Warning at Eagle's Watch (5 page)

"Thanks."

The hour came for Hillary to help her patient to prepare for the night ahead. She assisted her in her nightly bathing routines and helped her to slip a freshly laundered night dress over her head.

Hillary brushed the long white hair with deft, easy strokes and braided it into a thick plait that hung down her back.

When Scotty was ready to retire, she tucked her carefully into the large waiting bed. She looked small, propped against the fluffy pillows, covered with the downy comforter that adorned the bed.

"I'll see you first thing in the morning, Scotty," she said as she did a last-minute check of her patient's vital signs and added the data to the chart. Her condition was strong and stable. "I'll be in during the night to make sure you're doing well."

"Like the sadistic nurses at the hospital who get some morbid delight in shining a light into your eyes?"

"You won't even know I'm here, you grouch. By the way, do you mind if I wander about and give myself a tour of the castle? I can't help but be curious about it."

"Help yourself. But take a flashlight, since the sun is down. There is electricity throughout, but the lightbulbs probably need to be replaced in spots. I can't say I've paid much attention to most of the place."

"Well, if I'm not back by morning, send out a search party," Hillary teased.

"If you're lucky, perhaps Percival will accompany you on your rounds. He knows his way around here best of anyone."

Percival? Was there someone else in the house that she had yet to meet?

Scotty gave an amused chuckle.

"Percival would no doubt consider himself the most important member of the household, and when you do run into him, you will find your life easier if you don't disillusion him."

"And where will I find Percival?"

"Oh, you won't find him, he'll find you. You see, Percival is a cat. A distinguished, proud, and extremely arrogant beast if I ever saw one. Reminds me a bit of myself, he does. He's large, and black as midnight itself. I do hope he can tolerate you to a greater extent than he can that sour-faced Mrs. Raymond. She's constantly trying to bend his will, and it's a hopeless task. He gives her a run for the money. Very entertaining."

She chuckled quietly as she settled down to sleep, and Hillary tiptoed silently out, closing the door softly behind her.

She stopped briefly in her room and retrieved a flashlight from the shelf in the bathroom closet. She had just stepped into the hallway when the sound of a ruckus greeted her ears.

"Get out of here, you no-good cat!" Mrs. Raymond's exasperated voice traveled up the long stairway. Hillary looked over the railing in time to see the angry little housekeeper scurry across the foyer below, broom in hand, chasing the sleek cat who forever remained a few paces in front of her.

In frustration, Mrs. Raymond gave up the chase and headed back in the direction from which she had come. The cat sauntered proudly up the stairs toward Hillary, a distinctly satisfied look on his face.

"Well, hello, Sir Percival," Hillary addressed him softly as he approached. With his black, sleek coat, he certainly had a majestic appearance. "I can see you had a marvelous time baiting Mrs. Raymond down there. Would you care to take me on a tour of the castle?"

He turned up his nose and ignored her, true to his character. Hillary laughed and started down the long flight of stairs to begin her exploration of the castle. Percival followed a respectable distance behind.

Along the wall as she descended, she found the life-size family portraits of the past members of the Scott family, portraits that she had quickly admired upon her arrival at Eagle's Watch. They hung so solemnly in their heavy gilt frames, the latest being a hard-faced man garbed in a stately suit, most probably Priscilla's long dead father. Each frame reached back into time, with the earliest dated nearly one hundred fifty years before—the first American Scott, who was responsible for the erection of Eagle's Watch. She studied the wide variety of costume, some in shiny buttoned uniforms from the various wars, some in the grand finery that was proudly worn by the gentlemen of the times.

All in all, they were a sober lot, with eyes cool and piercing, even from the canvas, and while Hillary found them intriguing to study, she found them hard to identify with the present mistress of Eagle's Watch.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, and the spacious foyer, her feet softly contacting the polished stoned floor in her rubber-soled nursing shoes. The light was very dim and no one was in sight. Percival rubbed affectionately against her leg, and she found herself glad for his unpredictable company.

