Lisa

by Joan Van Every Frost

  “I’ll give you some pillows to put it on. The higher it is, the less it will hurt.” Mrs. Lewis left the room.

  When she returned, it was with Jarrell. “Don’t worry about your hand hurting; it will feel better even by tomorrow. The important thing right now is to keep the bandages loose enough so as not to interfere with the swelling.” He shook some drops from a brown bottle into a half glass of water. “Here, this will help the pain. I’ve told Mrs. Lewis to give you more if you should waken in the night. How do you feel about something to eat?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. Already the painful throbbing was receding. “I suppose I should eat something.” Supper the night before seemed like eons away.

  “Mrs. Lewis, do you suppose Priddy could heat up some of that soup she keeps on the back of the stove? And some bread to dunk in it.”

  When the nurse had left, Jarrell stood looking down at Lisa for a moment. “Do you remember any more now about when you were in Burresford?”

  The five-month period slipped into her mind whole. “I remember all of it,” she said, bewildered. “Henry — ”

  “Now then, I’ll tell you, and you say if I’m right.”

  She nodded, the whole jumble of images succeeding each other with blinding rapidity.

  “After Henry tried to rape you, things went along all right for a long while. Then you came back here for a visit, stayed longer than you should, and returned unexpectedly a week late. You were told to clean up the storeroom where there was a lot of dried blood. A man with a knife forced Price down the hall outside the storeroom. He was very angry because his wife died at the Prices’ hands when they were trying to abort her. Your aunt hit the man with a skillet, probably killing him on the spot, and they took him to the river to get rid of him. You knew that they would kill you, too, so you locked yourself in your room. They tried to smoke or burn you out, so you escaped down a drainpipe and ran until you got to the bawdy house district. In getting away from more unwelcome attentions, you ran in the street, fell, and were run down by Eric on Christian. Is that essentially it? Did I leave anything out?”

  She shook her head. “How did you know?” she whispered.

  “People often get quite talkative under ether. When you began to talk about all that, I sat down with you and kept questioning you until I got the whole story. I should have known that it would have taken more than an attempted rape to make you lose your memory.”

  “And just what does that mean?”

  “It means that you have a realistic toughness — courage, if you like — that would take old Henry in your stride. For what it’s worth, my guess is that what terrified you the most was the threat of fire.”

  Her eyes slid to her bandaged hand. “So now what?”

  “So now tomorrow morning early I’m off for Burresford for a heart-to-heart talk with Wren. He should be very interested.”

  “What difference does it make why I ran away?” She knew she was being obtuse, but somehow she was finding it hard to think clearly.

  “Put yourself in the Prices’ shoes. You know about their killing at least two people, the woman and her husband. There may have been a lot more. Butcher abortionists like them often don’t get caught for years, because the women never admit who they’re going to or even that they’re going at all.” He rubbed his hand over his face, and she realized he was very tired. “We used to get those women at St. Thomas’s all the time. They’d come in bleeding to death or riddled with septicemia and out of their heads with fever — you could smell them to the other end of the ward.”

  “Dr. Jarrell, why do they do it? Why do they go to those monsters to get rid of their children?”

  His face was bitter. “Until you’ve watched your children starve or die of a fever because you couldn’t afford a doctor, you can’t really say. Until you’ve watched them work themselves to death in the mills and turn into old men and women at age ten, there is no way of knowing. Until you know that your father and mother, your sisters and brothers, everyone you know will revile you because you are pregnant and not married, you can only guess. There are those who would have it that the medical profession should never condone abortion, much less practise it. And yet by being so smug, we doctors are pushing these wretched women into the hands of the butchers. I don’t believe in taking life, even an unborn life. Every bit of instinct and training I have makes unnecessary death an obscenity. And yet who am I to say? I don’t have to bear these children, and any children of mine will have plenty to eat, they’ll have soft beds to sleep in, they’ll be educated, and within their own limitations will have the ability to live a good life. My unborn child who was killed would never have had to go dirty and ragged and cold and hungry. He wouldn’t have had to learn to steal and cheat and lie and fight for every scrap. I look about the streets of Burresford or worse, London, and I doubt there can be a God.”

