Warning at Eagle's Watch Read online

  Warning at Eagle's Watch

  by

  Christine Bush

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-118-8

  Formerly published as Nurse at Eagle's Watch

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  © Copyright 1979, 2011 by Christine Bush

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  To my wonderful children: David, Abby, Sue, Reeny and Jackie

  Chapter 1

  Hillary downshifted her little green Volkswagen to relieve the noisy strain of the engine as the road ahead of her climbed steadily. As the gears meshed again, the engine sounded a little better, though the car remained reluctant to continue the long ascent. Like Hillary herself.

  She sighed quietly and tossed her head, relaxing the tense muscles in the back of her neck. Her shoulder-length red hair bounced softly with the movement and then fell back into place.

  Well, the trip would soon be over. She'd soon be there. She tried to ignore the little knot that was tightening in the pit of her stomach.

  For hours she had driven the little green car up the jagged coastline of New England, following the route she had carefully marked on the road map that lay on the seat beside her. She was in Maine now, and soon she would be entering the town of Highpoint. Eagle's Watch was supposed to be just a few miles beyond.

  Eagle's Watch. It was a place she had never even heard of until three short days ago. A place that would now be her home for an indefinite period of time.

  She felt as if someone were holding a downy pillow over her freckled face smothering the life out of her. She felt trapped.

  And how had this happened to Hillary Holt? What turn of events, what string of circumstances, had brought her here? It really boiled down to a very simple rule of thumb: Nothing in life is free!

  When her parents had died, she had been an impressionable fourteen years of age, alone, and penniless. She held no grudge against her parents for the situation she found herself in. Indeed, they had worked all their lives to keep their heads above water, to keep their small and happy family together and healthy.

  But it hadn't been easy. And when the fatal car wreck had claimed their lives, Hillary had been left with only her happy remembrances of their love and a large pile of overdue bills. She had been barely old enough to grasp the hopelessness of her unhappy situation.

  But her luck had changed. The miracle came in the form of a letter, a letter from a prominent attorney in London to the kindly but frustrated family lawyer who was vainly trying to unravel the chaos that was the Holt family estate.

  The London attorney had written, succinctly and formally, that a trust fund for the education of Hillary Holt, recently orphaned daughter of Henry and Mary Holt of Philadelphia, had been established by Miss Matilda Waverly, currently of London.

  Miss Matilda, as Hillary soon found out, was a spinster aunt of her mother's. She was supposedly close to eighty, and had nothing to do with any of the family for a number of years. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, she had a soft spot for her young niece Mary—Hillary's mother, whom she had met only once. There had been no offer of love or a home for the young girl who was Mary's only daughter, no personal contact with Hillary at all during the elaborate legal proceedings.

  And yet, at fourteen, she had not questioned or even wondered about the actions. She had happily, and with untold relief, thanked God for the miracle that had given her some direction in her life.

  She had been sent off to a private boarding school, followed by a few years of hard study and practice at a prestigious nursing school in Philadelphia. The bills had been wordlessly paid, and Hillary had put every ounce of concentration she could muster into her rigorous training. She had never heard from Miss Matilda again.

  Until this week.

  In the beginning, Hillary had been curious, grateful, eager to keep in contact with the unknown woman who reopened the doors in a life that she feared had been slammed shut forever. She inquired through her lawyer about an address so she could mail letters, send Christmas cards. But the lawyer quietly and efficiently tabled Hillary's questions and attempts to contact Miss Matilda, saying that the girl's would-be letters were unnecessary, and most probably unwanted.

  And so gradually Hillary pushed Miss Matilda to the back of her mind, and had gone on with her life as best she could.

  So far she had done well. Hillary's decision to become a nurse came soon after she had settled into her boarding school, and since that time, she had put much effort into the schoolwork that was the basis for her acceptance into the nursing school.

  Each passing day in the classrooms and on the hospital wards greatly reinforced Hillary's wonder and her dedication to the medical profession that she had chosen.

  Her training was well rounded and complete. She had worked amazingly hard, often denying herself the social pleasures and pastimes that many of her classmates enjoyed.

  In her final year, she found the branch of nursing that she knew instinctively was right for her. Surgical nursing. At the first operation she witnessed, sitting high above the table in the glassed-in gallery of the operating room, she felt a feeling of wonderment come over her as she watched the surgeon's deft hands perform his life-saving task. And at his side, cleanly scrubbed and alert, stood his efficient and knowledgeable nurse.

  Many of the other girls in the class felt squeamish and uncomfortable observing the procedure. Their nervous giggles and protests had echoed in the halls of the nurses' dormitory late into the night.

  But Hillary had been strangely quiet and very sure. She found the type of work that she wanted to do. To see miracles performed daily right before her eyes, to assist in complicated procedures that could save limbs, organs, even life itself. It would be no easy task to be competent and disciplined enough to succeed, she knew. But she was determined to try.

