The Possession of November Jones

by Pat Herbert

  “Watch what you’re doing,” protested Minty.

  Lydia wiped up the spillage with her paper napkin. “Come on, tell me. What about your parents who weren’t your parents. What happened to them?”

  “My so-called father died in 1928 of cancer. I was heartbroken at the time.”

  Lydia looked up from her food. “Well, you would be. Cancer’s a bastard.”

  “Yes, he suffered cruelly. My so-called mother never really got over his death.”

  “So, when did she die, love?”

  “Last year – she was ninety-eight. Old and barmy. I looked after her all through her last illness. But I was happy to do it. And I stayed on in the house when she’d gone. I was prepared to end my days there, then I found this letter.”

  Lydia finished her crumble and signalled to Fred for some tea. Minty cleaned her plate, too, and asked Fred for a cigarette. The kind man obliged, bringing over a full pack of twenty Senior Service with the mugs of tea.

  “’Ere you are, young ladies. Did you enjoy your meal?”

  “Thanks, Fred,” said Lydia. “You’re a diamond. Can we come for breakfast tomorrow?”

  “You’ll eat me out of ’ouse and ’ome,” he grinned. “But you’re both very welcome.”

  Minty smiled ingratiatingly at him. “Thanks for the ciggies, Fred. Have you got any matches, by the way?”

  There seemed no limit to his good nature, for he immediately went to fetch her a box.

  When Minty was puffing contentedly away, Lydia broached the subject of Minty’s ‘parents’ once more.

  “I think you should be bloody grateful for such kind people to bring you up. How can you be so hard-hearted?”

  Minty blew smoke up to the ceiling and took a swig from her steaming mug of tea. “Fred makes a good cuppa,” she observed.

  “Well? What’s the story?” Lydia was becoming impatient now.

  “It’s to do with the letter,” said Minty at last. “It’s all in the letter.”

  “What letter? You keep on about it, but I haven’t even seen it yet.”

  Minty tapped her capacious leather handbag. “It’s in here.”

  “You’re being very annoying,” said Lydia. “I haven’t got X-ray eyes, you know. I can’t see through leather, even if you can.”

  “I know, Lyd. Keep your hair on. It’s just I don’t want to let it out of my sight. I know it’s safe in here.” She tapped the bag again. “It’s very old, you see. It was written about eighty years ago.”

  Lydia laughed. “I know the post’s slow, but eighty years is a bit much!”

  “It wasn’t posted. I found it. It was in a cupboard in the hall. I was having a clear out after my, for want of a better word, mother died, and it was at the back under a pile of junk. It was in a chocolate box with some other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “Two locks of hair. It looked like baby hair to me. And there was this locket with a picture of a baby in it.”

  “Oh. That seems very sad, somehow.”

  “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? But shall I tell you something even sadder, Lyd?”

  “Go on.”

  “I think one of those locks of hair was mine, and the picture in the locket was of me.”

  “Golly, but how do you know?”

  “Because of what the letter said.”

  Lydia sighed with impatience. “You still haven’t told me what that bleeding letter said.”

  “Haven’t I? No. Well, it said I was given away to the couple who brought me up. Money changed hands, I think. That’s what it seemed to imply, anyway. As for the proper authorities, there was no mention of them.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “You can sit there and say ‘oh, dear’.”

  “I just did.”

  “And, even sadder still, I don’t know who my real parents were, and I’ll probably never know.”

  “That’s hard, Mint,” said Lydia with sympathy. “But you can’t do nothing, so what’s the point of getting upset?”

  “No point at all. But it doesn’t stop me, does it? How would you feel?”

  Lydia was about to respond, but she was prevented doing so by a sudden and violent fit of coughing.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The rain was setting in even harder as the month of November slowly turned into December. Tinsel and lights adorned the shop windows along Wandsworth High Street, but somehow their gaiety wasn’t communicating itself to the public. The grey, damp and cold weather had been continuous for weeks and seemed to have seeped into the very bones of the Christmas shoppers. They were just going through the motions, nothing more. It would take at least a heavy fall of snow and the sound of sleigh bells to get them into the Christmas spirit now.

