Shoulder the Sky (Drumberley Book 3)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Doctor Forrester!” he exclaimed. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!”

  It was not a very gracious welcome to a man who had come ten miles through a snowstorm, but Adam was aware that people are often selfish when they are anxious and frightened and it was obvious Mr. Heddle was both.

  “I came as soon as I could,” said Adam blinking, half-blinded by the glare of light.

  Mr. Heddle led Adam into the dining room and offered him a drink but Adam refused. “I would rather see the patient first,” he said.

  “But I think I had better explain what happened before you see her,” said Mr. Heddle doubtfully.

  “In that case perhaps I could have something hot,” suggested Adam.

  Mr. Heddle rang the bell and ordered coffee. He said, “My sister has never been very strong mentally. She got a shock.”

  “What kind of shock?”

  “A fright.”

  “It will be a help if you tell the whole story.”

  “Yes, I suppose I had better. The fact is my sister thinks this place is haunted by the old man who used to live here. Tonight she thought she saw him — I must say I thought there was something — somebody — but it couldn’t have been.” He took up the decanter of whisky as he spoke and poured out a stiff drink. Adam noticed that his hand was shaking.

  “You saw it too?” asked Adam.

  “It’s nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Heddle with an odd sort of violence. “When we die we go out like a snuffed candle.”

  “But you thought there was something,” Adam persisted. “It’s important, really. If there was nothing to see Miss Heddle was suffering from a hallucination but if you saw something too there must have been something to see.”

  “There was something,” Mr. Heddle admitted. “It happened like this: Anna was just going out with her dog, she takes it for a little walk every evening after tea. She opened the front door and went out onto the steps — then I heard her scream. I ran out after her and she was standing there screaming and pointing up the hill. There was — a figure — a small man with white hair. My butler saw it too. She went on screaming and we couldn’t stop her so I rang you up. Anna’s maid managed to get her to bed. I sent Mason, the chauffeur, to see if he could find anything — or anyone — on the hill. He couldn’t.”

  “Was it snowing?” asked Adam. “If it had started to snow it might have been a bush or a small tree with snow on it.”

  “It didn’t start snowing until later,” replied Mr. Heddle. “And anyhow it wasn’t a bush. It was — it was a man.”

  “Your butler saw it too, you said?”

  “Yes. It was beginning to get dark but there was still enough light for the figure to be seen — to be clearly visible. It waved a stick in a — a threatening sort of way,” Mr. Heddle took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “It has upset me,” he complained. “You’ve no idea what it has been like — for weeks; it’s got on my nerves. That’s why I feel — doubtful about what happened tonight. At first I was able to laugh when Anna said she could hear the old man moving about and coughing, but she kept on saying it. Even when she didn’t say it I could see her listening — listening to — to something. It was — horrible.”

  “Yes, it must have been.”

  “Horrible,” repeated Mr. Heddle. “She’s unhinged of course, but — but, even so, when people keep on listening to something you begin to think you can hear it too.”

  “Strange things can happen …” began Adam, who was beginning to suspect that he had two patients in Tassieknowe.

  Mr. Heddle laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, yes, say it! ‘There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy,’ is that right? Well, never mind. The point is I happen to be a rational being and therefore I don’t believe in Heaven. The whole thing is absolutely and utterly absurd.”

  “Perhaps I had better see my patient,” Adam said.

  Anna Heddle was lying quietly in bed and seemed in a sort of coma. Her maid was sitting beside her, but when Adam approached she rose respectfully.

  “Miss Heddle is tired out,” said the maid in a low voice. “She went on and on screaming until she couldn’t go on any longer. It was awful.”

  Adam lifted one of her thin white hands and was startled to discover she was almost pulseless. He was annoyed with himself for wasting time downstairs.

  “I must give her an injection at once,” said Adam.

  “Miss Heddle doesn’t like injections.”

  “She must have it all the same. Bring a clean towel and some boiling water, please.”

  When he had given the injection, Adam sat beside his patient for some time and was relieved to find her pulse strengthening and to see the colour coming back to her lips. He had been alarmed at her condition but she was improving.

