Barbara Erskine - Lady of Hay

Bells were ringing in her mind once more, full of warning. Almost in panic she turned away from him, not wanting him to see the struggle going on inside her; she crossed the carpet to look out of the window into the busy street below, shivering in spite of the humid warmth of the afternoon. The sun was reflecting on a window opposite, dazzling as she stared at it. She turned back to Bennet.

“I have a small tape recorder in my bag. Would you object if I used it while you try?”

He shook his head and gestured toward a table by the far wall. “As you see, I use one too, for various reasons. I also always insist that Miss Simmons is present to act as a chaperone.” He did not smile. “I should explain, however, that often one needs a preliminary session to establish a rapport between hypnotist and patient. It is a far more delicate relationship than that implied by music-hall acts or sensational fiction. So you should not expect too much on this occasion.” He grinned suddenly. “Or too little either, Miss Clifford. You may indeed be a hard subject-I’m sure with your cooperation, though, I can achieve something. And I have a feeling you would be an interesting case.” He smiled boyishly. “Quite a challenge, in fact. But I don’t wish to talk you into this if you still have any reservations. I think you should take a little time to consider-”

“No!” Jo surprised herself with the vehemence of her reply. “No, let’s do it. I’d like to.”

“You are quite sure?”

“Quite.” She reached for her bag and pulled the recorder out of it. “What shall I do?”

He walked toward the window and half pulled one of the curtains across, shading the room. Above the roof of the opposite building a huge purple cloud had appeared, threatening the sun. He glanced at it as he went back to Jo.

“Just relax. You are very tense, my dear. Why don’t we have a cup of tea or some more coffee perhaps while we talk about what is to happen.”

Jo shook her head. “I’ll be okay. I suppose it’s natural to want to resist giving your mind to someone else.” She bit her lip. “Can I just ask you to promise one thing? If anything happens, you’ll do nothing to stop me remembering it later. That’s important.”

“Of course. It will all in any case be on tape.” He watched as she set the tape recorder on the floor next to his couch.

“Shall I lie down?” she asked, eyeing it nervously.

“If you wish. Wherever you feel most comfortable and relaxed.” He glanced at Sarah, who had quietly seated herself at the table in the corner before the tape deck. Then he turned back to Jo. “Now, Joanna-may I call you Joanna?”

“Jo,” Jo whispered.

“Very well, Jo. I want you to relax completely and close your eyes.”

Jo felt the panic overtaking her. Her eyes flew open and she sat upright. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Just as you like. Try leaning back against those cushions. Why don’t we try a light trance first, just to make you feel more relaxed, shall we? There’s nothing to worry about. Just something to make you feel good. You may have seen Bill Walton do it. It’s a very usual way of testing people’s reactions.”

Behind him Sarah smiled grimly, recognizing the tone of his voice as she saw Jo make herself comfortable against the cushions, her ankles crossed on the soft hide of the sofa. Jo closed her eyes once more and visibly tried to make herself relax.

“That’s fine.” Bennet moved toward her on silent feet. “Now, the sun is filling the room once more, so I’m going to ask Sarah to pull down the blinds, but meanwhile I want you to keep your eyes tightly closed.” He glanced at the window. The sun had gone. The narrow strip of sky visible from the room was a livid bruise of cloud. There was a low rumble of thunder as he began speaking again. “That’s right. You can feel the light burning your eyes. Keep them tightly closed. That’s fine.” He touched her face lightly. “Now you want to open them but you can’t. The light is too bright.”

Jo did not move. She could hear him clearly and she knew she could open her eyes if she wanted to, but she could sense the glare behind her lids. There seemed no point in moving until Sarah had shut out the sun, the dazzling white shape that had appeared over the rim of the house on the other side of Devonshire Place, shining directly into the room.

Bennet took her hand gently. “Jo, can you hear me? Good. Now I’m going to tickle your hand slightly, just enough to make you smile. Can you feel me do it?”

Sarah gasped. He had taken a small pin from his lapel and driven it deeply into her palm. Jo smiled, her eyes still closed, still wondering why he didn’t shut out the sun.

Bennet glanced at Sarah. Then he turned back to Jo. “Now, my dear, I want you to go back to when you were a little girl…”

Some ten minutes later Sarah’s whisper broke into his concentration. “Carl, she’s the best subject I’ve ever seen.”

He frowned at her, his whole attention fixed on the figure lying back against the cushions in front of him. “I had a feeling she might be,” he replied in an undertone. “I can’t understand why Cohen couldn’t reach her, unless-” He broke off and looked at her thoughtfully.

“Unless what?”

“Unless he gave her a posthypnotic suggestion that she should not remember for some reason.” He turned back to Jo. “Now, Jo, my dear, I want you to go back, back to the time before you were born, to the dark time, when you were floating free…”

Jo stirred uneasily, moving her head from side to side. Then she lay still again, completely relaxed as she listened to him.

“Now, Jo. Before the darkness. When you lived before. Do you remember? You are another person, in another time. Do you remember? Can you tell me? What do you see?”

Jo opened her eyes and stared hard in front of her at the arm of the sofa. “It’s getting dark,” she said uncertainly. “Dark and cold.”

“Are you indoors or out, can you see?” Bennet frowned at the window, which showed that it was indeed getting dark and that a torrential summer rain had begun to fall, streaming down the windows, gurgling from a broken gutter. There was another deep roll of thunder.

Jo spoke hesitantly. “It’s the trees. They’re so thick here. I don’t like the forest.”

“Do you know which forest it is?” Bennet was watching her intently.

“No.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

She frowned, puzzled. “I don’t know. Some call me-they call me Matilda-No, Moll…I don’t know.”

“Can you tell me something about yourself, Matilda? Where do you live?”

Slowly Jo pushed herself up from the cushions till she was sitting bolt upright, staring into space. “I live,” she said firmly. “I live far away from here. In the mountains.” Then she shook her head, perplexed. “The mountains fill my eyes. Black and misty, not like at home.” She began to rub her eyes with her knuckles, like a child. She looked bewildered. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I want to sleep.” She lay back and closed her eyes.

“Tell me something else then, Matilda,” Bennet prompted gently. “What are you doing?”

There was no answer.

“Are you walking in the forest, or riding perhaps?”

Jo hunched her shoulders rebelliously and said nothing. Bennet sighed. “Come now, my dear. Tell me what are you wearing? Are you dressed in your prettiest clothes?” He was coaxing now. He glanced at his watch and then looked at Sarah. “Pity. I thought we were going to get something interesting. We might try again another time-” He broke off as Jo let out an exclamation.

“They told me to forget. How can I forget? It is happening now…”