Warning at Eagle's Watch (11 page)

She tucked Scotty in for a late morning nap, and then headed for her room, her feet soundless and dancing on the hallway floor, her voice humming a happy tune under her breath.

She opened the door to her room and gasped in surprise. For someone had entered it in her absence during the course of the morning, someone who would not have wanted to be seen.

Scrawled in lipstick across the massive mirror that was hung over her dressing table was the word LEAVE.

It shouted out to her in its simplicity, its maliciousness. Who could have written it? And why? Perhaps it was a harmless prank, and its instigator would soon appear at the door and expose his or her rather macabre sense of humor. But perhaps it was not.

Curled up, sound asleep in the chair in the corner of the room, she found Percival, Scotty's powerful black cat. Following on the heels of the intruder, he must have been left in the room. He stretched and yawned lazily, regarding her with large marblelike eyes, eyes that knew the identity of her unwanted visitor. How simple things would be if that cat could talk!

Chapter 9

No one appeared at the door to own up to the rather dramatic defacement of Hillary's mirror, however, and she found herself standing in the middle of her spacious room for several minutes, in a quandary about what to do next.

Who on earth would have done such a thing? It seemed almost childish, silly. And yet, there was no denying that the red splotches that screamed out from across the glass made her feel fearful, uncomfortable.

She retrieved a cloth from the nearby bath, and set about removing the traces of the misused lipstick.

Should she make a scene, call attention to the action, and demand to know who was involved? The thought was not a pleasant one. She was already far from a popular figure in the echoing castle, and to falsely accuse one or another of the inhabitants would make her position even worse, to be sure. And such an action would probably not even bring the results that she wished, since the culprit was not likely to own up to his deeds in such a spot.

And Scotty? Hillary remembered the way her pulse had climbed in the morning hours, stimulated by the emotional upset. How her temper would flare to hear about this. The young nurse pushed away any intention of bringing her experience out into the open. The threat it would bring to Scotty's health was not worth the relief that she would feel if she uncovered the person who had stolen into her room.

The dreary day moved on. Hillary followed her now-familiar schedule, but her mind kept returning to the startling sight of the brash word on her mirror, the word that had long since been removed from the glass, but was now etched indelibly in her memory.

* * *

"I do hope you are going to wear something other than a uniform tonight," said Scotty teasingly, as Sunday afternoon was drawing to a close. The weekend had passed fairly quickly for Hillary, and the time for the awaited dinner party that would include Dr. Newburg and Dr. Harris was near at hand. Hillary was assisting Scotty into a flowing blue gown, its folds settling over her slim body with a graceful elegance as she sat upright in her chair. Even at eighty-four, hindered by the effects of her stroke, she was a handsome woman, full of poise, full of style. She added a diamond choker to her long neck and clipped on an accompanying set of earrings.

"Did you bring a dress, or some other such creation, Hillary? It really does no harm to look one's best when you are trying to attract someone's attention."

The girl felt embarrassed. "But I am just a nurse here."

"Don't give me such a lot of bunk, Hillary Holt. We can be honest with each other, don't you think? It's easy to see that you think that young doctor is something else, which I wholeheartedly agree about. But it's also obvious that he's a man with other matters burdening his mind. So if you want to make any kind of impression, you may need to make a little extra effort. Now, do you have a dress or not?"

Hillary smiled sheepishly. She thought of the floor-length pale green dress that she had so impulsively bought after her nursing-school graduation, a dress that had hung unworn in her closet since the day she had first unwrapped it. She nodded.

"I'm not much good at these things. Scotty. I'll probably mess things up royally."

"Hogwash, girl! Just be yourself. There's nothing more to succeeding in life than that." The old woman shook her head. "It's about time you came to grips with things like this. Hillary. Life passes more quickly than we can ever imagine." She patted Hillary's hand fondly. "Now get out of here, and go and get ready for the evening ahead. It's not often that we have welcome visitors here at Eagle's Watch, and I intend to enjoy every fleeting second of it."

Her stronger hand shooed Hillary to the door. "Don't come back until you've changed from Hillary the Nurse to Hillary the Beautiful Girl. This is a party, not a medical convention."

Her smile gave Hillary the confidence she needed. Hillary descended the long staircase a short time later, after Scotty had been carried down in Mr. Raymond's strong arms. She was delightedly surprised at the feeling of exhilaration that had risen up from deep within her, as she had so eagerly dressed for the evening ahead.

In the soft glow of the huge stone foyer, the picture she made was a breathtaking one. Her dress was airy and light, skimming the floor with fold after fold of soft green chiffon, her bodice fitted and cut exquisitely to show off her delicate neck and shoulders. She wore no jewelry at all, except for a thin gold chain that hugged her neck, but the green shade of the dress made the green of her eyes explode with a light of their own, like two priceless emeralds. She was full of the excitement of anticipation, and it set her complexion to glowing.

The doctors had already arrived when she entered the dining room; Scotty had been placed in her chair. A sudden hush settled over the room full of people—the family members and guests and servants.

In a flash, Hillary noticed Mitchell's delighted eye, the Highfields' reaction of surprise, the shifty look of appraisal from Arnold Weaver. But she paid little attention to them, beyond that first impression, because her eyes were totally drawn to the face of Kent Harris.

And his look was worth a million words. For a moment, the dark clouds that seemed to hover over his dark head gently disappeared, and his face lit up with awe and delight. It was a heartfelt look of approval and interest that swept over him as if by reflex.

