The Possession of November Jones

by Pat Herbert

“And it’s good to see you,” interposed Robbie, not to let Bernard hog the woman completely. He also kissed her on both cheeks, then put his arm around her shoulder in a proprietary fashion.

  So, with Robbie on one side of her, and Bernard on the other, they made their way to the station exit to the waiting taxi. As she sat comfortably between them, she felt a happiness she hadn’t known for a long time.

  

  Later that day, Mrs Harper and Dorothy were sitting in the vicarage kitchen drinking tea companionably together while both Robbie and Bernard were otherwise occupied.

  “It’s nice to see you back again, Miss Plunkett,” said Mrs Harper.

  “Oh, please call me Dorothy. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me.”

  “Thank you, Dorothy,” she said, trying out the name. “And you can call me Nancy.”

  “That’s a nice name.”

  Although both women liked each other, there was a constraint between them due to Dorothy’s fourteen-year absence, and Nancy Harper’s misplaced belief that the younger woman was of a higher ranking in society than herself. She even tended to defer to her in a way she had never felt it necessary to defer to Bernard. Dorothy sensed this and was ill at ease because of it.

  “Mrs – er Nancy, forgive me for saying so, but you don’t seem your old self,” she tried.

  This was true. She had noticed immediately that the dear old soul wasn’t her usual, ebullient self. It was clear there was something wrong, and she suspected she knew what it was.

  “You look as if you’re in pain when you walk,” she continued, as Mrs Harper didn’t reply.

  “I’m as right as a trivet,” said Mrs Harper with animation. “Right as a trivet.”

  “Trivets are the gold standard for being right, are they?” asked Dorothy with a little smile.

  “Yes, they are,” said Nancy. She didn’t know what a trivet was. Some kind of bird, she supposed. She was determined to change the subject, however. “Are you planning on staying in London now?”

  “Yes, I would like to. Exeter’s a nice enough place, and I was born and raised there. But now that both my parents are gone, I don’t feel I really belong there anymore. Between you and me, I’ve never liked the city much. Not very picturesque or interesting. Not like London.”

  “It’ll be good to ’ave you around,” smiled Nancy. “I know the vicar is glad you’re back.”

  “Is he? Yes, he seemed to be. And so did Robbie. They’re such dear men.”

  Mrs Harper sniffed as if to say they weren’t her idea of ‘dear men’. “So, will you be able to make a living ’ere, if you stay?”

  “With my clairvoyant work, you mean? Yes, well, that’s the difficulty. Most of my clients are in Exeter, so I’ll need to build up my clientele here. That could take some time.”

  “I think there’ll be lots of people coming to see you,” said Mrs Harper, smiling. “Once they know about you, like. I know quite a few who’ve lost loved ones recently, and I bet they could do with some reassurance. I’ll tell them about you. That’ll help get you started, won’t it?”

  “Thank you, Nancy. That would be very kind. I need to start looking for a place of my own if I intend to stay, of course. I can’t rely on your – and Bernie’s – hospitality forever.”

  “Tut! You can stay as long as you want, as far as I’m concerned,” said Mrs Harper, pouring out more tea. “It’s nice ’aving another woman about the place. I’m sure the vicar feels the same.”

  She smiled at Dorothy. She was glad she was staying at the vicarage. She liked having another woman to talk to. And she helped with the dusting and the washing up, too. She wasn’t going to let her near the stove, of course. That was her domain, and her domain alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nova and Mike turned up at Robbie’s surgery the evening after Dorothy’s arrival. They were the last to be seen, and Robbie, as usual at the end of his list, was tired. However, he greeted them with his customary smile and showed them into his consulting room.

  “So, the sleeping pills are having no effect, Miss Jones?” he asked her, after she had introduced him to her boyfriend, Mike Farbon.

  “No, Doctor. None whatsoever. Mike suggested I came back to see you, but I’m not sure what else you can do.”

  Robbie wasn’t sure, either. He didn’t say so, however, instead turning to the young man for his take on the situation.

