Warning at Eagle's Watch (4 page)

She suffered from a minor case of angina pectoris, an ailment of the heart which was carefully controlled by the administration of nitroglycerin tablets at the onset of an attack. Since her first attack, over a year ago, she had rarely had any signs or symptoms, an indication that the condition was fairly well under control. Hillary knew that individuals with angina could often live full and active lives for years and years, taking the proper precautions and having good medical supervision.

The stroke that had occurred a few weeks ago had been a relatively minor one. It had not affected her speech or her vision, as is so often the case. Her right side had been weakened, the coordination in her arm and leg had suffered from the attack, and the right side of her face showed the slightest trace of a droop. Her left side had been unaffected except for a lingering tiredness from her body's ordeal.

She had returned from the hospital only the day before, and had been temporarily cared for by a very nervous Mrs. Raymond.

Her vital signs were listed as strong, her pulse, blood pressure, and temperature showed that she was doing well. The doctor had prescribed an extensive rehabilitation program for her, containing exercises and activities to gradually increase the overall strength in her body, and to redevelop the coordination lost in her right limbs.

Hillary thought back over the months she had spent on the wards of the city hospital during her training, months that she had worked with several patients who had suffered similar tragedies. In some severe cases, the stroke victims had never been able to return to any semblance of normal health. Some patients had been very old, some had been amazingly young. And some, like Priscilla Scott, had had the good fortune to have a better than fair chance of regaining all of the ground that they had lost. Given a strong will—there was no doubt that Scotty possessed that—and the determination to do a lot of hard work, she could recuperate. She would walk again and be released from the wheelchair that confined her.

Stroke patients often remained at the hospital for their physical therapy, working for weeks, even months, on the elaborate equipment that was provided. But Priscilla Scott had returned home. Hillary suppressed a giggle, sure that she knew why. She could just imagine the proud white head bobbing defiantly, berating and terrorizing the nurses and orderlies on the hospital floor, her arrogant voice refusing abruptly to follow their orders, refusing to fit into their daily system. Hillary could just imagine her dealing with the therapists who would try to bend her will.

Hillary had seen a good many patients in her day, and some had been quite difficult to work with. But none, she knew, could hold a candle to Priscilla Scott! The staff had probably been more than relieved when Dr. Newburg had removed her from their care.

And now she was Hillary's patient. Hillary smiled to herself. Scotty was going to get better. They would have storms and rages most probably. But she would ultimately do what she had to do to get better, because she had met her match in stubbornness in Hillary Holt. The young nurse hadn't wanted this position, to be sure, but now she was here and she was determined to succeed. And she liked Scotty. She closed the folder firmly and answered the knock on her door.

The clock on her dresser chimed six times. Mrs. Raymond stood in the doorway and immediately began to rattle off her message.

"I've come to inform you of the meal arrangements, Nurse Holt. Tonight I will bring you a tray in your room. Breakfast tomorrow will also be served in this way. The family will be arriving throughout the day tomorrow, and from then on, meals will be at eight, twelve, and eight, promptly, in the dining room downstairs. You are expected to join the family for meals, and to give them a report of Miss Scott's condition."

"And what of Miss Scott? Will she be joining us?"

Mrs. Raymond looked at her in confusion. It was the first human emotion that Hillary had seen in her.

"Miss Scott seems to prefer staying in her room, and when I spoke to the family on the telephone, they seemed to think that was best."

"But that isn't normally what she'd do?"

"No. She's one who usually likes to well, be in charge. I'm not quite sure what to do..."

"Perhaps you could serve my tray along with Miss Scott's in her room this evening, and I'll speak to her about it."

She was not going to let Scotty withdraw from the world. She was going to take the bull by the horns.

The little housekeeper looked at her out of the corner of her eye. It was plain to see that she disliked Hillary.

"Whatever you say, I suppose. But I'm too busy to think about it. This place has to be as clean as a whistle, with the family arriving tomorrow, and I've got only Annie, the cook, in the kitchen, and a new maid who's to arrive tomorrow." She shook her head in disgust.

"How many of the family will be coming?"

"All four of them. And it'll seem like a hundred. They expect the best, I don't mind telling you. And they don't hesitate to complain. So I've got to get back to work. And I've got no time to cater to the likes of you."

She strutted off importantly to tackle her many tasks, leaving Hillary staring after her, feeling undeserving of the woman's obvious dislike.

Chapter 3

"Nurse Holt can assist me with my dinner, Mrs. Raymond," Scotty barked a few moments later. "I don't need the likes of you hovering about me so." She brushed away the housekeeper, who was setting up the meal trays, and the little woman left the room with her head bowed low. She was a picture of servitude at the moment, of humility and meekness, except for the long, dark look that she sent like a dagger to Hillary. Again Hillary could read the angry dislike in her birdlike face, and with a sinking sensation, she wondered why the little housekeeper resented her.

Because she would be working so closely with Miss Scott? Jealousy? Remembering Scotty's sharp tone, she considered that unlikely. But still, for some reason, the dislike was there.

After Hillary finished checking Scotty's pulse and blood pressure, charting them carefully in the doctor's file, they sat and consumed their meal together.

Scotty ate her specially prepared dinner with the expected number of complaints, Hillary's experienced hand assisting her to guide the small spoonfuls of pureed food to her mouth.

"According to the doctor's report, you're in pretty good shape, Scotty."

"That old codger. It just goes to show how little he knows. If I'm in such tremendous condition, why am I confined to this chair? Why aren't I up walking around?"

