The Possession of November Jones

by Pat Herbert

  “I’m sure another séance will make it all much clearer,” said Bernard.

  Just then there was a knock at the door, and Robbie came in. “I’m taking Mrs Harper to the hospital, Bernie,” he said.

  Bernard leapt up at once. “Is it really serious, then?” he asked, very upset.

  “It’s not so bad, old chap, don’t worry. I think she needs a new hip. I’m taking her for an X-ray and, if it shows what I think it will show, she’ll need a hip replacement operation. It’s a fairly new innovation but has proved very successful so far. She should be as good as new in a few months. She won’t be able to climb the stairs, and she’ll have to take it easy for a while.”

  Bernard blanched. The loss of his housekeeper, even for a short time, was suddenly far more important to him than Nova’s psychic troubles. He knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Poor Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard. “I wish she’d told me before how she was feeling. Typical of her - soldiering on. She’s not as young as she used to be, but she won’t admit it.”

  “Well, she has now,” said Robbie. “And, it isn’t such a bad time for her to be away, now that you have Dorothy here to look after things.”

  Bernard stared at him. “I don’t think that will do at all, Robbie,” he said. “We’ll be on our own – under the same roof. What will people say?”

  Robbie laughed. “You sweet, old-fashioned thing. This is the nineteen-sixties not the eighteen-sixties. Who cares what people think?”

  “But I’m a vicar, an upholder of people’s morals. I’m supposed to set an example.”

  Nova, who had been sitting quietly while this dialogue was going on, spoke up suddenly.

  “Why don’t I move in while Mrs Harper’s away, then Dorothy and I can chaperone each other.”

  Bernard and Robbie looked at her in astonishment. “But what will your boyfriend say?” asked Bernard. “Besides, you’ve got a full-time job, haven’t you?”

  “No problem,” she said airily. “Mike’ll understand, and I can still go to work during the day as usual. It’s the nights that are the main thing, after all.”

  Which was true, of course. Bernard agreed readily to Nova’s suggestion, although Robbie seemed uncertain.

  “But, don’t you see, Robbie? It’s the best solution all-round.”

  Nova smiled at Robbie. “Have you got a better suggestion?” she asked, looking at him with a sly grin.

  The doctor had to admit that he hadn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Robbie was just closing the door on his last patient of the morning when Minty and Lydia turned up. He was looking forward to a quiet pint in the Bricklayer’s Arms with Bernard before his lunch, courtesy of Lucy Carter. She had told him it would be steak and kidney pie, his favourite. Now it looked like both these pleasures were to be postponed, as he could see that at least one of the old ladies was in dire need of his ministrations.

  He watched as they hobbled up the path towards him. One of them he recognised at once. The one calling herself Araminta wasn’t looking too bad today, but her companion didn’t look too clever. She was coughing violently, and it was the sort of cough that started alarm bells ringing in his head. Sighing, he unlocked the surgery door and stood waiting for them.

  “Hello, ladies. Please come in.”

  “Araminta, isn’t it?” he asked, as they hobbled past him into the surgery.

  Minty grinned, displaying a frightening row of tombstone teeth. “I’m called Minty now,” she said with pride. “By my friends, that is.”

  “Ah,” said Robbie. “Does that include me?”

  “I’ll have to think about that,” replied that lady with feigned dignity. “This here lady is my friend, Lydia. She’s not well – as you can see. I had the devil of a job persuading her to come and see you, Doc.”

  Robbie took Lydia through into his consulting room without further preamble, leaving Minty to leaf through the magazines.

  “I see Ladysmith’s been relieved,” she called after them.

  Sitting Lydia down, he sat on the edge of the desk to look at her more closely. “How long have you had that cough, dear?”

  “Oh, just over a week, I think,” came the vague reply after yet another bout of coughing had rendered her speechless for a minute. “I wouldn’t have bothered you but my friend insisted.”

  “Do you smoke?” he then asked her.

