Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) (9 page)

Adam retrieved his bicycle helmet before turning to shake Reginald’s paw. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” Bending lower, he added in a voice only I could hear, “Until tomorrow.” He straightened, tucked the helmet under his arm, and headed for the study.

“I invited Captain Manning to tea,” Nicole was saying, in the small, helpless voice of a hostess whose plans have gone inexplicably awry.

“You’ll sup with him on your own, then,” said the gray-haired man.

Guy frowned. “I’d intended to discuss my investigation with Ms. Shepherd over tea.”

“Ms. Shepherd is my patient, Captain, and I won’t have her bothered,” retorted the older man.

“Won’t you come with me, Captain Manning?” Nicole pleaded.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hollander.” Guy slid the black beret from his head, as if suddenly remembering his manners. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, Ms. Shepherd.”

“Perhaps you could come to lunch,” Nicole offered.

Guy made no reply. He simply nodded to the older man, performed a crisp about-face, and marched past Nicole. It was only as Nicole was leaving that I noticed she’d exchanged her dusty work clothes for a flattering, midnight-blue velvet dress. I had little time to wonder if Captain Manning had noticed just how flattering the gown was, because the gray-haired man addressed me.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said. “I’m Dr. MacEwan. I’d’ve been here sooner, but I had a baby to deliver in Blackhope.”

“No problem,” I said.

“I hope the men didn’t upset you,” he said.

“Not at all,” I replied. “Do you know what they were arguing about?”

“A military man and a military historian can always find a reason to squabble.” Dr. MacEwan rubbed the end of his nose. “In this particular case, however, I can’t blame Chase for being angry. I’d certainly take it amiss if Guy Manning looked into my private life. Though I dare say he’s done so already.”

“Why would he?” I asked.

“It’s his job. He’s head of security for the entire region. That’s why your accident’s preying on his mind. There’s some might say it’s his fault. It’s certainly his responsibility.”

As I slid the blanket from my shoulders, the doctor’s bushy eyebrows drew down in a fierce scowl.

“Good God, woman, you’re filthy. And what are you doing here? Exposure’s no joke, young lady. Up to your room straightaway, and no arguments.”

I put off my imprisonment in the red room as long as possible.

Mrs. Hatch had unpacked the luggage Adam had rescued from the wrecked Rover, so I grabbed my nightie and bathrobe and, with Dr. MacEwan’s consent, retreated to the bathroom to dispose of the library’s dust. When I returned to the red room after my bath, Dr. MacEwan had vanished.

I took advantage of the opportunity to call Bill. All was quiet on the home front, or as quiet as it could be with a pair of nineteen-month-olds ruling the roost. Bill was so exhausted by his first full day with the twins that he could barely string two words together, so I cut the conversation short, promising to call again the following morning.

No sooner had I hung up the phone than the doctor and Nicole arrived, the doctor toting his black bag, Nicole bearing a silver tray laden with a hearty meal. I looked from the rare slices of roast beef to the oozing blue-green wedge of Stilton, and felt myself grow pale.

“Perhaps a bit of broth would be more suitable,” Nicole suggested hastily. When the doctor nodded, she departed, taking the hearty meal with her.

“Lost your appetite, have you?” said the doctor. “I’m not surprised. Sit up, now, and let’s see what’s what.”

He took a stethoscope from his black bag and began his examination. He shook his head over my blood pressure, clucked his tongue at my pulse, and told me in no uncertain terms to stay put for the remainder of the evening.

Nicole returned shortly after I’d crawled beneath the covers. Dr. MacEwan took the tray she offered and dismissed her ruthlessly, ordering her not to disturb my rest. Then he stood over me, watching, as if to make sure that I’d eat up all my broth.

“Nicole tells me you fainted in the library,” he said, when the bowl was empty. “It’s a mercy you didn’t break your neck. You’ve had a serious shock to your system, young lady. You should’ve gone to bed the moment you arrived here.”

“I would have, except…” I looked pointedly from the ferret to the horrible, staring monkey.

The doctor followed my gaze. “I see. Not likely to inspire
pleasant dreams, are they? I’ll have a word with Mrs. Hollander.”

