The Ghost of Fiddler's Hill: Corazon Books Vintage Romance

by Sheila Burns

  ‘I know, but it is her own money,’ Valerie reminded him, for her patient got perpetually irritated by his demands for more and yet more money.

  ‘I know it’s her own money, but she can’t find a use for it. Just doctor’s and nurse’s bills, the chemist makes a lot out of her. I could find a much better use for it.’

  His pasty skin showed that he drank, Valerie had noticed this the first time that she had ever seen him. He had come home in a peculiar state more than once, and she had tried to keep this from her patient, not always successfully, for he was an insistent man. There had been some scandal about him and a local girl, so Lily, the char had told her once. ‘One of them,’ said Lily, and she had nodded vehemently. She was a chatterbox, not like Mr. Derek, and loved saying so.

  Miss Jackson returned from the cottage hospital much thinner, and wanly languid. In truth it had been the first real illness of her life, though she would have hated to admit this. She knew Valerie had been the one who had discovered the urgency of it, and was deeply grateful.

  ‘I’d’ve died without your help, dear, and I do say thank you,’ she said. ‘I must do something for you. I simply must do something for you.’

  She had loathed the pain, and the fact that Dr. Harris had taken it all so casually. She wished to change her doctor but could not do so for he was the only man in the neighbourhood.

  ‘He always thinks I’m lying,’ she told Valerie.

  She did not like to assure the old lady that this was not true, and did not know how to reassure her. She fussed up old Miss Jackson and they went down to Eastbourne to spend a month together there. Eastbourne was a pleasant change and one which Valerie enjoyed enormously. They stayed in one of those grandly prosperous houses on the front, where they had everything they could possibly want. It was true that there was nobody very young there, for somehow this sort of hotel is always full of the rickety, and the infirm. But there was music in the evening, a very pleasant string band, ’cello, violins, and piano, and they had luxurious eclairs for tea. Valerie enjoyed it very much.

  It was during this time that she and Miss Jackson became very close to one another, and Miss Jackson told her a lot of things. She had been quite poor herself, and had inherited a fortune from a rich great-aunt, which had made her life. Her twin sister, Evadne, had been indignant that she had been left nothing, and she had always made her sister promise that if she lived longer than Evadne she would make her son Derek Andrews the heir to it all. Miss Jackson had agreed.

  Her sister, always stupid with driving a car, came up against a Zodiac when she was in a Mini which she could not control and she had been killed. From this moment Derek Andrews had pushed himself on to his aunt, and had bullied her into paying his debts. He was one of those men who lived always above his means; he boasted about riches, he spent riches even if he hadn’t got them, and she could not stop him.

  ‘But why not just dig your feet in, and tell him that you won’t do it?’ Valerie asked her.

  ‘How can I? A promise is a promise.’

  ‘But he himself is breaking it for you. Naturally you don’t want to leave everything to someone who bullies you.’

  Miss Jackson thought for a moment, and the string orchestra began Salut d’Amour with a flourish. Most of the requests sent up to them from the old ladies and gentlemen were in that category. The music never became any more modern than The Student Prince. Valerie thought, and thought, and wished they could at least reach the happy tunes of Oklahoma.

  ‘The awful thing is that I don’t really like Derek,’ the poor old lady said. ‘I always have the feeling that if he were sure of not being caught out, he would do me a wrong. Push me off, I mean! Get rid of me and collar the money. I wish I did like him for he is poor Evadne’s son.’

  ‘You don’t have to tolerate him, of course,’ Valerie said, ‘and anyway you shouldn’t let him bully you.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m just a little afraid.’ She smiled amiably. ‘It’s dreadful to confess it but perhaps I am scared deep down inside me, and I couldn’t be rude to my own flesh and blood.’

  ‘Your trouble is that you are far too nice,’ Valerie told her.

  This was the truth.

  Miss Jackson was a darling, the nephew had sponged on her for a good twenty years now, and was growing plump on it. He ate the best, and drank more than he should have done. He was not actually drunk, she could never say that, but at times he was edgy and peevish, ready to pick a quarrel, and not at all himself.

  They enjoyed the holiday at Eastbourne very much indeed, had many heart to heart talks and came closer than before. When they returned home Derek had run himself into debt rather more extensively than usual and the night came when the first really nasty quarrel came. It was after dinner, when Lily had gone, and the restaurant down the road had sent in their Saturday night treat, a hot roast chicken with vegetables, and a sherry trifle to cap it. Saturday nights with the restaurant food were always very pleasant.

  But although Valerie was enjoying it, she became aware of the strained atmosphere between Miss Jackson and her nephew, and as the meal went on it worsened. When it was done Valerie went into the kitchen to make the coffee for them. As she was waiting for the coffee to heat she thought that she heard a noise in the sitting-room; she opened the kitchen door, and stepped into the hall. Derek Andrews was speaking with his voice raised, almost screaming at his aunt.

  ‘You’re a mean old woman! You promised to care for me and what do you do? You wouldn’t give a damn if I were starving, might even like it. You shouldn’t have made a promise that you did not mean to keep. Remember that.’

  She heard Miss Jackson saying something in a quavering voice, and knew that she was dreadfully upset. Valerie did not know what to do. She hardly liked to push her way in, perhaps if they had the row out then they would feel better. Suddenly she heard a little scream, and a moment later the door burst open and Derek Andrews rushed out.

