The Spiral Staircase (12 page)

“I only know this,” she declared in a trembling voice, “if I was like all of you I wouldn’t want to be alive.”

To her surprise, support came from an unexpected quarter, for Stephen suddenly clapped his hands. “Bravo,” he said. “Miss Capel’s got more spunk than the lot of us put together. She’s taken us on, five to one, and she’s only a fly-weight. Hang it all, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves.”

“It is not a question of courage,” observed the Professor, “but of muddled thinking and confused value_ which is definitely hurtful. You, Miss Capel, are assuming man to be of Divine origin. In reality, he is so entirely a creature of appetites and instincts, that-given a knowledge of this key-interest—anyone could direct his destiny. There is no such thing as the guidance of Providence.”

Newton thrust his head forward, his eyes gleaming be hind his spectacles.

“Rather interesting, Chief,” he said. “I’d like to have a shot at developing a crime picture on those lines. No crude sliding-panels or clutching hands. Make one character do something which would set the rest into motion, so that each would do the natural and obvious thing.” “You have some glimmering of my meaning,” approved his father. “Man is but clay, animated by his natural lusts.”

Suddenly Helen forgot her subordinate position-forgot that she had a new job to hold down. She sprang to her feet and pushed back her chair.

“Please excuse me, Miss Warren,” she said, “but I can’t stay—and listen—”.

“Oh, Miss Capel,” expostulated Newton, “we were merely arguing. There was nothing personal intended.”

Before he could finish, Helen was out of the room and rushing down the kitchen stairs. She found Mrs. Oates in the scullery, busy stacking dirty dishes.

“Oh, Mrs. Oates,” she wailed, “I’ve made such a fool of myself.”

“That’s all right, my dear, so long as nobody makes a fool of you,” was the consoling reply. “Now, I want Oates to help me with the washing-up. So, suppose, you take up the coffee for him?”

Helen’s courage timed with her reviving curiosity. She wanted to see what effect her outburst had created on her audience.

“Oh, well, I suppose I’d better get it over,” she sighed. But when she carried the coffee-tray into the drawingroom, she realized that the episode was already forgotten.

The young people took their cups mechanically, as they heatedly debated the alleged attractions of a celebrated film-star. Miss Warren was cutting the pages of a new scientific journal, while the Professor had retired to his study.

Suddenly Mrs. Oates appeared in the doorway..

“The nurse is downstairs and wants a word with the master,” she said.

“He cannot be disturbed,” Miss Warren told her.

“But it’s important. It’s her ladyship’s life.”

Everyone looked up at the dramatic statement. The household had waited so long for the old terror upstairs to die that it had grown to accept her as immortal. Helen’s thoughts flew to the unmade Will, and the vital importance of getting her signature before she struck her colors to death.”

“Is she sinking?” asked Newton.

“No, sir,” replied Mrs. Oates. “But the nurse says as we are out of oxygen.”

THE FIRST GAP

Newton broke the stunned silence.

“Who’s responsible for such infernal carelessness?” he asked.

Miss Warren and Helen exchanged glances of mingled guilt and condemnation. While neither was exactly clear in her own conscience, each wanted to shift the responsibility on to the other. As employer, Miss Warren was allowed the first thrust.

“Miss Capel, didn’t you screw the cap on the cylinder, after use?” she asked.

“No, because you sent me out of the room.”

“But, surely you did so, before you went?”

“I couldn’t, because you had the cylinder.”

Helen spoke with firmness, for the reason that she was not quite clear. Fortunately, Miss Warren was equally confused.

“Had I?” she murmured. “Yes, I believe I .as giving oxygen to Lady Warren. But I have a dim recollection of screwing on the cap.”

“What’s the good of arguing?” broke in Newton. “The thing is, to get in a second supply as soon as possible.”

“Yes, that is the essential point,” she said. “I will speak to the Professor.”

Helen followed her into the study, to find that Nurse Barker had got there before them. Her heavy voice had lost some of its culture as she talked volubly to the Professor.

“It is unusual to come to a case and find such slackness,” she said. “I’d like to know who’s responsible.”

As she spoke, she fixed her deep-set eyes on Helen.

“I am,” replied Miss Warren quietly.

She appeared indifferent to Helen’s look of gratitude, as she spoke to her brother.