  Presently she stirred and opened her eyes. She said in a faint voice, “Doctor Forrester!”

  “Yes. You were not very well so your brother asked me to come.”

  “It was silly of me, wasn’t it?” said Miss Heddle. “We should have asked him to come in.”

  “You’d like to see your brother?” suggested Adam.

  “No, I meant Mr. Brown,” she explained. She was silent for a few moments and then added in a troubled voice. “It’s so bad for him to be out in the cold — with that dreadful cough.”

  Adam did not know how to reply.

  “It’s his house of course,” she continued in a thin whispery voice. “So of course he has every right to come in … but if he comes in I can’t stay. You realise that, don’t you? I can’t stay if he comes in. I should be too frightened. Besides, you can’t stay in people’s houses if they don’t want you.”

  “You must go away,” agreed Adam.

  “It sounds unkind. I don’t mean to be unkind.”

  “It isn’t unkind,” Adam assured her.

  She gave a little sigh of relief. “You’ll arrange it with Nestor, won’t you?” she said sleepily. Her eyelids fluttered and closed.

  Now that her mind was easier she was sleeping quietly and her pulse was almost normal. Adam sat back in the chair and watched her. He did not want to leave her until he was quite certain she would be all right.

  What a queer story it was, thought Adam. What on earth was the meaning of it? Adam had seen many queer things in his life and he did not dismiss as absurd the idea of the old man’s spirit returning to the house he had loved. These people had used his house badly (had used it in a way he would disapprove of); was it utterly absurd to think he might return? Of course there was another possible explanation and on the whole Adam favoured this: it was possible that the haunting was in these people’s minds, that they themselves had raised the ghost that was troubling them. It was possible that the haunting of Tassieknowe was fostered by a sense of guilt, a subconscious feeling admittedly, but none the less powerful. Adam knew full well that a sense of guilt, sleeping far down beneath the surface, its presence unsuspected or ignored, can do the most extraordinary things to the most unlikely people and can make them behave in a most irrational manner.

  What strange people these Heddles were! So rich and yet so unhappy — so unstable! So rich! Why, if Adam had had one quarter of their wealth Holly would have said yes instead of no. But somehow this thought did not stir Adam to envy, and he realised that he did not want Holly on those terms. No, thought Adam, he and Nan living from hand to mouth in their tiny doll’s-house were happier and more contented than Nestor Heddle and his sister. In spite of everything, in spite of Nan’s unfortunate love-affair and his own, he and Nan were happier in their little house than the Heddles in their luxurious mansion. It certainly was luxurious, thought Adam, as he looked round Miss Heddle’s bedroom and noted the carpet’s mossy pile, the silken curtains, the large fat cushions on the chairs and the dressing-table with its mirrors and its pots of cream and powder and silver brushes and tortoiseshell combs. The very air was luxurious — warm and scented. He thought of Nan’s ascetic litt
le room with its uneven wooden floor and the wardrobe which he had tried to mend himself … and then he glanced at the haggard face on the pillow and thought of Nan’s face.

  Thinking of Nan broke the sequence of Adam’s meditations and he discovered it was half past one. Miss Heddle was now sleeping peacefully and it was perfectly safe to leave her, so he gave the maid a few simple instructions and went downstairs.

  Mr. Heddle was waiting for him and again offered him a drink! Again Adam refused. If Mr. Heddle had offered a bed Adam would have accepted it, but apparently that did not occur to him.

  “How is she?” asked Mr. Heddle anxiously.

  “Better,” replied Adam. “I’ve given Miss Heddle an injection and she has reacted to it as I hoped.”

  “Will she be ill for long?”

  “A day or two in bed will be necessary and then she must be moved.”

  “Moved?” exclaimed Mr. Heddle. “Who’s going to run the house and do all the catering if she goes away?”

  Adam gazed at him in amazement.

  “She must pull herself together and get over all this nonsense,” added Mr. Heddle.

  “That wouldn’t be easy,” replied Adam. “As a matter of fact it wouldn’t be safe and I shouldn’t like to answer for the consequences. I found Miss Heddle very much upset and if she should get another fright it might be extremely serious. Miss Heddle’s nerves are —”

  “Nerves! Why can’t you say she’s frightened out of her wits and be done with it!”

