The Devil's Caress

by June Wright

  A drawer was slammed violently. He swung round, his face dark with anger. “Marsh, don’t be a fool. You know how I feel about you. I don’t want you to come to any harm.”

  “I can’t believe you, Larry. Self-preservation was always your strongest instinct.”

  For a moment they faced each other, both taut with anger. Gair was the first to relax. He went over to her, smiling.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’d rather keep out of strife than get into it. Come, say good-bye for the present nicely. I will see you in town before you sail. We will be able to talk more reasonably away from Reliance. These last few days have been enough to distort anyone’s reason.”

  “Very well, Larry,” Marsh said. She held out her hand.

  He looked down at it. “What a poor farewell!” He tried to draw her nearer, but footsteps sounded along the passage and Delia Arkwright passed, giving them a steely glance. Gair made a face at her retreating back.

  Picking up his bag, he said: “Perhaps I was wrong about Dr. Kate. Somehow I can’t believe so. Be careful, won’t you.”

  “It cost you something to say that much, Larry,” Marsh replied, with a faint smile. “I know you are wrong. Good-bye.”

  He hesitated again. “Well, good-bye. Marsh—er—after I’ve gone see if I have left anything behind. Have a look through the drawers and cupboards. I may have missed something.” He turned quickly and was gone.

  Marsh remained still. She would miss Larry, she told herself. When they were together there was continual friction, but now she would miss him. She puzzled over this conflicting idea, and came to the conclusion that Larry’s departure made her feel not so much lonely as more alone. There was now one less at Reliance. She did not like the feeling.

  Mrs Arkwright came by the door again. She saw the girl alone.

  “Has Dr. Gair left? Such a lucky young man,” she remarked, with disapproving envy. “Kingsley took such an interest in him, but to leave him his practice like that! I really can’t understand Kingsley’s motives. And two enormous lump sums to persons I have never heard of. Katherine must contest the will.”

  She went away when she saw that her complaints were falling on deaf ears.

  Marsh commenced to tidy the vacated room. She straightened the counterpane on the bed and pushed drawers to. She took the vase of flowers through to the adjoining bathroom, throwing the faded blooms into the waste-can and emptying the water down the basin. Then she opened the cabinet above the basin to see if Larry had forgotten anything. There were one or two odds and ends—then her hands stopped and she stood quite still. Wedged behind a group of bottles was a sheaf of papers.

  She drew them down fearfully, for at once she had recognized them as belonging to Kingsley Waring’s indexed scrapbook.

  Chapter Eight

  I

  Marsh’s immediate reaction was the thought that Larry had intended her to find the papers. As she stood staring down at them in her hand there came the sound of a car being driven away from Reliance. He had given himself a good start.

  The bathroom was white and still. There was a faint aroma of brilliantine or soap associated with Gair in the air. Steps along the passage made her start guiltily. She shut the cabinet and went quietly through to the bedroom. The door was still open as Gair had left it. She looked out just in time to see Surgeon-Commander Arkwright entering his room. She hastened across the passage.

  “Dr. Mowbray!” Arkwright had seen her. She opened her door quickly and threw the papers on the floor as he came back.

  “You were trying to run away from me,” he declared, his bulging eyes reproachful. “I have been looking for you. What about our sail today?”

  She gazed at him blankly for a moment. He came a little nearer. “What is it, my dear? You look startled. You know, I have been observing you. You haven’t looked at all the thing. The responsibility of King was too much for you.”

  “You told me that before,” she said curtly. “I’m all right.”

  “I was talking to Kate about you,” he pursued, trying to wedge himself into her half-open door. A corner of paper showed under it. “She thinks you should leave.”

  “Did Dr. Kate say that?”

  He fondled her shoulder. “Not precisely, but you know what Kate is. She never says much. The most enigmatic woman of my acquaintance. But I’m certain she agreed with me.”

  Marsh slipped away from his hand. “I will leave when Dr. Waring wants me to go; not before. Will you excuse me now, please?”