“I suppose we must order another cylinder, at once.”

“Oh, there’s no great hurry,” broke in Nurse Barker.

“She will go through the night quite well, on brandy. She–—”

“Allow me to speak, please, Nurse.” The Professor raised his hand in protest. “The doctor told me, this evening that Lady Warren’s condition is critical.”

“A green country doctor?” sneered Nurse Barker. “She’s not as bad as that. I know when a patient is going to die, and it’s when I say she is.”

“The doctor’s opinion stands,” said the Professor coldly.

“I will telephone for another cylinder to be rushed out, at once.”

“The Factory will be closed,” objected Miss Warren.

“And they’ll never send it out to this wilderness, in such a storm,” added Nurse Barker.

“In that case, someone must fetch it.” The Professor spoke decisively. “Lady Warren’s life shall not be risked for the sake of sparing someone a little trouble.” Helen listened rather guiltily, for she feared that Dr. Parry had stressed the gravity of the case for her sake.

“Does Lady Warren know that the doctor said I’m not to sleep in her room tonight?” she asked, anxious to have the matter clinched by the Professor’s authority.

“Did he say that, too?” demanded Nurse Barker, a militant gleam in her eye.

The Professor pressed his brow with an impatient gesture, hich made Helen realize that Nurse Barker—in rousing his antagonism—was proving her own unconscious ally.

“The doctor expects a crisis,” he explained, “so, naturally, a trained nurse must be in attendance.”

“Why don’t you have a second nurse?” asked Nurse Barker.

“We have not the accommodation,” replied Miss Warren.

“Yes, you have. She”—Nurse Barker nodded at Helen—“can sleep in an attic. Besides, the bachelor’s room will be empty, tomorrow.”

Helen stared at this revelation of a perceptive talent which eclipsed her own. In this brief time, the nurse-while, apparently not leaving her patient—had mapped the house.

“There is not enough work for two nurses,” said Miss Warren. “The other nurses have all assured me that Lady Warren sleeps nearly all through the night, so that their rest has not been unduly disturbed… . Didn’t the Matron tell you that the salary is proportionate to the demands?”

Nurse Barker grew suddenly meek.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, “I’m quite satisfied with the conditions.”

The Professor turned to his sister.

“I will telephone myself,” he said, going into the hall, followed by Miss Warren. Left alone with Nurse Barker, Helen broke a heavy silence.

“I’m sorry. But you see, I’m not trained.”

“And I am.” Nurse Barker’s voice was corrosive. “To be ‘trained,’ means that I’m made of iron, and can eat leavings, and do without sleep, and work twenty-five hours to the day.”

“It’s a shame. But it’s not my fault.” “Yes it is.” Nurse Barker pounced fiercely. “You hung about to get at that doctor first, and you coached him what to say. Oh, you needn’t think you can get the better of me. There’s little I don’t see, and what’s left over I smell. We’ve not finished with this. If I turn the last trick—and I’ve something up my sleeve-you may yet sleep tonight in the blue room.”

Helen was not only scared by the uncanny penetration of the nurse, but she recognized the cruelty which made her hammer away at her fear of Lady Warren, like a torturer plucking at a nerve.

To break away from her company, she hurried into the hall, where the Professor was speaking into the telephone. He raised his hand, as a signal for her to remain. Presently he hung up the receiver and spoke to her.

“They can’t make delivery until tomorrow, but they have promised to let my man have a cylinder tonight, from any time up to eleven. Miss Capel, please let Oates know he is to start, at once.”

Helen did not relish her job, when she found Oates stretched before the kitchen fire, enjoying his first pipe after his work. She admired all the more his self-control, and the obedience which he had learned in his Navy days.

He got up instantly, and began to lace up his boots.

“Just as I Was looking forward to a nice lay-down on the bed,” he said. “But that’s life.”

“Shall I ask Mr. Rice to go instead?”

“No, miss. Orders is orders, and the master said Oates. Besides, I wouldn’t trust him with the car. No one but me knows how to ease my sweetheart up them hills.” He turned to his wife. “Mind you lock up the back after me when I go out to the garage. Remember, you’ll have to be double careful with me away.”

Helen felt a pang of dismay at the thought of losing Oates so soon. Merely to look at his gigantic frame and amiable face, made her feel safe.