  “She sleepwalks every night now and it’s getting us all down,” said Mike, holding his girlfriend’s hand as he spoke.

  She smiled at him as if to say, you tell it, as I’m fed up with telling it myself. It seemed she was happy for the two men to have a conversation about her as if she wasn’t there.

  “I’m sorry,” said Robbie. “I can prescribe some stronger pills, but I don’t really like to do that unless absolutely necessary. They can become addictive.”

  “No, Doctor,” said Nova firmly. “No more pills, thank you. That’s not the answer.”

  “No, of course, you’re quite right,” said Robbie. She was a sensible, if very troubled, young woman, and his heart went out to her. “Maybe you should see a specialist? Someone more knowledgeable on sleep-deprivation matters, than myself.”

  “Not a psychiatrist?” she asked, clutching her boyfriend’s hand tighter as she spoke.

  “Of course not,” he assured her. “A specialist in sleep problems, that’s all.”

  Then Mike Farbon spoke up. “She doesn’t need anyone like that.”

  Robbie looked at him with some surprise. “What, then, do you suggest, young man?”

  “I think she needs an expert in a completely different line, Doctor.” Mike asserted.

  “And who do you think that would be?”

  “An exorcist, of course.”

  The girl looked at her boyfriend in bewilderment, while Robbie dropped his pen in astonishment, making a large ink blot on his prescription pad.

  “I know you both think I’ve gone mad, but I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Mike continued, ignoring Nova’s attempts to shut him up. “I think she’s possessed by whatever it is in that house. She was fine before we moved in. There, I’ve said it.”

  He looked embarrassed now, his face going red as he looked from Robbie to Nova and back to Robbie again.

  “Well, say something, then. Tell me I’m mad. Perhaps I am.”

  Robbie took off his spectacles and looked at him with a serious expression.

  “No, Mr Farbon,” he said. “I don’t think you’re mad. I don’t think you’re mad at all.”

  

  The following evening, Mrs Harper opened the vicarage front door to a young couple bent on seeing the vicar. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, of course. Another pair of young fools wanting to get married, she assumed.

  “’Ello,” she greeted them. “You ’ere to see ’im about the banns? You’re supposed to make an appointment, you know.”

  “We haven’t come for that,” said Nova, smiling at Mike as if to say ‘maybe next time’.

  “What then? Come on, I ain’t got all day.”

  Mrs Harper looked at the pair with disdain. She didn’t like young people as a general rule, clubbing them all together as either beatniks or teddy boys.

  “Dr MacTavish suggested that we should come and see him.”

  “Oh, ’e did, did ’e?”

  That was another thing. Robbie MacTavish was beginning to make a habit of referring all and sundry to the vicar these days.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “I suppose you’d better come in, then. I’ll see if ’e can see you.”

  Nova and Mike followed her into the entrance hall and stood, looking around them. Neither of them had ever been in a vicarage before and, if they were expecting a grander sort of place, they were disappointed. They smiled nervously at each other as they waited.

  Bernard was seated with Dorothy in his study when Mrs Harper interrupted them.

  “Yes, Mrs Aitch?” Bernard enquired, ra
ising an eyebrow at her. “Please, do you think you could remember to knock?”

  “Sorry, Vicar,” said Mrs Harper. “But there’s a young couple downstairs would like to see you.”

  Bernard smiled. “They probably want me to marry them,” he said.

  “No, they ain’t come for that,” said Nancy Harper. “They’re ’ere because the doc sent them.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, please show them up, Mrs Aitch. Better get them some tea, it’s a wretched night out.”

  When Nova and Mike had introduced themselves, Dorothy rose to leave, but Nova asked her to stay.

  “I don’t see why you shouldn’t hear my story, too,” she said. “It’s not really private.”

  “Of course, dear, if you wish it,” said Dorothy reseating herself.

  The younger people found themselves chairs and pulled them up to the fire.

  “So, you’re November,” stated Bernard.