  Bernard sighed as he stared out of his study window at the rain lashing the pavement below. He, like everyone else, was feeling low-spirited. The approaching Advent season was usually a time for joy and celebration in the Christian calendar, but he couldn’t summon up any enthusiasm for the coming festivities. Things were preying on his mind, and he couldn’t seem to shift them.

  A light tap on his door roused him from his reverie and he turned to see Dorothy, already dressed for the outside world, standing there smiling at him.

  “Are you ready, Bernie?” she asked him. “It’s nearly twenty past eight. We should be going. They expect us for the séance, remember? And they can’t start without me.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” said Bernard gloomily. “I’m not looking forward to it, though. I keep thinking about that poor girl getting more and more exhausted by this possession business. I wish there was something we could do to stop it happening.”

  Dorothy came over and stood by him. “All we can do is try to contact this spirit and see what it wants. Until we find out, it won’t leave her alone. That’s what this evening’s all about.”

  Bernard sighed. “You’re right, Dorothy, I know that, but it isn’t an instant fix, is it? I’m frightened for her. She’s hardly more than a child.”

  Dorothy stared into Bernard’s big brown eyes and was suddenly afraid herself. Was he feeling something more than just pity for this young girl? She had noticed the way Nova had been behaving around him and, being a woman, she knew the signs. The girl was falling for him, and she feared Bernard was falling for her. She knew he would vehemently deny it if she challenged him, so she had said nothing. There was nothing she could say, anyway. She was sure that what Nova felt for Bernard was simply a young girl’s crush on an older man, but what it was doing to him was anyone’s guess.

  She cleared her throat and took his arm. “Come on, Bernie, this won’t do at all. We must be positive. Did you say that Robbie was going to be there tonight too?”

  “Yes, I asked him to come along,” he told her as they left the room and made their way down the stairs to the front door.

  “Where’s Nova, by the way?” she asked.

  “Oh, she said she would go straight to Common Way from work,” he said, suddenly more animated. It was as if the mention of Nova’s name had sparked him into life. “She’s having tea with Mike first as they haven’t seen much of each other lately.”

  That was another thing, she thought. What about poor Mike? She could bet he didn’t like it that his girlfriend had seemingly deserted him for the vicar.

  Bernard shrugged on his overcoat and donned his trilby hat, which made him look a bit like a New York gangster. It even made him look a little dangerous, she thought. Heaven knew what would happen if Nova saw him wearing it. She’d swoon on the spot, she reckoned.

  They arrived at 15 Common Way ten minutes later to find Robbie already there, sipping whisky. Nova offered them the same, and they accepted gratefully. It seemed to be the only drink to keep out the damp on such a night.

  Armed with their drinks, they proceeded to sit around the table. This time there were five pairs of hands to touch each other, and it made a satisfying circle. Nova had somehow managed to sit beside Bernard, and he was
already feeling the gentle tips of her fingers on his.

  Dorothy, trying to concentrate on the job in hand, was disconcerted to see how Nova had inveigled herself next to Bernard and how obviously pleased he seemed to be by it. She looked across at Robbie, and they exchanged meaningful glances.

  When the lights were dimmed, everyone sat still and quiet. This time there were no stifled giggles as Dorothy went into her routine. Nova, despite her closeness to Bernard, began to feel afraid. Suddenly, she slumped forward. Then, almost as suddenly, she sat up and started to speak in a strange, low voice that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her.

  “What happened to my baby? I want to know what happened. I won’t rest until I know. No mother deserves to go what I’m going through. Please help me …”

  Slowly the voice faded, and Nova slumped forward again. Everyone remained still. No one spoke. Robbie opened his eyes slowly and looked across the room towards the window, where he saw a vague shape forming amid the curtains. He blinked and looked again. There was no doubt; there was the figure of a young woman in a long grey dress standing there. She was dark and pretty and looked vaguely Spanish. And she was staring straight at him.

