Free Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) by Nancy Atherton Page A

uncertain terms to stay put for the remainder of the evening.
    Nicole returned shortly after I’d crawled beneath the covers. Dr. MacEwan took the tray she offered and dismissed her ruthlessly, ordering her not to disturb my rest. Then he stood over me, watching, as if to make sure that I’d eat up all my broth.
    “Nicole tells me you fainted in the library,” he said, when the bowl was empty. “It’s a mercy you didn’t break your neck. You’ve had a serious shock to your system, young lady. You should’ve gone to bed the moment you arrived here.”
    “I would have, except…” I looked pointedly from the ferret to the horrible, staring monkey.
    The doctor followed my gaze. “I see. Not likely to inspirepleasant dreams, are they? I’ll have a word with Mrs. Hollander.”
    “You could tell her I’m allergic to them,” I offered.
    “I’ll tell her the damned room’s gloomy enough without them.” He glowered at the crimson hangings on the vast four-poster bed, then crossed to the windows to fling open the damask drapes. “That’s better. A bit of fresh air is— Good God!” he exclaimed. “There’re
bars
on the windows.”
    “I know,” I said. “Nicole thinks it must have been a nursery at one time.”
    “A nursery?” The doctor snorted. “I doubt it. Tucked away upstairs, that’s where you’ll find a nursery. Not down here, where the kiddies’ bawling might disturb the parents. Ah, well,” he said, cracking a window, “the bars won’t stop the breezes. Nothing better for you than fresh air.” He returned to the bed, removed the tray, and placed it on the dressing table. “You’ll dream about your accident, no doubt. Don’t let it trouble you. Nightmares are par for the course in cases like yours.”
    “Once those critters are gone, I won’t have nightmares,” I assured him.
    “Your confidence is admirable,” he said dourly. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve pushed yourself too hard. You’re bound to pay for it one way or another. Shock can affect the mind as well as the body.”
    I stared up at the bloodred canopy, turning his words over in my mind. “Could shock make me…hallucinate?” I asked. “Could it make me hear and see things that aren’t really there?”
    “What kinds of things?” he asked.
    “Just before I fainted, I thought I heard”—I faltered, almost too embarrassed to admit the truth—“laughter. I thought I heard spooky laughter and saw a pair of creepy, glowing eyes.”
    Dr. MacEwan regarded me thoughtfully. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Wyrdhurst ghost.”
    I nodded.
    “That would explain it,” he said. “The power of suggestion working on an exhausted and therefore vulnerable mind can produce all manner of queer visions. Don’t let it worry you. It’ll pass.” Dr. MacEwan hefted his bag and headed for the door. “I’ll look in on you again tomorrow morning. Until then, get some rest.”
    When he’d gone, I faced the bedside table, where Reginald leaned companionably against the dashing Major Ted. Beside them stood a framed photograph Mrs. Hatch had taken from my luggage.
    Bill’s face grinned back at me, and I could almost hear the twins’ throaty giggles as they wriggled in his arms, yet I gazed at them an odd sense of detachment. My boys were safe and happy, I told myself. They didn’t need me fussing over them twenty-four hours a day.
    Besides, I thought, rolling onto my back, I wasn’t just a mother and a wife. I was a strong, intelligent woman of the world. Mr. Garnett the mechanic might be frightened of the house upon the hill, but I wasn’t. As Dr. MacEwan had explained, my jitters were nothing more than an overblown reaction to stress. A good night’s rest would put everything to rights.
    Bolstered by my own pep talk, I saluted Major Ted,switched off the bedside lamp, and closed my eyes. Comforted by the dwindling fire’s pleasant flicker, I soon fell asleep.
    The fire was out when I woke up. I couldn’t see a