  Although she had introduced herself merely as ‘Nova’, he remembered Robbie telling him about the young girl with the strange name. Born in June but called November.

  “That’s me. November by name and November by nature, just look out the window.” And she grinned at him.

  Bernard hastened to be gallant. “No, no. Rainy weather doesn’t suit you at all, dear. Now, how can I help you?”

  Just then, Mrs Harper came in with a loaded tray, and they waited while she placed the tea things down on the side table. When she had gone back downstairs, November started to explain to Bernard about her sleepwalking episodes.

  “Dear, dear,” tutted Bernard. “It must be a nuisance for you. But surely Dr MacTavish is better placed to help you than me?”

  “It was he who suggested I consult you,” pointed out Nova. “He said you’re used to listening to people’s weird and wonderful stories and ...” She hesitated and looked at her boyfriend.

  “Go on, tell them,” urged Mike.

  “Well, Mike thinks I could be ‘possessed’. You see, I sometimes go off, black out, and talk in a funny voice, although I don’t remember afterwards.”

  “I see,” said Bernard, looking straight at Dorothy. She had put down her knitting and was listening attentively.

  “Mike says when I go off and start talking in a different voice I seem to be telling some bloke off, and I mention a child. Mike says that sometimes I accuse this man of not caring what happens to me or the child and at other times, I seem to be searching for something or, rather, someone. A long lost relative probably – that’s what I think, anyway.”

  Dorothy spoke at this point. “My dear,” she said, “would you like me to come to your home and try and contact this person you say could be possessing you?”

  Both Nova and Mike stared at her, puzzled. “How can you do that?” asked Nova.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ve not been introduced,” said Dorothy, giving Bernard a meaningful look. She went on to tell them who she was and what she did for a living.

  Mike smiled at her. “How wonderful,” he said. “We’d welcome any help. What luck you should be here.”

  Bernard smiled knowingly at him. “I don’t think luck had anything to do with it,” he said. “Dr MacTavish knows Dorothy is staying here, so I’m pretty sure he meant you to meet her this evening.”

  

  After the young couple had left, Dorothy and Bernard sat together, discussing the strange story they had just been told.

  “This will be something I can get my teeth into,” said Dorothy. “I’m really looking forward to finding out just what, or who, is possessing this poor girl.”

  “I hope you’re not going to get into any danger, Dorothy,” said Bernard, sucking on his pipe and looking serious. “This thing, whatever it is, doesn’t sound too friendly to me.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Bernie,” she said. “Spirits can’t harm you, not physically, anyway. Mentally, they can mess you up, good and proper. But I know what I’m doing, and you know I do.”

  “I know, but I really would much rather you didn’t go to that house tomorrow.”

  “I’ve promised them,” she said, “and I never break a promise.” She eyed him sternly.

  “All right, dear, have it your own way. Only, please be careful.”

  “Oh, you,” she grinned, tapping him playfully on the knee. “You old fusspot, you.”

  “I’m serious. Anyway, I think I know a little bit more than you do about what’s going on in that house.”

  “How come?”

  “I had an old lady here the other day, and she showed me a letter which I think helps to shed some light on what’s happening to that poor girl.”

  “Really? Have you got that letter now?”

  “No. The old lady was adamant about holding onto it. It was the only link with her past, she said. Apparently, she had just found out that she was adopted and, according to the letter, it wasn’t done entirely legally.”

  “I see. But, Bernie, I’m confused. What has this old lady to do with November’s problems?”

  “Ah, yes, I can see why you’re confused,” Bernard laughed. “I omitted to tell you that this lady, known only as Araminta, had been living in the same house as the young couple all her life and only moved out a few months ago. She was offered a good price for the house, and she took it – only she gave all the money away to a cats’ home or something, because she couldn’t bear to take it from her so-called parents.”

