Some Must Watch by Ethel Lina White (books for 5 year olds to read themselves .TXT) đź“•
For all that, it offered a solidly resistant front to the solitude. Its state of excellent repair was evidence that no money was spared to keep it weather-proof. There was no blistered paint, no defective guttering. The whole was somehow suggestive of a house which, at a pinch, could be rendered secure as an armored car.
It glowed with electric-light, for Oates' principal duty was to work the generating plant. A single wire overhead was also a comfortable reassurance of its link with civilization.
Helen no longer felt any wish to linger outside. The evening mists were rising so that the evergreen shrubs, which clumped the lawn, appeared to quiver into life. Viewed through a veil of vapor, they looked black and grim, like mourners assisting at a funeral.
"If I don't hurry, they'll get between me and the house,
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an old surprise-packet.”
Helen remembered his words as she trotted to and fro, between the, table
and the sideboard. But her ears still burned whenever she recalled the
irony of Miss Warren’s voice.
“Well, I’ve warned her,” she thought. “It’s her pigeon. But I would like
to know where that revolver is. You won’t catch me in that, room again,
if I can help it.”
Although she tried to listen for the sound of the car, the fury of the
storm prevented her from hearing the hum of the engine, It was not until
she caught Mrs. Oates’ welcome to her husband, that she realized that
the new nurse had come.
She rushed across the room and opened the door, but was too late to see
her face, for she was in the act of following her guides through the
entry to the kitchen stairs. Her back view, however, was impressive, for
she was unusually tall.
Helen felt a burst of confidence.
“She’s not a weak, link, anyway,” she decided. “She’d be an awkward
customer for him to tackle.”
As she lingered in the hall, she remembered the loose handle of Miss
Warren’s door: She had watched where Oates kept his handful of tools,
and discovered that he left them where he had used them, With this clue
to guide her, she found the box stuck away in a corner of the
boot-closet, in the hall.
As this was not a legitimate job, she crept up the stairs to the first
floor landing, and knelt before the door. She had hardly begun her
investigations, when a sudden sound made her look up.
As she did so, she was the victim of an illusion. She was sure that the
door across the landing, leading from the back-stairs, opened and shut
again, giving her a glimpse of the face of a stranger.
It passed, like the dissolving memory of a dream, yet it left a horror
in her mind, as though she had received a vision of elemental evil.
Even while she stared in stunned bewilderment, she realized that a door
had actually opened and that the Professor was advancing towards her.
“It must have been the Professor,” she thought. “It must. I believe it
looked like him. Some trick of light or shadow altered his expression.
It’s so dark here.”
Even while she clung to this commonplace explanation, her reason
rejected it. At the back of her mind remained a picture of the spiral of
the back-stairs. The two staircases of the Summit offered special
chances to anyone who wished to hide.
She reminded herself that no one could get in during the daytime.
Besides, the house was so full of people that it would be impossible for
anyone to escape notice. The intruder would have to know the habits and
time-table of all the inmates.
Suddenly she remembered that Mrs. Oates had commented on the supernormal
cunning of a criminal maniac.
He would know.
A shiver ran down her spine, as she wondered if she ought to tell the
Professor of her experience. It was her duty, if any unauthorized person
was secreted in the house. But, as she opened her lips, the memory of
her recent encounter with Miss Warren made her afraid of appearing
officious.
Although the Professor’s eyes seemed to reduce her to the usual
essential gases, the sight of his conventional dinner clothes acted as a
tonic. His shirt-front gleamed, his black tie was formal, his grey hair
was brushed back from his intellectual brow.
Although he was rigid where his sister was fluid, he inspired her with
the same sense of unhuman companionship.
Suddenly aware that he might suspect her of spying through a bedroom
keyhole, she broke into an explanation of the defective door-handle.
“Tell Oates to see to it, please,” he said, with an absent nod.
Toned by the incident, Helen resolved to test her nerve by a descent of
the back-stairs. When she opened the landing door, and looked down the
spiral, it looked a trap,.corkscrewing down to depths of darkness. But
her courage did not desert her until the last flight, which she nearly
leaped, at a sudden memory of a seared, distorted face.
THE, NEW NURSE
When Helen entered the kitchen, she was greeted by the explosions of
splattering fat. Although the table was crowded with materials for
dinner—in different stages of preparation—while vegetables bubbled on
the range, Mrs. Oates fried fish, juggled with her saucepans, and dried
her husband’s wet things over the boiler. In spite of the seeming
confusion, she took these interludes in her stride, without loss of
head, or temper.
Oates, in his grey woollen cardigan, was eating a huge meal in the
corner, which his wife had cleared for him. He was a goodnatured giant
of a man, with the build of a prize-fighter.
At the sight of his small honest eyes, Helen’s heart leaped in real
welcome. Like his wife, he always appeared to her as a tower of
strength.
“I’m so glad you’ve come back,” she told him. “You’re as good as three
men about the house.”
Oates smiled sheepishly as he tried to return the compliment.
“Thank you for laying my table, miss,” he said. “Is it still raining
heavily?” went on Helen.
“Not near so much,” interposed Mrs. Oates’ bitterly. “Oates brought most
of it in with him.”
Oates poured Worcester sauce over his fish, and changed the subject.
“Wait till you see what I’ve brought back with me,” he chuckled.
“You mean—the new nurse?” asked Helen.
“Yes, the little piece I picked up at the Nursing Home. By the look of
her, she’s as good as another man.”
