The Elsingham Portrait

Four


Kathryn might have taken heart if she had been able to observe Lord John’s behavior in the next few hours. Leaving instructions for her care with Bennet and the butler, he drove his curricle to the consulting rooms of Dr. Anders. He had a lengthy talk with that worthy, telling him exactly what his patient had said.

Dr. Anders shook his head soberly. “I don’t like the sound of this, my lord, and that I’ll tell you. Your lordship knows what would be the general opinion if such wild talk were to be repeated—”

“Then I trust you won’t repeat it, sir,” said Lord John.

“Of course I won’t,” the little doctor snapped. “Have I not been doctor to Elsinghams since before you were born? Is it likely I’d go nattering around the town with a story sure to bring your lady into trouble?”

“I’m worried, Anders,” confessed Lord John reluctantly. “She seems to be so sure—and she’s different.”

Anders pounced on that. “In what way?”

“Well, even Bennet—my old nurse; I’ve asked her to take care of Nadine—even Bennet remarked on her manner of speech. Since the accident it is different. She uses words I’d swear Nadine hadn’t known. Her voice is softer, more musical,” he grimaced in sudden embarrassment at the term, but went on steadily, “She has an accent, but it definitely is not the Irish brogue I once found so charming.”

“So. Her ladyship speaks differently. What else?”

“She knows things Nadine didn’t know about history—”

“But we have agreed that her ladyship is quite wrong about this war she claims has happened, have we not?” Anders reminded him.

Lord John frowned. “She says it’s going to happen.”

The other man’s lifted eyebrows stopped him.

“We’ll have to wait awhile to learn the rights of that, won’t we, milord?” the doctor commented drily.

“Her talk of atomic bombs and space flight,” persisted Lord John. “Isn’t that significant? Nadine knew nothing and cared less for science in any form.”

“But you did say her ladyship claimed to be a reader of romantic tales,” the older man reminded him.

“Where would she have found such fantastical ideas as a landing of men on the moon? Not in my library!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, milord. Your father had a fine classical library, Greek and Roman authors, many translated into English. I recall him mentioning, over a glass of sherry, the day you were born, milord, one Lucian of Samosata, whose hero voyages to the moon. On the thrust of a waterspout, if I recall correctly,” he ended with a smile. And in the face of the involuntary gesture of protest from Lord John, he continued firmly, “There is, however, a matter of more urgent concern which I must discuss with you, milord. Speaking of your father, you are very like him. A most impulsive man was Lord Harold, and overly quick to action.”

Lord John’s lips opened to make quick protest, and then shaped into a reluctant grin. “Doing it much too brown, Anders. My father was the most rigidly controlled—”

“Impulsive,” repeated the doctor firmly, “and emotional. It hastened his end. Allow me to know: I was his personal physician for over forty years. Now, I shall expect you to receive the information I am about to impart to you with calm—or at least with control.” He frowned at the younger man. “Early this morning, Mrs. Bennet sent a footman to me with a small brown clay bottle she had found on the floor of her ladyship’s room, half-hidden by the bed-curtains. She felt I should know about it. It contained a drug—but not any drug which I had ever prescribed for her ladyship. I sent it to an apothecary to confirm my suspicions. I’ll not worry you with its Latin name, milord, but tell you shortly that the little phial contained a most dangerous drug, whose continued use would be mind-destroying.”

Lord John stared at him with a stunned expression. Then, “God!” he snapped. “Are you telling me that Nadine—”

“I am telling you nothing except that Mrs. Bennet says she found this near your wife’s bed.”

“Bennet wouldn’t lie,” said Lord John heavily. “Is this the reason for these wild tales of Nadine’s?”

Dr. Anders regarded him sourly. “You jump to conclusions, milord. No one has suggested that her ladyship is in the habit of dosing herself with that foul muck.”

“Then how—who—?”

“Bennet told me that your wife was put into considerable agitation at the presence of her dresser—”

“Donner!” shouted Lord John, and turned to leave the consulting room in haste.