Hillary looked straight into her eyes. "Because you haven't been trying hard enough. You've given up. But that will change now."

"We'll see about that," Scotty began crossly, but then a wrinkled grin crept across her pale face. "On second thought, I have a feeling that I'm just wasting my energy by arguing with you, Hillary Holt. I wouldn't want to wager on who was more stubborn! So we'll try it your way, but don't you go spreading it around that I'm being cooperative. I happen to take pride in my bristly reputation."

Hillary laughed easily. "That's fine, Scotty. I'll never breathe a word to a soul that you are not the fire-breathing dragon of Eagle's Watch. Just so you work hard for me, and get well. We'll start tomorrow morning, when you're well rested."

They sat together for the next few hours, enjoying each other's company, and Hillary learned a bit about the history of Eagle's Watch.

It had been built almost one hundred fifty years before, its stones shipped laboriously across the ocean and assembled on the shores of Maine, almost a duplicate of an ancient castle that had stood solidly in Great Britain for a number of centuries. Eagle's Watch was smaller and sported many more windows than its predecessor, whose thick walls had had to protect the castle from the somewhat barbarous world in medieval times. But its square, solid design strongly echoed those times gone by.

More recently, an electrical system and complete plumbing had been installed, bringing the conveniences of modern living to the place. But much of the decoration of the interior of the castle remained as it had for generations of the Scott family, passing down to each heir its long history and tradition.

Priscilla Scott, self-admittedly a character from her earliest days, had been the first Scott to rebel. She had not spent much of her time within the thick walls, and when she was present, she had made an effort to throw off the gloomy atmosphere that hung over the place. She had redecorated a few rooms in a more modern style, and had gone about her life in her usual self-reliant way.

She was the first in the long chain of American Scotts who had not married and produced an heir.

"That's what the family is so excited about," she said. "They know I can will the entire family fortune away on a moment's whim, and so they want to be certain that they're all in the running."

"This place is so large. I imagine it's worth quite a lot."

"No, no, my dear, you're very off base. This castle is a white elephant, a relic from another age. Impractical, to say the least, except as a museum or monument or some such thing. But there is Scott family money tied up in a variety of holdings, and the land that surrounds the estate is practically priceless. The estate takes in hundreds of acres, ripe for development, for housing projects and resorts. But the land will stay as it is, if I have anything to say about it.

"The whole estate belongs to me, and I'll do with it as I please. I have no respect for those who grovel for money, as if it were the hub of the universe. It has to be kept in perspective. There are a lot more important things in life than money. Remember that, Hillary."

Scotty closed her eyes and leaned her head back, drifting into a world of memories, stories that were absorbed eagerly by Hillary's waiting ears.

She had been an only child of wealthy parents, parents who had tried to shield her from the world outside, to keep her from associating with what they considered the "riffraff" of life. But Scotty had been too full of curiosity and energy to follow their commands.

She had run away from home at the ripe old age of seventeen, with her best childhood friend, Matilda. Hillary's great-aunt!

Together they had traveled to Europe, a daring escapade for unchaperoned girls in that era, and had weathered a number of scrapes and predicaments as they had traveled through life. Matilda had decided to settle in London, and Priscilla had returned finally to her family in Maine. She had never stayed long within the thick stone walls of Eagle's Watch, crisscrossing the ocean constantly to see the world and to visit Matilda, until her last bout of illness had left her confined.

Priscilla's parents had died, leaving her the grand inheritance of Eagle's Watch. She had never married, never been willing to settle down in one place for quiet family life. And now, very alone, she was confined to a chair in the old stone castle.

"Do I detect a note of self-pity?" asked Hillary with a slight smile.

"From me! Good heavens, child!" Scotty barked in self-defense. "Never."

"There is no reason for you to spend the rest of your days cooped up within these four walls, you know, and I'm not going to allow you to. You act as though you've resigned from the world, Priscilla Scott, hiding away up in this dark room.

"Mrs. Raymond says that the family will be arriving during the day tomorrow, so you might as well be ready to come downstairs to take over your role of mistress here. They may not be your favorite people, but they are people nonetheless."

"Debatable."

"Don't be impossible."

"But I can't go downstairs. The wheelchair—"

"I'll arrange for another one to be ready downstairs. Mr. Raymond can carry you up and down as you desire."

"Carried up and down! Like a sack of potatoes! I'd rather die." She shook her proud head.

"Nonsense. It's a small price to pay for your independence. And it won't be for long. I have every intention of getting you up on your feet again."

Scotty's eyes were glistening with tears. "I'll have to think about it."

Hillary looked at her slyly, acutely sensitive to the flood of fears and inadequacies that she was feeling. She had to help her to be strong. She took a deep breath and began.

"I find it hard to believe that the woman I see sitting before me is the same character that I've just been hearing tales about. It seems to me that a girl who would dare to cross the ocean unescorted would certainly dare to meet a few hovering relatives, even ones with their hands out. It's sad to see you defeated like that."

"Defeated!" roared the old woman, her eyes burning. "Don't you dare say that to me. No one can defeat Priscilla Scott. Not relatives. Not this wheelchair. Please inform Mrs. Raymond that lunch will be served in the dining room tomorrow. And I will be there." Her voice was sharp, proud.

"I just thought you might, Scotty," said Hillary with a twinkle in her green eyes. "I'll go see about the chair." She turned to go out of the room.

"Hillary?"

She turned to face Scotty once again, "Yes
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