“You could tell her I’m allergic to them,” I offered.

“I’ll tell her the damned room’s gloomy enough without them.” He glowered at the crimson hangings on the vast four-poster bed, then crossed to the windows to fling open the damask drapes. “That’s better. A bit of fresh air is— Good God!” he exclaimed. “There’re
bars
on the windows.”

“I know,” I said. “Nicole thinks it must have been a nursery at one time.”

“A nursery?” The doctor snorted. “I doubt it. Tucked away upstairs, that’s where you’ll find a nursery. Not down here, where the kiddies’ bawling might disturb the parents. Ah, well,” he said, cracking a window, “the bars won’t stop the breezes. Nothing better for you than fresh air.” He returned to the bed, removed the tray, and placed it on the dressing table. “You’ll dream about your accident, no doubt. Don’t let it trouble you. Nightmares are par for the course in cases like yours.”

“Once those critters are gone, I won’t have nightmares,” I assured him.

“Your confidence is admirable,” he said dourly. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve pushed yourself too hard. You’re bound to pay for it one way or another. Shock can affect the mind as well as the body.”

I stared up at the bloodred canopy, turning his words over in my mind. “Could shock make me…hallucinate?” I asked. “Could it make me hear and see things that aren’t really there?”

“What kinds of things?” he asked.

“Just before I fainted, I thought I heard”—I faltered, almost too embarrassed to admit the truth—“laughter. I thought I heard spooky laughter and saw a pair of creepy, glowing eyes.”

Dr. MacEwan regarded me thoughtfully. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Wyrdhurst ghost.”

I nodded.

“That would explain it,” he said. “The power of suggestion working on an exhausted and therefore vulnerable mind can produce all manner of queer visions. Don’t let it worry you. It’ll pass.” Dr. MacEwan hefted his bag and headed for the door. “I’ll look in on you again tomorrow morning. Until then, get some rest.”

When he’d gone, I faced the bedside table, where Reginald leaned companionably against the dashing Major Ted. Beside them stood a framed photograph Mrs. Hatch had taken from my luggage.

Bill’s face grinned back at me, and I could almost hear the twins’ throaty giggles as they wriggled in his arms, yet I gazed at them an odd sense of detachment. My boys were safe and happy, I told myself. They didn’t need me fussing over them twenty-four hours a day.

Besides, I thought, rolling onto my back, I wasn’t just a mother and a wife. I was a strong, intelligent woman of the world. Mr. Garnett the mechanic might be frightened of the house upon the hill, but I wasn’t. As Dr. MacEwan had explained, my jitters were nothing more than an overblown reaction to stress. A good night’s rest would put everything to rights.

Bolstered by my own pep talk, I saluted Major Ted,
switched off the bedside lamp, and closed my eyes. Comforted by the dwindling fire’s pleasant flicker, I soon fell asleep.

The fire was out when I woke up. I couldn’t see a thing. But I could hear the stealthy footsteps and the quiet, raspy breathing.

Someone was in my room.

M
y heart thumped hard enough to bruise my sternum. I took a quavering breath, gripped the bedclothes with both hands, and inquired of the darkness, “Who’s there?”

A ghoulish, glowing face appeared above me, near the ceiling, a demon conjured from the Stygian gloom. Every hair on my body stood on end. I gasped once, twice, forgot I was a woman of the world, and screamed like a banshee.

At once, the bedroom lights came on and Nicole was by my side, apologizing, explaining, and beseeching me to stop having hysterics. It took a while for her words to penetrate. I was a little nervy.

When she finally coaxed me out from under the blankets, I saw, to my chagrin, that my demon was nothing more than Mr. Hatch perched atop a stepladder near the wardrobe. He held the stuffed monkey under his arm and a hooded flashlight in his hand.

“It’s only Hatch,” soothed Nicole. “He came for Jared’s pets. Dr. MacEwan told me of your allergies and I thought it best to move the animals at once.”