“Is she nice?”
“As nasty a bit of work as ever I’ve come across. Talks with plums in
her mouth, and kept me in my place… Well, if she’s a lady,
I’m Greta Garbo.”
“Where is she?” enquired Helen curiously.
“I put a meal for her in the sitting-room,” replied Mrs. Oates.
“My room?”
Mrs. Oates exchanged a smile with her husband. Helen’s sense of
ownership was a perpetual source of amusement to them, because of her
small stature.
“Only for tonight,” she said soothingly. “After her wet ride, I thought
she’d rather not wait for the regular dinner.”
“I’ll go and welcome her,” decided Helen, even while she knew that
“inspect” would be more appropriate.
Her own sanctum—a dingy semi-basement room, on the other side of the
kitchen—was originally intended for the servants’ hall, in the days
before the domestic drought. Its walls and ceiling had been washed
butter-yellow, in an attempt to lighten the gloom, and it was shabbily
furnished with the overflow of the rest of the house.
Because it had been assigned to Helen, she clung to it with jealous
tenacity. Although she took her meals with the family, in recognition of
the fact that her father had done nothing for his living, the
corresponding fact, that she, herself, was a worker, cut her off from
the privilege of relaxing in the drawingroom.
As she entered her refuge, the nurse looked up from her tray. She was a
tall broad-shouldered woman, and was still wearing her outdoor
nursing-uniform, of conventional navyblue. Helen noticed that her
features were large and reddened, and her eyebrows bushy and set close
together.
She had nearly finished her meal and was already smoking, between
mouthfuls.
“Are you Nurse Barker?” asked Helen.
“How do you do?” Nurse Barker spoke in a voice of heavy culture, as she
laid down her cigarette. “Are you one of the Miss Warrens?”
“No, I’m the help, Miss Capel. Have you everything you want?”
“Yes, thanks.” Nurse Barker began to smoke again. “But I would like to
ask a question. Why am I put in the kitchen?”
“It’s not,” explained Helen. “It’s my own sitting-room.”
“Do you take your meals here, too?”
“No. I take them with the family.”
The sudden gleam in the older woman’s deep-set eyes told Helen that she
was jealous. Although it was a novelty to be an object of envy, her
instinct advised her to smooth Nurse Barker’s ruffled feelings.
“The nurse has her own private sitting-room, on the first floor, which
is far superior to the basement,” she said. “Your meals are served
there. Of course, the same as us. Only” tonight, we thought you’d rather
not wait, as you must be cold and tired.”
“I’m more.” Nurse Barker spoke in tones of tragic intensity. “I’m
horrified. This place is off the map. I never expected such a lonely
spot.”
“You knew it was in the country.”
“I expected the usual country-house. They told me my patient was Lady
Warren, which sounded all right.”
Helen wondered whether she ought to warn Nurse Barker what was in store
for her.
“I’m afraid you may find her a bit strong-willed,” she said. “The last
nurse was frightened of her.”
Nurse Barker swallowed a mouthful of smoke, in professional style. She
won’t frighten me,” Nurse Barker declared.. “She’ll find it won’t pay to
try her tricks. I keep my patients in order. Influence of course. I
believe in kindness. The Iron hand in the velvet glove.”
“I don’t think an iron hand sounds very kind, remarked Helen. She looked
up, with a sense of relief, as Mrs. Oates entered. She had temporarily
removed her greasy overall, and was looking forward to gratifying her
social instinct.
“The dinner’ll keep now, till it’s time to dish-up,” she announced. “I
popped in to see if you would fancy a bit of pudding Nurse.
Plum-pudding, or a bit of gooseberry-pie.
“Are the gooseberries bottled?” asked Nurse Barker.
“No, no, our new December crop, fresh-picked from the garden.”
“Then—neither, thanks,” said Nurse Barker.
“Well—a nice cup of tea?”
“No, thanks.” Nurse Barker’s accent grew more, refined as she asked a
question. “Is there any stimulant?”
Mrs Oates’ eyes gleamed, and she licked her lips.
“Plenty in the cellar,” she said. “But the master keeps the key. I’ll
speak to him about it, if you like, Nurse.”
“No thank you I prefer to tell Miss Warren my own requirements… it
is extraordinary that she has not come downstairs to interview me. Where
is she?”
“Setting up with her ladyship. I wouldn’t be in too great a hurry to go
up there, Nurse. Once you’re there, you’ve got to stay put.”
Nurse Barker pondered Mrs. Oates advice.”
“I understood it was a single-handed case, she said. But I’ve come
straight off from duty. I only came to oblige Matron. I ought to have a
good night’s rest:”
She turned to Helen.
“Are you a good sleeper?” she asked.
“Ten to seven,” boasted Helen unwarily.
“Then a bad night won’t hurt you. You’ll have to sleep with Lady Warren
tonight.”
Helen felt a pang of horror.
“Oh no,” she cried. “I couldn’t.”
“And why not?”
“I—Well, it sounds absurd, but I’m afraid of her.”
Nurse Barker looked pleased at the admission.
“Nonsense. Afraid of, a bedridden old woman? I never heard anything so
fantastic. I’ll arrange it with Miss Warren.”
Helen had a spasm of shrinking aversion as she thought of Lady Warren’s
artificial grin. She had something to smile about now. She alone, knew
where she had hid her revolver.
Suddenly she wondered what would be the outcome, if the nurse insisted
on her night in bed. As she looked around
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