  “No, I don’t. It’d be just my luck to get TB or lung cancer from other people’s smoke, wouldn’t it?”

  “That would be very unfair,” said Robbie, nodding sagely. Unfair, but not unheard of, he thought. He returned to his chair and started to write something on a pad. “What is your name, dear?”

  “Lydia,” she replied, “Lydia Holman.”

  “And where do you live? You haven’t been to me before, have you?”

  “No. Look, Doc, why d’you need to know all my details? I just need another bottle of cough mixture, that’s all.”

  Robbie gave her a wan smile. “I’m sure I can give you something to ease your symptoms but, in the meantime, I’d like you to have a chest X-ray. I need you to take this form to the X-ray department at the hospital – you know, the one near the Common – Parkside – straightaway.”

  “Is it serious then, Doc?” she asked, starting to cough again.

  Robbie frowned. He didn’t want to alarm the old lady unduly, but, on the other hand, he was never one to dole out false hope.

  “Well, dear, you should have come to me sooner, you know. But we need to find out just what the problem is before we start worrying too much. Now, here’s the form, can you fill in those details here and here?”

  Lydia stared at the form in bewilderment. “I – I don’t have a regular address. I sleep in hostels, mostly.”

  Another homeless person, Robbie thought sadly. What a country this was. England was supposed to be the envy of the world for its compassion and welfare state, yet it didn’t seem to be able to look after old dears like this one, or the one waiting for her next door, for that matter. It seemed it was perfectly reasonable for them to just walk the streets all day to catch double pneumonia. Both these women had once had roofs over their heads, and families, probably. He scratched his head as he prepared to fill in the form for her.

  “I see. What about your date of birth? Can you tell me that?”

  “I don’t rightly remember, Doc. When I was a kid, we didn’t celebrate birthdays like people do today. We didn’t have the money, for one thing.” She broke off. “Er,” she continued. “Let me see. I think I must be about eighty-eight or nine.”

  “Thank you,” he said, filling in the relevant box on the form.

  He got up from his desk and went over to the door to the waiting room. Opening it, he asked Minty to join them.

  “Now, dear,” he said to her. “I want you to see that this lady goes to the Parkside Hospital for an X-ray.”

  Handing the form to her, he telephoned for a cab to take them there. When it arrived, he issued directions to the driver and handed over the fare.

  As the two old ladies were sent off in style, Robbie watched the departing cab with concern. At least they had each other for company, he thought. He just hoped his diagnosis of Lydia’s condition wasn’t correct. If so, Minty wouldn’t have her companionship for long.

  

  A little later than he had hoped, Robbie met his friend in the Bricklayer’s Arms. Bernard had already bought his friend a pint of bitter, and he sank half of it in one grateful draught.

  “Lovely!” said Robbie, smacking his lips and wiping the froth from them at the same time. “I could just do with that.”

  “Busy morning?” asked Bernard, sipping his second sherry, having made the first one last as long as he could while awaiting Robbie’s arrival.

  “You could say that. This weather doesn’t help. Anyway, sorry to be late but I had an emergency just as I was leaving.”

  “I understand,” said Bernard. “What sor
t of an emergency?”

  “A medical emergency, of course. These two old dears turned up. One you already know: Araminta. Calls herself Minty now, by the way. The other one’s quite a bit older than her, and she’s got a very bad cough. Emphysema, at the very least, I should think. Another poor homeless person, so it’s no wonder she’s ill.”

  “Oh dear,” said Bernard, shovelling a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “Society’s failed when it can’t find homes for people like that.”

  “Anyway, enough shop talk,” said Robbie cheerfully. “Have you been to visit Mrs Aitch, by the way?”

  “Yes. Dorothy and I went last night. She’d had her operation, so was still a bit groggy. But otherwise she was just the same old Mrs Aitch, moaning her head off as usual. I can’t wait to see her back in harness. Dorothy’s cupcakes aren’t a patch on hers.”

