“Stop right there. I do not want, nor do I need a doctor and you can keep your bloody shock treatment to yourself.” She wanted to go home, but it was doubtful he could be of any assistance there so there was no point in her asking him. And who in their right mind agreed to what he was offering? “I’ll be fine, but thank you for your concern.” The maid stood at the door. “Primrose, where is that tea?”
“Um, I thought I’d wait until the doctor finished up, Miss.”
“He’s finished.” She cleared her throat, knowing she had to stand up for herself. “Thank you, Doctor, but as you can see, I’m fine.” Please go away, now!
He seemed unsure, glancing between her and the door. “Well, Miss, if you’re sure. I’d really like to check you before I leave. Your dear father would be most upset if you had a setback after this, um shall we say, little episode. Remember what happened last time and the need for additional treatment?”
She shook her head and glanced at Primrose for help, but the girl stood with her eyes downcast.
“You blamed that on a bump to the head too, Miss, but I have to say, your behaviour wasn’t very ladylike afterwards. The way you attacked the doctor at the hospital when all he was trying to do was to help settle you down.” The doctor stepped closer and she backed up against the wall, the band of fear tightening around her chest once again. “Let me give you something to calm you so we can avoid another trip to the hospital. What do you say?”
“No. I told you. I don’t need anything except to be left in peace.”
He frowned, no doubt seeing his fee whittling away to nothing more than a house call. “I can’t force you, but are you sure you want to go through the risk of a relapse, Miss Wallace? It wasn’t pleasant last time, now was it?”
“I’m sure.” She brushed back her hair, touched a sore spot on her head. “Nothing more than a slight bruise, I can assure you I’ll be just fine.” She stood there until the doctor moved to the door and left, obviously unhappy about being called out and not being permitted to do his job.
“Darling, Wilz, that wasn’t very nice to the poor man. Papa won’t be pleased you know that you sent old Dr Fisher away. Not when he’s been so good to you over the years.” Gertie walked over to the window and rested her forehead on the cold glass. “Maybe a walk outside will clear your head and make you feel better.”
“Perhaps.” She stepped out from behind the bed, moved over to the dresser then lifted her hand and traced the shape of her lips, watching herself in the mirror.
“I do so hope you’ll let me go with you, Wilz, to Sydney. I can’t wait much longer, I’m afraid. Papa is pressuring me to take on more of the housekeeping duties. The expenses and the staff wages. I’ll die a dull boring old maid if he has his way.”
Sitting down on the upright tapestry chair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, searching for something that would give her a clue to who she really was. She leaned in. The slate-grey eyes that stared back at her were ringed in dark eyeliner unlike anything she would have worn. The black shiny hair was hers but certainly not the style she normally wore. She reached up and touched the waves either side of her temple, stroking the smooth lines down to her shoulders where the curls bounced against her mustard cable knit cardigan. She fingered the brown leather-covered buttons knowing this was not the fashion now. The tweedy high-waisted skirt was well made and not something one would have bought off the rack. She ran her hands down her calves, which were encased in thick silk stockings.
“I wish I had your taste in clothing, Wilz. One of the bonuses of going to Sydney so often I would have thought. Seeing the latest fashions in all the best shops.” Gertie glided over and stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder and looking into the mirror so their eyes met. She gave her a quick smile. “Just as well I suppose. Where I’m going I won’t need to look like you do.”
“No, I suppose not.” She cast her eye over the gorgeous bottles of perfume in front of the mirror. Reaching a hand out, she picked one up, pulled the stopper and sniffed the fragrance.
“Chanel Number 5. Your favourite, or so you tell Papa every Christmas.” Gertie took the bottle from her sister’s hands and spritzed her own throat, watching her reflection in the mirror. “Of course, being under eighteen makes me not old enough in his books to be so spoiled. I get rose water, lucky me.” Her lips puckered in a distasteful grimace and she put the bottle down. “Is he ever going to get a shock.”
“Gertie?”
“Yes, darling Wilz.”
“Can you promise me something?”
“Why of course. Anything, you know that.” Gertie put her chin on her shoulder and stared at her through the looking glass.
“I don’t want you to be alarmed, but my memory isn’t quite right.” She bit her lip and held up her hand to stop Gertie from speaking. “I don’t want you to tell Father.”
“Papa, you mean?” The eyes that mirrored hers clouded for a moment.
“Of course I do.” Papa not Father. “Papa wouldn’t understand why I didn’t let the doctor treat me.” She swallowed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine soon, but I need you to help me fill in the pieces if I look a little bit lost. Can you do that for me?”
Gertie didn’t have a chance to answer