The Secret Woman

by Victoria Holt

  “You’re hasty,” she said. “Not a good quality for a nurse.”

  “I must beg to contradict you. I spoke with no haste. However much I considered your remarks I should still say that if you would prefer me to go I should prefer to do so.”

  “If I had not preferred that you stay I should not have asked you to come here in the first place.”

  I bowed my head again. First round to me, I thought.

  “I merely want to tell you that I deplore the unpleasantness of what happened to Miss Brett and it is impossible to be involved in such unpleasantness without being connected with it.”

  “If one is involved one must necessarily be connected, Lady Crediton.”

  Oh yes, I was scoring fast; but I sensed I was only doing so because she was trying to tell me something and did not know how to. She need not have worried. I understood. She did not like “the patient”; there was something strange about “the patient.” Something wild perhaps which might involve her in some “unpleasantness.” This was growing interesting.

  I went on boldly: “One of the qualifications of a person in my position is discretion. I do not think Dr. Elgin would have recommended me to this case if he had not believed I possessed that quality.”

  “You may find Mrs. Stretton a little…hysterical. Dr. Elgin will have told you what is wrong with her.”

  “He mentioned some lung complaint with asthma.”

  She nodded. And I realized that she accepted me. I thought she liked someone to stand up to her and I had done exactly that. I had her approval as the patient’s nurse.

  “I daresay,” she said, “that you would wish to see your patient.”

  I said I thought that would be desirable.

  “Your bags…”

  “Were brought into the hall.”

  “They will be taken to your room. Ring the bell please, Nurse Loman.”

  I did so and we waited in silence for the call to be answered.

  “Baines,” she said when it was, “pray take Nurse Loman to Mrs. Stretton. Unless you would prefer to go first to your room, Nurse?”

  “I think I should like to see my patient first,” I said.

  She inclined her head and we went out; I could feel her eyes following me.

  We went through a maze of corridors and up little flights of circular stairs—stone some of them and worn in the middle—fake I thought. Stone doesn’t wear away in the space of fifty years. But I found it fascinating. A house pretending to be what it was not. That made it very human to my mind.

  Then we went into the Stretton apartments, high up in one of the towers, I guessed.

  “Mrs. Stretton will be resting,” said the manservant hesitantly.

  I said, “Take me to her.”

  He knocked at a door; a muffled sulky voice said: “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Nurse Loman who’s come, madam,” said the servant.

  There was no answer so he opened the door and I went in. In my profession we take the initiative. I said to him: “That’s all right. Leave me with my patient.”

  There were Venetian blinds at the windows and the slats had been set to let in the minimum of light. She was lying on the bed, thick dark hair hanging loose, in a purple robe with scarlet trimming. She looked like a tropical bird.

  “Mrs. Stretton?” I said.

  “You are the nurse,” she said, speaking slowly. I thought: What nationality? I hazarded some sort of half caste. Perhaps Polynesian, Creole.

  “Yes, come to look after you. How dark it is in here. We’ll have a little light.” I went to the nearest window and drew up the blind.

  She put a hand over her eyes.

  “That’s better,” I said firmly. I sat down by the bed. “I want to talk to you.”

  She looked at me rather sullenly. A sultry beauty she must have been when she was well.

  “Dr. Elgin has suggested that you need a nurse.”

  “That’s no good,” she said.

  “Dr. Elgin thinks so, and we shall see, shan’t we?”

  We took measure of each other. The high flush in the cheeks, the unnatural brightness of the eyes, bore out what Dr. Elgin had told me of her. She was consumptive and the attacks of asthma must be alarming when they occurred. But I was interested in her more as a person than a sick woman because she was the wife of Anna’s Captain and I wondered why he had married her and how it had all come about. I should discover in due course, I had no doubt.

  “It’s too cold here,” she said. “I hate the cold.”

  “You need fresh air. And we must watch your diet. Dr. Elgin visits you frequently, I suppose.”

  “Twice a week,” she said.

  She closed her eyes; quiet, sullen, and yet smoldering. I was aware that she could be far from quiet.

  “Dr. Elgin is working out a diet chart for you. We shall have to see about getting you well,” I said in my bright nurse’s voice.

  She turned her face away.

  “Well,” I went on, “now that we’ve met I’ll go to my room. I daresay it is close to yours.”

  “It’s the next to it.”

  “Ah, good. I can find my way there then without bothering anyone.”

  I went out of the room and into the next one. I knew it was mine because my bags were there. The shape of it indicated that it was part of the tower. I went to the window which was really a door—of the french window type—opening onto a balcony or rather a parapet. Anachronism, I thought. I must ask Anna. What a view from the parapet—the deep gorge and the river below and on the other side the houses of Langmouth.

  I unpacked my bags and as I did so the door was cautiously opened and a small face peered round at me. It was a boy of about seven. He said: “Hello. You’re a nurse.”

  “That’s right,” I replied. “How do you know?”

  “They said so.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Edward.”

  “How do you do, Edward.” I put out my hand and he shook it gravely.

  “Nurses come for ill people,” he told me.