  Dorothy looked very interested now. “You must tell me more, Bernie,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She woke up to the sound of coughing in the next bed. It was pitch dark, and she had no idea what the time was. Grateful for the warmth of the blankets covering her thin frame, courtesy of the hostel the kind vicar had found for her, she reluctantly rolled over and sat up.

  The woman in the next bed was coughing violently. A real smoker’s cough. Some of the other sleepers stirred, and one woman yelled out, “Shut up, can’t you? I need my shut-eye.”

  “Yes, can’t you shut your noise?” demanded Araminta, more quietly. “You’re disturbing the other sleepers. Even if you enjoy coughing your lungs up at this time of night, the rest of us don’t want to hear it.”

  “You think I enjoy it?” gasped the woman between coughs. “I can’t help it.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you started puffing away all your life,” said Araminta, flinging the blankets about, trying to get comfortable again.

  “I’ll have you know I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life,” said the woman. “I’ve got the bloody flu, so I need my sleep just as much as you!”

  Sighing, Araminta sat up again and reached for the light switch dangling just above her head. “Have you got any cough medicine?” she asked crossly. “Then perhaps I can get some rest before we get chucked out of here.”

  The woman sat up and coughed some more. “It’s in my bag under the bed. Could you get it for me?”

  “Anything for a quiet life,” grumbled Araminta, unwrapping herself from her warm cocoon and fumbling around under her neighbour’s bed. “Is this it?” she asked, pulling out a bulging black refuse sack.

  “That’s it,” said the woman. “The medicine is near the top somewhere, I hope. I took some just before I went to sleep.”

  Araminta fumbled around in the sack while her bedfellow coughed again. She began to feel sorry for her.

  “Here it is,” she said, extracting the sticky medicine bottle from the bag at last. “Do you have a spoon?”

  “On the table over here.”

  Araminta hobbled around the woman’s bed to the table beside her. There was an equally sticky spoon there, which was stuck to the Formica top. She pulled it free and wiped it on her none too clean hanky before pouring the liquid into the bowl of the spoon. “Here,” she said, and shoved it into her mouth. “How many spoonfuls do you take?” she asked.

  “Two, please,” said the woman and, like a docile child, opened her mouth to receive the second dose.

&nbs
p; Araminta screwed the lid back on the bottle and put it beside the spoon on the side table. “All right?” she asked. “Just a minute, let me plump up your pillow.”

  The old lady (even older than Araminta herself) smiled gratefully at her. “Thanks. You’re very kind,” she said.

  “Kindness doesn’t come into it, love. It’s in my interests to make you comfortable as I need you to stop coughing and allow me to get some shut-eye.”

  But she wasn’t fooling the older woman. She suspected that, under that gruff exterior, was a genuinely kind heart.

  “What’s your name, dear?” she asked her, as she rested back on the newly plumped pillow.

  “Er – well, I suppose Araminta’ll do for now,” said that lady.

  “Bit of a mouthful, ain’t it? What d’you mean – ‘do for now’?”

  “Never mind. It’s too late to go into all that tonight,” said Araminta. “What’s your name?”

  “Lydia,” she replied. “Lydia Holman.”

  

  They were turned out of the hostel the following morning, along with the rest of the dossers. The doors would be open again in the evening but, until then, they would have to find somewhere else to go. Poor Lydia was still very unwell, as they trudged through the rain-soaked streets.

  “I think you should see the doctor,” advised Araminta.

  “I don’t need a quack,” retorted Lydia, as she recovered from a severe bout of coughing. “Let’s have a cup of tea. That’s the best medicine for me. There’s a cafe round the corner from here where I can get one for free. Old Fred Pickles, who runs it, knows me well. I’m sure he’ll stretch to another cup for you. Have you got any money, by the way?”

  Araminta shrugged. “Not much. I don’t have any pension as I never married.”

  “What about a pension from work?”

  “No, I never needed to work. I come from a rich household.”

  “So, what are you doing sleeping in a hostel then?” asked Lydia, puzzled.

  “It’s a long story,” Araminta replied. “Now let’s get that cuppa, shall we?”