Chapter 3
After spending about four hours in a state of semi-sleep, I forced myself to get up. It was difficult. A sick feeling of anticipation gnawed at me. I was haunted by my memories of Lucy, which were as vivid as when they occurred. They were tiny fragments - short, indelible snatches of time. Not one recollection lasted longer than five minutes. I would sometimes find myself enveloped in a bitter sort of remembrance. Tiny fragments quickly compounded, and weaved themselves together to create a damning tableau of pain and pleasure made manifest in flashes of heat and light.
Breakfast was a pleasant surprise. I had become so accustomed to Poole's standard ham, eggs, and porridge that the presence of fresh fruit and bread was a welcome one. Despite his dedication to his duties, Poole was not what one would term a "world-class" chef. I did not mind, though. I am very easy to please when it comes to food.
Breakfast also afforded me the opportunity to meet the innkeeper's wife, a soft-spoken young woman named Charlotte Allensworth. She had pale ivory skin that indicated a mild case of anemia, and grey-green eyes that mirrored the tint of the sea. She attempted to keep her long sandy-colored hair pinned to her head, but strands of it continually fell in her face during our conversation.
"What kind of medicine do you practice, Dr. Jekyll?" she asked politely.
"General medicine," I said between sips of tea. "I run a private practice from my home on Harley Street in London, but I spend most of my time at St. Jude's Hospital."
"How fascinating!" she exclaimed in earnest. "It's an honor to have you here, Doctor."
I smiled in embarassment. "Thank you," I said as humbly as I could. "I am very happy to be here."
"What brings you to Ashbourne, Dr. Jekyll? That is, if you don't mind my asking, of course."
"Not at all," I asserted. I tried to respond in such a fashion that it would arouse little interest. "I came to visit a dear friend."
Unfortunately, my efforts to seem nonchalant did not affect Mrs. Allensworth. "A friend? It's highly likely that it's a mutual one. Everyone knows everyone in Ashbourne."
"Well, perhaps you know mine. Lucy Harris?" I asked, hesitantly.
She looked up from the tablecloth she had dutifully begun to wipe off. "Yes," she said very directly. "We all know her very well. She's a sort of celebrity around here. How strange! She's never mentioned you before. I didn't know that she had such distinguished friends in London, but it doesn't surprise me. She's quite extraordinary.
"Yes," I agreed. "Quite."
After spending about four hours in a state of semi-sleep, I forced myself to get up. It was difficult. A sick feeling of anticipation gnawed at me. I was haunted by my memories of Lucy, which were as vivid as when they occurred. They were tiny fragments - short, indelible snatches of time. Not one recollection lasted longer than five minutes. I would sometimes find myself enveloped in a bitter sort of remembrance. Tiny fragments quickly compounded, and weaved themselves together to create a damning tableau of pain and pleasure made manifest in flashes of heat and light.
Breakfast was a pleasant surprise. I had become so accustomed to Poole's standard ham, eggs, and porridge that the presence of fresh fruit and bread was a welcome one. Despite his dedication to his duties, Poole was not what one would term a "world-class" chef. I did not mind, though. I am very easy to please when it comes to food.
Breakfast also afforded me the opportunity to meet the innkeeper's wife, a soft-spoken young woman named Charlotte Allensworth. She had pale ivory skin that indicated a mild case of anemia, and grey-green eyes that mirrored the tint of the sea. She attempted to keep her long sandy-colored hair pinned to her head, but strands of it continually fell in her face during our conversation.
"What kind of medicine do you practice, Dr. Jekyll?" she asked politely.
"General medicine," I said between sips of tea. "I run a private practice from my home on Harley Street in London, but I spend most of my time at St. Jude's Hospital."
"How fascinating!" she exclaimed in earnest. "It's an honor to have you here, Doctor."
I smiled in embarassment. "Thank you," I said as humbly as I could. "I am very happy to be here."
"What brings you to Ashbourne, Dr. Jekyll? That is, if you don't mind my asking, of course."
"Not at all," I asserted. I tried to respond in such a fashion that it would arouse little interest. "I came to visit a dear friend."
Unfortunately, my efforts to seem nonchalant did not affect Mrs. Allensworth. "A friend? It's highly likely that it's a mutual one. Everyone knows everyone in Ashbourne."
"Well, perhaps you know mine. Lucy Harris?" I asked, hesitantly.
She looked up from the tablecloth she had dutifully begun to wipe off. "Yes," she said very directly. "We all know her very well. She's a sort of celebrity around here. How strange! She's never mentioned you before. I didn't know that she had such distinguished friends in London, but it doesn't surprise me. She's quite extraordinary.
"Yes," I agreed. "Quite."
