The Spiral Staircase (19 page)

“We’re friends, old thing,” she said. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes,” nodded Mrs. Oates. “Oates said ‘Look after little Miss.’ Them were his last words, before he was called away. Look after little Miss.”

“Oh, don’t talk as if he was dead,” cried Helen.

Stroking Mrs. Oates’ hand the while, she began to talk persuasively.

“But how can you look after me if you’re drunk?”

“I’m not drunk,” objected Mrs. Oates. “I can toe the line. And I can cosh anyone as dared to lay a finger on little Miss,”

Rising, with only the slightest stagger, shewalked across the room, sparring at shadow adversaries with such vigor that Helen felt comforted.

“If I can only keep her like this,” she thought, “she’s as, good as any man,”

Mrs. Oates stopped, blowing like a porpoise, to receive Helen’s applause.

“I’ve been setting here,” she said, “thinking. And thinking. I’m worrying about that nurse. “Why does she speak with her mouth all choked up with bread-crumbs? What’s the answer to that?”

“I don’t know,” replied Helen.

“I do,” Mrs. Oates told her. “She’s putting on a voice. Depend on it she’s got another one of her own, same as the old lady upstairs. And she’s putting on a walk. She’s reminding herself not to tramp as if she was squashing beetles. Now, what do you make of that?”

“What do you?” asked Helen uncomfortably..

“Ah. May be she’s not a woman—same as you and me. Maybe, he–”

As Mrs. Oates broke off to stare, Helen turned and saw Nurse Barker standing at the open door.

A LADY’S TOILET

Helen shrank back aghast, before Nurse Barker’s stare. She had never before seen hatred—unmasked and relentless—glaring from human eyes.

It was only too obvious that Mrs. Oates’ words had been overheard; yet Helen made a feeble attempt to explain them away.

“We were just talking of Lady Warren,” she said. “Isn’t she an extraordinary woman?”

Nurse Barker brushed aside the subterfuge. In ominous silence she stalked over to the kitchen range and seized the kettle.

“No hot water,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, but the fire’s gone out.” Helen apologized for Mrs. Oates. “If I you can wait a few minutes, I’ll boil up some on my spirit stove.”

“I need no help,” said Nurse Barker. “I can do my own jobs. And finish them.”

The words were harmless, but she infused into them a hint of grim and settled purpose. With the same ominous significance, she looked first at the bottle on the table, and then at Mrs. Oates, who sagged in her easy-chair, like a sack of meal.

“Brandy,” she remarked. “In a teetotal house.”

Instantly Mrs. Qates raised her glass defiantly.

“Good health, Nurse,” she said thickly. “Mayall your chickens come home to roost.”

Nurse Barker gave a short laugh.

“I see,” she said. “I shall soon have you on my hands. Well, I shall know how to deal with you,”

Before Mrs. Oates could retaliate, she had gone from the room.

“Well,” gasped Mrs. Oates, sniffing vigorously, “wot a nasty smell. She’d better try no tricks on me, nor call me out of my name, or I’ll give her a thick ear… . I won’t be bullied by that.” “That’?” echoed Helen. “Well, who’s to say if it’s a woman, or a man?”

Again Helen was gripped with the nightmare horror of the situation, as Mrs. Oates sunk her voice to a hoarse whisper. She had drained her glass again, in greedy gulps. It was only too clear that her guardian was slipping away from her, leaving her to solve the enigma of the nurse.

It was true that she had still the moral support of the Professor and his sister; but they were too negligible to help. They seemed to retreat always to their distant horizons—aloof and invulnerable as shadows.

As a child, she had the reputation of never crying; but at this crisis she suddenly broke down.

“Oh, don’t,” she cried piteously. “I can’t stand much more.”

As she began to cry, Mrs. Oates looked at her with puzzled eyes.

“What’s the matter, dearie?” she asked.

“I’m terrified,” confessed Helen. “You keep on drinking. Soon, you’ll be a log, and then you’ll be in her power. You’re asking for it. I’ll do my best, of course-but she’d make three of me, and leave scrapings. And upstairs they won’t believe a word I say, until it’s too late.”

Helen spoke wildly, but her exaggeration had the desired effect of sobering Mrs. Oates. In her turn she daubed lurid colors on her picture of the future.

“It’s you she’s after,” she said. “She wants to do me in, to get at you. Well, we’ll show her.”