  Then she was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Bernard often found solace spending time in the nave of the old St Stephen’s church. Although it had seen better times, it was still remarkably beautiful. A wintry sun was shining through the stained-glass windows this morning. It was good to see its rays again after so long, he thought.

  He wandered up and down the deserted aisles, thinking about the evening before. After the séance, he, Dorothy and Nova had all returned to the vicarage and had a nightcap together. Then the two women had gone to bed, leaving him to sit and contemplate for a while on the events that had just taken place. As he was about to turn in himself, Nova had come into the room and rushed into his arms, sobbing. She was so afraid, she had said as she clung to him. He had felt pity for her as he soothed her gently. But he had felt something else as well, and that was what was worrying him this morning.

  He knelt in front of the altar and tried to pray for guidance, but none came. Suddenly he heard a noise and turned around to see a shabbily dressed old man standing next to him. Bernard said nothing for a moment, as he watched the stranger put his gnarled hands on the bar separating the altar from the nave. He was staring up at the stained-glass window depicting Christ distributing loaves and fishes and seemed to be fascinated by it. It wasn’t an unusual reaction as most people admired the window’s beauty. Bernard was proud of this centrepiece, which drew them towards it. The majestic, but somehow lowly, face of the Christ figure was magnetic.

  Eventually, the old man got unsteadily to his feet and made his way slowly up the aisle. On reaching the third row of pews, he sat down and put his hands together like a child. Bernard watched him as he seemed to be mouthing a silent prayer.

  All this while, the man hadn’t seemed to notice Bernard. Then, suddenly, he looked up and saw him on the other side of the aisle. Why was he looking so startled, wondered Bernard. After all, it wasn’t all that unusual to see a vicar in a church.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling. “Are you all right? I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my church before, have I?”

  The stranger shrugged but didn’t answer.

  Bernard tried again. “If there is anything troubling you, please feel free to confide in me. I’m here to help if I can.”

  This provoked a reply. “No one can help me,” he stated.

  “I’m sorry you feel that,” said Bernard. “But in the House of God no one is beyond help. The fact that you came here at all is a first step to seeking guidance. No sin is too great not to be forgiven, I promise you.”

  “What makes you think I’ve sinned?” demanded the man crossly.

  “I don’t. But there is something wrong, isn’t there? Do you live around here?”

  “Yes, not far.”

  “So, what brings you to my church today?”

  “Oh, reasons,” said the man. “Personal reasons.”

  “Would you prefer it if I left you in peace?” he asked.

  “Got the message at last,” said the man.

  Bernard’s hackles rose. The man was down on his luck, he could see, but there was no need to be offensive. However, he continued to smile at him.

  “Very well,” he said. “All are welcome in God’s house.” Even you, he said under his breath.

  Yes, even someone like you. Bernard noticed the unpleasant odour drifting towards him now. The man hadn’t washed for weeks; not himself, nor his clothes, he reckoned. Maybe he couldn’t afford to get his suit cleaned, but surely he could afford the slipper baths occasionally?

  The old man remained seated as Bernard walked up the aisle to the exit door. As he opened it, he turned to see him staring once more at the stained-glass window above the altar.

  As he walked back to the vicarage, he wondered why the mysterious, tramp-like man had come to his church. Was it just a random visit, or had he come there on purpose? Bernard found himself hoping that he had seen the last of him, but something at the back of his mind told him he hadn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The following Saturday, news of Nancy Harper’s homecoming was greeted with unalloyed delight by Bernard and Dorothy. Only Nova seemed less than pleased that the vicar’s housekeeper was being discharged from hospital.

  Dorothy was laughing as she pottered around the kitchen, preparing elevenses for them all. Bernard and Nova were sitting at the kitchen table, trying not to look at each other.

  “Shall I take a taxi to fetch her?” asked Dorothy, putting a pot of coffee on the table in front of them.

  “No need,” said Bernard. “Robbie said he was going to pick her up, himself.”

