“But I thought it was Anna Marsh’s ghost that was supposed to ‘walk’?”
“Well, her voice has been heard, too. I am not going to talk any more about this! You will think me a doddering idiot. Perhaps you won’t be so sure when you have lived in that house for a while. And perhaps the spook will respect the cloth and behave while you are there. Perhaps you may even find out the truth.”
“Mr. Sheldon is a saint and a better man and minister than I will ever be,” mused Curtis, as he walked across the road to his boarding place. “But the old fellow believes Long Alec’s house is haunted ... he couldn’t hide that in spite of the raspberry vinegar. Well, here’s for a bout with the ghosts. I will have a talk with Dr. Blythe about it. And twice two is four.”
He looked behind him at his little church ... a tranquil old grey building among sunken graves and mossy gravestones under the sharp silvery sky of late evening. Beside it was the parsonage, a nice chubby old house built when stone was cheaper than lumber or brick. It looked lonely and appealing. Directly across the road from it was the “old Field place.” The wide, rather low house, with its many porches, had an odd resemblance to a motherly old hen, with little chickens peeping out from under her breast and wings. There was a peculiar arrangement of dormer windows in the roof. The window of a room in the main house was at right angles to one in the “el” and was so close to it that people could have shaken hands from window to window. There was something about this architectural trick that pleased Curtis. It gave the roof an individuality. Some great spruce trees grew about it, stretching their boughs around it lovingly. The whole place had atmosphere, charm, suggestion. As an old aunt of Curtis Burns would have said,
“There’s family behind that.”
Virginia creeper rioted over the porches. Gnarled apple trees, from which sounded faint, delicate notes of birds, bent over plots of old-fashioned flowers ... thickets of white and fragrant sweet-clover, beds of mint and southernwood, pansies, honeysuckles, and blush roses. There was an old mossy path, bordered by clamshells running up to the front door. Beyond were comfortable barns and a pasture field lying in the coolness of the evening, sprinkled over with the ghosts of dandelions. A wholesome, friendly old place. Nothing spookish about it. Mr. Sheldon was a saint, but he was very old. Old people believed things too easily.
Curtis Burns had been boarding at the old Field place for five weeks and nothing had happened ... except that he had fallen fathoms deep in love with Lucia Field. And he did not know that this had happened. Nobody knew it except Mrs. Dr. Blythe ... and perhaps Alice Harper, who seemed to see things invisible to others with those clear, beautiful eyes of hers.
She and Curtis were close friends. Like everyone else he was racked alternately with inexpressible admiration for her courage and spirit and fierce pity for her sufferings and helplessness. In spite of her thin, lined face she had a strange look of youth, partly owing to her short golden hair, which everyone admired, and partly to the splendour of her large eyes, which always seemed to have a laugh at the back of them ... though she never laughed. She had a sweet smile with a hint of roguishness in it ... especially when Curtis told her a joke. He was good at telling a joke ... better than a minister should be, some of his Mowbray Narrows parishioners thought ... but he carried a new one to Alice every day.
She never complained, though there were occasional days when she moaned ceaselessly in almost unendurable agony and could see no one except Alec and Lucia. Some heart weakness made drugs dangerous and little could be done to relieve her but in such attacks she could not bear to be alone.
On such days Curtis was left largely to the tender mercies of Julia Marsh ... who served his meals properly but whom he could not bear. She was a rather handsome creature, though her clear red-and-white face was marred and rendered sinister by a birthmark ... a deep red band across one cheek.
Her eyes were small and amber-hued, her reddish-brown hair was splendid and untidy, and she moved with a graceful stealthiness of motion and limb like a cat in the twilight. She was a great talker, save on days when she took tantrums and became possessed of a silent devil. Then not a word could be got out of her and she glowered and lowered like a thunderstorm.
Lucia did not seem to mind these moods ... Lucia took everything that came to her with a sweet undisturbed serenity ... but Curtis seemed to feel them all over the house. At such times Julia seemed to him a baffling, inhuman creature who might do anything. Sometimes Curtis was sure she was at the bottom of the spook business; at other times he was just as sure it was Jock MacCree. He had even less use for Jock than Julia and could not understand why Lucia and Long Alec seemed actually to have an affection for the uncanny fellow.
