The Devil's Caress

by June Wright

  “That unfortunate woman who had died. Frightfully bad luck, the whole thing. He had done his damnedest to avoid an inquest, but the medical super did not like him. Jealous, you know. And there it was.

  “Here he glanced over his shoulder, leaned across the table and lowered his voice as I sat smoking one of his cigarettes and warming the brandy he had ordered for me.

  “The patient had really been one of his wife’s. Frankly, old boy, you can’t go into the witness-box and say the patient had died from neglect. It would ruin Katherine’s career. She was terribly upset and Kingsley had promised to do what he could.

  “All along the same line. It all boiled down to this, though I was still bemused by Kingsley’s eloquence and the fine-sounding promises he had made. I was to soften up on the evidence and to push the blame on to anyone but Kingsley and his wife.”

  Shane paused and smiled bitterly. “I did it well. In fact, I was so chivalrously disposed towards Kate Waring that I found the whole blame laid on myself. The coroner was quite nasty at the summing-up, but by then it was too late for me to do anything. After the inquest Waring slapped me on the back again and called me ‘old boy’ once more.

  “It was white, damned white of me, and get in touch with him when I wanted any advice. I thanked him and then went into the nearest pub to get drunk.

  “That night the superintendent called me into his room and threw a Melbourne paper across his desk. ‘You damned fool, Shane,’ was his comment.

  “There it was in neat headlines on the front page— ‘Doctor sharply reprimanded for neglect.’

  “It was in the next day’s papers, too, and the day after that there were letters of indignation to the editors. Either the public or the profession likes to make tin gods out of doctors, so such a scandal is all the more shocking.

  “A week later the hospital board demanded my resignation.

  “And that, my dear Dr. Mowbray, was what your cherished Katherine did to me without so much as appearing in the picture.”

  “What did you do when you resigned?” Marsh asked, watching his dark bitter face intently.

  “I took a locum up country for a few months, hoping everything would quieten down. But when I came back my name was still notorious. I called up Kingsley Waring to see what he could do for me, but he and his wife had given up their practice and had gone to Melbourne. It took me three months to see him. He was still affable though he didn’t clap me on the back this time. He had a nice set of rooms in Collins Street now and told me he was specializing in surgery. His appointment book was already overloaded. Katherine was also specializing.

  “He discussed everything except my problem, and I left his office none the better but a great deal wiser for having called on him. Soon after that I heard of a job going as a ship’s doctor on a liner for Great Britain. Don’t ever be a ship’s doctor, Mowbray. Ever tried looking after seasick patients when you are feeling lousy yourself?”

  Marsh smiled briefly. “Have you been in England all this lime? Why did you come back?”

  “I had an urge to see my own country again,” he replied carelessly. “I have now enough degrees and experience to set myself up in Collins Street and knock most of the others out. I thought I’d take a holiday down here before I began.”

  “I see,” said Marsh. “And Mr Waring met you here again.”

  “He called in one day to escape the rain. He had been out walking. I rather enjoyed our conversation,” he added cryptically. “I even went so far as to offer to lend him some medical books that I brought out from England. I had them sent down from town and dropped them in to him the night you heard me on the verandah.”

  “Was that what you were after in the laboratory?”

  “It was. Does my explanation tie up to your satisfaction?”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, and stood up.

  Shane regarded her amusedly. “You are an odd girl. Because you are trying to smother your doubts about one person, you are suspicious about everyone else. Why won’t you admit it?”

  Marsh walked away from him. “Admit what?” she asked coldly.

  “What you are trying to hide from yourself. That Katherine Waring is a murderess.”

  Marsh stiffened. She was at the door and her back turned. “Will you keep your promise about Sam?” she asked, in an even tone.

  He came up behind her and put one hand on her shoulder to turn her round. She faced him steadily.

  “You run up and down the gamut, but your loyalty remains unchanged. I’d like to know more of you, Mowbray.” He dropped his hand. “I’ll stay quiet for three days.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and slipped out of the cottage.

