Vintage Love (230 page)

She managed a faint smile as she said, “I expect every old house has a ghost story concerning it.”

Mrs. Stevens continued to look grim. “I can tell you that Moorgate has. Ask any of the older folks around here. They’ll give you its history.”

Lucy gripped the handle of the grocery cart firmly. “Perhaps I’d be better off if I don’t hear the legends about the house.”

The older woman shrugged. “That’s your own choice,” she told her. “But if I lived there I’d want to know. Strange things may happen which you won’t understand.”

“I’m not normally a superstitious person,” Lucy said.

“Nor am I,” Mrs. Stevens replied. “But there are some things that can’t be explained without resorting to the supernatural.”

“Thank you for being so frank,” Lucy said somewhat lamely. She wanted to get away from the woman and her dark hints about the house.

“I want to be your friend,” Mrs. Stevens said. “Don’t hesitate to call on me or my son if you need advice at any time.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lucy said. “I enjoyed meeting Jim. And I understand he and my husband are friends.”

“Jim knows the doctor well,” Mrs. Stevens agreed. “Remember what I’ve told you. Stay away from the cellar.” And with that advice she moved on, wheeling the grocery cart in front of her.

Lucy felt a deep sense of relief. While she basically liked Mrs. Stevens, her topic of conversation had been frightening. Especially after what had happened since they had arrived at Moorgate. She moved on, and continued selecting groceries though she had a hard time keeping her mind on it. She kept remembering what Mrs. Stevens had said, and wondering why Fred would bring her to such a house to begin their marriage. A house reputed to be haunted.

As she finished her grocery shopping she decided that she was taking the whole thing much too seriously. Every small town had its legends. And a house like Moorgate was bound to work on the imagination of those who had a superstitious turn of mind. She didn’t count herself among that group. There could be logical explanations for all that she had seen and heard. It was foolish of her to allow herself to become so easily terrified, and any appeal she might make to Fred at this time would perhaps only expose her to his scorn.

When she left the store she had the clerk load the back seat of her car with the several bags of groceries. She was surprised to discover that in the short while she’d been inside a heavy fog had come in. The sun was completely obscured and visibility was limited. In addition, it had become damp and was much colder.

She asked the boy as he finished loading the car, “Does the fog often come in this way?”

He nodded. “It happens fast. And it can go out again just as quick. This one will maybe go by afternoon.”

She gave a little shudder. “It surely changes things. It was so nice earlier.”

“This is fog country,” the boy told her.

She got in the car and began the drive back to Moorgate. The road seemed different with the heavy mist shrouding it. The entire town took on a bleak, ghostly look. She noticed that some of the cars passing her had turned on their headlights, and she did the same.

When she reached the turn-off to the private road leading up the hill to Moorgate she almost missed it altogether. The house was hidden by the fog until she was a good distance up the grade. Reaching it, she parked in front of it and went to unlock the back door before starting to carry in the groceries. On her way she passed through the garden.

The mist was damp and heavy there as well, and just as she was about to turn towards the rear entrance she saw something that made her heart miss a beat and brought her to a halt. From around the corner of a hedge there appeared a ghostly female figure. It seemed to be an apparition in a flowing dark gown.

Then, as the figure came towards her, she was relieved to see that it was no ghost, but was Shiela Farley in a long crimson rain cloak over a dark pants suit.

Shiela came up to her with a smile. “I hope I didn’t startle you. There’s a short cut from our place over here — a path along the top of the hill. I sometimes use it.”

Recovering quickly, Lucy said, “I didn’t recognize you for a moment. The fog is so thick.”

“You’ll get used to it,” the pretty dark girl assured her. “You weren’t here when I first arrived, so I just strolled around.”

“I was in town getting some groceries.”

Shiela looked amused. “You’re becoming very domestic right away. I let our housekeeper order for us and they deliver to the house.”

“I’m sure that’s more convenient,” Lucy said with a small smile. “But I have no housekeeper and I like to select my own things. I was just about to open the back door and carry the bags in.”

“Let me help you,” Shiela volunteered.