  “What will happen?”

  “What will happen? Wren will suddenly decide that it’s your Uncle Henry and Aunt Tatty he wants. It shouldn’t be too difficult now to track down some of their abortion activities. He’ll then see as I or any reasonable man would that they went to your Uncle John hoping to intercept you, as well they might have if Eric hadn’t been racing that night. When you didn’t turn up, they couldn’t afford to leave them alive in case you came later. Chances are they returned to Burresford to find you but didn’t dare return to the shop — after all, they had no way of knowing that you hadn’t gone straight to the police instead of conveniently losing your memory. Giving it all up finally as a bad job, they fled. They could be anywhere in England now, and the police will be lucky to catch them.”

  Lisa remembered Henry’s face at the window and shivered. She felt like a fool saying anything to Jarrell, though, since she was sure now the apparition had been her imagination. “Then Eric and I will no longer be suspected?”

  “Of the murders, no, but I would be unrealistic if I didn’t warn you that the village will probably always believe there was some kind of liason between you and Eric in Burresford.”

  “Considering what else they say about this household, I should be flattered they stop there.” She felt quite cheerful. Being suspected of murdering her own family had hurt more than she was willing to admit, and she felt wonderfully relieved that it had all been straightened out. “Did you suspect me? Be honest,” she asked suddenly.

  “Lisa, there are some people capable of certain acts and some not. Even in the short time you talked to Wren, and he pressed you both hard, he must have decided that you weren’t really a very good suspect, or he’d have been out here playing cat and mouse with you. Eric I might have believed it of if the evidence were strong enough, because when cornered he can be without conscience. I have reason to know. But you? Never.”

  “How do you know they never said that about Burke and Hare?”

  “The body snatchers? From what I’ve read, I don’t think even their mothers could have loved them. There are a few things left that I still take on faith, and what people are or aren’t capable of is one of them. Murder is an act of desperation on the part of someone who can’t think of a more rational way out. For Henry and Tatty Price, murder had almost become a way of life; they are quite simply moral monsters. For the person who feels that murder is the only answer to a personal problem, however, there is not only a character flaw but an actual rearrangement of reality. This one cannot see that the murder leaves him worse off than before, for even if he gets away with it, he will always be looking back over his shoulder. You are too open and too honest to fool yourself that way.”

  “I used to think as you do, that certain people were incapable of committing certain acts, but I learned otherwise. It’s been a hard lesson.”

  “I take it this concerns Eric. Just remember, he doesn’t do things for meanness, he simply doesn’t know any better.”

  “No, Dr. Jarrell, I wasn’t talking about Eric.”

  Mrs. Lewis came in then with the soup and began feed
ing it to her. Lisa thought she had never tasted anything so good. Her stomach positively gurgled with joy at finally getting something in it.

  “Get a good night’s sleep. Mrs. Lewis will be sleeping in here with you for several nights, so waken her if you have much pain. Goodnight, Mrs. Lewis, goodnight, Lisa.” He left, and they could hear his footsteps going down the hall.

  “Thank heavens the operation went well,” Mrs. Lewis said. “For some reason he seemed very set on this being a success. I don’t like to think of what would have happened if something had gone wrong.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t disappoint him. Is it true that all doctors, and especially surgeons, are callous?”

  “The good ones have to be. If Dr. Jarrell has a flaw, it’s that he cares too much, too much about perfection and too much about the people he works on. Surgery isn’t a perfect art, nor near to it. The best of them make mistakes, don’t think they don’t. I wish I had a pound for every time I’ve seen things cut that shouldn’t have been, I’d be a wealthy woman.”

  “And Dr. Jarrell makes these mistakes, too?”

  “His mistakes aren’t ones of incompetence or carelessness, his are trying to do the impossible. Like that fool girl with the ruined nose. There wasn’t another surgeon in London would have tried what he did, or done nearly as well, either. He even managed to fix it so she could breathe through it. But in the end it was all for nothing, so who was right?”