  IV

  The moon had passed its zenith, but Marsh had no difficulty in finding the path back to the road. The trip along the macadam was easy, too, but she shied when a rabbit shot its startled way across. It was only when she entered the drive which led to Reliance that she became conscious of nervousness. Until then her mind had been engrossed with plans to combat Shane’s ultimatum.

  Here the ti-trees were too closely growing to permit any moonlight, making it necessary to feel her way along. She was glad when she was through the scrub and the dark familiar bulk of her runabout under the pines could be seen. The house stood out as clearly as in daylight. She kept her eyes on it and, remaining as far as she could in the shadows, edged her way around the yard. A faint whine from the outbuildings meant that Rex was still locked in the garage. Either Michael Waring had forgotten to set him loose or else he had not yet come home.

  She crossed the verandah and touched the door. It was open and slid inwards with a faint creak. She stood on the threshold, listening. The house was very quiet. Step by step she felt her way along the passage to the stairs and began to mount.

  Suddenly, out of the darkness above a light was shone full in her face. She stood paralysed, gripping the hand-rail hard. She could neither move nor speak. Then the light was extinguished and a faint pad of footsteps sounded hurrying along the upper hall.

  Swiftly she climbed the remainder of the stairs and found her bedroom door. She paused there, straining her eyes through the dark. She was breathing rapidly and her face was wet with perspiration. After a moment she backed into her room and locked the door.

  Thus Marsh passed her fourth consecutive night of uneasiness.

  It was playing on her, she knew. She was a good enough doctor to realize that, however adaptable and resilient human nature is, four days and nights of tension, doubts, and fears leave some mark on the mind and body. There is a tendency to jump at an unexpected noise, to regard with suspicion the most guileless of remarks, to interpret an innocent action as a furtive movement.

  She had developed the habit of covertly inspecting the members of the household when they were all together, which was usually at meal-times. And now, with the ever-present awareness of Shane’s time limit, her scrutiny, impartial before, had become a desperate aid to the theories her tired brain evolved. She was ready to use any means, however undependable.

  Katherine Waring was not present at breakfast the following morning, and the others had lapsed into a morose silence, forgivable in the absence of the hostess. But towards the end of the meal she appeared at the door. She was dressed again in the grey linen as the day promised to be hot. It seemed exactly the colour of her fine eyes.

  “Don’t get up, Henry,” she said, as Arkwright rose clumsily. “I have had breakfast. I thought you might like to know I will be reading King’s will presently. Anyone may come in if they wish.”

  A little murmur went round the table. Marsh, noting the faint scornful smile on Dr. Waring’s lips, made a mental resolve not to be present.

  The older woman looked at her. “If you could spare a moment, Marsh, I would like to see you.”

  She got up at once and followed Katherine Waring out of the room. Th
ey went into the library.

  “Sit down, Marsh. You look tired this morning. Didn’t you sleep well?”

  “Not very well,” she replied, averting her face. She imagined that Dr. Waring’s gaze was over-keen.

  Katherine Waring picked up a pencil from her desk and drew it through her fingers. “You know, Marsh,” she said, on a sigh, “of all the people here at Reliance, you are the only one I know I can trust.” She paused and surveyed the girl silently. Marsh wriggled a little in her chair. “I trust you,” she repeated.

  The girl took out a cigarette and began to smoke quickly. Her nervousness was apparent and she tried to calm herself.

  Dr. Waring laid down the pencil and sat on the edge of the desk, her fingers on a sheet of paper beside her.

  “I know your innate integrity so well that I would never listen to anyone who might try to turn me against you. You are the type of person who would never let another down. Not only would I not listen, but it is my endeavour to scotch at once any unpleasantness connected with your name. Marsh, I want you to read this.”

  She picked up the paper, gave it to the girl and went over to the window. “Read it carefully,” she said over her shoulder, “and tell me what you think.”

