She left the room, leaving him to sit and contemplate his situation. It was as if someone had erected a wall between himself and his memories. He glanced at the bell pull. It was a familiar object, in that he could recall seeing one before, although the handle was tarnished. Would one inside of his own home be thus? Was his home clean? Where was it? Miss Paulson had rambled about this neighborhood being unfashionable, had she not? But this was the home of a countess?
And how was it that he could recall social ranks but not his name or address?
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was somewhat relieved when a servant girl came in, left a tray of food on the bedside table, and left again with only a bow of her head. He was not certain he could endure speaking.
The offerings were modest: a few scones, a small bowl full of jam, a pat of butter, and a cup of tea. So he could identify food, but not himself.
He sighed, sat up straight, and tucked into his breakfast.
*
As she escortedDr. Willis down the hall, Adele explained, “We discovered last night that he has a rather large lump at the back of his head.” She touched her scalp near the top of her head to demonstrate. “He had a cut near his temple as well, although it was minor. The especially troubling thing is that he has no memory.”
“An overindulgence of drink will sometimes wipe out recollections of the night before.”
“No, you misunderstand. He has no memory of anything. He cannot recollect his name or where he lives or how he came to have a bump on his head.”
Dr. Willis stopped walking and tilted his head. “I have heard of such things occurring but have never witnessed it myself. How curious.”
Adele knocked on the door, and when a weary sounding, “Come!” came from inside, she pushed the door open. “Hello, sir. May I present Doctor Willis.”
The mystery man had put on one of John’s shirts, which meant Adele could now look at him without being distracted by his bare shoulders. Who would have thought the bare shoulders of a man, the jut of his collarbone, the hint of hair on his chest, who knew any of that could be so… appealing. And on a fairly young man—Adele guessed he was older than thirty but younger than forty—who had a handsome face with a strong jawline and an aristocratic nose, those shoulders were something Adele would not soon forget. Seeing them had made her babble this morning, and she was mortified to speak with the man again, but he seemed intent on the doctor.
“My memories have deserted me,” the man said.
“Yes, Lady Adele explained. I have not treated a case such as this myself, but I have read about them. You hit your head in some way, yes? May I examine?”
“Please do.”
Adele looked on from the corner. Probably she should have left, but she found the mystery man mesmerizing. Who was this man? Was he a lord of some type? His clothes had indicated a certain amount of wealth. But how had he come to be in that carriage that had thrown him overboard?
“Did you fall?” asked Doctor Willis.
“I cannot recall.”
“Another patient of mine achieved a bump like this when his brother hit him over the head with a flowerpot. That patient was nine years old, though, so I doubt very much you were having an argument about who owned the wooden horse, at least in a way that would have resulted in getting hit with a flowerpot.” The doctor chuckled. “How do you feel physically otherwise?”
“All right. I woke up with quite a headache, but it has lessened somewhat. The rest of me seems to be intact. There’s a bruise on my hip, but it will heel.” He glanced at Adele in the corner, probably trying to signal to the doctor that he would not be displaying that bruise for the doctor with her watching. “It’s not my body I am worried about, but my mind.”
“Yes, quite. Well, in similar cases to this, the memory returned all at once within a few hours or days after the injury, or it returned in dribbles over a longer period of time, or it never recovered completely.”
“Oh, god. Surely this state cannot continue on indefinitely.” The man touched his head. “It’s almost as though I can feel my memories are there, floating around in my brain, but I cannot get to them right now.”
“Yes, and in all likelihood, your memory will return. I believe putting yourself somewhere familiar may help. Perhaps Lady Adele can help you discover who you are.”
Adele smiled in a way she hoped was encouraging, although inside she felt nearly giddy at the prospect of an investigation.
How dull had her life become in the last few weeks of caring for the countess that this should excite her so much?
She shrugged it off and stepped forward. “I would be happy to help you, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“And if you discover any other symptoms, if you have other injuries or feel nauseous,” said the doctor, clearly preparing toleave, “Lady Adele knows how to reach me. Otherwise, try to be patient.”
“I will see you out,” said Adele.
“No need, I know the way.” Dr. Willis tipped his hat and left the room.