Afterwards, when the groceries were safely put away, Lucy made some coffee and she and Shiela went into the living room to sit and enjoy it. Lucy placed a tray with some cookies and the coffee on an ornate marble-topped coffee table which suited the antique furnishings of the big room. She and Shiela sat on the walnut divan.

Shiela eyed her speculatively over her coffee. “Do you think you’ll like living in St. Andrews? It’s a small town.”

“I expect to find it a pleasant change.”

The dark girl sipped from her cup. “And of course it is good for Fred. He can gain a lot of general experience here.”

“Yes.”

Shiela smiled demurely. “I had no idea what you’d be like. Fred told me about you. But it’s hard to form an opinion just from descriptions.”

“I suppose so,” Lucy agreed.

“You’re not quite the type I expected,” the other girl went on.

Lucy’s eyes widened. “What type did you expect?”

“I suppose someone less down to earth,” Shiela said. “I mean, Fred strikes me as being rather sensitive and sophisticated.”

“And I don’t?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Shiela said without any hint of apology in her tone. “It’s just that I don’t see you as his type. But then opposites often attract each other.”

“So I understand,” Lucy said dryly. She was thinking of Mrs. Stevens’ warning that Shiela had hoped to win Fred for herself. No doubt that was why she had such definite ideas about the type of wife he should have. She saw only herself in the role.

Shiela said, “You and Fred must visit my father and me. He doesn’t get around much these days because of his arthritis, but he always welcomes guests.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lucy said. “After we get settled I’d be glad to take advantage of your invitation.”

“Fred has been over quite often on his own. Father likes him,” Shiela said smugly.

“How nice,” was Lucy’s response.

“I think so,” Shiela said, putting her empty coffee cup on the table. “He doesn’t take to everyone.”

“That’s interesting.”

The other girl glanced around the room. “How do you like the house?”

“I’m sure I’ll be happy here,” Lucy said with almost a hint of defiance in her tone.

Shiela smiled coolly. “I hope so. You know that a doctor and his wife lived here ages ago.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You’ll undoubtedly hear more about it,” Shiela went on. “I tried to talk Fred out of buying the place. But his heart seemed set on it so I got Dad to sell it to him.”

Lucy stared at her. “You didn’t think the house suitable?”

“I worried about it a little.”

“I see.”

“There were a lot of fine antiques that went with the property,” Shiela continued. “No one had lived in the house for quite a long while. Many of the furniture pieces you see here came with the purchase price.”

“Then it was a bargain.”

“Of sorts,” Shiela said in her arrogant fashion. “There were some interesting old portraits included, but I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes. Of Dr. Graham Woods and his wife, Jennifer. They lived here almost a hundred years ago. They are fine old primitive paintings. I can’t think why Fred didn’t put them up.”

“Neither can I,” Lucy said. “I’d like to see them.”

“They should still be here,” Shiela said, rising. “They were stacked against the wall in an attic room. Why don’t we see if we can find them?”

Lucy found herself caught in an awkward position. She was interested in seeing the portraits, but she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having Shiela show them to her. She was convinced that Shiela was no friend of hers, and she wished she would leave.

Rising, she said, “I haven’t been in either the attic or the cellar. Do you know what room the paintings were in?”

“There are only three rooms up there,” the other girl said. “And I think the portraits were in the first room at the head of the stairs. We can check.”

She went ahead out of the living room as if the house were hers. Lucy followed, inwardly resenting the way Shiela was taking over. She had also noticed the personal way in which she had referred to Lucy’s husband. It was apparent that the wealthy girl regarded her as an unwelcome intruder.

The house seemed darker than usual on this foggy morning, and Lucy hoped that it wouldn’t be like this too often. The old house was gloomy enough without this added disadvantage. She followed Shiela up a stairway to the second floor and then on up a narrower flight of stairs to the attic level. Here the walls of the house slanted in, and so the ceiling was not all of one height.

Halting before a rough wooden door on the right which had been painted an ugly brown, the dark girl said, “I think this is the one.” She opened the latch and then led the way inside. The room smelled of dust and age.