  ‘Nurse? Nurse?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘My aunt isn’t well. She ‒ she got very angry with me, and now, I think she’s fainted. I …’

  Valerie pushed right past him into the room. Miss Jackson was sprawling back on the sofa and it looked as if she had been knocked there. All the colour had left her face, and she hardly seemed to be breathing.

  ‘Miss Jackson?’ Valerie knelt down beside her.

  The pulse was dim, but she was breathing, and Valerie moved her into a more comfortable position. All the time Derek Andrews watched her with those small strange eyes of his.

  ‘Brandy,’ she ordered.

  He got it, and was doing his best to be quick, she had to admit that. She held Miss Jackson’s head so that she could force some of the brandy down her, and she told him to telephone for Dr. Harris. Before the doctor came, Miss Jackson had come round, though she was very frail and could hardly speak. Between them Valerie and Derek Andrews carried her into her room, and Valerie got her into bed before she heard the doctor’s short sharp ring.

  ‘I’ll let him in,’ Derek said, and went to answer the door.

  The moment Dr. Harris came into the room Valerie knew that he was furious at being disturbed. It was the Saturday night when he had three old pals in to play Bridge, and then this had to happen! There was nothing wrong with the old lady, hadn’t he always said so? She was one of those women who enjoyed being ill, and because she wasn’t ill had to invent it to make the most of it. He went up to the bed. ‘Now what is all this?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Jackson had a very nasty attack, and I thought it wiser to send for you, doctor,’ Valerie said.

  ‘On my one night when I hope to get the place to myself. She probably fainted. What was it?’

  ‘I was making the coffee when I heard voices raised in the sitting-room. I thought she and Mr. Andrews were perhaps disagreeing about something, then he came rushing out and called me. He said his aunt was ill.’

  ‘Worked herself up,’ said the doctor to himself. ‘Yes, well an o
rdinary faint is nothing much, lots of people faint at lots of times.’

  ‘Her pulse was very dim. I had great difficulty in bringing her round.’

  He nodded. He had a finger on Miss Jackson’s pulse now and obviously he did not agree with anything that Valerie had said. ‘You lost your head, Nurse. Nothing much wrong here. A slight tiff.’

  ‘It wasn’t so slight, doctor.’

  That was when poor Miss Jackson opened her eyes and stared at them. Obviously she had heard what was being said and did not like it. She said: ‘It was nothing, I get so easily disturbed, Derek means well, it wasn’t Derek’s fault,’ then the effort of speaking seemed to be too much for her, for she shut her eyes and apparently dozed off again.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ The doctor rose. ‘I’ll give her a sedative.’ He opened his bag and brought out a tablet. Miss Jackson appeared to be almost asleep when he turned to Valerie again. ‘Don’t do this next time, my girl. You’ve spoilt my evening for me, and you must know there’s nothing wrong with the old dear. Andrews gets mad with her, and who wouldn’t? He means well.’

  ‘But doctor, I am not so sure of that.’

  Dr. Harris was very angry indeed. ‘They should have taught you at hospital not to judge those who employ you,’ he said rather tartly. ‘It can only lead to ill will. Well, there’s nothing more that I can do. Let her have her breakfast in bed in the morning and take it easily.’

  He walked to the door, and went out without even saying good night. Valerie listened to him as he crossed the hall. Inside her there was a dreadful yet vague feeling of ill omen. Of something desperately wrong here and she knew that she could not get a hold on to it. She stayed for a while with Miss Jackson, and when she knew that she was asleep, slipped out in to the sitting-room to see if there was anything that she could do for Derek. He was reading the evening paper, with a whisky and soda alongside him.

  He looked up at her. ‘Auntie okay?’

  ‘She’s asleep.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have sent for the doc. you know. There was nothing really wrong with Auntie, only that she lost her wax. It won’t pay for you to be too active in this way, and I think you recognised this tonight.’

  Valerie stared at him helplessly. She had a dreadful apprehension in her heart, this horrible feeling of danger, a cruel and terrible danger that was threatening not only poor Miss Jackson but everybody here in this house. She said: ‘It is my duty to do what I believe to be right for my patient.’

  ‘The doctor did not think that, did he?’

  ‘I agree with you there.’

  ‘It’s about time you and I came to some sort of an understanding, m’dear,’ said he, and he had never spoken to her like this before. ‘You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we’ll both realise that Auntie doesn’t always know what she is doing. You’ll do better to hold your tongue, you know.’

  The wild longing to give notice on the strength of this struck Valerie quite forcefully. To pack her things and leave, yet if she did, she left poor old Miss Jackson to the mercy of this man. She was now quite sure that he was a villain, and would stop at very little. She was completely certain that if he could hurt Miss Jackson, he would, and given time, the opportunity might come to him. But if she now left the old lady, she would leave her to Heaven knew what. Miss Jackson needed Valerie to stay, and to help her. She said nothing.

  ‘If there is anything I can do for you?’ she began, hoping that her voice did not show what she really felt.

  He shook his head.

  ‘You can do nothing for me save leave me alone, and I’d like you to remember that. Just leave me alone, thank you, and then we shall get on fine.’

  He picked up the evening paper again and began to read it. Valerie went out of the room.

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  The Ghost of Fiddler’s Hill by Sheila Burns

  The Eyes of Dr Karl by Sheila Burns

  Doctor Called David by Sheila Burns

  Doctor and Debutante by Barbara Blackburn

  Her Australian Summer (novella) by Jean McConnell

  and many more coming very soon.