  His eyes bulged still more with apprehension. “You sound offended. Don’t let my clumsiness upset you. You are all on edge. A good blow on the briny will fix you. What about after lunch?”

  Anxious to be rid of him, Marsh agreed. When he attempted to nudge the door wider she slipped through the opening and locked it in his face.

  “After lunch then,” Arkwright said through the wood.

  She waited until his footsteps went along the passage before she picked up the papers at her feet and took them to spread out on the bed.

  In questioning Katherine Waring’s integrity, Gair had based his attack on the cause of the partnership break between the Warings. Like Marsh he had anticipated finding the answer in the diaries, and had stumbled on the scrapbook. He could have removed the pages under W even some time before her foolhardy expedition to the laboratory, and taken them to his room to study more closely.

  Filled with apprehension Marsh examined the sheets. On them were pasted several yellowing newspaper cuttings, a creased letter written in an uneducated hand and another typewritten one, obviously a duplicate, unsigned and typed on thin plain paper.

  She read the newspaper cuttings first. One had a block heading which stated ‘Doctor sharply reprimanded by Coroner’. The words seemed to waver across the page under her bemused gaze.

  This was the story Shane had told her. The inquest on a Mrs Farmer that Kingsley Waring had noted in his diary. The inquest which had disgraced Shane was the cause of the partnership break, brought about, according to both Shane and Waring, by Katherine.

  The scrapbook was Kingsley’s recorded evidence of mistakes made by colleagues, and Mrs Farmer’s death from lack of proper medical attention was Katherine’s big mistake.

  With trembling fingers Marsh picked up the letters. The handwritten one was evidently from the husband of the dead woman, who had been unable to resign himself to the tragedy. It was full of a pathetic helpless abuse, and contained wild accusations and threats.

  It was your fault, not the hospital’s. I will tell everyone it was your fault. The same sort of thing covered nearly two irregularly written pages.

  The typewritten letter was a duplicate copy of the reply. Deepest regret was expressed, but a stern warning was issued against repeating such unwise remarks. The Coroner’s finding must be accepted as final, and, even allowing for understandable grief, if there was any further communication on the matter, or repetition of such foolish and exaggerated statements, the matter would be put into the hands of a solicitor.

  Marsh sank on her knees beside the bed and buried her face in the counterpane. Her whole being cried out at this unmerciful shattering of her dream of Katherine Waring’s inviolate character.

  I can’t believe it, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t neglect a patient. Perhaps that is why she is always so over-scrupulous with patients now, a voice suggested in her mind.

  “No, no,” Marsh whispered. “Dr. Kate would never threaten anyone—least of all a simple grief-ridden relative.”

  Haven’t you found that ruthless streak in her? the voice said slyly.

  Marsh got up and paced about the room to beat off the devil’s caress.

  There must be some explanation, she thought, clenching her hands together. There must be something. Larry wanted me to find the cuttings, but he wasn’t triumphant or malicious about her when he left. He was�
�why, he was fighting against his previous convictions; whereas I am fighting the other way. There must be something that he did not tell me, but he has given me the chance to find out.

  She darted back to the bed and picked up the typewritten letter. Did Katherine Waring really write this?

  Then her face changed and she became calmer—no, actually, she did not write it. The nurse or someone they employed at the time typed it under instructions. Her initials were at the foot of the letter. If she could only find that nurse she might be able to learn the true facts of the case.

  She gathered the papers together quickly. They must not be found lying about in her room, but must be returned to their rightful place in the laboratory where Katherine Waring would one day come across them and destroy them. She put them into her handbag and went to her door.

  The passage was empty and the house quiet and cool as Marsh walked down the stairs and along the lower hall to the verandah. She blinked when she emerged into the hot sunshine, and headed for the laboratory. The track was drying in cracked flakes and the heat had hatched a thousand flies.

  As she drew near the building she heard the sound of voices and prepared to turn back. No one must see her replacing the cuttings. They were hard feminine voices, raised in anger. Then there came a crash and a splintering of glass. She hastened towards the laboratory door.