Following her in, Lucy glanced around to note the stacked trunks in one corner of the room, and a variety of cardboard and wooden boxes piled here and there. And in a corner by the room’s single window there were some large paintings stacked against the wall with their backs to the room.

She said, “It’s been used for storage for some time.”

Shiela was making her way across the rough wooden floor towards the cobwebbed and dust-streaked window. “Some of the things in here date back over a hundred years,” she said. Staring out the window, she added, “When there’s no fog you can see for miles from here.”

“I’m sure of it,” Lucy agreed. And she realized that once again she was experiencing that unsettling and depressing feeling. The ancient storage room had brought it all back.

Shiela had turned her attention to the paintings. Moving the top one back she said, “This is the portrait of Dr. Graham Woods. Even though it’s done in that long-ago stern style, you can see he was attractive.” She swung the gold-framed portrait around for Lucy to see.

She studied the handsome face with the classic type of features suited to the thick, wavy black hair and long sideburns of the young doctor. She said, “He reminds me of portrait studies I’ve seen of a young Edwin Booth.”

“He lived in the same era,” Shiela agreed. “I find he has a somber glint in his eyes. But that may have been put there by the artist.”

“Perhaps,” Lucy said, studying the dark-toned painting.

“But then if all the stories are true he didn’t have a happy life,” Shiela said, putting the painting aside. “The next one should be his wife, Jennifer.” And she lifted the next painting and turned it around.

Lucy was left speechless for a moment by the sight of it. For the face in the painting was the same sad, lovely face she’d glimpsed at the bedroom window only yesterday. She was sure it was the same face; this Jennifer even had the same silver-blonde hair.

“She was an ash blonde,” Shiela said, unaware of the shock the painting had caused in her. “They must have been rare in those days without benefit of rinse.”

“Yes,” Lucy managed to say weakly, “they must have. She’s lovely.”

“Without a question,” Shiela said. “Too lovely for her own good perhaps. Well, now you’ve seen them.” And she put the second portrait aside.

Lucy was still unable to take her eyes from the wistful, sad face gazing up at her from the ornate gilt frame. Now she was more than ever sure that the face she’d seen in the window so briefly had been no illusion. It must have been a ghost. There was no other explanation.

She asked, “How long did Dr. Woods and his wife live in this house?”

“Until their deaths,” Shiela said casually. “They died young in a double drowning accident.”

“How sad!”

“Yes, it was,” the other girl agreed.

They stood there for a moment of silence in the shadowed attic room. Here among the relics of a long-ago era it seemed like another world. A twilight world which perhaps reflected the true nature of the old stone house more than the modernized downstairs rooms did. In the attic the atmosphere of that other day retained its strength.

Lucy was now staring at the other girl as she asked, “Tell me truthfully, does this house have the reputation of being haunted?”

Shiela looked uncomfortable. “Many houses in the area are said to have ghosts. Leave a house empty and alone long enough and there are bound to be people who will tell of having seen lights in its windows and strange figures showing themselves around it.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Lucy told her quietly. “What about this house?”

The dark girl shrugged. “I’ve heard ghost stories about it. I don’t believe in them, nor does my father. He had no hesitation in buying it.”

“Nor in selling it to my husband?” Lucy asked.

Shiela showed a slight annoyance. “We did that as a favor for you.”

“Fred knew of the history of the place before he bought it?”

“He must have,” Shiela said. “He should have. I really didn’t discuss it with him.”

“I see,” she said bleakly.

“I wouldn’t allow such stories to spoil the house for me,” Shiela advised her. “I know Fred likes the house, and it’s very central for him to make his calls.”

Lucy said, “At least now I know the truth about it.”

The dark girl eyed her cynically. “I can’t imagine that you are any better off for that,” she said. And she moved towards the door. “I’d like to stay here and talk, but I can’t. My father is waiting for me at home.”

Lucy went with her. “Thank you for showing me the portraits,” she said as they left the attic room, and she closed the door after her. They went down the two flights of stairs, and then Lucy went out to the front steps with Shiela. The fog was still heavy.