“You were fast asleep when I come up, ma’am,” Mr. Hatch chimed in. “I didn’t like to waken you, so I come in quiet-like. Got the finches and the ferret with no trouble, but bashed the blasted monkey with my torch.” He propped the creepy creature against the wardrobe. “You nearly knocked me off the ladder with your screeching.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hatch.” I pulled the covers to my chin, wondering why he’d waited until midnight to round up Jared’s repellent pets. “What time is it?”

“Half seven,” Nicole replied.

So much for the witching hour, I thought wryly. I’d been asleep for less than forty minutes.

Mr. Hatch clambered down the ladder, then carried it and the staring monkey out of the room. Nicole waited until he’d shut the door to speak.

“Please don’t tell Dr. MacEwan that we disturbed you,” she said. “He’s already furious with me for letting you work so soon after your accident.”

“It was my choice,” I reminded her. “A foolish one, as it happens. I’ve been feeling out of whack all day. Dr. MacEwan says it’s the aftereffects of shock.”

“How dreadful,” said Nicole.

“It hasn’t been pleasant,” I agreed. “My imagination’s run amok. I’ve even started hearing things. I think they’re called auditory halluci—”

“What did you hear?” Nicole broke in. She stood stock-still at the foot of the bed. She was wearing an exquisite slate-gray gown with embroidery and hand beadwork, and her dark hair fell in a wavy mane nearly to her waist. Silhouetted against the bedroom’s rich wall coverings, she looked like a wild-haired damsel from a Pre-Raphaelite painting. “What did you hear?” she repeated.

Her insistent tone brought to mind the confession she’d begun but never finished in the library. I recalled, too, the conversation I’d overheard before entering the dining room for breakfast. When Jared was away, she’d said, she heard and saw things that disturbed her.

“Laughter,” I replied. “I thought I heard a man laughing.”

“Laughter?” Nicole seemed to relax. She came around the corner of the bed, trailing her fingers through the bed curtain’s long fringe. “I’ve never heard anyone laugh. With
me, it’s mostly creaks and taps and thumps that sound like footsteps. The last time Jared was away, I thought I saw a face staring in at me through my bedroom window.”

“Huh,” I said, bemused. “I thought I saw a pair of glowing eyes.”

“G-glowing eyes?” Nicole’s seemed ready to pop from their sockets.

“Hyperventilation.” I blurted the first thing that came to mind, in order to calm Nicole, but once the word was out, it made sense of what I’d seen. “Rapid, shallow breathing can cause a person to see stars, Nicole, and I was huffing pretty heavily on the staircase. The ‘glowing eyes’ were just the result of my brain overdosing on oxygen.”

“Of course.” Nicole seemed relieved. “And the only face I saw at my bedroom window belonged to the man in the moon. As Jared pointed out, it was full that night.”

“Still,” I said, “it must have been pretty scary.”

“I ran out of the hall in my nightdress,” Nicole admitted, with a guilty giggle. “I was nearly to the trees before Hatch caught up with me. It took him half the night to persuade me to return to my room.”

She slipped out of her shoes, and climbed up on the bed, leaned back against the carved post, and curled her legs beneath the full skirt of her beaded gown. She seemed intent on staying for a while.

I didn’t object. If Dickie Byrd wanted me to babysit his niece, I’d do my best. Nicole brought out my most protective instincts. Apart from that, the adrenaline boost provided by Mr. Hatch’s visit had left me wide awake.

Nicole twined a curling strand of hair around her finger.
“A house like Wyrdhurst seems to encourage one’s mind to play tricks on one.”

“Especially if one believes it’s haunted,” I said pointedly.

“Captain Manning thinks the ghost is rubbish,” she said, “a malicious rumor started by the charwomen Jared dismissed.”

I felt a tweak of pride, knowing that the army’s regional head of security and I had reached the same conclusion independently.

“It
is
rubbish,” I stated firmly. “A big old place like Wyrdhurst is bound to creak, and I conjured the weird laughter out of thin air. It was probably nothing more sinister than a faulty furnace fan.”

“It all seems so sensible when one discusses it with a sympathetic friend,” Nicole said. “It’s quite different when one’s alone.”

“One’s not alone, though, is one?” I said. “I’m here.”