From Afar. John Russell Fearn
“Nothing of the kind!” Beryl interrupted. “You made a thorough examination of me this morning and pronounced me quite fit to be discharged. You must remember it.”
“Yes,” Mason admitted. “That is true.”
He looked at her for a moment as though trying to make up his mind about something, then he turned back to me again. “In accordance with your wishes, Mr. Shaw, I have had all the necessary arrangements made. Your car—repaired now I understand—is in the Crossways Garage. I had your home contacted and your housekeeper is expecting you and Mrs. Shaw today. A taxi will be here shortly at three o’clock. In fact,” Mason added, glancing through the window, “I believe it is here now.”
He got to his feet and pressed a button. A porter came and took away the bags, retrieved from the car, then Beryl looked at me expectantly and rose from her chair. Without so much as a word of farewell or thanks to Mason she followed the porter from the room. It was so unlike her usual graciousness I just couldn’t understand it.
“I must apologize for her, Doctor,” I said worriedly. “I’ve no idea why she is behaving like this. She seems to have forgotten everyday manners.”
“And yet she reacted perfectly to every psychological test we gave her. So it isn’t a peculiar form of amnesia....” Mason’s craggy face became thoughtful for a moment; then finally he shrugged. “She’s the queerest patient I have ever known.”
I shook the big hand he held out to me and he saw me to the door. Beryl was seated in the back of the taxi, waiting for me.
“He wants to know where we’re going,” she said, nodding to the driver. “Since I don’t know you’d better tell him.”
“But, Berry, you know where my home is: you’ve been to it many a time. Whatever’s the matter with your memory?”
“Suppose you tell him where to go and stop bothering about my memory?”
I hesitated for a moment, then turned to the driver:
“Keep on going until you get to the village, then I’ll direct you from there.”
He nodded and closed the door upon us when I had settled beside Beryl. Soon we were speeding down the Sanatorium driveway and so out into the main road.
We had covered five miles and gone right past that fateful spot where we had had the collision before Beryl seemed to think it necessary to speak again, and then her words only served to deepen the confusion in my mind.
“What are we going to do with our lives from now on, Richard Shaw?”
“Did—did you call me—Richard Shaw?” I whispered.
“Yes, of course. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
I caught at her hand and held it tightly.
“Listen, Berry, if this is some kind of a joke you are trying to keep up for God’s sake bring it to an end right now. I’ve had every bit as much as I can stand! Richard Shaw indeed! I’m Dick to you, and always have been, just as you are Berry to me.”
The absurdity of having to explain such a thing to her did not occur to me at the moment. Actually I think I believed at that time that she definitely was a victim of some kind of brain trouble. And yet she did not look vague—anything but it. Her blue eyes were fixed on me, gazing, not exactly at me, but through me, to something beyond....
“All right,” she said presently, “It’s Dick from now on. But I still want to know what we are going to do with our lives. What does one usually do?”
This was about the limit! I was beginning to think of myself as a teacher forced to instruct a grown woman with the brain of a child. What a task for a newly-married husband who had been looking forward to wedded bliss!
“You really mean you don’t know—or at any rate can’t remember—how we are to live?” I asked incredulously.
“I mean just that, yes. Why do you take so long to answer?”
“Because it’s such a damned impossible thing to realize!” I retorted. “Anyway we are going to live together ‘until death us do part,’ else we run into such intolerable circumstances that we decide to part legally from each other.”
“I understand we are going to live in your house?” she asked after a while.
“Right,” I assented. “You’ll soon get your health back there. There will be plenty of people about to keep you from getting depressed—”
“I don’t like people,” she interrupted. “In fact I don’t think your home is going to suit me for a moment. I want somewhere quiet and undisturbed, where the only interruptions are those we make ourselves.”
“You want quiet!” I exclaimed. “Berry, to me you just aren’t the same girl. Why, until the accident your one joy in life was the company of other people. You just lived on thrills, went the round of the shows. This new attitude is beyond my understanding.”
“Don’t forget that I’ve been ill,” she said—but I felt somehow that she was only using this for an excuse. “It’s only natural that I should want rest and quiet—”
She broke off and pointed suddenly through the window.
“There! That’s the kind of place I mean!”
I looked quickly as the taxi went speeding along the main road, and for a moment I had a glimpse of a massive, detached house, extremely old-fashioned in the Georgian style, lying well back in its own grounds. Slanting lopsidedly over the untidy hedge was a notice board “FOR SALE,” but we were going too fast for me to get the name of the agent.
“That would be marvelous!” Beryl breathed, looking back through the rear window. “So quiet...so restful!”
She swung round to me with the first show of emotion she had revealed so far.
“Dick, I want that place!” she said abruptly.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I promised, but all the same I made up my mind that I wouldn’t even refer to it again unless she did. Its very appearance had given me the creeps....
She became silent again, but I noticed that she paid particular attention to the name of the village as we passed an Automobile Club sign—Bilton-on-Maybury. Evidently she had conceived a liking for the place even if I hadn’t.
Very little further conversation passed between us until twenty minutes later the taxi drew up outside my home. I helped Beryl to alight while the driver went ahead with our bags.
Beryl stood surveying the house for a time, then she looked at the busy main road, and sighed.
“We’re not going to stay here, Dick!” Her voice was so cold and decisive on this point it did not even leave me the chance to argue.
Mrs. Wilson, my cheery old housekeeper, was there at the door to welcome us; She directed the taxi driver to put the bags in the hall, then turned to us with a smile. Beryl, though, gave her one look and strode right past her to finish up in the middle of the hall looking about her. Mrs. Wilson looked after her with a curious, rather hurt gaze, then she turned back to me.
“Glad to see you back again, Mr. Shaw,” she said, in genuine pleasure. “What a terrible thing it was to happen to you and—and Mrs. Shaw! And just as you were going on your honeymoon, too!”
“We’re all right now,” I assured her. Then, bethinking myself I added rather dubiously, “At least I am. I’m afraid Beryl is still suffering from the after-effects.... I want you to meet her. Berry!” I called.
Lost in thought Beryl gave a noticeable start, then she came forward slowly.
“Berry, I want you to meet our housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson. She and her husband take care of everything—”
“He’s out shopping,” Mrs. Wilson