  And so she worked almost nonstop for the remainder of her time at nursing school, and had graduated with the highest honors.

  Soon afterward, she was offered a position on the staff of her training hospital, working hand in hand with those same surgeons who had taught her so much. It was the chance of a lifetime. A chance to learn more and more, to grow constantly in her skills, a chance to realize her dream. She had been very happy.

  Hillary was also very, very grateful to her unknown great-aunt, Miss Matilda, who had made it all possible for her.

  And then the letter had arrived. It was written on several sheets of delicate rose-scented paper, in a thin, spidery hand. It had come from London, England.

  My dear Hillary:

  I was immensely delighted to hear of your successful completion of the nursing program. Such dedication and drive for personal achievement is so often lacking in the young today. It is because of this commendable trait that I am writing to you.

  My request is a simple one, but nevertheless one which means a great deal to me. My oldest and dearest friend, Priscilla Scott, finds herself in need of expert nursing care. She has recently succumbed to a stroke which has unfortunately confined her to a wheelchair.

  Her ancestral estate, Eagle's Watch, on the northern coastline of Maine, is quite remote and I gather there has been some difficulty in obtaining a suitable nurse/companion to ease her difficult days.

  It would greatly delight me if you would consider accepting this position for my dear friend. If Eagle's Watch is even remotely as I remember it in my early years, you will find it a rare experience in solitude and tranquility.

  Details, as always, will be handled through our competent attorneys.

  Most gratefully,

  Miss Matilda

  That rose-scented letter changed Hillary's life. At first she had been tempted to rip it up deliberately, to refuse the request that her benefactress had made. But she could not.

  For even as she was determined and dutiful in her work at the hospital, so was she conscientious and just in her personal life. She owed so much to the old woman who had written that letter, and she had never had to repay her benefactress.

  Until now.

  Legally, Hillary knew that she could walk away from the situation if she wanted to. But she felt a moral obligation to Miss Matilda. And that was that.

  So Hillary had gone to her attorney and he laid out the details for her, giving her directions, telling her when she was to arrive at Eagle's Watch to assume her new role. The lawyer had shown no doubt, no surprise, that she would do Miss Matilda's bidding. Indeed, he assumed that she would take on the job.

  A
nd so here she was, in her battered old VW, covering the miles to Eagle's Watch and to the old woman for whom she was now responsible. Her career in surgery had been sidetracked temporarily, perhaps even permanently, with her refusal of the sought-after position on the surgery staff at the hospital. It was replaced by a job promising "solitude and tranquility." She turned her freckled nose up in disgust. The last thing she wanted was a quiet, remote life, cooped up with a demanding old woman who needed more mothering than nursing, in an isolated, empty house that must be quite unappealing, since no nurse would consent to live in it without coercion.

  But Hillary brushed away the single tear that slid down her cheek, and she made an inner decision to make the best of her present circumstances, to do her best with a smile on her face, and to remain forever optimistic that the doors to her yearned-for future were not locked forever.

  The tired little car quickly passed through Highpoint, a small little seacoast town, and she drove the steep, winding road upward, through the woods, for the last few miles.

  And then she was there. Hillary could see no house from the narrow road, but two enormous stone pillars marked the drive, supporting a stately wrought-iron banner that said eagle's watch.

  She closed her tired eyes for a brief instant and muttered a little prayer. Then she drove very slowly down the gravel drive that led to Eagle's Watch. Pushing in on every side were dense clumps of pine and cedar trees, their massive branches interlocking to block out all but a very few of the late afternoon sun's rays.

  The smell of evergreens filled Hillary's nostrils with their freshly clean aroma as she took the turns of the winding drive.

  Suddenly the trees thinned out, giving her the feeling that she had emerged from a long tunnel. She made one more turn. Then she saw it—Eagle's Watch. Hillary's mouth was open in wonder, her green eyes wide, as she stopped the car.

  The line of trees had stopped, leaving only a rocky surface for several hundred yards ahead. And sitting on the highest point of that huge, rocky expanse, silhouetted sharply against the summer blue sky, was the old structure. It was gray, a slightly lighter shade than the gray of the rocks that made up the landscape around it. And it was a castle.

  Hillary, in truth, had never seen a castle in her life, but the edifice that loomed before her fit every fairy-tale description that she had ever heard. It was square and immensely solid looking, with two thick round turrets rising high from each end. There were many, many windows visible in the thick gray walls of the building, and a tremendous black door sat squarely in the middle.

  "It's impossible," her brain screamed, "for something like this to exist!" She felt as if she had suddenly plunged backward in time, to the days of knights and dragons and damsels in distress. She hastily glanced at the base of the castle, and was somehow reassured to see that it was not surrounded by a moat.