But the clouds did not remain away for long. For no sooner had she taken a few more steps into the room than the shadows fell over his face once more. The preoccupied, unhappy look that armored him fell back into place.

But Hillary's heart was alive with hope. Her blood was singing in her veins. He
had
noticed her. He had been far from oblivious to her presence. She could not have mistaken the look in his eyes.

He was a man with a burden to bear, a burden that made him unresponsive to the world around him, made him seek the safety and solace of his own private thoughts.

But perhaps the day would come when she would be able to be a part of those thoughts, too, to understand whatever trial must be borne, to once again see the glowing light that she had just witnessed momentarily on his face, and to kindle that flame so that it need not be extinguished so quickly.

She surprised herself with the depth of her emotion, with this unexplained feeling for the quiet giant of a doctor who had so recently crossed her path.

But then, since the arrival of her Aunt Matilda's note bidding her to appear in this out-of-the-way place, her life had been full of new thoughts, new feelings, new emotions.

The dinner went splendidly. The room, often cold and dark in the daylight hours with its windows sheltered from the bright rays of the sun, looked magnificent tonight, bathed in an abundance of candlelight and elegance. The chandelier that was suspended dramatically from the high ceiling was aglow for the first time since Hillary had arrived. The fire in the oversized fireplace made the room feel cozier and more homelike than she would ever have believed possible.

Its heat took some of the dampness away and cast a reassuring warmth in the air. Though the summer days were hot in northern Maine, the nights could be cold. And in the deep interior of Eagle's Watch, the nighttime chill often was more appropriate for November than for July.

The family was on their best behavior during the delicious meal that Mrs. Raymond and Daisy served at the well-set table. Dr. Newburg was right in his appraisal of Annie's cooking talents. Each mouthful was even more satisfying than the last.

The champagne was chilled, the service was smooth, and the conversation was light and enjoyable. An outsider regarding the group that sat around the spacious table would have been surprised to learn of the undercurrents and resentments that were simmering beneath the facade of the jovial party atmosphere.

And how Scotty enjoyed herself! She took great pride in showing off her hard-earned improvement in her ability to manipulate her eating utensils. And she made wry little jokes about waiting for the day when she would graduate from eating "mush" to normal food. She sat poised and proud at the head of her table, gracious to her guests and even to her family.

By the end of the meal, Hillary felt a little lightheaded because of the wine, which she was not used to drinking.

As the table was cleared away, the family and guests proceeded to leave the dining room to socialize and partake of their coffee and dessert. Scotty showed signs of tiring, and so Hillary called for Mr. Raymond to carry her back up the wide stairway to her room, following them up the steps to help her patient prepare for the night.

It was only a few moments later when she descended the steps, silently and very carefully, for her head was still not as clear as usual. She stood for a minute in the broad expanse of foyer that separated the two wings of the house, straining her ears to hear in which direction the guests had settled. She heard more than she had bargained for.

From the flow of sound, the whole group was evidently seated in the living room, to the left of where she stood. Mrs. Highfield's voice sang out above the rest in its haughty, ear-piercing pitch, and her words came clearly through.

"And so, Dr. Newburg, we merely thought that we had better confide in you, for Priscilla's sake, of course. After all, we know practically nothing at all about that nurse. She appeared here out of nowhere and has gone her merry way ingratiating herself with my aunt, poor condition that she is in. I've heard of cases like this before, of girls who make a career out of scheming and conning old women. And all for their own eventual financial benefit. The stories I've heard. Revolting!"

"Oh, come down off your soapbox, Belinda," came Mitchell's amused and sarcastic voice. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill, can't you see? Aunt Priscilla is fine, and Hillary is delightful, and you, my dear, are a mental case."

The doctor made no comment.

"There may be a bit to what Belinda says, Mitchell," came Arnold's catlike purr. "She's called the lawyer, you know, to make the will. That Hillary has wasted no time."

"So' far, I've seen no sign of a lawyer on the doorstep. If you ask me—" Mitchell said.

"The lawyer will be here next week. He's been out of town." A silence came over the room.

"How do you know that?" Mitchell's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I, er, overheard. I just happened to lift the receiver in the other room when Hillary called the attorney. I couldn't help but hear."

Hillary was so angry, standing alone in the foyer outside of the room, she wanted to scream. How dared they carry on like that! Making accusations, listening in on private phone calls, showing constant concern for their own place in Priscilla's future will.

She didn't know what to do. Half of her wanted to fling herself away from the door, to ignore and try to forget the hurtful words she had heard bandied about in the same breath as her own name. But it wasn't fair to be so unjustly accused. It wasn't true. The other side of her spitfire personality was in a rage, spurred on, most probably, by the champagne that was still mingled in her bloodstream. It was bad enough that Dr. Newburg had heard such malicious things said about her. But Kent Harris was in that room, too, and that thought stung with a piercing deepness that she had never felt before. Her temper won out. She crossed the stone floor in angry strides and pushed open the ornate doors that had been ajar.

The room before her fell into silence and she faced the group with her eyes aflame.

"I guess you could say that Arnold is not the only eavesdropper here," she began in a low, calm voice. "On my way to this room, I couldn't help but overhear the interesting subject you were discussing."

Mitchell stood up and crossed over to her.

"Now, Hillary, don't be mad. Some of them were just airing their fears, their doubts. No one's really accused you of anything. And you know how I feel about all of this."

Her flashing eyes made him stop.