  The note was printed in distorted block letters on a sheet of plain paper. Ask Marsh Mowbray where she was last night.

  “Well, Marsh?”

  The girl fumbled for words, feeling sick and ashamed. Whoever it was who had flashed the light in her face was responsible for this. “Dr. Kate, I don’t know what to say. An anonymous letter—”

  Dr. Waring swung round. “An anonymous letter is a foul filthy thing,” she broke in vehemently. “Tear it up, Marsh. Yes, do as I say. Tear it up and throw it in the waste-paper basket.”

  Marsh did so. As the last fragments fluttered to a resting-place, the other woman spoke. “I am not going to demean myself by asking you to answer the question, but there is something I would like to say. Believe me, I say it in all good faith. Emotional relations with the opposite sex are not for you. They could ruin your career. Take it from my experience that they will do you no good. If, by some chance, you should become involved in any way, remember always to weigh up your everlasting interest in your career with that of a fleeting unsatisfactory phase.”

  “You think,” Marsh said in a low voice, “the letter meant that?”

  “I don’t think anything,” she replied swiftly. “I told you I trusted you.” She glanced over Marsh’s head as the door opened. “Oh—Henry! I am not quite ready, but come in.”

  Relieved at the chance to escape, Marsh got up and left the room. Dr. Waring’s supreme faith in her was almost unendurable under the existing conditions. She had an unshakable confidence in her, to which Marsh felt she had no claim.

  At the foot of the stairs she paused to watch the others file along the passage to the library. Arkwright was already there, eager and anxious to know the will, but trying to cover up his expectancy. Michael sauntered in, careless and defiant, sure of his standing. Mrs Arkwright seemed certain of her position also. She went past Marsh, ignoring her.

  But Laurence Gair paused at the sight of her. “Aren’t you going to join the vultures?” he asked maliciously.

  “I expect no pickings,” she replied curtly.

  Then Evelyn Peterson came up. There was a little knowing smile hovering about her mouth as she nodded to Marsh. The library door closed after them.

  “There they go—the whole scheming bunch!” said a low voice in her ear.

  Betty Donne stood behind her, her cheeks flushed and her hands clenched. “Aren’t you going to stand by Dr. Kate? Aren’t you going to protect her from them?”

  “The will does not concern me,” Marsh said coldly.

  The nurse gave her a contemptuous look and then walked straight to the library. Marsh waited until the door had closed before she made her way down to the kitchen. Miss Jennet might be talkative and foolish, but her position in the house was a vantage ground that might be exploited.

  V

  The radio was on softly, as though Miss Jennet considered it improper to make a noise at such a grave time. Because of this, she was crouched up close to the speaker and either did not see Marsh come in or else was too absorbed in the forty-seventh episode. The breakfast dishes lay stacked on the table.

  Marsh waited patiently until the episode concluded with a burst of atmospheric music. “Let me help you with the dishes. Miss Donne has gone to the library.”

  The little woman looked around at her, the rapt expression fading. “Why, Dr. Mowbray! I didn’t hear you come in. No, please don’t. You might spoil your frock. My, but that colour does suit you. I do like red on a dark person.”

  She sank a pile of dirty plates into the hot soapy water in the sink. Her small fat hands emerged pink and shining. “Poor dear Kate! I hope Mrs Arkwright won’t be trying. I suppose her complaint makes her sour. And Michael—”

  “I noticed Mrs Arkwright avoiding the sugar foods,” Marsh interrupted casually. “Is she a diabetic, too?”

  Miss Jennet nodded. “Such a business! It must run in the family. Now she has only one injection a day. Globin insulin. You see I know quite a bit about medical matters, Doctor. Kate always tells me anything I want to know. But King was different. Three times a day he would pass by that door and go up to the laboratory for his injection.”

  Without any difficulty or prompting she had got on to the subject Marsh had wanted to discuss. What was better still she did not seem to regard the girl’s interest as out of the way.