Jock was fifty and looked a hundred in some ways. He had staring, filmy grey eyes, lank black hair and a curiously protruding lip, with a skinny sallow face. The lip gave his face a singularly disagreeable profile. He was always arrayed in a motley collection of garments ... of his own choice it would seem, not of necessity or Long Alec’s decree ... and spent most of his time carrying food to and looking after Long Alec’s innumerable pigs. He made money for Long Alec out of the pigs but of other work he could be trusted with nothing.
When alone by himself he sang old Scotch songs in a surprisingly sweet, true voice but with something peculiar in its timbre. So Jock was musical, Curtis noted, remembering the violin. But he had never heard of him being able to play it.
Jock’s speaking voice was high-pitched and childish and occasionally his expressionless face was shot through with gleams of malice, especially when Julia, whom he hated, spoke to him. When he smiled ... which was rarely ... he looked incredibly cunning. From the beginning he seemed to have an awe of the black-coated minister and kept out of his way as much as possible, though Curtis sought him out, determined, if possible, to solve the mystery of the place.
He had come to think lightly of this mystery. Dr. Blythe would not discuss it and he put little faith in Mr. Sheldon’s reminiscences. Everything had been normal and natural since his coming ... except that one night, when he sat up late in his dormer-windowed room to study, he had a curious, persistent feeling that he was being watched ... by some inimical personality at that. He put it down to nerves. It was never repeated. Once, too, when he had risen in the night to lower his window against a high wind, he had looked across the room at the moonlit parsonage and for a moment thought he saw someone looking out of the study window. He examined the parsonage next day but found no traces of any intruder. The doors were locked, the windows securely closed. No one had a key except himself ... and Mr. Sheldon, who still kept most of his books and some other things in the parsonage, though he was boarding with Mrs. Knapp at Glen St. Mary. Moreover, he would never have been in the parsonage so late. Curtis concluded that some odd effect of moonlight and tree shadows had tricked him.
Evidently the perpetrator of the tricks knew when it was wise to lie low. A resident boarder, young and ... well ... shrewd ... was a different proposition from a transient guest, an old man, or a sleepy, superstitious neighbour. So Curtis concluded, in his youthful complacency ... deliberately forcing himself not to think of the doctors. He was really sorry nothing had happened. He wanted to have a chance at the spooks.
Neither Lucia nor Long Alec ever referred to their “ha’nts,” nor did he. But he had talked the matter over thoroughly with Alice, who had mentioned it when he went in to see her on the evening of his arrival.
“So you are not afraid of our whow-whows? You know our garret is full of them,” she said whimsically, as she gave him her hand.
Curtis noticed that Lucia, who had just finished giving Alice’s back and shoulders the half-hour’s rub that was necessary every night, flushed deeply and suddenly. The flush became her, transforming her into beauty.
“Is there anything more you would like, Alice?” asked Lucia in a low voice.
“No, dear. I feel very comfortable. Run away and rest. I know you must be tired. And I want to get reall
y acquainted with my new minister.”
Lucia went out, her face still flushed. Evidently she did not like any reference to the spooks. Curtis felt a sudden, upsetting thrill at his heart as he watched her. He wanted to comfort her ... help her ... wipe that tired patience from her sweet brown little face ... make her smile ... make her laugh.
“I’m afraid I don’t take your whow-whows very seriously, Miss Harper,” he said, before Lucia was out of hearing.
“Ah, you are so nice and young,” Alice was saying. “I’ve never known any but an old minister. This is not the most desirable circuit in the world, you know. They generally send the worn-outs here. I don’t know how they came to send you. I like youth. And so you don’t believe in our family ghosts?”
“I can’t believe all the things I’ve heard, Miss Harper. They are too preposterous.”
