The Possession of November Jones

by Pat Herbert

  Robbie and Dorothy could see the girl did look better, less tired and, to Dorothy’s dismay, prettier than ever.

  “That’s settled, then,” said Mrs Harper. “Now, where’s that tea?”

  

  A little while later, Dorothy and Nancy were alone in the kitchen. Mrs Harper had finished her third cup of tea and almost all of the biscuits.

  “It’s lovely to have you back, Nancy,” said the younger woman. “How are you feeling? Really?”

  “Oh, I’ll be as right as ninepence in a jiffy,” she replied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “’Course I am, love. You shouldn’t fret so. We ’Arpers are made of strong stuff.”

  Dorothy smiled. “I don’t doubt it,” she said. “But you must listen to Robbie and take it easy. I’m here to do all the donkey work.”

  “What about that young whippersnapper?” asked Mrs Harper slyly. “She’s a lot younger than you – no offence – so you’d better see to it that, while she’s under this roof, she pulls ’er weight. Though, looking at ’er, she ain’t got that much to pull.”

  Dorothy tried to smile at this but failed. Nancy Harper noticed the look in her eyes, a look that only a blind man could fail to see.

  “Come and sit down by me for a minute, love,” she said, patting the chair beside her.

  “I’ve got the washing up to do and the lunch to prepare,” protested Dorothy, her back towards her as she attended to the first of these tasks.

  “Just for a minute,” insisted Nancy.

  Wiping her soapy hands, Dorothy obeyed. “What is it, dear? Are you in pain? Shall I fetch your pills?”

  “No, I’m fine. Listen to me. Pay attention.”

  “I’m listening, Nancy, but the potatoes are about to boil over.”

  “Then let ’em. You and me need a confidential chat, like. Don’t we?”

  “Do we?”

  “Don’t beat about the bush. You don’t like that Nova, do you?”

  “Of course I like her,” said Dorothy.

  She wasn’t fooling Nancy, however. “You don’t like her because you think she’s setting ’er cap at the vicar. Now, I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Dorothy sighed. “Yes, Mrs Aitch, I can see there’s no point in denying it. It’s not that I don’t like her, I feel sorry for her. She’s a troubled girl. But I think she’s making a fool of herself over Bernard.”

  Nancy sniffed. “It takes all sorts, I suppose, but I’d never ’ave thought that a pretty young thing like that would fall for someone like the vicar. ’E ain’t God’s gift, to my way of thinking.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t agree,” said Dorothy, rising to Bernard’s defence at once. “He’s very attractive. Lots of women like him.”

  “You included,” stated Mrs Harper.

  “Me included,” agreed Dorothy. “What d’you think I should do? You’re so wise with your homespun philosophy, Mrs Aitch.”

  Mrs Harper looked tired now. “My advice, for what it’s worth, is to do nothing. This crush will wear off in time. All crushes do. I ’ad a crush on Al Bowlly for years, but now I never think about ’im.”

  Dorothy laughed. “It’s hardly the same thing, Mrs Aitch.”

  “You’re right there,” said Nancy. “Al Bowlly was good-looking, for a start. And ’e could sing like a bird.”

  “Anyway, I’ve tired you out,” said Dorothy standing up. “Let me take you to the parlour where there’s a good fire going, and you can settle in the armchair and have a nap.”

  “I don’t mind if I do just that,” said Mrs Harper, yawning.

  

  When Robbie came back that evening to check on Nancy’s progress, Dorothy grabbed him before he went in to see her.

  “Hello, Dorothy,” he said in surprise. “Is anything wrong? Is it Mrs Aitch?”

  “No, no. She’s fine. She’s having a rest after tea.”

  “That’s good,” said Robbie. “As long as she’s resting.”

  Dorothy gave him a wry grin. “She’s resting for England at the moment,” she told him. “So, no need to worry on that score.”

  “Well, what is it? You look worried.”

  “Come into the kitchen for a minute, Robbie,” she said.