  “How can he care so much for patients he hardly knows and so little for his own wife?”

  “That’s another story,” Mrs. Lewis said primly, “and not one I’d be likely to tell about if I knew the whole of it.”

  I’m sure not, Lisa thought to herself. It must have been an awful blow for Mrs. Lewis to discover her idol was all too human after all. If she had been Mrs. Lewis, she didn’t think she could have stayed and faced him.

  “There now, lass, settle down and see can you sleep again. Is there anything I can bring you? No? I’ll be going downstairs to dinner, but that won’t take more than an hour. I’ll just leave this little night light on. Don’t be afraid to wake me later on if there is something you want.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lewis. Have a good dinner.”

  She say there for what seemed a long while in a languorous state between sleep and wakefulness. So very much had happened, and her mind circled the new memories carefully. They were in truth not happy ones, which made her even more thankful for her place here. The family might well be tainted, as she had cause to know, but they all seemed fond of her with the exception of Mrs. Stephens, who at least was no longer openly hostile. Cynthia really didn’t need a companion now, but perhaps Dr. Jarrell would help her to get nurse’s training. She respected Mrs. Lewis, and having been brought up on a farm was hardly squeamish about blood. She wondered what the big hospitals were like and, wondering, she fell asleep.

  The sun was just coming up when the sound of hoofs on the drive wakened her. Mrs. Lewis’s bed was already made, and she was probably downstairs. Lisa found that she was clear-headed and got up to see who the horsemen were. Jarrell on Cleo and Eric on Christian were cantering down the drive to the Dunwiddleston road. Of course, it made sense for Eric to go along, since he had been suspected as well as she. She wished them well and took no little satisfaction in picturing Wren’s face when he was told. She wondered where Henry and Tatty had gone to.

  The minute she put her bandaged hand down, it began to throb, but by holding it up she found that she could be reasonably comfortable. Mrs. Lewis came in then, bearing a tray with tea on it and a large breakfast for the two of them.

  “I thought I might as well eat up here and keep you company.” She put the tray down. “You’re supposed to rest today, and Dr. Jarrell will see to changing the dressings tonight.”

  Lisa regarded her bandaged hand with interest. “Looks like a bunch of white sausages,” she observed. “I wonder how much I’ll be able to use it. There are so many things as simple as cutting meat on a plate that I can’t manage except one-handed. On the farm we never had meat in large slabs like that.”

  “How much use you get will depend somewhat on you. If you are determined, you may be able to stretch the tendons and connective tissue enough to get some movement. At first you may have difficulty moving them at all. The tendons are frozen and the muscles wasted. When your fingers have reached a certain stage of healing, I shall be manipulating them to restore voluntary movement.”

  Lisa spent the day reading and listening for the sound of hoofs. Cynthia looked in once, but didn’t stay long. She was obviously preoccupied with some project that Lisa hoped had nothing to do with Eric. What Cynthia should be doing, of course, was making herself attractive to Jarrell, who was after all her husband. Divorce laws being what they were, he would probably be her husband as long as they were both alive. For some reason the thought made Lisa wince mentally, though she had expended a great deal of effort and patience to try to get them together again.

  She was touched when Annie and Amy and Priddy paid a call. Even Toby came up from the stables, shuffling his feet and grinning and not knowing what to say. Of Mrs. Stephens there was no sign — she was probably out gardening. The day crept slowly by. Toby and Cynthia went riding and returned by the road, making Lisa think for a heart-stopping moment that it was Jarrell and Eric. Even Mrs. Lewis began to make unnecessary trips to the window as tea time passed and dark fell.

  At last, as Mrs. Lewis was about to go down to bring up the supper tray, there was the sound of one horse on the drive, coming fast, but it was too dark to see who it was. Mrs. Lewis muttered something and went downstairs. The minutes stretched into hours until at last the door opened and Jarrell came in, tired and grim, accompanied by Mrs. Lewis.

