! It is a sad case, Sir Arthur.”
“She knows no more this morning, then?” Sir Arthur asked concernedly. “My mother said she recognized her at once, and we thought that a good sign.”
The doctor put the tips of his fingers together and surveyed him over the top of them.
“I dare say. She remembered seeing me last night, for the matter of that; but up to the time you discovered her in the park her mind is a perfect blank. I did not ask her questions, but I applied a few simple tests.”
“And the result?” Sir Arthur’s tone was calm, but an under-current of anxiety ran through it which made Garth glance at him keenly.
“Entirely confirmed my diagnosis of last evening, I regret to say,” Dr Grieve returned. “The very faculty of memory is for the time being entirely dormant, overclouded by some great shock.”
“But she will recover?” Mavis interjected anxiously.
The doctor turned to her with a benign smile.
“Recover her bodily health undoubtedly, my dear Miss Mavis. As for her memory”—after a noticeable pause—“one can but do the best and trust to Time, the great healer. Of one thing you may be assured, absolute rest is the very best thing for her—for some days at any rate—and quite possibly by that time you will have ascertained something definite about her friends. Lady Laura tells me that it is your intention to keep her here for the present.”
“Undoubtedly, it is!” Sir Arthur said with decision. “In fact, as it appears to me, we have no choice in the matter.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “She could be admitted to the Cottage Hospital at Lockford, you know; and for some reasons I am inclined to think it might be the wiser course.”
“Why so?” Sir Arthur’s tone was curt. The little line between his straight brows told that the suggestion had displeased him.
Dr Grieve hesitated a moment and drummed his fingers on the table absently.
“Well, there might be complications—the idea of a beautiful young woman such as this wandering about the country by herself naturally suggests that. But quite apart from any such idea”—as Sir Arthur made a hasty gesture of dissent—“the nursing there would be a slight matter, while here—”
“Surely we can look after one girl amongst us?” Mavis said quickly. “Dorothy and I are both going to help, and my maid, Minnie Spencer, is a very good girl.”
“A very good girl, I have no doubt, Miss Mavis,” the doctor said as he beamed at her over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles. “But I am afraid our patient requires rather more attention than I could impose upon either of you two young ladies or upon Minnie Spencer. Now at the Cottage Hospital—”
“The Cottage Hospital is out of the question,” Sir Arthur interrupted brusquely. “I beg your pardon, doctor. But this young lady is in some sort our guest. We could not entertain such a suggestion for an instant. Still, if you think she requires further care, by all means let her have a trained nurse here. Can you get one for us?”
Dr. Grieve stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“They can’t spare one at the Cottage Hospital, I am sure of that. I might telegraph to Exeter, but I doubt our being able to get one from there to-day. I know they are very busy. Well, we must do our best.”
Garth Davenant had taken no part in the conversation after the first; he had been looking abstractedly through the window and fidgeting about from one foot to the other, but as the doctor spoke his face lighted up. He turned round.
“Upon my word, I believe I can help you there, doctor. You remember Mary Marston?”
“Yes, I remember Mary—she has been trained at one of the London hospitals. You don’t mean—‘‘
“She is at home now, I know—or was yesterday afternoon. She has been nursing on her own account lately—has severed her connection with the hospital, I believe. She has been at home for a holiday, but I heard she was anxious to be at work again. I dare say she would come.”
“The very thing!” Dr. Grieve exclaimed. “If you approve, Sir Arthur, you could send for her. She could come up to-day and the worst of our difficulty would be over.”
“Certainly,” Arthur said heartily. “I remember Mary Marston well; she was always a nice, reliable woman. My mother will like it better than having a stranger.”
“I will go down and ask her to come if you like,” Garth interposed.
“The very thing!” the doctor said again as he rose.
“Then you will tell her to be here as soon as she can, Mr. Davenant?”
“One moment, doctor,” Garth went on, as the little man turned to the door. “Wouldn’t you be inclined to suggest a consultation? It seems to me such a strange case!”
Dr. Grieve did not look quite pleased.
“Not the least necessity for that! Any doctor would only tell you, as I do, that rest and quiet are the best things for her. We can do no more at present. Ah, here comes Miss Dorothy! My dear, you are a sight for sore eyes this morning!” as the girl, looking very fresh and sweet in her simple morning-gown, came running down the stairs.
She laughed and blushed.
“You have not forgotten how to pay compliments, I see, Dr. Grieve. Mavis, Aunt Laura wants you for one moment,” with a laughing glance at Garth, whose expression at the moment was by no means attractive.
The long morning with Mavis upon which he had been reckoning was out of the question now, and his stay at Lockford was limited. But the cause of his dissatisfaction lay deeper than the mere disappointment; the more he heard of it the more inexplicable did the discovery of last night appear to him, and the less did he relish the idea of this unknown girl being brought into daily contact with Mavis.
Mavis’s whispered promise to come down again when he returned from Nurse Marston’s house served to dissipate the clouds for the moment, however, and while she ran upstairs he turned to Dr. Grieve, and, chatting with him, turned down the steps.
Arthur was left alone with his cousin; he crossed to her as she stood near the fireplace with Nero lying at her feet, his eyes upturned with an expression of ridiculous devotion.
“Dorothy, I wanted to ask you—”
The girl’s eyes glanced round nervously; the pretty faint colour in her cheeks flickered.
“I—I don’t think I must stay now, Arthur. I told Aunt Laura I would sit with that poor girl a while this morning. Dr. Grieve says she ought not to be left alone.”
“That is very good of you!” Arthur said heartily. Not for a moment did he glance at the girl’s downcast face—his eyes were straying absently to the door and watching Dr. Grieve as he bent down from his dog-cart for a last word with Garth Davenant. “It was about her that I wanted to speak to you,” he went on. “Have you seen her already? How does she strike you this morning?”
“I hardly know,” Dorothy said, vaguely chilled by his manner. “She has not spoken when I have been in the room, and Minnie says that for the most part she lies quite still with her eyes wide open, though every now and then she will moan or cry mournfully to herself.”
Her cousin’s face looked very pitiful.
“Poor girl! I wish we could do more for her.”
“It is very queer that we cannot hear of her friends,” Dorothy said thoughtfully. “She is very pretty, Arthur.”
“It is the most beautiful face I have ever seen!” he declared enthusiastically. “The features are perfect, and her colouring—did you notice what glorious masses of hair? Just the colour Titian would have loved to paint! One can only imagine what she would be like in health; but even last night—” He broke off suddenly. “Well, I must not keep you from her, Dorothy. If she will only let me paint her later on—”
For in the intervals unoccupied by his different crazes he was wont to devote himself to painting, and was by no means destitute of artistic abilities.
The vague unrest in Dorothy’s eyes deepened, her lips quivered a little.
“It—oh, I should think she will!” she said simply. “For the Elaine, you mean, don’t you? I—we must all try to persuade her, Arthur.”
“Thank you! Hasn’t she exactly the ideal face for which I have been waiting? I knew you would understand,” he said heartily. “Thank you for all you are doing for her, Dorothy.”