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Authors: Charles Todd
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It was very kind of you to, Bess. May I call you Bess? You are a very strong friend. I just wish I knew what the quarrel was about. Roger wouldn’t tell me anything. I wouldn’t have known he’d struck her if I hadn’t seen her face as she passed me. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But then Roger has been very tense, you know. I expect the war takes a greater toll than we can imagine.”
“It’s very difficult,” I said carefully, “to be killing people one day and the next to be standing in your own doorway, trying to remember what it’s like to be a part of a family again, if only for a short time.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that light. Yes, I take your point. He brought the war home with him, then, and we none of us recognized it.”
I believed it went deeper than that, but I said nothing. Just then the door opened, and a man stuck his head out, calling for Mrs. Ellis. We got out together. Inside the entrance hall, Dr. Tilton, a balding man with a paunch, led us to his study, a room filled with medical books and—to my surprise—several shelves of biographies of famous men.
Lydia was sitting in a chair by the hearth, looking rather chastened. Nodding to me, Dr. Tilton said to Mrs. Ellis, “I have every reason to believe that your daughter-in-law has suffered a concussion. The wound is still open, but I hesitate to sew it up because that would require some shaving of the head.” He turned to glance at Lydia. “She appears to be under great stress as well. I can’t give her a mild sedative, under the circumstances. But she should rest for several days. Body and mind. Will you see to it? I’ve told her that she should have come to me at once, and to make up for that, she must pay the piper, as it were, and let herself heal.” He turned to me. “If symptoms persist, you’ll send for me immediately.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I replied.
“Have there been periods when she slept and you couldn’t rouse her? She told me she had been with you since the accident.”
So that was why Lydia had gone in alone. She must have left the impression that her fall had occurred in London!
“Not to my knowledge. Headaches, some dizziness. A little nausea.”
“Yes, that’s a good sign, then. Take her home and put her to bed. Miss Crawford, I’d like you to sit with her. In a day or two, if the symptoms disappear, we can assume that Lydia will be all right. If the symptoms persist, then I’ll keep her in my surgery for observation.”
“Rather than impose on a guest, Roger can keep an eye on her,” Mrs. Ellis began, but the doctor shook his head.
“Miss Crawford knows what to look for. I’ve already explained that to Lydia.”
“Thank you, Dr. Tilton,” Mrs. Ellis said. “I’m so sorry to disturb you this late, but Miss Crawford was most insistent.”
“As she should have been.” He helped Lydia put on her coat and saw us to the door. As I turned to allow Lydia to precede me, I noticed a woman at the head of the stairs, and wondered if she’d been listening. I thought perhaps she was the doctor’s wife. She moved out of sight almost at once.
As Mrs. Ellis started the motorcar, Lydia said anxiously over her shoulder to me, “Bess, do you mind? I told him I’d fallen in London. That you’d brought me home. I couldn’t tell him—not when he’s coming to dinner!”
“Yes, I understand,” I replied, trying to keep her calm. “Put it out of your mind tonight.”
“I’m so sorry. But could you stay another day? Just one more?”
It dawned on me then. That I was the excuse why she couldn’t share a room with her husband. If I was to look in on her throughout the night, she must sleep elsewhere. Coming home was one thing. Facing Roger Ellis in the seclusion of their bedroom was another. I couldn’t be sure whether it was because she was still afraid of him—or because she didn’t want to answer his questions.
I had hoped that Lydia would spend a quiet night and that my return to London
“It’s very difficult,” I said carefully, “to be killing people one day and the next to be standing in your own doorway, trying to remember what it’s like to be a part of a family again, if only for a short time.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that light. Yes, I take your point. He brought the war home with him, then, and we none of us recognized it.”
I believed it went deeper than that, but I said nothing. Just then the door opened, and a man stuck his head out, calling for Mrs. Ellis. We got out together. Inside the entrance hall, Dr. Tilton, a balding man with a paunch, led us to his study, a room filled with medical books and—to my surprise—several shelves of biographies of famous men.
Lydia was sitting in a chair by the hearth, looking rather chastened. Nodding to me, Dr. Tilton said to Mrs. Ellis, “I have every reason to believe that your daughter-in-law has suffered a concussion. The wound is still open, but I hesitate to sew it up because that would require some shaving of the head.” He turned to glance at Lydia. “She appears to be under great stress as well. I can’t give her a mild sedative, under the circumstances. But she should rest for several days. Body and mind. Will you see to it? I’ve told her that she should have come to me at once, and to make up for that, she must pay the piper, as it were, and let herself heal.” He turned to me. “If symptoms persist, you’ll send for me immediately.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I replied.
“Have there been periods when she slept and you couldn’t rouse her? She told me she had been with you since the accident.”
So that was why Lydia had gone in alone. She must have left the impression that her fall had occurred in London!
“Not to my knowledge. Headaches, some dizziness. A little nausea.”
“Yes, that’s a good sign, then. Take her home and put her to bed. Miss Crawford, I’d like you to sit with her. In a day or two, if the symptoms disappear, we can assume that Lydia will be all right. If the symptoms persist, then I’ll keep her in my surgery for observation.”
“Rather than impose on a guest, Roger can keep an eye on her,” Mrs. Ellis began, but the doctor shook his head.
“Miss Crawford knows what to look for. I’ve already explained that to Lydia.”
“Thank you, Dr. Tilton,” Mrs. Ellis said. “I’m so sorry to disturb you this late, but Miss Crawford was most insistent.”
“As she should have been.” He helped Lydia put on her coat and saw us to the door. As I turned to allow Lydia to precede me, I noticed a woman at the head of the stairs, and wondered if she’d been listening. I thought perhaps she was the doctor’s wife. She moved out of sight almost at once.
As Mrs. Ellis started the motorcar, Lydia said anxiously over her shoulder to me, “Bess, do you mind? I told him I’d fallen in London. That you’d brought me home. I couldn’t tell him—not when he’s coming to dinner!”
“Yes, I understand,” I replied, trying to keep her calm. “Put it out of your mind tonight.”
“I’m so sorry. But could you stay another day? Just one more?”
It dawned on me then. That I was the excuse why she couldn’t share a room with her husband. If I was to look in on her throughout the night, she must sleep elsewhere. Coming home was one thing. Facing Roger Ellis in the seclusion of their bedroom was another. I couldn’t be sure whether it was because she was still afraid of him—or because she didn’t want to answer his questions.
I had hoped that Lydia would spend a quiet night and that my return to London
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