Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  “Did you like those studies?”

  “Oh yes. Miss Pettigrew was very nice.”

  After this she had asked about the television in the day room and Mallory had been hard pressed to find a suitable answer. In the end she had had to explain that quite a lot of time had passed while she had been ill and there were many new inventions she did not yet know about. The explanation had sounded pretty lame even to her ears. It would not be long before she would have to start really talking. To this end she had arranged to take Nigella out for a short stroll in the grounds. Tomorrow she would bring in sturdy shoes and a warm coat and scarf. They had not asked for a hat, but she knew one would be needed and had found a red felt beret. It was becoming clear how few possessions the girl had, yet another issue to be addressed.

  * * *

  “Oh Mal, this is so exciting! It’s been such a long time since I smelled the flowers; or heard the birds sing.”

  The day had dawned cool, grey and cloudy and Mallory had feared it would rain, but shortly before ten o’clock, while she was still cycling over the sun had broken free and escaped in joyful abandon to shine on all of them. She was not wearing a coat and hat, but had found gloves and chosen good shoes. Just a scarf over her sweater was warm enough for her.

  “All right, you’re dressed now we’re ready to go.” She took her to the ground floor in a wheelchair then they exited through a less-used side entrance, for privacy. Nigella took her arm. The path led directly to a walled garden, but through the opposite gate the lawns could be seen disappearing into the distance. They did not walk far before Mallory indicated a wooden bench and they sat, basking in the warmth reflected off the hot bricks. Soon she removed her scarf and gloves and was able to open the front of Nigella’s coat.

  They were coming to the end of October, the trees resplendent in their autumnal colours and only a gentle breeze to scatter playfully, the fallen leaves. The scene was reminiscent of that day in Belgrave Square. Mallory asked if she could recall it.

  “Indeed I do.” Her clear eyes were squinting against the unaccustomed glare of the sun. “I remember I was so worried about Ramona and Myles.”

  “Yes that’s right,” was all she contributed in response. Her heart was heavy. She had decided today would be the time and place to reveal the true circumstances. Last night had been an agony, deciding what to do and eventually, she had come to realise that nothing would be gained by delay. Hers was a dilemma no-one should have to face, but warring with herself, for however long, could not postpone the inevitable. She would put it off no longer. Nigella’s disposition had remained well-grounded, but who knew the extent of the risk? Would she undo all the constructive achievements so hardly won, in the space of a single hour?

  “Nigella.” She turned slightly toward the girl and took one of her hands, then looked into her eyes: “Nigella.”

  “Yes?” She was alerted to something serious with no idea what to expect. She felt troubled and anxious. Her hand quivered as her eyes narrowed and her face looked on, apprehensively.

  “Nigella, everything’s all right. No harm will come to you and I am here to look after you …” she paused to draw breath. Nigella watched tight-lipped: “… you do understand, don’t you?” Hesitantly, she nodded.

  “This is very hard for me and I’m not sure where to begin.” She stopped again. “There’s something I have to tell you, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.” Colour flamed into the girl’s pale cheeks. Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Instantly she had seen dismay leap to trepidation. Quickly she continued: “What I have to tell you is this.” Now she held onto the other hand. “In that accident we had … the night we left Guilfoyle Park, time flew us ahead … this is not … 1909.”

  The girl pulled back. “What are you saying?” Her green eyes grew large in fright. “Not 1909, of course it is. I’ve not been sick that long.” Fear made her voice squeak.

  “Nigella, listen to me.” This was going to be much harder. How best to explain? “Jellie I don’t know how this happened, but you have passed through time to my world. I was born in 1984. I’m twenty five.” She said no more allowing the information to be absorbed, watching the stricken face before her. She took hold of her hands again. “You’re not alone in this time. I’m here to take care of you.”

  “Are you telling me I’m over one hundred years old? This is impossible!”

  “No … no Jellie, you are older than that night when we tried to get away. Two years have passed since the accident. Next month you will be nineteen.” Now she wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulder and pulled her close. The sun beat hot on their faces.

  Nigella said nothing and Mallory drew her head down to rest on her chest, gently rocking to and fro. Her whole body vibrated in sympathy for this poor girl’s plight. Large, slow tears began to escape the closed lids. Her thoughts were taking her to dark, solitary places, where she was socially atomised and grief held sway. Eventually, she stirred as the shaking stopped and she was able to regain control of her breathing.

  “I’m so sorry.” Mallory knew exactly what she was going through, empathised but totally. She experienced a fierce burning behind her eyes and fought to keep her emotions in check. For Nigella, only time could reconcile her doubts and fears with this new reality.

  “Together we’ll get through this. Remember, you’re not alone.” She tried to keep her voice reassuring, but it was so low it was barely audible. She stood and raised the girl to her feet. “Come, let’s go back and we can talk some more or not, as you like.”

