Free The Spiral Staircase by Ethel Lina White

Barker.
    “Well-a nice cup of tea?”
    “No, thanks.” Nurse Barker’s accent grew more, refined as she asked a question. “Is there any stimulant?”
    Mrs Oates’ eyes gleamed, and she licked her lips.
    “Plenty in the cellar,” she said. “But the master keeps the key. I’ll speak to him about it, if you like, Nurse.”
    “No thank you I prefer to tell Miss Warren my own requirements… . it is extraordinary that she has not come downstairs to interview me. Where is she?”
    “Setting up with her ladyship. I wouldn’t be in too great a hurry to go up there, Nurse. Once you’re there, you’ve got to stay put.”
    Nurse Barker pondered Mrs. Oates advice.”
    “I understood it was a single-handed case, she said. But I’ve come straight off from duty. I only came to oblige Matron. I ought to have a good night’s rest:”
    She turned to Helen.
    “Are you a good sleeper?” she asked.
    “Ten to seven,” boasted Helen unwarily.
    “Then a bad night won’t hurt you. You’ll have to sleep with Lady Warren tonight.”
    Helen felt a pang of horror.
    “Oh no,” she cried. “I couldn’t.”
    “And why not?”
    “I-Well, it sounds absurd, but I’m afraid of her.”
    Nurse Barker looked pleased at the admission.
    “Nonsense. Afraid of, a bedridden old woman? I never heard anything so fantastic. I’ll arrange it with Miss Warren.”
    Helen had a spasm of shrinking aversion as she thought of Lady Warren’s artificial grin. She had something to smile about now. She alone, knew where she had hid her revolver.
    Suddenly she wondered what would be the outcome, if the nurse insisted on her night in bed. As she looked around her, with troubled eyes, she thought of the young doctor. If she appealed to him, she was sure that he would not fail her.
    “Well, we’ll see what the doctor says about it,” she said.
    “Is the doctor young?” asked Nurse Barker.
    “Youngish,” replied Helen.
    “Married?”
    “No.”
    Mrs. Oates winked at Helen, as Nurse Barker opened her bag and drew out a mirror and lipstick. She coated her tips with a smear of greasy crimson.
    “You understand,” she said, turning to Helen: “I interview the doctor. That is professional etiquette. You are not to talk to him about the patient.”
    “But I don’t talk to him about her,” remarked Helen.
    “About what, then?” asked Nurse Barker jealously.
    “Aha, what don’t they talk about?” broke in Mrs. Oates.
    “Something saucy, you may depend. Miss Capel’s a terror with the gentlemen.”
    Although Helen knew that Mrs. Oates only wanted to. tease the nurse, the sheer novelty of the description made her feel gloriously triumphant, and capable-like her famous namesake—of launching ships.
    “Mrs Oates is only pulling your leg,” she told Nurse—responsive to the vague warning that she must not make an enemy. “But the doctor’s rather a darling. We’re friends. That’s all.”
    Nurse Barker looked at Mrs. Oates. “What a curious house this is. I expected a staff of servants. Why are there none?”
    “Funny thing,” she remarked, “but as long as this place has been built there’s been a trouble to get girls to stay here. Too lonely, for one thing. And then, it got an unlucky name with servants.”
    “Unlucky?” prompted Nurse Barker, while Helen pricked up her ears for the answer.
    “Yes. It’s an old tale now, but right back in Sir Robert’s time, one of the maids was found drowned in the well. Her sweetheart had jilted her, so it was supposed she’d threw herself down. It was the drinking-well, too.”
    “Disgusting pollution,” murmured Nurse .Barker. “So it was. And then, on top of that, was the murder. …Kitchen-maid it was, found dead in the house, with her throat slit from ear to ear. She was always hard on tramps and used to like to turn them from the door, and one was heard to threaten to do her in. They never caught him. But it got the house a bad smell.”
    Helen clasped her hands tightly.
    “Mrs.