The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,5

please with you,” he added, an angry note in his voice.

Kathryn drew a deep breath. She was dizzy with pain and shock; her head seemed to be hollow and her body, to make matters worse, began to whirl in a vertigo she could not control. But she must think clearly. Her reason was at stake. The big man was openly hostile now. He was the enemy of this woman whose body she so frighteningly was wearing. Yet his steady eyes were honest and trustworthy, and his arms had been gentle and strong. Kathryn made a last effort. Her voice came out weaker than she expected, but she did speak, holding his eyes desperately with her own.

“For God’s sake, sir—help me! I’m Kathryn Hendrix of New York City. I work in a library . . . I was looking at that portrait in a little gallery . . . and then I was here—” Her voice failed and she sank, still fighting desperately, into blackness.

What followed was an extension of the nightmare, with brief waking periods of too-bright lights and physical pain alternating with blackouts. The big man was almost always there in the background. Kathryn’s eyes sought for him in a panic whenever she was conscious, and she heard her voice pleading with him to help her, and insisting that she was KATHRYN Hendrix.

At one point she awakened to see a black-robed woman bending close above her. The mask-like face, its flat black eyes hooded under heavy folds of flesh, was staring down fixedly at her. Where had she seen that intent and rigid stare? Yes! The woman had been watching her from the shadows of the pillar when this nightmare began! It was she! There was something in those inhuman empty eyes which utterly terrified Kathryn. She screamed in fear until someone came and took the woman away.

After a period in which time stretched and telescoped unbelievably, Kathryn found herself, her shoulders supported, sipping at a cup of bitter fluid. It was being administered by a competent-looking man in a dark coat and an odd white neckcloth something like an ascot.

“You’re in costume, too,” Kathryn said, smiling at him. “We’re all in costume! Is it a masquerade?” She giggled. I’m tipsy, she thought. Isn’t this brandy he’s giving me?

The doctor glanced up inquiringly at someone near the bed. Kathryn turned to look. It was the big golden-haired man. “It’s you!” she said happily. “Thank you so much for staying. I’m not afraid when you’re here.”

“Lord Elsingham,” the doctor said, “Lady Elsingham has suffered a broken arm, and a certain amount of shock which normally accompanies the pain. She also appears feverish. I must recommend that she remain very quietly in bed for at least a week, so the arm can mend and so I can observe the course of her malady. I shall come in every day to see how she goes on. I must admit, my lord, that I don’t like this disorientation. It is not normal in the case of a simple bone fracture. Her ladyship appears to be sickening with some disease.”

He stood up and moved toward the other man. Kathryn strained to hear what they were saying.

“Is there someone reliable who can attend her ladyship?” the doctor asked. “She should not be left alone, either by night or day if she continues to be subject to this—delirium.”

“You do not think she will be well enough to leave her bed for some time, Dr. Anders?” It was more a statement than a question.

“Definitely not,” answered the doctor. He hesitated. “I understand that her ladyship had planned to visit her family’s estate in Ireland shortly?”

“That is so,” Lord Elsingham said, wondering angrily how much more was known of his private affairs, and from what source the information had come. “A more immediate problem, however, is that His Majesty has graciously accepted my wife’s invitation to attend her reception tonight. The occasion was to be the showing of a new portrait, just painted, of Lady Elsingham. I shall have to go immediately to the palace to make our excuses.”

The doctor nodded. “You may say that it is impossible for her ladyship to receive him. Tell His Majesty that we fear she may have a severe infection. That’ll keep him away—” he caught himself, then continued soberly, “I’ll not try to cozen you, my lord. Her ladyship may be in real danger. I cannot understand this persistent failure to know who she is. The threat may be—” He hesitated