  They returned slowly, their footsteps shuffling through the stones of the gravel path, the October sun warm on their back and somewhere in the distance, a knot of Sparrows twittered busily. There were more people about, but they hardly noticed. Once Nigella was comfortably in her room Mallory left to order tea. On her return she took the chair opposite the recliner. They looked across in mute dismay until Mallory asked if she had any questions. They had shared a tumult of unsettling agitation in these brief, unprecedented moments.

  “I hardly know what to ask … everything and nothing.” Do I really want to know, or do I prefer to remain in my previous world … in ignorance? “I remember from before you said: ‘You can never go back’.” She looked at her miserably. “I didn’t know what you meant then, but now …” the words trailed off as a lament. The tea arrived and they took a few sips. Eventually she spoke into the silence that had risen between them: “I think I’d like to be alone.” She knew her mind was scrambled and needed some uninterrupted quiet in which to sort all this out. She looked up and tried to smile, forcing down a wave of despair. “I know I had to learn at some stage and no time would be easy, but….” again the unfinished thought. Her contorted face was desolate and woebegone.

  Mallory’s heart felt it was breaking and the lump in her throat so constricting, the words could hardly come; her own memories crowding in. “I can have someone come sit with you if you like.” She shook her head. “When next I’m here I’ll do my best to answer all your questions. Shall I see you tonight, after dinner?”

  “Yes. I’ll have got myself better sorted out by then.”

  Mallory leaned forward and held her hands in both of hers, but there was no girlish request for a goodbye kiss.

  * * *

  That evening Nigella was singularly distraught. She had begun to think through the multitude of implications in her current position. She was extremely upset and insecure going from the confidence that all would be well now Mallory was in her life, to not knowing what to think. How could she live like this? If this were really true – never to see her beloved Mama and Papa. That fateful night she had only wanted to get as far away from all she had known as fast as possible, but not really. Had not she only wanted to stop the hurting inside? Had thought Mason taking her away the means by which to accomplish her desires? She had been a foolhardy, impetuous child. She wanted it all back – everyone back. No matter if they did not love her exactly as she expected; she would fo
rgive them anything and everything. There was nothing so important it was worth losing all these precious things. Her wonderful brother and sister! Her wonderful parents! Even Nanny and Mrs. Aldred, but now here was this! She looked about her through a blur of tears. This was the hospital, but once she was better she should go home again. That was what happened. There had to be some mistake. Mallory could not be right. He had gotten everything mixed up.

  The nurses had put her back to bed and recognising the distraught state, given her a needle. When asked what was the matter, she could not speak in coherent sentences and they conjectured it was just another of her inexplicable outbursts. Sedation would resolve the situation. Despite this her temperament was still uncertain and fragile. When Mallory saw her, distress welled up again and agitation caused the words to come tumbling out in incomprehensible cascades. It was all Mallory could do to calm her sufficiently to discover some sense.

  “I know Little One … it’s hard,” she spoke softly. “Slow down and let me hear properly what it is that’s troubling you.”

  “Mama and Papa, they must be here. Can I see them?” she asked tearfully through racking sobs. Her eyes sought his, looking desperately for some reassurance, some inner comfort; this nightmare must come to an end.

  “Nigella …” oh this was dreadful: “… they are all gone. There’s just you and me.” What more could she say?

  “No … no, that can’t be right.” The girl began to writhe in anguish, rocking her body. “This isn’t fair.” It was not a scream, more like a plea.

  “I don’t know how this can be, but it has happened. You must be brave Nigella.” The words echoed in her head. How often had they been delivered to people in distress and really, they were of no use. But now was the time she must make everything clear, despite the inevitable hurt. “Everyone you knew … they have all left us.” She could hardly articulate the words, so blocked was she by her own emotions; so overwhelmed by sympathy and sorrow.

  “I want to die. I don’t want to live without them … Mona. Patchy! How can I possibly go on? I don’t want to. I have no life.” A black knot of mourning invaded her soul and bruised her spirit. The girl’s shoulders heaved with every intake of breath as she sobbed her heart out against Mallory’s chest. Her desolation knew no bounds and there was nothing Mallory could do. This was Nigella’s nadir of despair and she would have to make grief’s journey alone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was Wednesday when Mallory discovered the note in her pigeonhole. Dr. Stubbs would like to see her in his office at four o’clock. It seemed like eons had passed since they had spoken and her mind had been filled with worry over Nigella. Even the others had noticed an unusual distractedness.

  “Come in.” Dr. Stubbs sat at ease behind his broad desk. Typical of the man, his ‘in’ and ‘out’ trays stood neatly piled with only a few scattered papers in front of him. He motioned her to the easy chair which seemed to swallow her up as she sank into it.

  “I’m sorry Miss Mason the news is not good,” he declared without preamble as he removed his spectacles to place them carefully at the side of the blotter. “After all this time her state remains unstable and sometimes delusional. Her decision-making capabilities are still very much in question. Maintaining her serotonin at the appropriate level also remains a challenge.”

  The news she had dreaded all week had just been delivered. She felt her shoulders hunched and tried consciously to drop them and breathe deeply. She deliberately sat back and relaxed her clenched hands. “So you believe there’s no hope of further recovery Doctor?” she asked in a flat, dispirited tone.

