The Great Impersonation - E. Phillips Oppenheim (best books to read for self development TXT) 📗

“The serious things are pretty good,” she admitted. “You used to drink whiskys and sodas at all hours of the day, and quite as much wine as was good for you at dinner time. Now, although you are a wonderful host, you scarcely take anything yourself.”

“You should see me at the port,” he told her, “when you ladies are well out of the way! Some more of the good, please?”

“All your best qualities seem to have come to the surface,” she went on, “and I think that the way you have come back and faced it all is simply wonderful. Tell me, if that man’s body should be discovered after all these years, would you be charged with manslaughter?”

He shook his head. “I do not think so, Caroline.”

“Everard.”

“Well?”

“Did you kill Roger Unthank?”

A portion of the burning log fell on to the hearth. Then there was silence. They heard the click of the billiard balls in the adjoining room. Dominey leaned forward and with a pair of small tongs replaced the burning wood upon the fire. Suddenly he felt his hands clasped by his companion’s.

“Everard dear,” she said, “I am so sorry. You came to me a little tired tonight, didn’t you? I think that you needed sympathy, and here I am asking you once more that horrible question. Forget it, please. Talk to me like your old dear self. Tell me about Rosamund’s return. Is she really recovered, do you think?”

“I saw her only for a few minutes,” Dominey replied, “but she seemed to me absolutely better. I must say that the weekly reports I have received from the nursing home quite prepared me for a great improvement. She is very frail, and her eyes still have that restless look, but she talks quite coherently.”

“What about that horrible woman?”

“I have pensioned Mrs. Unthank. To my surprise I hear that she is still living in the village.”

“And your ghost?”

“Not a single howl all the time that Rosamund has been away.”

“There is one thing more,” Caroline began hesitatingly.

That one thing lacked forever the clothing of words. There came a curious, almost a dramatic interruption. Through the silence of the hall there pealed the summons of the great bell which hung over the front door. Dominey glanced at the clock in amazement.

“Midnight!” he exclaimed. “Who on earth can be coming here at this time of night!”

Instinctively they both rose to their feet. A manservant had turned the great key, drawn the bolts, and opened the door with difficulty. Little flakes of snow and a gust of icy wind swept into the hall, and following them the figure of a man, white from head to foot, his hair tossed with the wind, almost unrecognisable after his struggle.

“Why, Doctor Harrison!” Dominey cried, taking a quick step forward. “What brings you here at this time of night!”

The doctor leaned upon his stick for a moment. He was out of breath, and the melting snow was pouring from his clothes on to the oak floor. They relieved him of his coat and dragged him towards the fire.

“I must apologise for disturbing you at such an hour,” he said, as he took the tumbler which Dominey pressed into his hand. “I have only just received Lady Dominey’s telegram. I had to see you⁠—at once.”

The doctor, with his usual bluntness, did not hesitate to make it known that this unusual visit was of a private nature. Caroline promptly withdrew, and the two men were left alone in the great hall. The lights in the billiard-room and drawing-room were extinguished. Everyone in the house except a few servants had retired.

“Sir Everard,” the doctor began, “this return of Lady Dominey’s has taken me altogether by surprise. I had intended tomorrow morning to discuss the situation with you.”

“I am most anxious to hear your report,” Dominey said.

“My report is good,” was the confident answer. “Although I would not have allowed her to have left the nursing home so suddenly had I known, there was nothing to keep her there. Lady Dominey, except for one hallucination, is in perfect health, mentally and physically.”

“And this one hallucination?”

“That you are not her husband.”

Dominey was silent for a moment. Then he laughed a little unnaturally.

“Can a person be perfectly sane,” he asked, “and yet be subject to an hallucination which must make the whole of her surroundings seem unreal?”

“Lady Dominey is perfectly sane,” the doctor answered bluntly, “and as for that hallucination, it is up to you to dispel it.”

“Perhaps you can give me some advice?” Dominey suggested.

“I can, and I am going to be perfectly frank with you,” the doctor replied. “To begin with then, there are certain obvious changes in you which might well minister to Lady Dominey’s hallucination. For instance, you have been in England now some eight months, during which time you have revealed an entirely new personality. You seem to have got rid of every one of your bad habits, you drink moderately, as a gentleman should, you have subdued your violent temper, and you have collected around you, where your personality could be the only inducement, friends of distinction and interest. This is not at all what one expected from the Everard Dominey who scuttled out of England a dozen years ago.”

“You are excusing my wife,” Dominey remarked.

“She needs no excuses,” was the brusque reply. “She has been a long-enduring and faithful woman, suffering from a cruel illness, brought on, to take the kindest view if it, through your clumsiness and lack of discretion. Like all good women, forgiveness is second nature to her. It has now become her wish to take her proper place in life.”

“But if her hallucination continues,” Dominey asked, “if she seriously doubts that I am indeed her husband, how can she do that?”

“That is the problem you and I have to face,” the doctor said sternly. “The fact that your wife has been willing to return here to you, whilst still subject to that hallucination, is