Gulping with emotion, she pushed the bottle of brandy across the table.

“Put it somewhere where I can’t reach it.”

Helen took a rapid survey of the kitchen, while Mrs. Oates watched her with painful interest. She had repented her noble resolution before the girl started to climb up on to the tall dresser. She had to pull herself up to the second shelf, before she was able to hoist the bottle on to the top ledge: but directly it was out of Mrs. Oates’ reach, she felt a sudden glow of confidence.

Scrambling from her perilous perch, she began to make a bargain. “You’ve been wonderful,” she said. “If only you’ll go on playing the game, I promise you shall finish that bottle, tomorrow evening, in my sitting-room. I’ll keep Oates out, and I’ll stand any racket.”

“Swear,” said Mrs. Oates..

Helen went through the ritual of crossing her throat.

“Now, I’m going to make some strong coffee, to pull you round,” she said.

“Cawfee,” groaned Mrs. Oates. “If ever you get a man who lifts his elbow, Heaven help the poor bloke.”

Helen actually whistled when she was in her sitting room, for lighting the spirit-stove revived memories of Dr. Parry. Since he had gone she had experienced such a whirl of emotions that she had no time to think of him. But as she passed the episode in retrospect it glowed with the dawn of happiness.

She remembered his eyes when he prophesied her marraige, and his recent promise to come to her aid if she were in need. of him. At that moment she re-lived her previous experience, when she had stood looking at the refuge of the Summit, across the division of a dark spread of country.

She felt that, now, she was gazing down the length of a pitchy tunnel, to a golden glory, which shone at its end. But, between her and the dawn of a new day coiled the black serpent of the night.

The water boiled over and she made the coffee, filling a cup with strong dark fluid, which she carried to Mrs. Oates.

“Here you are,” she said, “Black as night and hot as hell.”

“Hell,” repeated Mrs. Oates, as she held her nose and swallowed it in a draught.

“Mrs. Oates,” asked Helen suddenly, “is Dr. Parry engaged?”

“Not yet, but may be soon,” replied Mrs. Oates. “I’m always asking him when he’s going to get married and he always says he is waiting for a young lady as he can pick up and pitch over the moon.”

Although Mrs. Oates’ remark was under suspicion of being inspired by her audience, Helen smiled, and felt she must spread a little of her own happiness. “I’ll take some coffee up to the nurse,” she said.. “I’m afraid we hurt her feelings just now.”

When she reached the blue room, she knocked several times, but Nurse Barker did not appear.

After a slight hesitation, Helen cautiously opened the Door an inch, and peeped into the room.

It was in semi-darkness, for the electric light had been switched off; only a faint bluish light from a shaded lamp, and the fitful glow from the fire illumined the gloom. Stealing over the thick carpet, she could make out the outline of Lady Warren’s fleecy jacket between the bed-hangings of ultramarine. Apparently the old lady was asleep, for her snores whined up and down the scale.

Afraid of waking her, Helen could not warn Nurse Barker of her approach. The light shining through the partially-opened door of the dressing room, told her that the nurse was inside.

Creeping closer, Helen took her unawares. She was apparently busy with her toilet, for she stood before the glass intently examining her reflection. As she rubbed a finger over her chin, Helen caught the gleam of some small glittering object in her doubled-up fist.

She started violently as Helen scraped on the panel of thedoor, and looked at the girl suspiciously.

“Well,” she said bitterly. “This is the one place where I thought I might expect some privacy.”

“Yes, the arrangements are abominable,” agreed Helen. “I thought you might like some coffee.”

“Thanks.”

Nurse Barker began to sip with studied refinement, which reminded Helen of a stage performance she had witnessed.

“But the man I saw gave a more natural female-impersonation,” she thought. She was so fascinated that she tried to find some excuse for lingering.

“As you saw, Mrs. Oates has been drinking,” she said. “Can you tell me of anything that will put her right?”

“Try an egg in Worcester sauce, and a hair of the dog that bit her,” advised Nurse Barker. “What time do you go to bed?”

“About ten. But I’m not going to bed tonight.”

“Why?”

“Well, someone must sit up to let Oates in.”

Suddenly Nurse’ Barker pounced on the girl.

“So you’ve forgotten the Professor’s order already? He said you were to admit no one.”

Helen looked the picture of guilt as she remembered Dr. Parry’s promise. If he came, she did not intend t keep him outside.