  “Never mind. I’m glad she’s on the mend. Give her a few weeks to recuperate, and she’ll be as good as new. These new hip operations are a godsend to the old folk. She’ll be back scolding us before we know it.”

  Bernard laughed as he ate the last of the peanuts. Robbie took his cue and rose to get him some more. “Another sherry?” he asked.

  “No thanks. Two’s my absolute limit. Besides, Dorothy’s cooking my lunch, and I should really get back soon.”

  When Robbie had got his second pint and given his friend his peanuts, Bernard started to fidget and look furtive.

  Robbie was secretly amused by this. “What’s the matter, Bernie, old chap? You look like you’ve got ants in your pants.”

  Bernard fiddled with the peanut packet, spilling some of them as he clumsily tore it open. “What makes you think there’s something the matter?” he asked.

  “Well, you’re a bag of nerves,” observed Robbie. “Something on your mind?”

  “Er ... well, you’ll think I’m being silly ...”

  “Why’s that?” Robbie got his pipe out of his jacket pocket and proceeded to light it.

  “Well, it’s this Nova – November person...”

  “You’re a lucky beggar. Two lovely women looking after you.”

  “It’s not like that. Anyway, it’s something more than that.”

  Robbie grinned but didn’t say anything.

  “Look, just stop it, will you?”

  “Stop what, old boy?”

  “You know very well. I know what you’re thinking.”

  Robbie leaned back in his chair and changed the subject. “How did the séance go, by the way? Did Dorothy tell you?”

  “Yes. Apparently, there’s a spirit haunting the house, and it talked through Nova.”

  “What? Not through Dorothy?”

  “No, that was the funny thing, she said. The spirit only seems to want to talk through Nova. As if she was possessing her, taking her over.”

  “Poor child. Can’t be very nice for her.”

  “You can say that again. Anyway, Dorothy wants to hold another séance next week, and I’m going with her this time. Perhaps you should come too.”

  “Delighted, old chap. As long as I’ve finished my evening surgery by then. When’s it to be?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. Anyway, Bernie, you were saying ... about Nova?”

  Bernard sipped his sherry nervously. “I just told you. She’s being possessed and we’re going to hold another séance …”

  “Come off it. You were about to say something else about her. Out with it.”

  “I don’t know what to think about her,” he said reluctantly. “That’s all.”

  “It’s not all, Bernie. Are you going to tell me, or shall I have to waste this good beer by pouring it over your head?”

  “All right, all right. She seems to … seems to…”

  “Seems to what?”

  “Seems to have a thing about me.”

  “A ‘thing about you’? What are you talking about?”

  Bernard gave a half laugh. “I know it sounds daft but I’m sure she does. I thought it was just my imagination at first.”

  Robbie burst out laughing. “What? That pretty young thing? Fancy you?”

  Bernard looked hurt. “Well, I would have said it was impossible myself, but you haven’t seen the way she looks at me. I’m glad I’m not on my own with her too much. If Dorothy wasn’t there, I don’t know what would happen.”

  “You’d just have to control yourself,” Robbie continued to look amused.

  “Robbie, this is serious, for goodness’ sake.”

  “No, Bernie. Really?” Robbie tried to keep a straight face but wasn’t entirely successful. “Well, that’s a turn up for the books. You’re centuries older than her.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Robbie,” said Bernard crossly. “I’m only thirty-eight.”

  “And she’s what? Twenty?”

  “I suppose – something like that. Not such a big gap these days. After all, there was the same sort of age gap between Marilyn Monroe and that playwright chappie.”

  “Yes, but that’s a film star. They do what they want. Vicars have a certain reputation to keep up, as I think you, yourself, pointed out only the other day.” Robbie gave him a knowing wink.

  “All right, Robbie, don’t rub it in. Anyway, that’s why I’m worried. I may have got it all wrong. I hope I have. But I don’t think so. What do you think I should do?”

  “Do? Enjoy it, man. That’s my advice.”

