The Girl in the Cellar

CHAPTER 37

The first thing that Miss Carstairs said when they were left alone was a challenge to Anne’s self-possession. She sat there, her hands crossed on the crutch of her stick and her head on one side.

‘Well?’ she said, ‘What do you make of me? Do I eat the young, or don’t I?’

Anne found herself laughing.

‘I don’t think you do.’

‘Oh, well, if I try you can always walk out, can’t you? How do you get on with Elizabeth? And don’t pretend you don’t know who I mean-but call her Lizabet I will not. It’s not her name, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘Was she christened Elizabeth?’

‘She was. And what’s wrong with that, I ask you. Lizabet’s rubbish! When she comes here she gets her Christian name, and that’s Elizabeth, after my poor cousin that was her mother. You didn’t know her?’

‘No.’

She got a sharp glance.

‘I never heard of you in my life till last night when Janet answered my call. How long have you known her?’

‘Not very long.’

‘I never heard of you before. Don’t stand there towering over me! Take off your hat and your gloves and sit down! There-that’s better. What were we talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re not half-witted, are you? Of course you know! We were talking about Elizabeth. Janet got herself fairly tied up with that young woman. She’ll be sorry before she’s through with it. But she won’t listen, of course. She knows best, and she’ll go on knowing best until that Elizabeth girl has dragged her into some mess or other. And when she has, she’ll expect me not to say “I told you so”! And she may expect! Now, how do you come into it all? You might as well answer me truthfully, for I shall go on asking you until you do.’

It came into Anne’s mind that she was speaking the truth, and that there were only two ways of it-either she joined the truth-telling party, or she didn’t. If she didn’t she could get up and say goodbye and walk out. All right, which was it to be? It was her choice. And quite suddenly she knew what she would do. All right, she wanted to know-well then, let her know and see what she made of it. She leaned forward a little and said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, ‘I’ve lost my memory’

‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve lost my memory. I don’t know who I am, or what my name is.’

Miss Carstairs thumped with her stick. Her black eyes stared.

‘Go on-tell me!’

Anne smiled at her.

‘But that’s all.’

‘Nonsense-it can’t be! Doesn’t Janet know who you are?’

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘Have you been to the police?’

‘No-I don’t want to.’

‘Why don’t you want to?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Anyone would say that was a bad sign. I don’t know that I would myself. Go to the police and you go to the papers, that’s what I say. And of course that’s just what they want, most of these people who say they’ve lost their memory- only want to get into the papers and make a splash.’ Her eyes went over Anne in a queer bright look. ‘No, you’re not like that. You haven’t told me everything, have you?’

‘No, not everything.’

‘No tarradiddles?’

‘No-I wouldn’t do that.’

‘H’m.’ The black eyes looked very straight at Anne. They went on looking for a long time. In the end she said ‘H’m,’ again and got up.

‘Come into the other room and unpack for me,’ she said, and led the way.

Her bedroom was at the back of the house. It was untidy to the last degree. There were shawls, a dressing-gown, skirts, underclothes, all tossed, some on the bed, some on the floor. As Anne went about the business of picking them up and sorting them out, Miss Carstairs watched her from a seat on the bed. She took the same position as she had done in the chair, leaning forward with her hands on the stick, her chin propped on the handle, her eyes very bright and attentive. And all the while she talked.

‘ Ada ’s the worst packer in the world. The dresses will all have to hang, and one must just hope that the creases will come out. If Janet had had the sense to send you round yesterday it wouldn’t have been such a business. We must just hope for the best. Ever done anything like this before?’

‘Yes-I think so-’

‘But you don’t know if it was for yourself, or for someone else?’

‘I think it was for myself.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I don’t know-I think-’

‘Well, what do you think?’

Anne stood in the middle of the floor, but she wasn’t really there. She was packing a blue and silver dress. She saw it quite clearly for a moment. It was a lovely dress. The feel of it was in her hands, and then it was gone again. What she had in her hands was not blue and silver but black and gold-stiff black brocade with a gold pattern on it. Across the black and gold, black eyes were looking at her, searching, full of interest.

‘Well, what did you see?’

She had no thought but to answer truthfully.

‘I saw a blue and silver dress. I think it was mine.’

Miss Carstairs broke into harsh laughter.

‘Blue and silver? That would be pretty. And it would suit you-oh, yes, quite. You didn’t have it on, did you?’

‘No, I was lifting it-’ Her voice failed suddenly.

‘H’m. Often do that sort of thing?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Oh, well, you had a blue and silver dress, and you’ve remembered it. There’s nothing so extraordinary about that. By and by you’ll remember everything. But don’t chase after it-that’s fatal. When it comes it will come-just like that, without any effort. But if you try for it, the mist will thicken and you’ll get nowhere at all.’ She nodded her head and said in a different voice, ‘That’s enough about that. Just get on with the unpacking.’