  “Sorry to be so late, but this business with your Uncle Henry turned into a nightmare.” He sat down with a sigh. “Mrs. Lewis, be a love and get me a good stiff whiskey, would you? I promise I won’t start until you get back.” He smiled wanly.

  “Rather than go back tomorrow, Eric has decided to stay, and I would have too, only I have to bring you to Burresford tomorrow. I’ve no doubt you’re up to it, and though I don’t think you can help them further, I can see where they’re wild to talk to you. Let me wash my hands, and I’ll change your dressings while I still have the strength to do it.” He left the room and she could hear him calling Mrs. Lewis down the stairs to bring a dressing tray as well.

  He hadn’t returned when Mrs. Lewis and Annie came in with his whiskey, supper for the three of them, and the dressings. “It sounds as if they found something terrible,” Lisa remarked to Mrs. Lewis.

  “Worse than you think,” Jarrell said from the door. “Ah, that whiskey will go down well. Thank you, Annie, that will do. Put those things down, Maud. Here, this table will be fine, though I don’t know what our appetites will be.” He must really be upset, Lisa thought, to have called Mrs. Lewis by her first name. They were always so punctilious about using titles and last names.

  “When we got there, Wren was interested all right, but a bit suspicious, too. Your memory seemed to him to be terribly convenient, even when I explained about the ether. They might have cleared all that up a long time ago, only the neighbors said that every now and again the storeroom table was used to butcher animals, and there didn’t seem to be any way that you or you and Eric together even would have had the time to have come back, killed the Prices, buried them, and covered the traces.” Jarrell took a large gulp of his drink. “So they investigated the reports of bodies found down the river. You’ll be interested to know that one of them was a laborer found with his head crushed the day after they killed him. The police thought he had drowned himself because his wife had just died. That part of your story really made Wren sit up and take notice.

  “To make a long tale short, Wren belatedly decided that it might be worth it to dig up the courtyard and the storeroom floor both. They must have had ten men or more working, and it wasn’t long before someone in the courtyard g
ave a yell. Sure enough, there was a body there, but it wasn’t Henry or Tatty. This one must have been there for years, all discolored bones and rotted clothes, a woman. They had hardly gotten her uncovered when someone else shouts, ‘ ’Ere’s another!’ By the time I left, they had found five in the courtyard and one so far in the storeroom, all women and a couple of them surprisingly well to do from their clothes. Two of them were buried naked with their clothes bundled up beside them. None of them of course had any rings or other jewelry left.” Jarrell finished his drink and looked at the two women who were watching him horrorstruck.

  Lisa recovered first. “Why didn’t they bury the man there as well?” Then she answered her own question. “Of course, it was early morning, wasn’t it, and they’d have had to hide him somewhere all day.”

  “I’ll never forget as long as I live,” Jarrell went on, “the sight of all those poor bodies with the dirt still clinging to them. I couldn’t help thinking of the misery of their plights in seeking such help, and then the pain and blood before they died. God knows how many more there were who died of hemorrhaging or infection later on. Then multiply these monsters by all of the thousands of others in England alone who are engaged in the same practice, from the midwife who gives out elm sticks though she won’t do the job herself to the hard case practitioners like these.” He shook his head. “There’s got to be some other way!”

  The supper sat untouched on the table. Mrs. Lewis’s practical voice was reassuring. “When men — and old men at that — no longer run everything, things will be different. Meanwhile, this supper has got to be eaten. Doctor, I doubt that you’ve eaten since this morning, and it’s important for Lisa to be strong for the drive tomorrow.” In the end she managed to bully and harry them into eating something before she sent Jarrell off to bed. “I’ll do the dressings,” she assured him, as she all but pushed him out the door. “A good night’s sleep will do wonders.”

  Lisa was so horrorstruck by the story of the grisly discoveries that she decided she would rather not watch while her hand was being dressed, and she kept her face averted. The old bandages stuck in places, but Mrs. Lewis was wonderfully gentle and patient, and the pain was bearable. Lisa had been dreading the rebandaging, so that when it was over, she sank back on her bed with a sigh of relief.