  Adam reflected that he could have said exactly that, and said it with truth, but most people preferred a more professional diagnosis. “It doesn’t matter what you call it,” he replied. “The important thing it Miss Heddle must be moved. She is my patient. You called me in to see her and I found her in a very precarious condition. Her heart —”

  “Her heart!” exclaimed Mr. Heddle scornfully. “I thought that was coming! Doctors always fall back on heart disease when they find themselves at a loss for something to say.”

  Adam looked at him with repugnance. The man was detestable, he was cruel and ruthless. His solicitude for his sister was not for her sake but for his own. Adam felt extremely sorry for Miss Heddle; he felt sorry for anybody dependent upon the man.

  “I did not say it was a disease of the heart, Mr. Heddle,” said Adam with an assumption of dignity. “It most certainly is not. In my opinion Miss Heddle’s condition is due to exhaustion following a severe shock, but I shall be very glad to arrange for you to have another opinion or to fall in with your wishes if you would rather arrange it yourself.”

  “So you want another doctor? How utterly absurd! She was frightened, that’s all.”

  “Fright was certainly the primary cause. That’s why it’s so important that she should be moved.”

  Mr. Heddle laughed. “You believe in running away!”

  “I believe in removing a nervous patient from uncongenial surroundings.”

  “It’s the same thing in different words.”

  By this time Adam was boiling with rage but he was determined not to show it for he was quite certain that the man was baiting him and he was not going to give him the satisfaction of rising to his bait. “I’ll look in tomorrow,” said Adam coldly. “If anything goes wrong you can ring me up, but I don’t anticipate a relapse. When Miss Heddle is well enough she must be moved.”

  “I’ve told you she must remain here,” declared Mr. Heddle with an elaborate show of patience. “Anna’s place is here. I need her here, especially just now. Later on I might be able to arrange for her to have a short holiday but at the moment it’s impossible. I’m engaged to be married and my fiancee is coming here to stay, so Anna must be here to look after things. I’m telling you this so that you may realise it’s quite impossible for me to do without her at present.”

  The absolute selfishness of the man disgusted Adam. Apparently it did not matter what happened to anybody as long as Mr. Heddle got his way.

  “Do you realise that if you keep Miss Heddle here her brain may become completely unbalanced?” Adam enquired.

  “It’s that already,” was the scornful reply.

  “Yes,” agreed Adam. “It is unbalanced. I was trying to spare you but I see there is no need. Miss Heddle will go raving mad if she remains at Tassieknowe. Is that plain enough for you?”

  “So that’s it? You think that by using threats you can get us out of the place!” cried Mr. Heddle working himself up to a sudden fury. “That’s what you want. I know that perfectly well. It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is. The whole lot of you — every manjack in the district is against me and has been against me from the very beginning. First it’s one thing and then it’s another — you needn’t think I don’t see through it. I’ll show you — I’ll show the whole lot of you! I’ll teach you a lesson before I’ve finished. You won’t get the better of Nestor Heddle as easily as you think … and you can tell your friends that Nestor Heddle is staying at Tassieknowe and he doesn’t care a brass farthing for any of them.”

  Adam took up his bag and left the room.

  29

  WHEN ADAM opened the front door of Tassieknowe and went out onto the step he was absolutely appalled by the weather conditions. The house was so quiet and warm and so brilliantly lighted that the outdoor world seemed as cold as the polar regions and as black as pitch. The wind had risen to gale force and was shrieking down the valley laden with driving snow. It had been snowing hard ever since he had arrived at Tassieknowe and the wind was piling it into enormous drifts. The sensible thing to do was to go back into the house and ask for a bed, or at least for permission to remain at Tassieknowe until the storm abated. Adam knew that was the sensible thing to do but he was too angry to go back. Go back? Go back to that detestable man and ask permission to stay in his house? Go back and say, “Please Mr. Heddle, nice kind Mr. Heddle, may I stay at Tassieknowe for the night?” Nothing — nothing would induce Adam to go back. Adam had kept his anger in check, partly for the sake of his patient and partly because he felt it beneath his dignity to quarrel with such a man, but now anger rose in him like a flood. He got into his car, started the engine and drove off.

