British Mysteries Collection: 7 Novels & Detective Story. Ethel Lina White
to lighten the gloom, and it was shabbily furnished with the overflow of the rest of the house.
Because it had been assigned to Helen, she clung to it with jealous tenacity. Although she took her meals with the family, in recognition of the fact that her father had done nothing for his living, the corresponding fact, that she, herself, was a worker, cut her off from the privilege of relaxing in the drawing-room.
As she entered her refuge, the nurse looked up from her tray. She was a tall broad-shouldered woman, and was still wearing her outdoor nursing-uniform, of conventional navy blue. Helen noticed that her features were large and reddened, and her eyebrows bushy and set close together.
She had nearly finished her meal and was already smoking, between mouthfuls.
"Are you Nurse Barker?" asked Helen.
"How do you do?" Nurse Barker spoke in a voice of heavy culture, as she laid down her cigarette. "Are you one of the Miss Warrens?"
"No, I'm the help, Miss Capel. Have you everything you want?"
"Yes, thanks." Nurse Barker began to smoke again. "But I would like to ask a question. Why am I put in the kitchen?"
"It's not," explained Helen. "It's my own sitting-room."
"Do you take your meals here, too?"
"No. I take them with the family."
The sudden gleam in the older woman's deep-set eyes told Helen that she was jealous. Although it was a novelty to be an object of envy, her instinct advised her to smooth Nurse Barker's ruffled feelings.
"The nurse has her own private sitting-room, on the first floor, which is far superior to the basement," she said. "Your meals are served there. Of course, the same as us. Only tonight we thought you'd rather not wait, as you must be cold and tired."
"I'm more." Nurse Barker spoke in tones of tragic intensity. "I'm horrified. This place is off the map. I never expected such a lonely spot."
"You knew it was in the country."
"I expected the usual country-house. They told me my patient was Lady Warren, which sounded all right."
Helen wondered whether she ought to warn Nurse Barker what was in store for her.
"I'm afraid you may find her a bit strong-willed," she said. "The last nurse was frightened of her."
Nurse Barker swallowed a mouthful of smoke, in professional style.
"She won't frighten me," Nurse Barker declared. "She'll find it won't pay to try her tricks. I keep my patients in order. Influence of course. I believe in kindness. The Iron hand in the velvet glove."
"I don't think an iron hand sounds very kind, remarked Helen. She looked up, with a sense of relief, as Mrs. Oates entered. She had temporarily removed her greasy overall, and was looking forward to gratifying her social instinct.
"The dinner'll keep now, till it's time to dish-up," she announced. "I popped in to see if you would fancy a bit of pudding Nurse. Plum-pudding, or a bit of gooseberry-pie.
"Are the gooseberries bottled?" asked Nurse Barker.
"No, no, our new December crop, fresh-picked from the garden."
"Then—neither, thanks," said Nurse Barker.
"Well—a nice cup of tea?"
"No, thanks." Nurse Barker's accent grew more refined as she asked a question. "Is there any stimulant?"
Mrs. Oates' eyes gleamed, and she licked her lips.
"Plenty in the cellar," she said. "But the master keeps the key. I'll speak to him about it, if you like, Nurse."
"No thank you I prefer to tell Miss Warren my own requirements. It is extraordinary that she has not come downstairs to interview me. Where is she?"
"Sitting up with her ladyship. I wouldn't be in too great a hurry to go up there, Nurse. Once you're there, you've got to stay put."
Nurse Barker pondered Mrs. Oates advice."
"I understood it was a single-handed case, she said. But I've come straight off from duty. I only came to oblige Matron. I ought to have a good night's rest."
She turned to Helen.
"Are you a good sleeper?" she asked.
"Ten to seven," boasted Helen unwarily.
"Then a bad night won't hurt you. You'll have to sleep with Lady Warren tonight."
Helen felt a pang of horror.
"Oh no," she cried. "I couldn't."
"And why not?"
"I—Well, it sounds absurd, but I'm afraid of her."
Nurse Barker looked pleased at the admission.
"Nonsense. Afraid of a bed-ridden old woman? I never heard anything so fantastic. I'll arrange it with Miss Warren."
Helen had a spasm of shrinking aversion as she thought of Lady Warren's artificial grin. She had something to smile about now. She alone, knew where she had hid her revolver.
Suddenly she wondered what would be the outcome, if the nurse insisted on her night in bed. As she looked around her, with troubled eyes, she thought of the young doctor. If she appealed to him, she was sure that he would not fail her.
"Well, we'll see what the doctor says about it," she said.
"Is the doctor young?" asked Nurse Barker.
"Youngish," replied Helen.
"Married?"
"No."
Mrs. Oates winked at Helen, as Nurse Barker opened her bag and drew out a mirror and lipstick. She coated her tips with a smear of greasy crimson.
"You understand," she said, turning to Helen, "I interview the doctor. That is professional etiquette. You are not to talk to him about the patient."
"But I don't talk to him about her," remarked Helen.
"About what, then?" asked Nurse Barker jealously.
"Aha, what don't they talk about?" broke in Mrs. Oates.
"Something saucy, you may depend. Miss Capel's a terror with the gentlemen."
Although Helen knew that Mrs. Oates only wanted to tease the nurse, the sheer novelty of the description made her feel gloriously triumphant, and capable—like her famous namesake—of launching ships.
"Mrs. Oates is only pulling your leg," she told Nurse—responsive to the vague warning that she must not make an enemy. "But the doctor's rather a darling. We're friends. That's all."
Nurse Barker looked at Mrs. Oates.
"What a curious house this is. I expected a staff of servants. Why are there none?"
"Funny thing," she remarked, "but as long as this place has been built there's been a trouble to get girls to stay here. Too lonely, for one thing. And then it got an unlucky name with servants."
"Unlucky?" prompted Nurse Barker, while Helen pricked up her ears for the answer.
"Yes. It's an old tale now, but right back in Sir Robert's time, one of the maids was found drowned in the well. Her sweetheart had jilted her, so it was supposed she'd threw herself down. It was the drinking-well, too."
"Disgusting pollution," murmured Nurse Barker.
"So it was. And then, on top of that, was the murder. Kitchen-maid it was, found dead in the house, with her throat slit from ear to ear. She was always hard on tramps and used to like to turn them from the door, and one was heard to threaten to do her in. They never caught him. But it got the house a bad smell."
Helen clasped her hands tightly.
"Mrs. Oates," she asked, "where, exactly, was she murdered?"
"In the dark passage, where the