The castle, she soon discovered, was laid out in a huge square, its massive wings completely enclosing a small inner courtyard that sat in the center, completely protected from the outside world, open only to the sky above. There were two floors in the castle, with the two high turrets that towered above them. The basement, or "dungeon," that had sat morbidly beneath the original castle across the ocean, had been left out of the design of the Scott family estate, and Eagle's Watch sat firmly on top of solid rock.

She moved to the right of the foyer, swinging open a heavy door and passing quickly through it.

She found herself in the living room. Here, signs of Scotty's up-to-date decorating showed through, though the great height of the ceilings and the squareness of the deep-set windows still proclaimed the castlelike aura of the place. But the furniture was well loved and comfortable looking; the room had a lived in feeling. Hillary was beginning to chide herself for the misgivings she had first had. Both her own room and the living room were normal, happy rooms, far from the outlandish imaginings her mind had expected.

But as she moved into the hallway, and traveled to the next room in the wing, her doubts returned. Commonly called a drawing room, its stiff formality seemed forbidding. She crossed the intricate Persian rug and lighted a lamp to see more clearly. There were brocade chairs, placed alongside daintily carved end tables of some exotic wood, unfamiliar to Hillary by name, though their great worth was apparent. The elaborate furniture, the crystal chandeliers, all added to the untouchable air of antiquity that permeated the room. She felt like an intruder, a trespasser in a room that didn't welcome human occupation.

She looked furtively around, not quite able to shake the feeling that she was unwelcome in the room. It was ridiculous, she knew. It was only a room, and she had been given Scotty's permission to explore. Still, she found herself eager to move on.

Next she followed the long hallway to a huge archway that supported a pair of ornate doors. When she swung them open, she was greeted by an overwhelming darkness.

She switched her flashlight on quickly, as her hand sought along the nearby wall for a lightswitch. The room sprang to life, and Hillary's eyes widened in awe.

She had found the ballroom of the castle, and it was truly magnificent. The windows were heavily covered with elegant brocade draperies, their golden weave glimmering richly. Graceful gilt chairs lined the long walls; the floor was covered with inlaid tiles. There was an attractive dais at one end of the huge room, and Hillary could just imagine the tuxedoed orchestra that must have perched upon it for so many of the Scott family celebrations.

The chandeliers on the ceiling glittered with light, and Hillary found herself envisioning the stately couples of earlier times, spinning around the graceful floor together, moving to the happy music, dresses flowing around them, their curled hair piled high. She stood alone in the midst of all her imagined splendor for several minutes, trying to envision herself in the conjured dream.

Percival's peevish yowl brought her abruptly back to the present, amazed at the romantic and exhilarating thoughts that had affected her so. Really, what was this place doing to her?

She found the hallway windows that looked out onto the enclosed garden, a little courtyard showing signs of neglect and decay. It most probably came far down on the list of priorities in a place such as this, with only Mr. Raymond to tend to the upkeep. But it was a shame, for it seemed a peaceful and thought- provoking place.

Two marble cherubs looked sprightly in now-dry fountains, encrusted with moss and the signs of time. Hillary made a mental note to explore it more fully when she had more than the stolen light from the hallway windows and a small hand-held flashlight to cast light into it.

The great hall in the castle made a turn to the left and traveled along the rear wing of the castle. There were a number of smaller rooms, a sitting room, laundry room, utility areas. On the fourth side of the castle, she found the large and extremely well-arranged kitchen, appliances and counters gleaming brightly in the overhead light. The pantry was well stocked. The small servants' eating area was rather bleak and cold. There was no one to be seen.

Coming closer to the front of the castle, she found the formal dining room, its long oval table sitting squarely in the center, its highbacked chairs adding to the regal appearance. The high ceiling and coldness of the walls made even the huge table seem dwarfed. The great stone fireplace stood empty and cold in the summer evening.