“I did forget,” she confessed. “Please don’t tell the Pro fessor or Miss Warren.”

“I’ll make no promises,” declared Nurse Barker. “If you are not watched constantly, you will imperil the safety of everyone under this roof… . It’s bad enough having you here, at all—to draw him on us. For he’s after you.”

At the reminder, Helen felt a tightening of her scalp.

“Why do you keep on trying to frighten me?” she asked.

“Because you forget.” Nurse Barker laid down her empty cup and approached Helen. “There’s another thing I’ve been saving up to tell you,” she added. “I’m not satisfied about that Welsh doctor.”

“Dr. Parry?” asked Helen incredulously.

“Yes, he’s a queer, excitable type—unbalanced and neurotic. He might be a homicidal maniac.”

“Oh, don’t be a tool,” Helen said.

“You know nothing about him,” went on Nurse Barker. “These crimes are committed by some man who inspires the confidence of his victims, and who can move quickly from place to place… . Well, think of the way he rushes all over _he country on his motor-bike—here, one minute—a mile away, the next. And everyone trusts the doctor.”

“Of course they. do,” declared Helen hotly. “I do, for one. I’d trust Dr. Parry with my life. He’s a darling. He’s promised to come to the Summit, in this awful storm, if I feel nervous.”

Nurse Barker took a cigarette from her case and stuck It—unlighted—in the corner of her mouth.

“You needn’t trouble to send for him,” she sneered. “He may come without waiting for an invitation.”

Helen turned towards the door. “I won’t disturb you any longer,” she said. “Besides—I think you’re goofy.”

Nurse Barker gripped her arm.

“You’re afraid of me,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“What do you think of me?”

“I think you are very reliant-and clever.”

“A fool?”

“Oh, anything but that.”

“Then,” said Nurse Barker, “perhaps you will listen to me … unless you are a fool yourself… . The man who commits these crimes is normal when the fit has passed. So you’ll have no warning: You may meet him tonight. If you do, he’ll be the biggest surprise of your life. And the last.”

As she listened Helen’s heart gave a. sharp double-knock, and her head swam, while Nurse Barker appeared to shoot up until she towered above her like a white pillar. She felt that she was losing her grip upon actuality. Everything was changing before her eyes in a hideous transformation. She did not know whom to trust—what to believe. In the confusion, friends masqueraded as enemies—humanity lost the common touch.

What really’ worried her was the fact that Dr. Parry had spoken to her in the same horrible language. She, had a vision of his face changing before her gaze—his smile stiffening to a grimace—the red touch of murder glowing behind his eyes.

The mist cleared from her vision as Nurse Barker lit a cigarette. All her unwholesome dream was burned away, like withered membrane, as one fear was killed by another. For the flame which reddened Nurse Barker’s face revealed the shaven lip of a man.

CLEARING THE WAY

The shock had the effect of steadying Helen’s nerves. She had something definite to fight, instead of groping in a shifting horror of a nightmare. She had a problem for her brain to bite on, before she could decide on any course of action. Slipping through the darkened blue room, she went down to the hall.

Although the shaking of its one window, set high in the wall, reminded her of, a storm at sea, it was less exposed than the sitting-rooms. It was also a point of vantage, where she could watch the staircase and the rest of the house. Moreover, she had the satisfaction of knowing that both the Professor and Miss Warren were within call.

Sitting on the lowest stair-her chin cupped in her hands—she took stock of the situation. To begin with, she knew that Nurse Barker was not the maniac, since her alibi, at the time of the murder, was established. At the worst, she was an impostor, who was in league with the criminal.

In that case, she must be kept under observation until they had sufficient evidence to ring up the police. Helen felt that four able-bodied persons should be able to cope with her—or him. The real difficulty would be to convince the Warrens.

It Was Mrs. Oates who had started the hare of Nurse Barker’s doubtful sex. Probably the idea was of alcoholic birth, for Helen was more inclined to regard her as a harsh jealous woman, handicapped by Nature with an unfortunate appearance, The fact that she shaved could be discounted, as a downy lip was not an uncommon feminine trait.

On the other hand, if Mrs. Oates’ suspicion was founded on fact, it opened up a range of ugly possibilities. It established a definite plot, for the genuine nurse must have been got out of the way. If the maniac had marked down herself as his next victim, he would not be stopped, by any obstacle, from reaching his objective.