CHAPTER X _Night at Dark Cedars_
Mary Louise sat in the waiting room of the Riverside Hospital, idlylooking at the magazines, while the nurses took Miss Grant to her privateroom. She couldn't help smiling a little as she thought how vexed the oldlady would be at the bill she would get. Corinne Pearson had carelesslytold the hospital to have one of the best rooms in readiness for thepatient.
("But, if she had her own way, Miss Grant would be in a ward," thoughtMary Louise.)
However, it was too late now to dispute over details. The head nurse cameinto the waiting room and spoke to Mary Louise in a soft voice.
"Miss Matilda Grant is your aunt, I suppose, Miss----?" she asked.
"Gay," supplied Mary Louise. "No, I'm not any relation. Just a friend--ofher niece."
"Oh, I see.... Yes, I know your father, Miss Gay. He is a remarkableman."
Mary Louise smiled.
"I think so too," she said.
"As you no doubt expected," continued the nurse, "an operation isabsolutely necessary. The nurses are getting Miss Grant ready now."
"Has she consented?"
"Yes. She had to. It is certain death if the surgeon doesn't operateimmediately. But before she goes under the anesthetic she wants to seeyou. So please come with me."
A little surprised at the request, Mary Louise followed the nurse throughthe hall of the spotless hospital to the elevator and thence to MissGrant's room. The old lady was lying in a white bed, attired in a plain,high-necked nightgown which the hospital provided. Her face was deathlypale, but her black eyes were as bright as ever, and she smiled at MaryLouise as she entered the room.
With her wrinkled hand she beckoned the girl to a chair beside the bed.
"You're a good girl, Mary Louise," she said, "and I trust you."
Mary Louise flushed a trifle at the praise; she didn't know exactly whatto say, so she kept quiet and waited.
"Will you do something for me?" asked the old lady.
"Yes, of course, Miss Grant," replied Mary Louise. "If I can."
"I want you to live at Dark Cedars while I'm here in the hospital. TakeJane with you, if you want to, and your dog too--but plan to stay there."
"I can't be there every minute, Miss Grant. Tomorrow I've promised to goon a picnic."
"Oh, that's all right! I remember now, you told me. Take Elsie with you.But go back to Dark Cedars at night. _Sleep in my room._ And shut thedoor!"
Mary Louise looked puzzled; she could not see the reason for such arequest.
"But there isn't anything valuable for anybody to steal now, is there,Miss Grant?" she inquired. "You put your money and your bonds in the banktoday."
The sick woman gasped for breath and for a moment she could not speak.Finally she said, "You heard about last night from Hannah? And saw theway things were upset?"
"Yes. But if the burglars didn't take anything, they won't be likely toreturn, will they?"
Miss Grant closed her eyes.
"It wasn't common burglars," she said.
Mary Louise started. Did Miss Grant believe in Hannah's theory about theghosts?
"You don't mean----?"
"I don't know what I mean," answered the old lady. "Somebody--living ordead--is trying to get hold of something very precious to me."
"What is it, Miss Grant?" demanded Mary Louise eagerly. Oh, perhaps nowshe was getting close to the real mystery at Dark Cedars! For that pettytheft by Corinne Pearson was only a side issue, she felt sure.
The old lady shook her head.
"I can't tell--even you, Mary Louise! Nobody!"
"Then how can I help you?"
"You can watch Elsie and try to find out where she hid my box of goldpieces. You can keep your eye open for trouble at night--and let me knowif anything happens.... Will you do it, Mary Louise?"
"I'll ask Mother--at least, if you'll let me tell her all about what hashappened. It won't get around Riverside--Mother is used to keepingsecrets, you know, for my father is a detective. And if she consents,I'll go and stay with Elsie till you come home."
Tears of gratitude stood in the sick woman's eyes; the promise evidentlymeant a great deal to her.
"Yes, tell your mother," she said. "And Jane's mother. But nobody else."
Mary Louise stood up.
"I must go now, Miss Grant. Your nurse has been beckoning to me for thelast two minutes. You have to rest.... But I'll come in to see you onSunday."
She walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her andthinking how sad it must be to face an operation all alone, with no one'sloving kiss on your lips, no one's hopes and prayers to sustain you. But,sorry as Mary Louise was for Miss Grant, she could not show her anyaffection. She couldn't forget or forgive her cruelty to Elsie.
Her mother was waiting for her on the porch when she arrived at herhouse.
"You must be starved, Mary Louise!" she exclaimed. "I have your lunch allready for you."
"Thanks heaps, Mother--I am hungry. But so much has happened. Did Janetell you about Miss Grant?"
"Yes. But I can't see why _you_ had to go to the hospital with her whenshe has all those relatives to look after her."
Mary Louise shrugged her shoulders.
"They don't like her, Mother--and consequently she doesn't trust them."
"Do you like her?" inquired Mrs. Gay.
"No, I don't. But in a way I feel sorry for her."