The last room she found on the first floor was a book-filled study, its walls lined high with extensive shelves of musty-smelling volumes. A heavy antique desk commanded the room, demanding silence, demanding respect. She was eager to slip through its solemness to the doorway beyond. She found herself once again in the front foyer.

She had traveled completely around the square that was the main floor of the castle, and her emotions were mixed ones. It belonged to another age, another life, despite Scotty's attempts to modernize a few of the rooms. No wonder Scotty had never rightfully been able to call it "home."

Hillary moved up the grand staircase to the upper floor, not really anxious to see more of the castle's massiveness, but nevertheless feeling compelled to get it over with. Percival had disappeared.

She flicked the light switches in the hallway as she moved along, trying not to notice the eeriness of the shadows that were cast.

Besides the rooms occupied by herself and Scotty, there were a number of other dramatic bedrooms, as regal as they were outdated, but freshly cleaned and polished for the soon arriving family members. Along the back wing, she opened door after door of empty bedrooms, not as elegant as those in the family wing, but well furnished and definitely striking. In its active times. Eagle's Watch could have housed dozens of guests without turning a hair.

She was excited when she found the first doorway to one of the turrets. The stairway crept ambitiously upward, winding around and around until the high room at the top was reached.

With delighted surprise, she found that the high circular room with its magnificent panoramic view of the moonlit ocean, was, in fact, a sculptor's studio. A well-used artist's table showed the signs of hours of dedicated work. Long, low shelving showed some of the products in various stages of completion. Hillary was awed by the beauty of the work. From lumps of heavy gray clay, the artist's hands had brought forth so much beauty-intricate and realistic statues of the woodland creatures that scurried through the pines along the coast, graceful, flowing abstracts that seemed to hover in their places on the shelves. Truly beautiful.

But the room showed no sign of current occupation, she realized with a closer inspection. A fine mist of dust coated the table and shelves. The remaining clay in its barrel by the doorway was hardened and cracked. As if the artist had been prevented from returning to this haven of creativity. Scotty?

Hillary felt a tinge of excitement at the thought. Had Scotty been the artist who had created with such talent? Had her stroke prevented her from going on? It seemed right somehow, for someone like Scotty to be the recipient of such an artistic gift. And if the work had stopped because of her physical disabilities, it was very possible that she would begin one day again. Hillary's mind was turning as she left the turret behind.

She wandered slowly through the rear quarters of the castle, meandering through the sometimes darkened rooms with her thoughts fixed elsewhere. So many rooms!

It seemed a pity to have them standing empty and unused. She found the second turret approximately where she had expected it to be, symmetrically even with the first tower on the opposite side of the castle. She opened the door soundlessly and crept up the darkened stairs. She turned on the lightswitch, but the beam that was thrown on the steps was a weak one. Up and up she went, curious as to what this turret held.

And when she found out, she was almost as surprised as she had been when she had discovered the first turret room, though certainly not as pleasantly so.

In the dim light, she could see shapes lining the curved walls of stone and glass. The windows were bare, but the night was dark outside, and so no additional moonlight filtered in through the glass to aid her straining eyes.

Was the room full of people? She gulped in fear, ready to start and tear down the winding stairway behind her. But her pulse slowly returned to normal as she stared more deeply into the shadows.

Armor! The room was lined with several full suits of ancient armor, standing tall and proud in their darkened corner of the castle, almost as if they possessed souls of their own. In style, each differed greatly. Some were solid and ornate, others covered with chain mail. She passed the beam of her flashlight over each and noticed the gleam that reflected off their surfaces. The relics stood here, high in the castle turret, in the most deserted wing of the entire building, a building empty except for an ailing old woman and a few overworked servants.

But the armor was far from neglected. Obviously, it was well taken care of. And who was responsible for that painstaking effort? It made no sense.

And then she heard it.

At first, she had supposed that the slight noise she had picked up had come from Percival, following her at a distance. But the sound was repeated, again and again. Someone was walking through the corridor at the bottom of the turret steps. Someone's definite footsteps were echoing soundly on the stone floor, and getting clearer and closer with each step.