  On either side of the room stood the two nurses, eyeing each other fiercely. The remains of a test-tube lay near Evelyn Peterson’s feet and there was a wet stain on the wall behind her head.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Marsh demanded, from the doorway.

  Miss Peterson did not remove her gaze from Betty Donne’s. “Just in time to referee, Doctor,” she said, an ugly smile curling her mouth.

  Before Marsh could move, she was across the room and the two girls were buffeting and scratching at each other. They fell on the floor together, their arms threshing wildly. Evelyn’s hair was all over her face as the other nurse tugged at it. Then Marsh saw her draw her fingers cruelly across Betty’s cheek.

  “For heaven’s sake, stop!” Marsh cried, stamping her foot impotently.

  They took no heed, but Betty, with her face bleeding and her hands clutching the dark hair, panted out, “You keep out of this.”

  She struggled to her knees, throwing Evelyn off and lurched towards the work bench. Her hand closed over a bottle.

  Evelyn was still struggling to her feet, but she saw the bottle coming and put up one arm to protect her head. It broke, cutting the back of her hand. Betty started to laugh. Her face was heated, but three red scratches stood out across her cheek. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wild.

  She looks mad now, Marsh thought.

  Evelyn was swearing softly. Blood was dripping from her hand as she advanced slowly towards Katherine Waring’s nurse, who was weak with hysteria. There was murder in her dark eyes as she deliberately planned her next attack.

  “Miss Peterson,” Marsh said sharply. “Stop at once. Get over there behind that table. The girl isn’t responsible. Do as I say.”

  At Marsh’s words, Betty Donne turned on her in a fury. She rushed at her blindly, screaming in rage. Marsh grabbed her arms hard above the elbows.

  “Hold her,” Evelyn shrieked. “Let me get at her.”

  Marsh raised one hand swiftly. She dealt the girl two sharp blows on either cheek, and, clenching her fist, drove straight to the point of her jaw. Betty crumpled to the floor.

  Rubbing her knuckles, she turned to Evelyn. “I have never learned boxing,” she said evenly, “but I shall experiment on you, too, if you like.”

  For a moment Evelyn eyed her. Then she shook her head and began to grin, raising one grimy hand to brush the hair out of her face.

  “All right,” said Marsh. “Now help me up with this girl. “

  Together they managed to drag her across to the divan and dumped her roughly on to it. Marsh went over to the cabinet to find cotton wool and antiseptic. She dabbed at Betty’s face with water until her eyes opened. She looked straight up at Marsh and there was hatred in the stare, but she submitted to having the antiseptic applied to her scratches.

  “How do you feel?” Marsh asked crisply. She had been a little worried about the results of her amateur boxing.

  Betty did not speak at once. Then she turned her head aside and said in a tired voice: “I’ll go back to the house. I want to lie down.”

  Marsh tried to help her up. “Keep your hands off me. I can manage.” She got to her feet shakily and limped towards the door. Marsh moved between the two girls warily.

  At the doorway Betty turned, touching her torn cheek. “We haven’t finished yet, Peterson.”

  Evelyn replied cheerfully, “Next time I’ll tear your guts out.”

  “What happened?” Marsh asked, shutting the door against any further exchange of threats. “What did you two mean by behaving like animals? If Dr. Kate—”

  “Oh, Dr. Kate!” Evelyn said disdainfully. “I’m sick of that woman’s name being for ever thrust at me.” She fumbled in the pocket of her torn sports-dress for a cigarette.

  “You’d better let me look at that hand,” Marsh said. “Then we’ll clean the place up. It looks a shambles.”

  Evelyn said, giving up her hand: “Did you see that hellcat with her bottles? If she’d had a knife to hand she would have thrown that.”

  “You’d be well advised to leave Reliance,” Marsh said, pulling her towards the sink. “I’ll have a word with Dr. Kate about Betty. Go today before she sees you again. You were like two she-cats fighting over a tom.”