  “That’s not very helpful. I’m asking you what I should do, not what you would do.”

  Robbie sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. “Well, it all depends how you feel about her, doesn’t it? Then there’s Dorothy to consider too.”

  “I’ve told you, already. It’s not like that,” protested Bernard. “I’m not thinking along those lines at all. I see Dorothy as a good friend and Nova – well, you’re right. She is too young for me.”

  “Well, Bernie, just be sure you really believe that. I think, myself, that you’re flattered by this young girl’s attention, if that’s what’s happening. Nothing more than that. No, hear me out,” he said as his friend was about to interrupt.

  “She has a good-looking boyfriend, don’t forget. And, as for Dorothy, I would have thought she was more to you than just a ‘good friend’, as you put it.”

  “I don’t know what to think, anymore,” sighed Bernard, giving him a rueful smile. “I’ll just be glad when Mrs Aitch is back, and life returns to normal.”

  “Don’t you believe it, Bernie. Life will never be back to normal until you get Nova out of your system.”

  He seemed to be giving Bernard some sort of warning, and the vicar of St Stephen’s resented it.

  “Once and for all, Robbie, she means nothing to me. She’s just a pretty young girl who’s in trouble and needs my help. I won’t turn my back on her any more than I would turn my back on anyone who’s in trouble. I don’t intend to take advantage of her vulnerability in any way.”

  “Methinks he doth protest too much,” quoted Robbie, finishing his beer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Lydia tucked into Fred’s steak and kidney pie with relish. She and Minty had returned to the café after their visit to the hospital, which had taken up most of the afternoon. They had finally managed to escape just after five o’clock, having been told that the results of Lydia’s X-ray would be sent to Dr MacTavish. It would probably take a couple of weeks, the radiographer had said.

  “A couple of weeks!” growled Lydia. “I could be dead by then.”

  Anyway, the two old ladies were enjoying themselves now, eating their way through platefuls of pie, potatoes, cabbage and carrots. Plus large bowls of apple crumble and custard were waiting for them when they’d finished their first course.

  “You’ll be okay, love,” said Minty, picking out the pieces of kidney and passing them to Lydia. She had never been able to stomach kidney. “They can do miracles these days. You’ll live to fight another day.”

  “You know, Mint,” said Lydia, thoughtfully
. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. I mean, I’ve had my life. As you, yourself, pointed out, my bones can’t get much older without Liz at the palace getting to know about it.”

  Minty laughed. “Yes, well, you’re no spring chicken, that’s for sure. But I won’t have you talking like that. I’ve found a new friend, and I intend to keep her.”

  “Well, that’s nice of you to say so. Pity we didn’t meet before. Have you lived round here all your life?”

  “Yes, in one house, as well. I’ve only just left there, as it happens.”

  Lydia stared at her. “You’ve lived in one house all your life? Blimey! Didn’t you ever want to see something else of the world? Get married, even?”

  “Nope. Why should I? I had a lovely home, doting parents, a nice, young nanny. I had every luxury money could buy, why would I want to leave home, especially not to get married. I knew where I was best off, believe me.”

  “Sure, when you were little, why would you want to leave if you were so happy. But, surely, you had a life after that? When did your parents die?”

  “My so-called parents, hmm!”

  “Eh?”

  “I’ve only just found out they weren’t my real parents. I’ve got a letter to prove it.”

  “Still, they brought you up, didn’t they? You said they gave you everything money could buy. You don’t seem very grateful.”

  “Well, I’m not! How would you feel if you discovered you’d been living a lie all your life?”

  Lydia shrugged. “Depends,” she said, mopping up the gravy with a slice of bread. “Them that gets adopted sometimes have a better life than them what are brought up by their real parents. I don’t see why you’re so bitter, Mint.”

  “Don’t you?” Minty looked daggers at her. “You haven’t found out what I’ve just found out.”

  “That’s true. But I suppose you’re going to tell me?” She dug her spoon into her apple crumble, splashing some of the custard onto the table.