It was part of a long list of things she did not know. “Upon my word,” she exclaimed to the empty room, “I would not even recognize my own countenance!”
Suddenly it was very important to know her own appearance. Her hair was a dark mahogany, and her hands appeared young—unlined and unspotted—but she knew little else. Was she pretty? Was she tall? What was her age? A mirror hung on the far wall, but Elizabeth’s position in the bed did not allow her to see it.
Climbing from the bed would not be condoned by doctor or husband, but neither was present. Hmm….apparently I do not bow easily to the will of others. Good for me.
If she were to make the effort, it would be best to do so now while she was still alone in the room. Sitting up provoked a wave of dizziness; Elizabeth paused for a moment to allow the room to stop spinning around her. Feeling steadier, she slid to the edge of the bed and dangled her legs over the side. They did not reach the floor. Perhaps that answers my question about my height. Fortunately, the dizziness remained at bay despite her movements.
Slowly, she slid off the bed, gingerly resting her weight on her feet. Her knees immediately buckled, compelling her to grab the edge of the bed. The next few minutes were occupied with steadying herself.
Holding the bed with one hand, she took a step and then another, pleased that she remained upright. Reaching the end of the bed, she was at the point where she needed to place all her trust in her legs. She took a minute to ensure her balance and then released her grip on the carved wooden bedpost, holding her breath as she stepped into the middle of the room.
Her body wobbled a bit, but she did not fall. She took another quick step, which brought her to the mirror. Steadying herself with a hand against the wall, she stared into it with rapt fascination.
The face that stared back at her might have been pretty were it not so pale and gaunt. Dark circles shadowed Elizabeth’s eyes, and her cheeks had hollowed out. How long was I sick? I might have been raised from the dead!
At least her hair was dark and thick, curling around her face. And her eyes were bright, a startling green. I have a few good features despite my complete want of complexion. Under the linen nightrail, her frame was slender to the point of being thin. I resemble a plague victim. What if my countenance never recovers? Her stomach clenched. Would William put me aside if I am never in good looks again?
Without any warning, the room dimmed, her legs collapsed, and Elizabeth sank to the floor. I am fainting. How odd, I have never fainted before. Actually, how would I know? This is so frustrating…
The world went black, but briefly. After only a few seconds, she recovered consciousness. Her arms had broken her fall, but her legs were awkwardly twisted underneath her.
She did not try to arise immediately but remained on the floor, panting while her heart rate returned to normal. I should call for help, but they will only chastise me for leaving my bed.
Evidently I also am stubborn.
Once she had regained a modicum of strength, Elizabeth crawled to the end of the bed and pulled herself to standing with the help of the wooden bedpost. She needed another minute to rest before she could lift herself onto the bed. It required another rest before she had the energy to crawl up to the head of the bed, where she collapsed with her head upon the pillows, unable to muster the energy to crawl under the covers.
Elizabeth dozed, but when she awoke, nothing had changed except the angle of the sun in the window.
She considered what she had learned. The face in the mirror held no familiarity, and no memories had appeared in her head as she slept. She was a stranger even to herself. Was it possible for a person to be more alone?
Her hands clenched into fists. I must not give way to panic. There must be other ways to learn about my situation. Perhaps she could make deductions from her own observations. Earlier she had ignored the sounds of the household, but now she strained her ears to hear them.
A conversation between two women was taking place near the closed door to her room. Elizabeth understood only about a quarter of their words—enough to guess that the conversation concerned that evening’s dinner menu.
Why did she comprehend so little of it? Was that an effect of the blow to her head? But she had understood William quite easily—every word. And the doctor had been comprehensible despite his accent. Because they had spoken…English. Her mind supplied the right word. Yes, he had spoken proper English while the doctor had spoken with a French accent. And the conversation outside her door was entirely in French—the reason she understood so little.
This amnesia was a strange thing. She could not remember anything of her childhood, but she was completely certain that she had accurately identified French and English. Had she taken French lessons as a child?
Why were the women speaking in French? And why did the doctor have an accent? She peered around the room: the furniture, curtains, paintings. Everything had felt subtly alien, although she was only now recognizing the sensation. This was not her home; there was nothing English about it.
Her heart beat an agitated rhythm, and her palms grew moist. I must be in France. For a moment she did not recall why the thought quickened her breathing. This place feels safe, but I know France is not safe. Why? But the reason eluded her. I should be in England; I know it. However, try as she might, Elizabeth could not picture where she lived. Did she live in a London townhouse? Or on a farm in the country? Or in an apartment over a shop?
At least if I live in the country, I may take long walks. I dearly love long walks.
How do I know that?
The strain of remembering was like trying to grab for handfuls of clouds. Her head throbbed, and her eyes drifted closed, as if the very act of trying to remember had taken more effort than her body could sustain. She fought sleep, wanting to learn more about the place, but soon her eyelids closed, and she fell deeply asleep.
***
When she next awakened, William sat in the armchair reading a book. He sprang to his feet the moment she stirred.
“How do you feel? Should I get the doctor? What do you need? Whatever you want, I shall obtain it for you.”
Sitting up in the bed, Elizabeth tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Whatever I want? Hmm…I would like a strawberry and apple tart.”
William took a step toward the door and then stopped, turning to her with a crestfallen expression. “I do not believe strawberries and apples are in season.”