  “Not in that awful wreck of a car of his?” Dorothy looked horrified.

  “No. I made it quite clear that I wanted Mrs Aitch back in one piece. He’s hired a taxi.”

  “That’s a relief,” Dorothy smiled, hunting in the larder for some biscuits.

  Nova came over to help her look for them and put her hand on a new packet straightaway. She fiddled with it absent-mindedly.

  “Come on, Nova,” said Dorothy impatiently. “Give it to me. You’ll never open it like that. There’s a knack to it.”

  Nova handed the packet to her without demur. “I was thinking,” she began, then stopped.

  “Thinking? What about?” Dorothy placed the pink wafer biscuits on a plate.

  “I mean, shouldn’t Mrs Harper go to a convalescent home for a few weeks? Don’t they recommend that?”

  “Well, if they do or they don’t,” came a familiar voice from the kitchen doorway, “I don’t ’old with pampering. I ain’t got time to paddle in the sea. I’ve got work to do.”

  Dorothy ran over to the old curmudgeon and hugged her warmly, despite Nancy’s attempt to avoid her embrace. Bernard danced around them both, looking like a spare part, if a happy one.

  “I was told to pack my bags for this place at Bournemouth,” continued Mrs Harper, as Dorothy and Bernard helped her to a chair. “But I told ’em straight. I don’t ’ave the time nor the inclination. I feel fine. So there.”

  She placed the hospital-issue crutch by the table leg and stood up unaided as if to prove it. Then she gave a little wobble and sat down again quickly.

  “I’ll ’ave to take it a bit easy at first, of course,” she admitted.

  “You shall indeed, Mrs Aitch,” said Robbie, coming into the kitchen with the old woman’s case and large handbag. “No stair climbing for you, and we’ll need to bring her bed down, Bernie, for the time being. We can set her up in the front room.”

  Bernard nodded. “Of course. Shall we do it now?”

  “Can we all sit down and ’ave a cup of tea, first?” asked the woman of the moment. She was plainly enjoying being the centre of attention, even if she wasn’t going so far as to admit it. “I’m spitting feathers.”
/>   “There’s a fresh pot of coffee, Nancy,” said Dorothy. “Wouldn’t you rather have that?”

  “Give over, girl. I don’t ’old with that stuff. Just a nice cuppa and one of them wafers’ll do me.”

  While all this fuss was going on, Nova was keeping quiet. Apart from giving Nancy a peck on the cheek, she had taken no part in it. She suddenly spoke up.

  “Well, if Mrs Harper isn’t going to a convalescent home, then she’ll need extra help, won’t she? Dorothy can’t be expected to do it all. Why don’t I stay until you’re on your feet, dear?” She asked the old woman directly, avoiding the others’ eyes, now all focused on her.

  “You don’t need to stay, Nova,” said Dorothy quickly. “I can manage. You should go home now. I’m sure Mike’s been missing you.”

  If Mike had been missing her, it seemed she wasn’t going to tell them so. “I just think it’d be best if I stayed on a bit longer.”

  It seemed very lame, even to her own ears. She looked pleadingly at Nancy, who merely sniffed.

  “You can stay as long as you like, ducks, as far as I’m concerned. But ain’t you missing the company of people your own age, like?”

  Nova, it seemed, wasn’t. At this point, Bernard intervened. “Maybe she should stay,” he said.

  Dorothy and Robbie looked at him with disapproval. “Why, Bernie? There’s really no need. I can cope.” Dorothy was glaring at him now.

  “I think, maybe, Nova has another reason for wishing to stay here,” said Bernard, undaunted.

  “And we all know what that is,” said Dorothy, almost under her breath, but everyone heard it.

  “You’ve got it wrong, Dorothy,” said Bernard, a sharp note in his voice. “I meant, since Nova has been here, she hasn’t had any nightmares and hasn’t been sleepwalking, either.”

  “It’s true,” said Nova, brightening. “That’s why I should like to stay a bit longer. I’ve had nights of uninterrupted sleep since I’ve been here.”