Nurse with a Dream Read Online Free Page A

slit and duels fought? The big white bath and cheerful chromium taps were a welcoming sight after the shadowy landing. Hot water gushed out in a delightfully twentieth-century way.
    On the return journey she was too sleepy to worry about shadows or legends, and opened her bedroom door yawning unashamedly, her imagination already climbing into that deep feather-bed.
    There was a man in the room. His shadow ran up the wall and wavered on the ceiling, making him look twelve feet high. He wore a green jerkin of some kind, and looked like someone out of the Middle Ages, with a high crest of black hair and a thin brown face with dark deep-set eyes. Jacqueline swallowed a scream, gulped, and said, “What are you doing in my room?” firmly, as if speaking to a mischievous child.
    The man exploded into such an everyday masculine voice that her fear of ghosties and ghoulies vanished at once.
    “What the deuce! Sorry, this is my room. You’ve made a mistake.” His shadow danced as he moved towards her and stretched out an arm which seemed a mile long. She drew back slightly, but he smiled and took her candlestick out of her hand. “It’s easy to get lost up here. Let me guide you. What is your number?”
    She saw now that he was wearing a turtle-neck sweater knitted in thick wool, which had given his silhouette a mediaeval look, but the lean brown hand had square capable fingers and his wrist wore a thin gold watch with a broad leather strap.
    She laughed shakily. “Ghosts don’t wear watches, so I suppose you are real. That’s a comfort.”
    “What?” Concerned, he brought his own candle close to hers, throwing a better light upon them both. “My poor child, did I frighten you? I’m so often at the Moor Hen, it never occurred to me—but if you’re not used to candles they can be a bit creepy. Come, I’ll take you to your room.”
    “You must think me a complete fool. The passage made me think of highwaymen and so on. Oh...” Her hand went to her lips in surprise. “This is my room, after all. There’s my rucksack—and those are my toilet things on the dressing-table.”
    Smiling, he shook his head. ‘This room was reserved for me. I always have it. And these”—he swung a hand around the floor—“are my things. Sorry, but possession is nine points of the law. I’ll help you move.”
    Jacqueline’s temper rose. She grabbed her silver candlestick from his hand and raised it. He was an untidy unpacker. She indicated his strewn possessions with an imperious sweep of the hand holding her pink toilet-bag, which swung on her finger like a weapon. “You must tidy those away. I want to go to bed.” She marched to the wardrobe, which resisted her tug and then swung open disconcertingly, almost knocking her over. “Whose clothes are those? Mine. That’s my brush and comb on the dressing-table, my rucksack in the corner there.” Suddenly her temper vanished and she laughed sunnily. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but you have to sleep on a folding-bed in the sewing-room. You’re Alan—you were late and I’ve been given your room.”
    His quick smile transformed a stern face. “I surrender. I should have spoken to Lance or Mollie before coming upstairs, but they were busy in the bar so I grabbed a candle and came up. Sorry I scared you. Give me a minute to pack, and I’ll retreat defeated to the sewing-room.” He knelt, put his candle on the floor, and swept his luggage together, dumping it into a zipped canvas bag without ceremony.
    “I’m sorry about the sewing-room.” Jacqueline could afford to be generous now.
    “I’m sorry I scared you. And thank you for not making a fuss. Most women would have screeched the place down. You have courage.” He glanced round the empty floor. “All packed now. Good night. Sleep well, and don’t dream of highwaymen or smugglers.”
    “I shall sleep like a kitten and not dream at all. I hope you’ll be comfortable in the sewing-room, Alan.”
    “Thanks...?” He