Warning at Eagle's Watch (14 page)

But as Hillary raised her eyes to judge the distance to the top, she could feel a dense layer of clouds settling over her happy emotions. For at the top of the cliff, unnoticed by Mitchell, Hillary could see the glint of sunlight reflecting off a head of very blond hair. Daisy, the quiet housemaid, was perched up on the rocks above, watching, without a doubt, the two of them on the path. The look in the golden little face, usually marked with its wide-eyed innocence, its delicate beauty, was far from a friendly one. Eyes were knowing now, dark and flashing, the chin hard with anger.

Hillary looked down to check her progress on the rocky slope, and when she again raised her eyes to the ledge, Daisy was gone.

But why had she been spying on them on the beach? What had she wanted to see? It didn't make sense, Hillary's mind argued. It was probably nothing at all. But it had given Hillary an insight into the sprightly blonde who lived within the walls of Eagle's Watch, and that insight was not a happy one. If the look Hillary had seen had been meant for her, then one more person at Eagle's Watch was not exactly delighted with her presence.

And why for heaven's sake? A little shiver traveled the length of her spine. The fears that she had been trying to put to sleep were rising up again with force. She felt as if a giant web were being spun around her, slowly, quietly, and that sooner or later it would tighten and stifle her completely.

Chapter 12

"I have a peculiar feeling that that new housemaid, Daisy, doesn't care much for me," Hillary said conversationally to Scotty the next day as she helped her move her walker across the floor of her room. The process was an exhausting experience for Scotty, but one that was a labor of love. For each day the task became less strenuous and her progress grew more and more evident.

"I'm not surprised," laughed Scotty when she paused for a well-earned break. "I imagine that Mitchell—if I know him as well as I think I do—hasn't been above making a pass or two at our perky little blonde in the short time that she's been here. She's most probably as jealous as can be every time she sees him throw a look in your direction. Mitchell is not very—well, shall we say, discreet?"

"But there's nothing at all between Mitchell and me. We're just friends. There's no reason for her to be jealous at all."

"Well, I know that, and you know that, and Mitchell knows that, though I'm sure he wishes it otherwise. But Daisy McClintock doesn't know that, and what's more, I doubt that she'd believe it if she heard it. She's the type that thrives on jealousy. I think you'll find."

"How you come up with your crazy insights about personalities, I'll never know. But you're probably right, Scotty, as usual."

"It's easy to see that Mitchell is not your type of man, Hillary, too flighty and easygoing. Not enough moral fiber, not enough drive. You need a more intense man, with deeper feelings, a strong feeling of right and wrong. More like that handsome Dr. Harris, I'd say."

Hillary blushed to the roots of her already red hair, and her pulse quickened as it always did at the thought of Kent Harris.

"I can't see that I've made much of a lasting impression on him, Scotty. He hasn't exactly been beating down the castle door in his haste to get here to see me."

"He's simply a man with other pressing things on his mind. You've simply got to get around them, that's all."

Hillary stared at her and shook her head. "Simply? Just how would you suggest that I go about that?"

Scotty laughed deeply. "That, my dear, is up to you. But I shouldn't think you'd have too much of a problem. Use your heart, and your God-given brain, girl. I can't see how anyone in their right mind would dislike you, Hillary."

"I don't seem to make friends very easily in this household. Everyone seems to have some kind of reason to dislike me. It's a very unsettling feeling."

"Bah. If you live life to the fullest, you are bound to ruffle some feathers, my dear. You can't let a few sideward glances get the better of you. You know how the old rhyme goes. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but names will never hurt you."

Hillary suppressed a shiver as she recalled her painful moments, paralyzed on the cliff. Her lack of "broken bones" was only a quirk of fate.

Scotty was quick to pick up on her reaction. "What's troubling you, Hillary? Are you frightened about something?"

"No, no, of course not," she reassured her quickly, hoping she sounded convincing. Scotty was as perceptive as a hawk, but Hillary was determined to keep from worrying her.

When she left Scotty settled down for her afternoon rest that day, she left with a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had come close to baring the facts that she wanted to hide, close to letting her feelings of fear and anxiety show through. She had stilled Scotty's questions, she had recovered her composure, but she had been very aware of the way her patient's sharp old eyes followed her movements around the room, the way her brow knitted together as it did when she was deep in thought. Hillary prayed earnestly that Scotty was not reading her mind, as she so often did.

The lawyer finally arrived. He appeared at the big black entrance to the foyer of Eagle's Watch, briefcase in hand, and after very few words, was ushered up to Scotty's room. He was old and small in size, rather like a shriveled fruit that is left on the vine. His manner was gruff and efficient and he gave off the aura of dry, dusty lawbooks, with no apparent sense of humor.

Hillary remained behind in the living room as Mrs. Raymond accompanied him up the stairs. The young nurse hoped that Scotty's final decision about her will would ease the tensions in the house considerably.

Hillary had every intention of convincing Scotty to make her decision known, make the facts public and remove the mystery and suspicion that seemed to be hovering over the castle.

She collapsed into one of the large stuffed chairs and put her head back to relax. But her rest didn't last long.

"Happy with yourself, I imagine!" Belinda's sharp voice cut through the air of the once-quiet living room.

Hillary blinked her eyes open to see the portly figure in its brightly colored dress crossing the rug toward her rather unceremoniously. She shouldn't, Hillary thought instinctively, wear red. She looked distinctly like a fire engine. In fact, there was fire in her eyes.

"Well, Nurse Holt, I suppose you could say, mission accomplished. In a short while the will will be sealed, signed, and delivered." She paused, but the rage in her eyes screamed on. Hillary swallowed, not quite sure how to counter the angry accusation that Scotty's niece was making.