  “The day before Mr Waring became ill, did you see him go to the laboratory for his third needle? It was the evening I arrived. Can you remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Miss Jennet answered reproachfully. “I was listening to The Farmer’s Family. It was just as Merle was leaving the house to elope.”

  “Were you in the kitchen most of that day? I mean—whom else did you see going up to the lab?”

  Miss Jennet pursed her mouth. “There was Mr Gair. I know he did because he had the key to lock up after dinner. Then Miss Donne said Kingsley was wanted on the ’phone for a Melbourne call—funny, that, because when he got to the ’phone there was no one there. He was quite annoyed about it, and sent me up to the laboratory to ask Miss Donne who had been calling him.”

  “You mean Miss Donne didn’t come back to the house with Mr Waring after telling him he was wanted on the ’phone? She stayed in the lab?”

  Miss Jennet nodded, and hurried on: “Then that Peterson person. She kept going whenever she thought King was in the lab. And I think Kate went once, but I’m not sure. I happened to be looking out of the window just as she was coming up the verandah steps.”

  Miss Jennet thought for a minute. “Oh yes, the Arkwrights, too. Certainly Mrs Arkwright, because she asked me where she could find an umbrella. It was raining hard that day. Isn’t it funny to remember when it is quite warm now?”

  Before she could enlarge on the whimsicality of the climate at Matthews, the kitchen door opened with a jerk and Betty Donne came in. She looked as though she had been crying, and stopped short at the sight of Marsh.

  “Give me that towel,” she said roughly. “You are doing my work.” She snatched it away.

  “Now, Sister! Don’t be nasty to the Doctor. She was only helping. You’d better go now, Dr. Mowbray. Perhaps Kate wouldn’t like it.”

  As Marsh left the room she heard Miss Donne say, “Dr. Kate doesn’t mind you and I doing it, Miss Jennet.”

  Laurence Gair was coming along the passage as she shut the door behind her. He saw her, but averted his eyes and ran lightly up the stairs. Marsh followed, and as she passed the open door of his room he was throwing a bag on to the bed. She paused and leaned against the jamb, her brows raised.

  “Leaving, Larry?”

  He unzipped the bag. “
Yes,” he replied curtly.

  “So suddenly? Were the pickings good?”

  His hands faltered. “I’m satisfied. The others are still arguing downstairs.” He strode over to the dressing-table and began to pull out the contents.

  “Good heavens!” Marsh said, diverted. “You don’t sleep in those, do you?”

  Gair stuffed the gaudy pyjamas away. “Avert your maiden gaze, my girl.”

  “I’m too dazzled. It is a wonder you don’t have nightmares.”

  The smile faded from his face. “Nightmares?” he echoed. “Come here, Marsh.”

  “What is it?” she asked, advancing cautiously.

  He came to stand right over her, his hands hanging loose at his sides. He was frowning and his underlip was caught between his teeth. Marsh thought his manner betrayed some secret indecision. Larry, who was so certain of himself and who rarely allowed any weak emotion to escape through his suavity, was bewildered.

  “Last night I had a nightmare. A horrible dream about you and Katherine Waring.” He raised his hands uncertainly and then placed them suddenly on her shoulders. “Marsh, forget everything I said. Wipe it clean out of your mind. Leave here today—with me.”

  She twisted out of his grasp. “Rather sudden, aren’t you, Larry? Two nights ago you threw out a challenge. I accepted it. Either you draw back or I don’t leave here until I prove you were wrong.”

  “I said forget it.” He turned back to the dressing-table. “Forget that challenge.”

  “You admit you were wrong about Dr. Kate?”

  His eyes met hers in the mirror. “No,” he said quietly. “In all honesty I cannot convince myself that I was wrong. But you are treading on dangerous ground and you must stop.”

  Marsh went back to the door. “I told you once before that your cynicism corrupted others. You force me to think only one thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your pickings were good. I warned you that you yourself are not above suspicion.”