  The snow was not deep upon Tassieknowe for the wind was blowing it off the hills and filling up the hollows. Adam’s lights showed a rounded blanket of white. There was a small drift at the gates but the chains took him through it onto the road and he turned down the valley. Here the wind was stronger — fortunately it was behind him; it came in gusts, pushing the car along so that it was difficult to steer, but the road was fairly level and the wind had cleared its surface, piling the snow against the wall. Wreaths of snow stretched long fingers into the road but they were easily avoided. The car was going well, it was old but serviceable and Adam had confidence in it, he knew exactly how to get the best out of it.

  A steep hill loomed up in front of him, the snow was deeper here and it clogged the wheels, he crawled up it slowly. Suddenly he was at the top and the full force of the wind screeching, whistling, incredibly fierce, caught the car and blew it sideways across the road almost overturning it. Adam clung to the wheel and managed to avert catastrophe but his heart was thumping uncomfortably when the moment had passed. It was a relief when the road sloped downwards into a dip, a relief from the noise of the wind and the buffeting. Down he went, slowly, carefully. At the bottom of the dip the snow had settled into a drift which stretched from side to side of the road. There were banks at either side so the only thing was to go straight through. After ploughing through it for a few yards the little car shuddered and came to a halt. Adam backed and ran forward again, the chains bit into the snow and he was through … he knew now that he had been an almighty fool to attempt the journey but it was too late to think of that.

  He went on. It was cold, so cold that his hands were becoming clumsy, fumbling for the gears; and the chill seemed to penetrate every part of his body. Even his brain was beginning to feel clumsy … and dizzy. He felt that he had come a long way, that
he had been driving through this turmoil for hours with the wind whistling and the snow whirling.

  In some places the road had been swept bare, in others it was covered by the smooth whiteness; only the posts, which had been placed at intervals to mark it, showed where it lay. On either side of the road there was bare moor or ditches or perhaps a dyke, waiting to trap the unwary. Several times Adam found himself slithering into a ditch and was obliged to stop and back onto the road before he could proceed upon his way. Presently he came to the top of a steep hill which snaked down into a little valley. He remembered the hill and the twists in it so he put the car into bottom gear and crawled down … and here in the valley was another drift of snow piled high by the eddying storm.

  Adam stopped and looked at it. The snow glistened in the light of his head-lamps; it was perfectly smooth so it was impossible to tell how deep it was or how far beneath that rounded, innocent-looking blanket lay the solid safety of the road, but there was nothing for it but to go on, or at least Adam could see no alternative. He put the car into bottom gear and went on; he went on until the snow, piling up in front of the car, brought it to a standstill. This time he could not back out.

  The engine had stopped and as he was in a deep hollow the noise of the wind had abated. He could hear it whistling over his head but here in the hollow it was comparatively calm. It was still snowing. All round him was snow, rising, falling, swirling in the eddies of the wind, but always getting deeper. Already the bonnet of the car was white.

  It was a long time since Adam had experienced physical fear; he had encountered it in the war of course (who had not?) and here it was again, clamping down upon his spirit, drying up his mouth, fluttering like an imprisoned bird in his bosom. It was so lonely. There was not another human creature within miles; there was only the dark and the screeching wind and the whirling snow.

  Suddenly Adam was reminded of a glass ball which he and Nan had treasured when they were children; inside the ball there was a tiny figure of Santa Claus standing knee-deep in snow. When you shook the ball, the snow rose and swirled and whirled round the little figure in a miniature blizzard. Adam could remember Nan’s childish face looking down at the ball and her thin, childish voice saying, “Isn’t he brave? Look Adam, he’s still smiling.” Nan had always admired courage more than any other virtue. She still did. “‘Shoulder the sky,’” thought Adam. The sky was a pretty heavy burden at the moment (in fact there was no sky to be seen, only darkness and snow), but thinking of her courage fortified him, roused him to action.