  When they were seated at the table, Robbie asked her again. “What’s the matter, dear?” His voice was soft and kind.

  Dorothy’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “To tell you the truth, I’m rather anxious to leave now,” she said, taking a hanky from her sleeve and dabbing at her eyes. “It’s been a bit of a strain, especially since Mrs Harper’s not been here.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Robbie. “Are you and Bernie not hitting it off these days?”

  “It’s not so much that. We get on fine.”

  “Look, dear, you don’t have to spell it out. I’ve got eyes.”

  “You’ve seen the way he is with her, haven’t you? And how she plays up to him?”

  “It’s pretty plain,” nodded Robbie. “But I don’t think it’s serious.”

  “That’s what Mrs Aitch said.”

  “Well, if Mrs Aitch said so, then it must be so.” Robbie laughed.

  “Yes, well, in the meantime, he hardly passes the time of day with me. He seems distracted all the time.”

  “You just wait. Once Nova’s back in her own place, he’ll get over it. I think he’s just flattered, that’s all.”

  “I hope you’re right. But you saw the way they sat together at the séance, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but you shouldn’t read too much into that. It was the girl who made sure she sat next to Bernie, not the other way around.”

  “I know, but he seemed pleased all the same.”

  “I know this comes as a bit of a blow, Dorothy,” smiled Robbie, “but he is a bloke, after all.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, if she’d made a beeline for me, I’d have been pleased, too.”

  “I suppose so.” She sighed.

  “No ‘suppose’ about it. Anyway, talking about the séance, I haven’t told you what happened, have I?”

  “What happened?”

  “Yes. I had a psychic experience,” he said.

  “You did? Well, we all did, I suppose. We all heard that woman talking through Nova. It was quite harrowing.”

  “Yes, that was, I agree. But I saw something too. I don’t think anyone else did.”

  “You saw something? What?” Dorothy fetched a box of matches from the dresser as Robbie took out his pipe.

  “Well, when I say something, I mean someone. She wasn’t very clear, standing over by the curtains. Just a vague shape. Dressed in an old-fashioned long dress – late Victorian, I think. She was tall and slim, with dark hair. There wasn’t a lot of colour in her but, from what I could see of her, I think she was quite a beauty.”

  “Goodness!” said Dorothy, taken aback. “That’s marvellous, Robbie. I think you should be the clairvoyant, and I should train as a doctor. Do you think she’s the woman possessing Nova?”

  “I should imagine so,” said Robbie. “Although, as I said, I didn’t see her clearly. She was looking straight at me and seemed to be trying to communicate something to me. And I got the feeling she wasn’t too friendly.”

  “In that case,” said Dorothy, “the sooner we find out what she wants and how we can help her, the better.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mrs Harper’s mobility was improving slowly but steadily. She was, at last, able to climb the stairs to use the lavatory. Using the chamber pot had driven her mad.

  About three o’clock one morning she awoke with an urgent bladder situation. She lay there considering her options. Did she have time to lumber up the stairs to the bathroom, or would she be wiser to use the chamber pot? Wiser or not, she heaved herself off the bed and put on her dressing gown, fumbling for the light switch as she did so. It was a struggle, but she made it to the top of the stairs and the bathroom just in time.

  With a feeling of relief, she came o
ut just in time to see Nova closing the door of the vicar’s bedroom. She ducked back into the bathroom as quickly as she could, praying that the young woman, who was dressed only in a very flimsy baby doll nightie, hadn’t seen her. What was she up to, visiting the vicar at this time of the night – or morning, rather? As far as Nancy Harper was concerned, there could be only one reason.

  The next morning, she tipped up in Bernard’s study, leaning heavily on her crutch, and glared at him.

  “What is it, Mrs Harper?” he asked her. “I – I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. But don’t overdo it, will you?”

  “I won’t, Vicar, as long as you don’t, neither,” she said with meaning in every syllable.

  “Er, no of course not, Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard, putting down his Bible, which he had been perusing in an unusual burst of enthusiasm. Last night’s events had been cathartic for him, in more ways than one.