  She was to live here? It seemed incredible. It was incredible. How could anyone live in a place like this?

  Hillary sat momentarily staring at the sight that greeted her eyes. There wasn't a single sign of life. She closed her eyes and listened. A steady rumble, a rhythmic roar reached her ears. The ocean was nearby.

  She followed the remainder of the drive, which wound through the rocks and curved toward the left side of the castle. She slowed to a stop. Her heart was pounding as she shut off the engine and climbed out of her confining seat. Just what was she getting herself into?

  Drawn by the sound of the waves, and still hesitant to approach the menacing black door that loomed so ominously at the front of the castle, she skirted the building carefully, staying on the gravel path that led toward the ocean.

  As she cleared the left side of the house, a magnificent sight stood before her. The castle stood on the very brink of a cliff, high and jagged. She stood on the edge and looked down. The white foamy waves of the Atlantic beat mercilessly on the rocks below.

  The sun was bright and cast its summer beams on the nearby rocks, making them sparkle, making the surf look spectacular in its tints of blue and green. In front of her stretched the great expanse of ocean, with no land to be seen, except for a tiny spit of green that protruded down the rocky coast, supporting a tall lighthouse at its point.

  It was a beautiful sight. But it was a lonely sight. How would she, a girl born and bred in the bustle of the city, survive in such a place? Eagle's Watch, it was called. But no eagles could be seen. She turned abruptly and walked back to face her employer.

  Hillary rapped loudly on the heavy door with the massive brass knocker that adorned it, and stood back quietly, almost hoping that her knock would go unanswered. But that was not to be. The huge door opened noiselessly before her.

  She felt a rush of cold air as the heavy door was pulled back. A small, middle-aged woman peered out at her, her graying hair pulled back from her face. A starched white cap sat on her head, and her slight body was clothed in a severe black uniform and crisp white apron.

  "Come in, Nurse Holt. You are expected." She had spoken before Hillary had had a chance to open her mouth, the words rasping out in a dry, brittle voice. Then she stepped backward and motioned for Hillary to enter the door.

  "Thank you," Hillary stammered, ill at ease and self-conscious before the frank stare that the little woman made no effort to hide.

  "I am Mrs. Raymond, Miss Scott's housekeeper. I will show you to your room now, and my husband will fetch your luggage from the car. Miss Scott will wish to see you directly, I am sure. Follow me please."

  The little housekeeper wasted no words on amenities. She was brusque and without the slightest trace of warmth. Hillary had no choice but to follow her uniformed back. They crossed the large stone foyer and headed for the wide stairway that rose before them. Hillary glanced with avid curiosity at massive stone walls, at the distant ceilings that seemed to mock her presence.

  It was dim here, the illumination in the foyer coming from a few small electric lights, designed to look like candle sconces, stationed along the walls. They cast a shadowy glow, and Hillary suppressed a little shiver as her footsteps echoed smartly on the stone floor.

  Up the stairs they traveled, past long rows of painted portraits of the former residents of Eagle's Watch, standing stiff and erect in their dated finery. They made an intriguing sight, and one which Hillary would have loved to study, but the efficient Mrs. Raymond bustled her along. Toward the top of the flight, the stairway made a sharp turn to the right, past an open balcony that offered a good view of the large foyer below.

  Moving through a tall archway, they came upon a long, gracious corridor. The housekeeper opened the first door on the right.

  "This will be your room, Nurse Holt. Miss Scott's suite is right next door. I am sure you'd like to freshen up after your long journey, and to change into something more appropriate." Her nose had a peculiar pinched look about it as she gazed disapprovingly at the pale yellow pantsuit Hillary had worn for the trip.

  "I'll return in twenty minutes to bring you to Miss Scott."

  She was gone. Hillary stood dumbfounded at the door to her room, feeling a mixture of annoyance at the woman who had regarded her with such obvious distaste and mirth at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. Was this for real? The mirth finally won out, and a little giggle began to rise in her throat as she ducked into her room.

  Hillary looked around her and saw the room for the first time. A surge of delight ran through her. It was spacious and airy, amazingly bright compared to the small bit of the dark castle that she had seen so far. The carpet, drapes, and walls were decorated tastefully in soft shades of green. Three square windows occupied the far wall, standing open now. A slight breeze drifted in, rustling the soft curtains.

  The furniture was attractive and modern, her small bathroom sparkling and very adequate. It was a room that she knew she could be very comfortable in, an oasis away from the dreariness of the castle below.

  A sullen, quiet man knocked at the door and entered with her luggage, a few simple suitcases containing all of her worldly possessions. He was dressed in rough work clothes, showing signs of recent outdoor work on the huge estate. She thanked him briefly, and he was gone, being even less talkative than his bristly wife.