“And yet they are true ... well, most of them. I daresay they don’t lose anything by telling. And there are things nobody has heard. Mr. Burns, may we have a frank talk about it? I’ve never been able to talk frankly to anyone about it. Lucia and Alec naturally can’t bear to talk of it ... it makes Mr. Sheldon nervous ... and one can’t talk about such things to an outsider ... at least, I can’t. I tried once with Dr. Blythe ... I have great confidence in him ... but he refused to discuss it. When I heard you were coming here for a few weeks I was glad. Mr. Burns, I can’t help hoping that you will solve the mystery ... especially for the sake of Lucia and Alec. Because it is ruining their lives. It’s bad enough to have me on their hands ... but ghosts and devilry, plus me, are really too much. And they writhe with humiliation over it ... you know it is considered a kind of disgraceful thing to have ghosts in the family.”
“What is your idea about the matter, Miss Harper?”
“Oh, I suppose Jock does it ... or he and Julia between them ... though no one can understand how or why. Jock, you know, isn’t really half such a fool as he looks. Dr. Blythe says he has more sense than many a supposedly wise man. And he used to prowl about the house after night long ago ... Uncle Winthrop often caught him. But he never did anything but prowl then ... at least that we ever discovered.”
“How does he come to be here at all?”
“His father, Dave MacCree, was hired man here years ago. He saved Henry Kildare’s life when Uncle Winthrop’s black stallion attacked him.”
“Henry Kildare?” Here was another complication. And was it possible that there was a slight blush on Alice’s face?
“A young boy who also worked here. He went west years ago. He isn’t in the picture at all ...” Curtis was sure of the blush this time. Some childish romance probably ... “Uncle Winthrop was so grateful to Jock’s father for preventing such a thing happening that when Dave died the next year ... he was a widower with no relatives ... Uncle Winthrop promised him that Jock should always have a home here. Lucia and Alec promised it in their turn. We Fields are a clannish crew, Mr. Burns, and always back each other up and keep fast hold of our traditions. Jock has become one of our long-established customs. Not that I don’t say he earns his keep.”
“Is it possible Julia Marsh is guilty?”
“I can’t believe such a thing of Julia. The things go on when she is away. The only time I’ve really suspected her was when the church supper money vanished the night after Alec brought it home. He was treasurer of the committee. A hundred dollars disappeared out of his desk. Jock wouldn’t have taken it. He has no sense of the value of money. I heard there was an eruption of new dresses in the Marsh gang all that year. Julia herself came out resplendent in a purple silk. They declared an uncle of theirs had died out west and left them the money. That is the only time money has been taken.”
“I am sure that was Julia, Miss Harper.”
“I think so, too, Mr. Burns ... did anyone ever hint to you that Lucia does the things?”
“Well ... Mr. Sheldon told me people have hinted it.”
“Mr. Sheldon! Why should he have told you that? It’s a cruel, malicious falsehood,” Alice exclaimed emphatically ... almost too emphatically, Curtis thought, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. “Lucia could never do such things ... never. She is entirely incapable of it. Nobody knows that child as I do, Mr. Burns. Her sweetness ... her patience ... her ... her Fieldness. Think of what it must have meant to her to give up her life and work in town and bury herself in Mowbray Narrows! When I think that it was because of me it almost drives me crazy. Never for one moment, Mr. Burns, let yourself believe that Lucia has done the things that are done here, no matter what Mr. Sheldon or Dr. Blythe ... oh, yes, he has his suspicions, too ...”
“Of course I don’t believe it. And Dr. Blythe has never hinted such a thing to me, while Mr. Sheldon only told me what other people have said. But if it isn’t Jock or Julia, who is it?”
“That is the question. Once an idea occurred to me ... but it was so wild ... so incredible ... I couldn’t even put it into words. I hinted it to Dr. Blythe ... and such a snub as he gave me! And Dr. Blythe can give snubs when he wants to, I can assure you.”
“Has anything happened lately?”
“Well, the telephone has rung our call at midnight and three o’clock every night for a week. And I believe Alec found another curse ... written in blood ... written backward so that it could be read only in the mirror. Our ghost is strong on curses, Mr. Burns. This one was a peculiarly nasty one. You’ll find it in that little table drawer. I made Lucia give it to me ... it was she who found it. I wanted to show it to you ... and Dr. Blythe. Yes, that is it ... hold it up to my little hand mirror.”