  “Tell me to mind my own business, if you like,” said Mrs Harper ominously, daring him to even contemplate doing so. “But that young woman shouldn’t be ’ere.”

  Bernard closed his Bible and sighed. If Nancy had expected some kind of blatant denial or remonstrance on his part, she was in for a surprise. She had expected some sort of an argument, at the very least. She found she was vaguely disappointed. If the vicar had been up to any hanky-panky with that girl, he should at least have the guts to say so.

  “I know, Mrs Aitch. You’re right. I’ve asked her to leave, as it happens.”

  Mrs Harper gave one of her all-encompassing sniffs, which seemed to say ‘pull the other one’.

  “I have, honestly. She’ll be leaving later on this evening.”

  “There’s talk, you know,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. Now that he had given in so easily, she still felt it incumbent on her to tell him a home truth or two. “Everywhere I go, I get stopped. They all ask me what that young flibbertigibbet is doing ’ere. They say it’s not right for an unmarried man – and you a vicar – to be ’arbouring such a person under your roof. And I ’ave to say I agree with them.”

  “Look, Mrs Aitch, I’m sorry, but I’ve told her to leave.”

  “That’s all I ’ave to say on the matter. It’s a matter for your own conscience, like as not. Where is she now, by the way?”

  “At work, Mrs Aitch,” he replied. “Now, did you hear what I said?”

  “About ’er leaving tonight, you mean?”

  “Yes,” he sighed. “Won’t that satisfy you?”

  “It’s about time,” was all she said.

  

  Bernard sank back in his chair with relief as Mrs Harper went out, closing the door after her with a firmness that spoke volumes. Had she heard or seen anything last night? Well, what if she had? Nothing actually happened, had it? Not really. Anyway, it was none of her business. He closed his eyes and relived the moment.

  He saw Nova’s flimsily-clad form framed in his bedroom doorway, an image he had tried to get out of his head ever since she had actually stood there at two o’clock that morning.

  “What the ....? Is that you, Nova?”

  “Yes, Bernie, it’s me. I can’t sleep.”

  “Er, well, come in and close the door.”

  He had prayed Mrs Harper wasn’t awake. Luckily, she was sleeping downstairs but the creaking floorboards, which sounded even louder in the dead of night as Nova approached his bed, were sure to rouse her.

  “Shhh! Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, switching on the bedside lamp.

  She came and sat on the end of his bed and, instead of stopping her, he had just sat there admiring the view. What could he have been thinking of?

  “You know, Bernie, I think a lot about you.”

  “But – you have a boyfriend, dear, and I’m a vicar. I cannot let you do this. It’s against everything I stand for. You really shouldn’t be here at all. Not in here – not in my bedroom – and not in the vicarage either.”

  It had taken all of his strength to say this to her as she sat there, fiddling with the ribbon of her nightie. It was coming loose. He had looked away then and continued to speak.

  “I think it’s about time you went back to Common Way. The spirit, or whatever it is there, has probably gone by now, since you’ve not been there...”

  “Shut up, Bernie, and kiss me!”

  Bernard hadn’t a clue what to do at that moment. She hadn’t listened to a word he’d said. Instead, she’d put her arms round his neck and tried to kiss him. Somehow, he had managed to push her away.

  “No, Nova, didn’t you hear me? This is all wrong. I’m fond of you, and I’m only too happy to have you here while you have the problem at home, but ...”

  “But, Bernie, I thought you felt the same as me. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

  “I – I’m sorry if my behaviour towards you has been inappropriate in any way, Nova. Now, please, just go back to your room and think about what I’ve said.”

  Nova stood up, and Bernard had expected her to obey him at last. However, she began to step out of her nightie.

  “Stop!” It had been the last straw. “Put that thing back on at once.”

  His harsh voice and words had finally got through to her. She covered herself up at once and looked at him like a whipped puppy.

  “I see ... I – I’m sorry – I just thought you needed me to make the first move. I thought you were just shy…”

  To Bernard’s horror, she began to cry.

