THE LIFTED CURTAIN
The following morning the papers contained lengthy reports of the
meeting, and spoke in no sparing terms of the influence of Edgecumbe's
words on the great crowd. He appeared to be depressed, however.
'It may be only a passing sensation,' he said. 'Still, I couldn't help
doing what I did.'
We had barely finished breakfast when a telegram was brought to me,
'Come at once and bring your friend. Wire time I may expect
you.--BOLIVICK.'
'There,' I said, passing it to Edgecumbe, 'there's dispatch for you.'
A few minutes later we were in a taxi, on our way to Paddington, and a
few hours later we arrived at Bolivick.
We had barely alighted from the conveyance when Edgecumbe gave a start.
'Look,' he said, 'both Springfield and St. Mabyn are there.'
'Yes,' I replied lightly, 'and Lorna too. Don't you see her in her
nurse's uniform?'
His face was set and rigid as the greetings took place; but he had
evidently put a strong check upon himself, and spoke naturally.
'Glad to see you, Luscombe,' cried Sir Thomas, 'and you too, Major
Edgecumbe. Let me congratulate you on your wonderful career. It's
almost like a fairy story!'
'Let me add my congratulations,' cried Springfield. 'I pay my tribute,
not only to the soldier, but to the orator.'
I could not fail to detect the sneer in his voice, even although he
seemed to speak heartily. A copy of _The Times_ was lying on the lawn,
and I imagined that Edgecumbe's speech had been read and discussed.
'We shall be quite a party to dinner to-night,' said Sir Thomas to me
presently. 'Of course you must expect scanty fare, as we are carrying
out the rationing order to the very letter. But it's an important
occasion all the same. Lord Carbis is coming by the next train.
Please don't say anything about it. No one knows but my wife and
myself. I want to give a surprise to both Lorna and Springfield.'
My heart became as heavy as lead, for I knew what he had in his mind,
and I looked towards Edgecumbe, wondering if he had heard anything. It
was evident he had heard nothing, however; he was talking to Norah
Blackwater, who was again a visitor to Bolivick.
'By the way,' went on Sir Thomas, 'that fellow Edgecumbe has developed
wonderfully, hasn't he? Of course what he said last night was so much
nonsense. I quite agree that it's very sad about--that--is--some of
the things he talked about, but as to the rest,--it was moonshine.'
'You wouldn't have said so if you'd been there, Sir Thomas,' I ventured.
'Something's going to happen, Luscombe,' Edgecumbe said to me as
presently we found our way to our rooms.
'Why do you say so?'
'I don't know. But there is. It's in the air we breathe. I know I'm
right.'
'What's the matter with you?' I asked, looking at him intently.
'Nothing. Yes there is though. I'm feeling mighty queer.'
'Are you ill?'
'No, nothing of the sort. But I'm nervous. I feel as though great
things were on foot. The air is charged with great things. Something
big is going to take place.'
He was silent a few seconds, and then went on, 'I had a long talk with
a doctor in France a few days ago.'
'What doctor? What did he tell you?' I asked eagerly.
'One of our men out there. He had a big practice as a consulting
physician in Harley Street until a few months ago, when he offered
himself to the Army. He is a nerve specialist, and years ago paid
great attention to brain troubles. He was so kind to me, and was such
an understanding fellow that I told him my story. He was awfully
interested, and said that he never knew but one case where loss of
memory had continued so long as it had with me.'
'Did he give you any hope?' I asked.
He shook his head doubtfully. 'He would not say anything definite. He
seemed to think that as my general health had been good for so long,
and as my memory had not come back, it might be a very long time before
there was any change. All the same, he felt sure that it was only a
matter of time. He seemed to regard my trouble as a kind of artificial
barrier which divided the past from the present, but that time would
constantly wear away the barrier. He also said that if some very vivid
and striking happening were to take place, something that was vitally
connected with my past, it might suddenly pierce it--tear it aside, and
let in the light.'
'And--and----?'
'No, Luscombe,' he interrupted, as if divining my thoughts, 'I know of
nothing, I remember nothing. But there was something else he told me
which makes me have faith in him. It was so true.'
'What was that?'
'That loss of memory often gave a kind of sixth sense. He said he
should not be surprised if I had very vivid premonitions of the future.
That I had a kind of knowledge when something out of the common were
going to happen. That's what makes me afraid.'
'Afraid?'
'Yes, afraid. I seem to be on the brink of a great black chasm. I
feel that I am able to save myself from falling, only I won't. I say,
what's that?'
'It's a motor-car,' I replied. 'Sir Thomas told me he had other guests
coming.'
'What guests? Who are they?'
'How can I know?' I replied, for I feared to tell him what our host had
told me about Lord Carbis's relations to Springfield, and that probably
Lorna's engagement might be announced in a few hours.
We were both dressed ready for dinner a quarter of an hour before the
time announced, and together we found our way downstairs into the
reception hall. Early as we were, we found that not only was Lorna
Bolivick there, but George St. Mabyn was also present and was talking
eagerly to Norah Blackwater. Springfield also came a few seconds
later, and went straight to Lorna's side and spoke to her with an air
of proprietorship.
I felt that Edgecumbe and I were _de trop_, and I moved away from them,
but Edgecumbe went to St. Mabyn and Norah Blackwater, as if with the
purpose of speaking to them. I thought, too, that there was a strange
look in his eyes.
'You are not much like your brother Maurice,' he said suddenly.
'My brother Maurice!' said St. Mabyn, and I thought his voice was
hoarse. 'What do you know of him?'
'What do I know of him?' repeated Edgecumbe, and he spoke as though his
mind were far away.
'Yes. You can know nothing of him. He's dead.'
'No,' replied Edgecumbe, 'he's not dead.'
'Not dead!' and St. Mabyn almost gasped the words, while his face
became as pale as ashes. 'Not dead! You must be mad!' Then he
laughed uneasily.
'Oh, no,' and Edgecumbe still spoke in the same toneless voice. 'I
knew him well. He was--where did I see him last?'
Before we could recover from the effect of what he said, I knew that
we were joined by others. In a bewildered kind of way I noticed
that Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick were accompanied by a tall,
distinguished-looking man about fifty-five years of age, by whose side
stood a sweet-faced, motherly-looking woman.
'Lorna, my dear,' said Sir Thomas, 'I want you to know Lord and Lady
Carbis.'
Lorna moved forward to speak to her visitors, but they did not notice
her. Both of them had fixed their gaze on Edgecumbe, who stood looking
at them with a light in his eyes which made me afraid.
'John!' cried Lady Carbis, her voice almost rising to a scream. 'Why,
it's Jack! our Jack!'
Never shall I forget the look on my friend's face. He seemed to be in
agony. It might be that he was striving to keep himself from going
mad. His eyes burnt with a red light, his features were drawn and
contorted. Then suddenly he heaved a deep sigh, and lifted his
shoulders, as though he were throwing a heavy weight from him.
'Mother!' he said hoarsely. 'Mother! When----? that is---- Why, I'm
home again!--and the little mater----'
Unheeding the fact of his damaged arm, he held out both his hands and
staggered towards her.
A second later, unconscious of watching eyes, they were in each other's
arms, while Lady Carbis murmured all sorts of fond endearments.
'My dead boy come back to life!' she cried. 'My little Jack
who--who--oh, thank God, thank God! Speak to me, Jack, my darling,
speak to your mother! Oh, help! What's the matter? Can't you see
that----'
I was only just in time to keep my friend from falling heavily on the
floor, and when a few seconds later I succeeded in lifting him to a
sofa, he lay like a dead man.