“Lord John!” The doctor halted him. “Again you go too fast, milord. Nothing is yet proven. But we now have,” he relented enough to admit, “some alternate speculations which may eventually lead us to the truth about this disturbing matter. My counsel at the moment is that you investigate quietly, first ascertaining the whereabouts of the woman Donner and placing her under close observation—”

“Too late,” admitted his lordship wryly. “My cursed impulsive nature! I sent her packing yesterday.”

The doctor pursed his lips. “You had better make sure she actually went.”

“By God, I’ll do that,” promised his lordship grimly, and took his leave.

*****



His second call was at the elegant lodgings of one of his two best friends, Mr. Randall Towne. That exquisite was entertaining the third member of their friendship, Lord Peter Masterson, at a belated breakfast.

Two less similar men would have been hard to find among London’s haut ton. Randall was slender, dark-haired, volatile; Lord Peter appeared to be a lazy giant of a man, but his reflexes were amazingly fast, as his intimates had reason to know.

Randall greeted the new arrival with his usual high good humor. “What ho, Johnny! Whither away so early this fine morning—or is it afternoon?”

Lord Peter contented himself with a slow smile and a simple “Johnny.”

Randall continued, “Draw a chair and have a bite of this ham. It’s quite tolerable. And some ale, or coffee? I think there’s some left.”

Lord Peter was unobtrusively scanning his friend’s face. Now he said quietly, “Do sit down, Johnny. Is something wrong?”

Lord John took a chair at the table and accepted a cup of coffee. He stirred it slowly. “I need—”

His friends waited.

“What?” prodded Randall, after a moment.

Peter kept chewing ham meditatively, his eyes on his friend.

John shrugged. “Help? Advice? Yes, perhaps that’s the word. I need your advice.”

The other two men exchanged wary glances.

“Lady Nadine hasn’t—” began Randall.

“Only too happy—” Peter was saying at the same instant. Both stopped, disconcerted.

Lord John considered them for a moment, then said, “I shall have to confide in you. My—that is, Nadine—fell down the stairs yesterday and broke her arm—”

Randall broke in, “Have you forgotten, old chap? That’s what you had us informing all your guests last night, while you were at the palace making your excuses to His Majesty.”

“Needn’t treat Johnny like the Village Idiot,” murmured Peter, “even if he occasionally acts that way. He remembers what we did last night. This is probably something else. Why don’t you let him tell us?”

Ignoring this exchange, John said, “The broken arm is the least of the troubles.”

“You don’t mean that painter feller—?” began Randall.

Peter silenced him with a frown. “Let him finish!”

“My wife tells me she is someone called Kathryn—” began Lord John.

“Catherine what?” interrupted the irrepressible Randall.

“What does it matter?” snapped John at the end of his patience. “We know her name is Nadine.”

But Randall wouldn’t accept this. “Much better to find out who she is. It could matter a great deal. I’ve known some pretty frightful Catherines in my time, old boy. I had a cousin, twice removed . . .! And there was that shrew Kate in the Taming play—”

“Ignore his maunderings,” advised Peter wearily, “or we’ll never get to the problem.”

John set his teeth. “I come here on a matter which is, to me at least, of great importance, and you clowns turn it into some kind of jest—”

“Not at all!” Lord Peter protested. “I was merely trying to silence this crowing cock so you could proceed.”

“I’m not sure I’ve the stomach for it,” said Lord John grimly. “However—! My wife further informs me that she lives in New York City, in America, and that she—” he hesitated, then concluded in a voice without inflection, “lives there in the year 1974.”

Even the voluble Randall was struck silent.

After a pause, Lord Peter asked quietly, “And the doctor?”

John shrugged. “Observe—wait . . . I don’t know what to think. She—asked me to help her.”

Randall exploded angrily. “Well, I know what to think! If you’ll forgive me, or even if you won’t, John, I’ll tell you what I think!”

“Oh, Lord,” murmured Peter.

“I think,” persisted Randall angrily, “that she’s playing another of her tricks on you, John, and I wouldn’t stand for it. The whole town’s talking—”

“Am I to suppose, from that, that you have made all of London conversant with my private affairs?” asked Lord John, stiffly.

“You are to suppose no such thing, Johnny,” corrected Peter. “Take a damper. This little cock crows loud, but never clucks a word about anything important.”