  The nurse laughed. “I did not think you could be so vulgar, Doctor. Your description is just about right. Only that particular she-cat doesn’t want the tom. I do.”

  Marsh looked at her sharply. “Michael Waring?”

  “Guessed it in one,” she replied shamelessly. “Quite bright, aren’t you? Betty was all for protecting her saintly Katherine’s unsaintly son. I don’t see why. He’s fair prey.”

  “What’s your game?”

  Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. “Dr. Kate won’t give me what I want. Okay, I’ll take Michael instead—plus the money King left him. I wonder how she will like that.”

  “And Michael?”

  “He’s responding nicely, thank you. I may even marry him. I could develop quite a fondness for him. Part of our natures seems identical.”

  “You’ll break Dr. Kate’s heart if you ruin Michael.”

  Evelyn laughed raucously. “It will give me the greatest pleasure, always supposing she has a heart.”

  Marsh dropped her hand. “Personally I consider young Michael a rotter, and it will do him good to get into the clutches of another rotter.”

  “You’re very complimentary, I must say,” she observed, without resentment. “Luckily for you I am in such a mellow mood. I enjoyed my scrap with that besotted half-wit, especially scratching her face. It took me back to the old days. I saw my mother do that once. Class will out, won’t it, Doctor?”

  Marsh bent down to pick up her handbag. “Who was with Mr Waring before you?” she asked abruptly.

  “Some desiccated wench he’d had for years. I don’t remember her name.”

  “Try and remember,” Marsh argued.

  “Why should I? I know she trained at the Queen Vic.”

  There was a speculative look in her dark eyes before she lowered them. She strolled over to the door.

  “You know, Doctor,” she said, over her shoulder. “You are rather obvious. We all know damn well what you are up to. Even Dr. Kate must by now. You’d better be careful,” she added, as she stepped out of the laboratory.

  Marsh stared after her in dismay. The warning was decidedly disturbing. She thought she had been discreet. Perhaps she had not been wise in questioning Evelyn a second time, but the others and Dr. Kate could not possibl
y know. Evelyn was only bluffing.

  Quelling a tiny tremor of fear she put the thoughts aside as she tidied the room and carefully replaced the cuttings in the filing cabinet. Then she left the laboratory and made her way through the ti-trees to the road.

  II

  The sun was high and strong and the road shimmered in the heat. She could feel it through the thin soles of her sandals. Across the golf-course the sea broke lazily against the rocks. It was a deep steady blue. A slight breeze came from it, but Marsh lost its relief when she reached the village, which lay in a hollow. The loose sign on the red-brick hotel hung unmoving in the still air. Brushing the flies away irritably, she crossed the road.

  Only a few fishermen were in the bar, while the private parlour was empty. The mushroom population of Matthews had departed with the week-end. The parlour was cool and dim after the heat outside, and Marsh sank wearily into a chair.

  Mrs Bannister put her head in the door. “Oh, Dr. Mowbray,” she said uncertainly. “Todd’s out. He went down for a swim.”

  “I didn’t come to see Todd,” the girl replied. “Can I have a gin and lemon, please? And I want to make a ’phone call to town.”

  Mrs Bannister nodded to the telephone in the corner and withdrew. Without standing upright, Marsh dragged her chair towards it. She rang the local Exchange and booked her call. She was waiting to get through when Mrs Bannister brought in her drink.

  “You look tired, Doctor,” she remarked, with a sidelong glance, “and not very well. I heard you have had an upsetting time at Reliance.”

  Marsh nodded. “It hasn’t been too happy.”

  The woman fidgeted about the table. “We hear things down here in the village.”

  “Do you?” the girl asked coldly. “What things?”

  The telephone rang and she picked up the receiver. Mrs Bannister went out of the room. “Hullo? Queen Victoria Hospital? I want to speak to Sister Gullett, please. Yes, I’ll hold on.”

  She waited, sipping her icy drink and holding the receiver at her ear. There was quite a long interval before someone came to the line.