  “And make them well,” I added.

  His enormous dark eyes regarded me as though I were some goddess.

  “You’re clever,” he said.

  “Very,” I admitted.

  “Can you do twice one are two?”

  “Twice two are four. Twice three are six,” I told him.

  He laughed. “And a, b, c?”

  I went through the alphabet with great speed. I had impressed him.

  “Are those your clothes?” I told him they were. “Have you medicines for making people die?”

  I was taken aback. “Like the furniture lady,” he added.

  He was sharp; I could see that. I said quickly: “Only for making people well.”

  “But…” he began; then he was alert.

  “Master Edward,” called a voice.

  He looked at me and hunched his shoulders; he put his fingers to his lips.

  “Master Edward.”

  We were both silent, but he had left my door open and his governess came in. She was tall, angular, and wore a most unbecoming gray blouse with a brown skirt—hideous combination; her hair was gray too, so was her skin.

  “Oh,” she said, “you’re the new nurse. I hope Edward has not been annoying you.”

  “Entertaining me rather.”

  “He is really far too precocious.”

  She had rabbity teeth and rabbity eyes. We took an instant dislike to each other.

  “Come along, Edward,” she said. “You must not disturb your Mamma.”

  “His Mamma is my patient, I believe,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “I shall soon learn my way around,” I added.

  “You’ve just come from the Queen’s House.” H
er eyes were alert. Young Edward looked from one to the other of us.

  “My last case was there.”

  “H’m.” She looked at the child, and I thought: How gossip spread! And thought of Anna and the horrible things which had been said about her. They were even inclined to regard me with some sort of suspicion; how much more so they would have regarded Anna!

  She sighed. She dared not talk in front of the child. I wished he was not there so that I could discover more, but I had plenty of time.

  She took him away and while I unpacked, a parlormaid brought tea to my room. Baines came with her ostensibly to see that she served it in the correct manner but actually to inform me that my meals would be taken in my own room. I realized that this was an edict from Lady Crediton and that he only ventured into this part of the house to deliver such commands.

  I was beginning to learn something about the ways of Castle Crediton.

  ***

  April 30th. This is my third day and I feel as though I have been here for months. I miss Anna. There is no one here with whom I can be friendly. If Miss Beddoes, the governess, were a different type, she might be useful, but she’s a bore, always anxious to impress on me that she has come down in the world. A vicar’s daughter, she told me. I said: “Snap. So am I.” She looked startled. I’m sure she was surprised that one so lacking in decorum should have come out of a vicarage. “What can one do,” she demanded. “One has never been brought up to work for a living, and suddenly it is a necessity.” “Ah,” I replied, “that’s where I was more fortunate. I knew from my earliest days that I should have to battle for my bread in a cruel world, so I prepared myself.” “Really,” she replied with cold disdain. But she does regard me a little more kindly since we both came from similar stables, or as she would say, were “distressed gentlewomen.”

  She has told me quite a lot about the family, and for that I’m grateful. She whispered that she believes there is a streak of madness in my patient. I would call it hysteria. Mrs. Stretton is a passionate woman deprived of a husband. I think she is obsessed by him. She writes letters to him every day and tears half of them up. Scraps of paper fill her wastepaper basket. He, Miss Beddoes tells me, is not very welcome in the house since his “disgrace.” What disgrace? I wanted to know. But she couldn’t tell me. It is something which is Never Spoken Of. They seem to want to keep him far away. But because of the child they brought Mrs. Stretton over here. “You see,” she said, “until Mr. Rex marries, that child is in a way a sort of heir.” It’s a muddled setup and I haven’t quite worked it out, but I intend to. My patient takes up so much time. I cook for her because Dr. Elgin wishes her diet to be watched. She is like a child and I suspect her of getting one of the servants to smuggle chocolates to her. She likes coffee and makes it herself. There is a spirit lamp in her room for the purpose. I think if she were well she would be fat. She is indolent and likes to stay in bed, but Dr. Elgin does want her to rest. She orders the maids to shut the windows after I’ve opened them. She hates what she calls the “cold,” and fresh air is an important part of the treatment.

  I discovered this afternoon that Baines’s wife, Edith, is Ellen’s sister. She came to my room especially to tell me so. She wanted to say that if there was anything she could do to make me comfortable she would be pleased to do it. Great condescension from the butler’s wife. She looks after all the maids and they are quite in awe of her. Ellen must have given me a good reference.

  ***

  May 1st. Two exciting things happened today. I am growing more and more pleased with Castle life. There is something about this place—an atmosphere of tension. I’m never quite sure of what my hysterical patient is going to do, and I’m constantly aware of intrigue. For instance there is what happened to the Captain to make him unwelcome here. I think that if they didn’t want him here they might have left his wife where she was. He could have visited her now and then, I suppose. It is some island. She has mentioned it to me as “the Island.” I wanted to know where but refrained from asking. She is inclined to retreat if one is too curious.