She decided to hang on to her temper. "Belinda," she said quietly and evenly, "I have no reason to believe that Scotty would even mention my name in her will, and I swear that I want no part of it."

"A very easy thing to say, at this point." Belinda's eyes narrowed as she spoke. "And why else would you be waiting on her, hand and foot, all smiles and good-natured? Rather more than mere devotion to duty, isn't it?"

It was more than duty, Hillary knew, but the difference was one that would be lost on Belinda. It was friendship, it was caring, it was a kind of love, and it had nothing to do with dollar signs or wills.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might care for Scotty? That she might be more than a patient to me?"

"Harumph" snorted Belinda. She shook her head angrily and left the room. Hillary was far from sorry to see her go.

The lawyer appeared again, asking for Daisy and Annie, whom Scotty had selected to be witnesses to the signing of her will. The two were quickly called from the kitchen—Daisy, lithe and light; Annie, puffing and tired as they climbed the steps to Scotty's room.

Hillary moved into the hallway and started toward the kitchen, hoping to find a snack before returning to her duties upstairs. Arnold Weaver was moving along the passageway toward her, and she had no alternative but to meet him in the hallway.

"My, my, and here's the little Florence Nightingale of Eagle's Watch." His very being stirred up an instant feeling of dislike and contempt in her, but she suppressed it with effort.

After all, perhaps they would all find out in the near future about Scotty's plans for the distribution of her property.

"I'm sorry I don't have time to stop and chat, Mr. Weaver," she said in a voice so controlled that it surprised even herself. "I was just on my way to get a quick snack for myself."

"Celebrating, eh?" he said in his affected voice. "Let me tell you something, young lady. If you have cheated us out of what is rightfully ours, you are going to be very, very sorry."

He moved quickly and silently on, leaving Hillary to stare open-mouthed at his receding back. A threat?

She no longer had any desire to eat. Her stomach was suddenly in a tight little ball. The tenseness and suspicion in the house was having a deep effect on her. And Arnold Weaver gave her the creeps. She thought came to her that he was the closest relative, the one to inherit everything if Scotty died without a will. How it must unsettle him to know the will was being made this very minute, that he might have lost it all. Lost it to Hillary, he thought, though she knew that that wasn't the case. No wonder he hated her so. Enough to kill? She remembered the very human touch she had felt on the night she had been hurtled over the cliff. Someone had wanted her out of the way, and the will hadn't even been written yet.

And now? If the person who had attempted to get rid of her feared that she was to inherit, what would be the logical next step? To insure that Hillary was to die before Scotty, leaving the inheritance available once again to the greedy relatives.

"You will be very sorry." Arnold Weaver had said. A chill settled over her. Suddenly, she knew she had to talk to Scotty, had to convince her to explain her intentions to her family.

She passed the lawyer on her way up the stairs. He nodded and left by the front door, his flat black briefcase holding the now all-important document.

She tapped lightly on Scotty's door and went in.

"Ah, Hillary, just the person I wanted to see. Well, it's all done, sealed, signed, and delivered. That's a load off of my mind."

"Scotty," Hillary began nervously, "don't you, ah, think that you could call the family together and explain the terms that you've decided on? It would make everyone much more well, comfortable."

She fought for the right words, always aware that to hint of the danger that she felt in the air would upset her patient too much, would risk her progress, and even threaten her life.

"No, no, Hillary, I've no intention of doing any such thing. Call it an old woman's whim. A little anxiety won't do them any harm." Her eyes were dancing. She was enjoying her position of power.

"But it's so difficult for me to cope with them," Hillary pleaded. "It would make it so much easier..."

But Scotty shook her head.

"I have my reasons," the nurse went on.

"And don't imagine that you can tell them either, Hillary. After all, how can you be sure that I didn't do just as they expect? You know how impulsive I am."

Hillary stared at her open mouthed. Scotty couldn't have. She couldn't have!

But Scotty only laughed. "I swear. Hillary, you look as if you'd seen a ghost. Just forget about the will. I just don't wish to make my decisions known yet." ~

She looked very tired, so Hillary tucked her in for a rest.

As much progress as Scotty was making, the emotional strain of the morning with the lawyer had left their mark, and Hillary knew that her impulse to hide her suspicions from Scotty was right. But she'd have to talk to someone. She'd have to find an answer. She had hoped so much that the tensions would be over when the will had been written, but she had been mistaken. It looked as though they were just beginning.

As Scotty's strength was building steadily with each passing day, Hillary decided that the time had come to once again introduce the idea of returning to the beloved sculpturing that she loved so well. On the first occasion that it had been brought up, her patient had stated, loud and clear, that she would have to be able to walk to the turret room before she would try her hand once again—and now that time was just around the corner.

Scotty could move her sturdy walker around her room with a growing sense of security. Developing the strength and skills to climb the tower steps would be next. And Hillary instinctively felt that the sooner it was attempted, the better. It would be a major step in convincing Scotty that she was once again well and able to cope with the world. The thought sent a surge of excitement through Hillary. She decided to travel the long way to the studio turret, to judge the difficulty Scotty would have maneuvering her way up the steps. Her feet took her down the long upper corridor, deep into the back of the castle, where she pulled open the heavy wooden door that led to Scotty's artist's turret.

It looked different in the daylight, more real than it had appeared on that night that she had explored the castle for the first time. The stone walls that stood waist high were rough and gray, the floor smooth from the ages of footsteps that had continued to cross it. Small splatters of brownish red clay hovered in the cracks in the floor, evidence of the hours of work that the castle's current mistress had put in here.