“‘Heaven and hell shall blast your happiness. You shall be smitten in the persons of those you love. Your life shall be recked and your house left unto you desolate.’ Mmm ... the ghost has a poor taste in stationery,” said Curtis, looking at the blue-lined sheet of paper on which the words were scribbled.
“Yes ... rather. You notice the spelling of ‘wrecked.’ But even so the whole composition seems to me beyond Jock ... or even Julia. So far I agree with Mr. Sheldon and Dr. Blythe. The coal oil that was poured into the cold chicken broth in the pantry night before last was more in his line. Also the delicate humour of a jug of molasses spilled all over the parlour carpet. It cost poor Lucia a hard day’s work to get it cleaned up. Of course that might have been Julia. She really hates poor Lucia because she is mistress here.”
“But surely the doer of a trick like that could be easily caught.”
“If we knew when it was going to be done ... oh, yes. But we can’t watch every night. And generally when anyone is watching nothing happens.”
“That proves it must be someone in the house. An outsider wouldn’t know when there was to be a watch.”
“In a gossipy neighbourhood like Mowbray Narrows that proves nothing. And yet, Mr. Burns, the cradle was rocked and the violin played weirdly all night in the garret two weeks ago when Julia was away and Jock was out in the stable with Alec, working over a sick cow. They were never parted for a minute. When I told Dr. Blythe that he merely shrugged his shoulders.”
“You quote Dr. Blythe very often. What about Mrs. Blythe?”
“The doctor often comes here to talk with Alec. I don’t know Mrs. Blythe so well. Some people don’t like her ... but from the little I’ve seen of her I should judge her a very charming woman.”
“Is it true that the voices of ... supposedly dead people have been heard?”
“Yes.” Alice shivered. “It doesn’t happen often ... but it has happened. I don’t like to talk of that.”
“Nevertheless, I must learn all about this if I am to be of any help in solving the mystery.”
“Well, I heard Uncle Winthrop outside my door one night saying, ‘Alice, would you like anything? Have they done everything you want?’ He used to do that when he was alive. Very gently so as not to disturb me if I was really asleep. Of course it couldn’t have really been his voice ... someone was imitating him. You see,” she added with a return of her wh
imsicality, “our ghost is so extremely versatile. If it would stick to one line ... but eerieness and roguery together is a hard combination to solve.”
“Which proves that there is more than one person concerned in this.”
“So I’ve often said ... but ... well, never mind, let it go. The curse has worried Alec, Lucia tells me. His nerves are not good lately ... things ‘get on’ them. And there have been so many curses ... mostly Bible verses. Our spooks know their Bible, Mr. Burns ... which is another count against the Jock and Julia theories.”
“But this is intolerable ... this persecution. Someone must hate your family very bitterly.”
“In Mowbray Narrows? Oh, no. And we are all used to it, more or less. At least, Lucia and Alec are. Or seem to be. I didn’t mind so much until the binder house was burned last fall. I admit that got me down. Since then I’ve been haunted by the fear that the house will go next ... and me locked in here.”
“Locked!”
“Why, yes. I make Lucia lock my door every night ... though she hates to do it. I could never sleep ... I’m a wretched sleeper at any time except in the early morning. But I couldn’t sleep at all with that door unlocked and goodness knows what prowling around the house.”
“But the goodness knows what isn’t baffled by locked doors ... if the Min Deacon and Maggie Eldon tales are to be believed.”
“Oh, I don’t believe Min or Maggie really had their doors locked when the things happened to them. Of course, they thought they had. But they must have forgotten for once. At any rate I make sure mine is always locked.”
“I don’t think that is wise, Miss Harper, I really don’t.”
“Oh, the door is old and thin and could easily be broken in if there was any serious need for it. Well, we won’t talk any more about it just now. But I want you to keep your eyes open ... metaphorically ... as far as everybody is concerned ... everybody ... and we’ll see what we can do together. And you’ll let me help you in the church work as much as I can, won’t you? Mr. Sheldon did ... though I never thought he really wanted me to.”