It did not improve matters to realize that she was partly responsible for her own trouble.”

“If I’d gritted my teeth, and said nothing to the doctor he wouldn’t have been sent,” she thought. “The Professor said we did things ourselves… . But did anyone make me do it?”

Suddenly she remembered how Nurse Barker had played upon her fears-and she shivered slightly.

“Oh, I do wish you weren’t going,” she said’ to Oates.

“Same here, miss,” he replied. “But you’ll be all right, with two strong young gents, to say nothing of that nurse.”

“When will you be back?” asked Mrs. Oates.

“It will be just as soon as I can make the grade.” He turned to Helen. “Will you tell the master I’ll sound the hooter and wait on the drive for a bit, in case he wants to speak to me.”

Helen delivered his message to the Professor, who had returned to his study. Although he repressed his irritation, she could see that he was fretted by the interruption.

“Thank you, Miss Capel,” he said. “But Oates knows what to get, and where to go for it.”

Feelingthat she wanted to speed his parting, although unseen, Helen went into the lobby, which was exposed to the full fury of the gale. As the wind shook the stout door with the impact of a mailed fist, and the rain gurgled down the pipes, she felt doubly sorry for Oates.

Presently she heard his hooter outside, and longed to open the ‘door to wish him ‘good-bye.’ But she remembered how the wind had swayed the light when she let in the doctor.

The engine of the old crock burst into a series of spluttering explosions and deepened to a roar, before it gradually died away in the distance. With a pang of loneliness, Helen slipped through the swing doors.

She was just in time to witness a lively passage of arms between Miss Warren and Stephen ‘Rice.

“Is it true,” demanded Miss Warren, “that you have a dog in your bedroom?”

“Perfectly true,” replied Stephen flippantly.

“Take it out into the garage, at once.”

“Sorry. Can’t be did.”

Miss Warren lost her habitual calm.

“Mr. Rice,” she said, “understand me, please. I will not have an animal in this house.” “That’s all right,” Stephen assured her. “I’ll push off tonight, and take my dog with me.”

“Where will you go?” asked Newton, who-lounging, with his hands in his pockets-was an appreciative spectator of the scene.

“Bull, of course. They’ll put me up-and—they’ll be proud to have the pup.”

Simone gave a cry of protest.

“Don’t be so childish, Steve. You can’t go through this rain. You’d both be soaked.”

Stephen weakened as he gazed through the open door at the fire, leaping in the drawing room grate.

“I’ll stay if the pup stays,” he said. “If he goes, I go, too.”

“I’ll speak to the Professor,” cried Simone.

Her husband caught her by the arm.

“Don’t worry the Chief,” he said. “He’s about all in,”

Simone wrenched herself away and rushed into the study. Unlike the rest of the household, she stood in no awe of the Professor. To her, he was merely an elderly gentleman to whom she paid a certain deference as her father-in-law.

In a few minutes, she appeared-her face radiant with triumph—to herald the Professor.

“I understand,” he said, speaking to Stephen, “that there is some difficulty about a dog. As mistress of my house, Miss Warren’s prejudices are law. But—as it is for one night only—she will relax her rule.”

He turned to his sister.

“You understand, Blanche?” he asked.

“Yes, Sebastian,” was the low reply.

She went upstairs, while the Professor returned to his study.

Suddenly Helen remembered her coffee. She never took any in the drawingroom, because the conventional cups were too small for her liking. Like a true pantry mouse, she always reboiled what was left in the pot, adding sufficient milk to make about a pint, which she drank in her own room.

At the end of the official day, it was etiquette not to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Oates, whose kitchen became their private property; so she always used her own saucepan and spirit stove.

Her room seemed a specially attractive refuge tonight, as, down in the basement, she seemed cut off from the worst of the ‘storm. The light glowed on her golden walls and ceiling, like artificial sunshine. When she had settled down in her old basket-chair, she felt too comfortable to stir. Although the sound of stealthy footsteps, stealing down the back-stairs, followed by a succession of dull thuds, piqued her curiosity, for once it was submerged in laziness.

There were faces forming in the red heart of the fire; they peered at her, from between the coals, and she stared back at them. Her knees felt pleasantly warmed, and she was at peace with the world.