  The first adventure was my meeting with the Crediton heir. None other than Rex himself. I had settled my patient for an afternoon rest and had taken a little walk in the gardens. They are as magnificent as I expected them to be. There are four gardeners living on the estate with wives who work at the Castle. The lawns look like squares of fine green velvet; I never see them without wishing that I had a dress made out of them; the herbaceous borders will be dazzling later on I’m sure. Now the big features are the lovely aubrietia and arabis—in mauve and white clumps growing on gray stone on the terraces, and of course Castle Crediton aubrietia and arabis must be twice as bushy as anyone else’s. That is the first thing that occurs to me in this place: opulence. You know it’s the home of a millionaire and a first or second generation one. There is a continual straining after tradition, the Creditons want the best ancestry, the best background that money can buy. It’s different from the Henrock’s place where I nursed poor Lady Henrock—and very successfully for she left me five hundred pounds in her will—just before going to the Queen’s House. There had been Henrocks at Henrock Manor for the last five hundred years. It was shabby in places but I could see the difference. As I was inspecting the most elaborate of sundials whom should I see bearing towards me than the heir to the millions, Rex Crediton himself. Mr. Rex, not Sir Rex; Sir Edward was only a knight. I am sure that must be rather a sore point with her ladyship. He is of medium height and good-looking but not exactly handsome; he has an air of assurance and yet there is something diffident about him. His clothes were immaculately tailored; I think he must get them in Savile Row. There’d never be anything quite like that in Langmouth. He looked surprised to see me so I thought I would introduce myself.

  “Mrs. Stretton’s nurse,” I told him.

  He raised his eyebrows; they are light and sandy, his lashes are sandy too; he has topaz-colored eyes—yellow-brown; his nose is aquiline just like Sir Edward’s on the portrait in the gallery; his skin is very pale and his mustache has a glint of gingery gold in it.

  “You are very young for such a responsibility,” he said.

  “I am fully qualified.”

  “I am sure you would not have been engaged unless that had been the case.”

  “I am sure I should not.”

  He kept his eyes on my face; I could see that he approved of my looks even if he was a little dubious about my capabilities. He asked how long I had been at the Castle and whether I was satisfied with my post. I said I was and I hoped there was no objection to my walking in the gardens. He said there was none at all and pray would I would walk there whenever I wished. He would show me the walled garden and the pond; and the copse which had been planted soon after his birth; it was now a little forest of fir trees. There was a path through this which led right to the edge of the cliff. He led me there and examined the iron fence and said the gardeners had strict instructions to keep it in good repair. “It would need to be,” I remarked. There was a straight drop right down the gorse to the river. We stood leaning on the fence looking across at the houses on the opposite cliff over the bridge. There was a proud proprietorial look in his eyes and I thought of what Anna had told me about the Creditons bringing prosperity to Langmouth. He looked important then—powerful. He began to talk about Langmouth and the shipping business in such a way that he made me feel excited about it. I could see that it was his life as it must have been his father’s. I was interested in the romance of the Lady Line; and I wanted to hear as much about it as he was ready to tell.

  He was ready and willing but he talked impersonally about how his father had built up the business, the days of struggle and endurance.

  I said it was a wonderfully romantic story—the building of a great business from humble beginnings.

  I was surprised that he should talk so freely to me on such a short acquaintance and he seemed to be too, f
or suddenly he changed the subject and talked of trees and garden scenery. We walked back to the sundial together and he stood beside me while we read the inscription on it. “I count only the sunny hours.”

  “I must try to do the same,” I said.

  “I hope all your hours will be sunny, Nurse.”

  His topaz eyes were warm and friendly. I was fully aware that he was not as cold as he liked people to believe; and that he had taken quite a fancy to me.

  He went in and left me in the garden. I was sure I should see him again soon. I walked round the terraces again and into the walled garden and even through the copse to the iron railings beyond which was the gorge. I was amused by the encounter and elated to find I had made an impression on him. He was rather serious, and must probably be thinking me a little frivolous because of the light way I talk, and I laugh quite frequently as I do so. It makes some people like me, but the serious one might well think me too frivolous. He was of the serious kind. I had enjoyed meeting him anyway, because he was after all the pivot around which the household revolved—and not only the household; all the power and the glory was centered on him—his father’s heir and now the source from which all blessings would flow when his mother was no more.

  I went back to the sundial. This, I said to myself, is certainly one of the hours I shall count.

  I looked at the watch I wore—made of turquoise and little rose diamonds, a present from Lady Henrock just before she died, and compared it with the sundial. My patient would soon be waking. I must return to my duties.

  I looked up at the turret. This was not the turret in which my patient lived; it was the one at the extreme end of the west wing. I have very long sight and I distinctly saw a face at the window. For a few seconds the face was there and then it was gone.

  Who on earth is that? I asked myself. One of the servants? I didn’t think so. I had not been near that turret. There was so much of the Castle I had not explored. I turned away thoughtfully; and then some impulse made me turn again and look up. There was the face again. Someone was interested enough to watch me, and rather furtively too, for no sooner had she—I knew it was a woman because I had caught a glimpse of a white cap on white hair—realized that I had seen her than she had dodged quickly back into the shadows.