“Well, thank you!” gasped the cock, much affronted.

Lord Peter continued, “You know we don’t talk, Johnny, but as your closest friends, we—know things have been . . .”

“Bound to,” agreed Randall. “Peter was your second at that duel—”

Lord Peter ignored him. “How can we help you?”

Lord John shrugged, spread his hands.

Peter said slowly, “You loved her once, and she loved you enough to marry you—”

Randall sneered. “Fustian!”

“No, let him speak, Randy.”

Peter continued quietly, “You say she is appealing to you for help on strange grounds. Surely if she were trying some trick, she would never have offered such an insane story. For one thing, it puts her at your mercy. With such evidence, you’d have no trouble putting her away under restraint.”

“She knows that. And she sticks to her story.” He got up and paced around the room. “She’s different.”

“In what way?” Randall was still suspicious.

“Her voice is changed and she uses a different vocabulary. It’s —uncanny, hearing that voice from Nadine’s mouth.”

Peter got up and joined his friend at the window. “Would you like us to come around and speak to her?”

Randall frowned and shook his head at this rash offer, but Lord John accepted gratefully.

“Thank you, yes! You’ve both met Nadine, talked with her. Dr. Anders had never seen my wife before—she was never sick a day in her life—so he wouldn’t notice a change even if there was one.”

“We can’t just go bursting into Lady Nadine’s bedroom,” objected Randall. Then he caught Peter’s eye and blushed.

Peter spoke hastily. “We’ll go tomorrow. Bring flowers and all that. Warn your people to expect us, Johnny.”

Lord John smiled at him ruefully. “Thank you. I know you’ll hate it, but I have to be sure. You see, Bennet says my wife’s frightened—and innocent.”

Randall’s laugh grated harshly. “Tell that to someone who was not your second at the duel last month. Was it an innocent caused you to get that scar on your face?”

“Be quiet,” commanded Lord Peter sternly. “We’ll go, John.”

“Just talk with Nadine. Tell me if I’ve been wrong.”

Randall snorted. “Can’t you see that’s what she wants? To confuse you? To work on your sympathies till you relinquish your plan to send her to Ireland?”

“The young cock has a point, Johnny,” admitted Lord Peter. “There is a chance she may be trying to create a reasonable doubt in your mind, so you’ll—”

“Take her off the hook?” interrupted John with the ghost of a smile.

“That’s very good! Where did you pick it up?” asked Randall, struck by the phrase.

“From my wife. She says it’s common usage in the twentieth century. She has a number of interesting turns of speech.”

Lord Peter rested his hand briefly on his friend’s shoulder. “Tomorrow at two.”

“Thank you. And you, Randy? Will you accompany our Peter to make sure his soft heart doesn’t betray his sober judgment?”

“Soft head is more like it,” grumbled Randall, rising and pulling the bell-rope for his servant. “We’re off to Tattersall’s to look at the horseflesh. Will you join us?”

“No, I’ve one more call to make. There is someone who may know a great deal about this situation—”

“Another doctor, John?” interrupted Randall. “Do you go to secure a second medical opinion?”

“No, I’m going to the House of Parliament. There’s a man there who may have some answers. Edmund Burke. He’s political secretary to Lord Rockingham. If anyone knows about the situation in America, Burke does.”

After Lord John had taken his leave, the two friends regarded one another gloomily.

“Parliament!” Randall sighed in exasperation. “It’s my belief Johnny’s touched in his loft.”

“Poor Johnny.”

“That cursed female!” Randall said bitterly. “She’s made his life a hell. He hasn’t been his own man since he married her. Damme, it’s like witchcraft!”

“Being Johnny, he has to give her every chance,” said Lord Peter. “What d’you suppose she’s up to now?”

“She’s wicked, Peter. She even cast out lures to me—her husband’s best friend! I told her I’d as soon embrace a cobra. She hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Peter was forced to smile. “You’re a little diplomat, aren’t you?”

“You know what she is! How can we help her to ruin Johnny’s life?”

“And who,” said Lord Peter lazily, “says we are going to help her?”