  “Under better circumstances … appropriate stimulation etcetera, there could be some improvement. The brain has remarkable plasticity with an infinite capacity to amaze us …” he delivered ponderously: “… but this young woman has had ample time. It’s a difficult case.” The observation set his chins quivering.

  “But surely we can’t just leave her … without even trying?” Mallory’s voice had risen with her degree of concern.

  “I realise this case is important to you Miss Mason, but just because you feel strongly about it doesn’t mean you’re right!” The scrutinising, grey eyes seemed to miss nothing.

  “So it’s back to Lychette St. Agnes?” she concluded on a sigh.

  “As nursing homes go …” he spread his hands “… it has high standards. She’ll be well taken care of,” he asserted reassuringly, seeing only as far as her physical needs. The consultation appeared to be terminated at this point, but Mallory persisted.

  “Would it be possible Doctor, for me to take on the responsibility of supervising her further rehabilitation?” She could not yet close the door on her dreams of immeasurably more for Nigella. “You said yourself, what she needs is appropriate stimulation.” This time there was even more conviction in her voice, more passion in her eyes as they met his. The line of his bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “This is highly irregular Miss Mason and you could be setting yourself a huge task. Anyway, only a person related to the patient or with the legal right to provide supported decision making can take on such responsibilities.” He shuffled the papers again. “As I see it unless she regains her faculties, she will remain a Ward of the State until she is twenty-one. We are endeavouring to decrease her psychotropic dependency.” He regarded her more closely, his eyes boring to her inner core. It was unusual to come across a student with such intensity. In all his experience at a teaching hospital, he had found them to be more obsessed with marks and their own personal success. He was intrigued and felt impelled to ask: “What is it about this particular case that absorbs you?”

  The response was some time in coming, but he could be patient when really interested. He steepled his fingers and swivelled back in his chair and waited, watching the spare line of her throat rise and fall as she struggled to answer.

  How could she get this man on the same page, so prescriptive; so grounded in science? The truth would sound implausible, he would never believe her. Could she get more traction if she made the appeal a personal one?

  “Dr. Stubbs, suppose she were your daughter … but you were not here? Wouldn’t you want the hospital … or someone … to offer some assistance to help her recover, or at least find the best outcome possible?” He was saying nothing. Blood rushed hot to her cheeks. Had she been too bold?

  “I do have a daughter Miss Mason and you’re right. I would like to think there was someone out there who would be prepared to go that extra mile.” He returned his eyes to his desk and picked up the papers to look over them once more. “Very well, I will make a note that you will be supervising her rehab. whilst she’s in the nursing home.” This time the interview was at an end and Mallory rose with the assurance she would keep him informed of all developments.

  With sharp footsteps echoing down the corridor, her spirits were once again flying high. It had suddenly come to her how she would find the solution to her dilemma. She would visit the web site of the Guardianship and Administration Tribunal and download any information they had on the Adult Guardianship of a minor. She would get onto it right away. She didn’t care how much red-tape there was. In the interim all her spare time would be devoted to Nigella. Abruptly a sobering thought brought her down to earth with a thud. How could she be with Nigella? What spare time? This was her final rotation. Her next reality check; they would return to the Faculty next week and two weeks after that her thesis was due. They were all stretched to the fullest just to keep up. But Nigella needed her now, not after she graduated.

  I’ll take my lap-top to her room, my books and everything. I can work there. With this resolution her spirits soared again. She was certain there was more recovery ahead. And I aim to bring it all out!

  * * *

  That evening Mallory found Nigella already in bed and quite subdued.

  “Hello Jellie,” she greeted as she gave her a peck and pulled up the recliner. “How are you? How did it go with Dr. Stubbs yester
day?”

  Nigella sat up and reached for Mallory’s hand her face distorted in misery, her voice emerging in a broken whisper. “Oh Mallory, when the elderly gentleman came in I thought it was Grandpapa Broadhurst. I was so relieved the tears just came and I pleaded with him with all my might, to take me back to the Park. I told him over and over Mama and Papa would be sure to be worrying and we had to go immediately.” She stopped to catch her breath: “When I realised he was not Grandpapa I never said another word, even though the man kept asking me question after question.”

  Dear God! No wonder he rated her so low.

  “Dr. Stubbs is a nice man. He was just trying to help.” She got up and sat on the side of the bed. She knew it was against hospital policy, but Nigella needed to feel the reassurance physical contact could bring. Somehow she must try to stem the helpless sobs that now shook her thin frame. Such unprotected vulnerability, accentuated by that soft gaze, caught as it was between a mixture of hope and despair, tugged at her heart.

  “Don’t worry Possum, I have good news.” The girl relaxed into her shoulder as Mallory told her of the move on the weekend, back to the nice house. “You remember. Where you were before you came to the hospital?”

  “No.” Her naive young eyes looked back at her blankly from below the sweep of long lashes, so stark against the translucent delicacy of her skin. Oh dear, I forget so much these days.