  “Please, Nova,” he said gently. “It’s not you – it’s me. It’s the way I am. I’m unable to make a commitment this big. You’re a lovely girl but – Mike is the boy for you. Go back to him, please.”

  “All right,” she said flatly. “I’ll go. Tomorrow.”

  He came back to the present with a jolt as he heard Mrs Harper call up to him from the kitchen.

  “Your tea’s on the kitchen table. I ain’t climbing them blinking stairs again.”

  

  “Dorothy is all the ’elp I need, Vicar.”

  Mrs Harper smiled as she poured out his tea.

  “She’s leaving today. When she comes back from work. Mike’s coming to fetch her. It’s all arranged,” he said. “You’re quite right, of course. She shouldn’t be here.”

  “Ain’t I always?” she grinned, getting out the chocolate biscuits as a reward.

  He nibbled on one gratefully, happy to be in her good books once more.

  “I’m more or less back to normal, anyway,” said Mrs Harper. “Dorothy wants to go soon, too, she told me. She’s rented a flat in Tooting. I said I can manage without ’er, no danger.”

  “Are you sure, Mrs Aitch?”

  “’Course. Now, off with you. I’ve got work to do.”

  

  Nova returned from work that evening and, without a word, went to her room and packed her suitcase. A short time later, Mike came to pick her up. Bernard, with mixed feelings but relief uppermost among them, came to the front door and watched as the young man put his arm around her.

  “I suppose I should thank you, Vicar. For looking after her,” Mike said.

  “No need. She has been a great help while my housekeeper has been away.”

  Mike gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret, although he suspected the young man wasn’t entirely fooled.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “You’ve got a visitor, Bernie,” said Dorothy, one morning. Bernard looked up from his desk to see the strange old man he had encountered in the church a day or two previously, as unkempt and unwashed as before.

  “Hello,” Bernard greeted him with a sinking heart, wondering what the man wanted this time. Probably hoping for a free meal, by the look of him. Well, thought Bernard, he can whistle for that. All he would get was a cup of tea or coffee and definitely no biscuits.

  Dorothy went off to fetch the tea while Bernard asked the man to sit down.

  “So, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  Sitting down by the fire, he gave it a prod wi
th the poker and the flames sprang into life, casting a warm, cosy glow around the book-lined room. The old man sank back into the armchair opposite. If he was disappointed by the offer of tea and not something stronger, he didn’t show it.

  “It’s a bit difficult...” he began.

  “Go on,” Bernard encouraged him. The sooner he said his piece, the sooner he could be rid of him. The man’s body odour was becoming unbearable.

  “I’m trying to find some answers,” said the man at last. “You see, I’ve lately found out that I’m not who I thought I was.”

  “How, exactly?”

  “I now know the name I’ve used all my life doesn’t belong to me.”

  “So, what name do you use now?”

  “Ted will do,” replied the old man.

  “Forgive me for prying, Ted, but do you have somewhere to live?”

  Ted laughed.

  “Well? What is there to laugh at in that question?”

  Bernard was already becoming impatient with him, and he’d only been there five minutes. He couldn’t wait to see the back of him. Then he checked himself. Charity, Bernard, charity. He was a vicar, he must remember that.

  “Nothing, I suppose,” replied Ted.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, fair enough,” said Bernard. “I can’t make you.”

  “What would you say if I told you I was walking the streets?”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll phone through to the local hostel and book you a room for the night,” said Bernard meaningfully. He suspected what the old man was angling for and was having none of it. Even though there was plenty of room at the vicarage, there was no place in it for the likes of this awful Ted.

  “Don’t worry, Vicar,” he said, “I’ve got a place to stay. It’s the Winter Park Eventide Home in Hope Street. You probably know it. Not far from here, as the crow flies.”

  Bernard knew the place and also knew it cost an arm and a leg to get in there. This old man didn’t look exactly flush with money, but then you never could tell. He could be an eccentric millionaire, for all he knew.