Mary Louise followed her mother into the dining room and for the nextfifteen minutes gave herself up to the enjoyment of the lovely lunch ofdainty sandwiches and refreshing iced tea which her mother had socarefully prepared. It was not until she had finished that she began herstory of the robbery at Dark Cedars and of her own and Jane's part in thepartial recovery of the money. She made no mention, however, of thebandit who had tried to hold them up, or of the queer disturbances atnight at Dark Cedars. She concluded with the old lady's request thatthey--Mary Louise and Jane--stay with Elsie and watch her.
Mrs. Gay looked a little doubtful.
"I don't know, dear," she said. "Something might happen. Still, if Mrs.Patterson is willing to let Jane go, I suppose I will say yes."
Fifteen minutes later Mary Louise whistled for her chum and put theproposition up to her.
Jane shivered.
"I'm not going to stay in that spooky old place!" she protested. "Notafter what happened there last night."
"'Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf?'" teased Mary Louise. "Jane, Ithought you had more sense!"
"There's something uncanny about Dark Cedars, Mary Lou, and you know it!Not just that the house is old, and the boards creak, and there aren'tany electric lights. There's something _evil_ there."
"Of course there is. But that's the very reason it thrills me. I don'tagree with Miss Grant and just want to go there because I believe Elsieis guilty of stealing that gold and that maybe we can find out where shehas hidden it. Somebody else took it, I'm sure--and that somebody keepscoming back to Dark Cedars to get _something_ else. Something valuable,'precious to me,' Miss Grant called it. And we've got to catch them!"
"You didn't tell your mother that?"
"No. I told her about only what has actually been stolen so far. No needto alarm her. And will you do the same with your mother?"
Jane rose reluctantly.
"I suppose so. If you've made up your mind to go through with it, you'lldo it. I know you well enough for that. And I don't want you over thereat Dark Cedars alone--or only with Elsie. Even Hannah and William aremoving out, you remember.... Yes, I'll go. If Mother will let me."
"You're a peach, Jane!" cried her chum joyfully.
It was several hours, however, before the girls actually started to DarkCedars. Arrangements for the picnic the following day had to becompleted; their suitcases had to be packed, and their boy-friends calledon the telephone. It was after five o'clock when they were finally ready.
From the porch of Mary Louise's house they saw Max M
iller drive up in hiscar.
"I'm taking you over," he announced, for Mary Louise had told him thatshe and Jane were visiting Elsie Grant for a few days.
"That's nice, Max," replied Mary Louise. "We weren't so keen aboutcarrying these suitcases in all this heat."
"It is terribly hot, isn't it?" remarked Mrs. Gay. "I'm afraid there willbe a thunderstorm before the day is over."
Jane made a face. Dark Cedars was gloomy enough without a storm to makeit seem worse.
"Come on, Silky!" called Mary Louise. "We're taking you this time."
"I'll say we are!" exclaimed her chum emphatically.
Elsie Grant was delighted to see them. She came running from behind thehedge attired in her pink linen dress and her white shoes. Mary Louisewas thankful that Max did not see her in the old purple calico. His senseof humor might have got the better of him and brought forth a wisecrackor two.
As soon as they were out of the car she introduced them to each other.
"You didn't know we were coming for a visit, did you, Elsie?" sheinquired. "Well, I'll tell you how it happened: Your aunt Mattie is inthe hospital for an operation, and she wanted Jane and me to stay withyou while she was away."
The girl wrinkled her brows.
"It doesn't sound like Aunt Mattie," she said, "to be so thoughtful ofme. She must have some other motive besides pity for my loneliness."
"She has!" cried Jane. "You can be sure----"
Mary Louise put her finger to her lips.
"We'll tell you all about it later," she whispered while Max was gettingthe suitcases from the rumble seat. "It's quite a story."
"Is Hannah still here?" inquired Jane. "Or do we cook our own supper?"
"Yes, she's here," answered Elsie. "She expects to come every day to workin the house, and William will take care of the garden and the chickensand milk the cow just the same. But they're going away every night aftersupper."
Max, overhearing the last remark, looked disapproving.
"You don't mean to tell me you three girls will be here alone everynight?" he demanded. "You're at least half a mile from the nearesthouse."
"Oh, don't worry, Max, we'll be all right," returned Mary Louise lightly."There's a family of colored people who live in a shack down in thevalley behind the house. We can call on them if it is necessary."
"Speaking of them," remarked Elsie, "reminds me that William says half adozen chickens must have been stolen last night. At least, they'remissing, and of course he blames Abraham Lincoln Jones. But I don'tbelieve it. Mr. Jones is a deacon in the Riverside Colored Church, andhis wife is the kindest woman. I often stop in to see her, and she givesme gingerbread."
Mary Louise and Jane exchanged significant looks. Perhaps this coloredfamily was the explanation of the mysterious disturbances about DarkCedars.
Mary Louise suggested this to Elsie after Max had driven away with apromise to call for the girls at nine o'clock the following morning.
"I don't think so," said Elsie. "But of course it's possible."
"Let's walk over to see this family after supper," put in Jane. "We mightlearn a lot."
"All right," agreed Elsie, "if a storm doesn't come up to stop us....Now, come on upstairs and unpack. What room are you going to sleepin--Hannah's or Aunt Mattie's--or up in the attic with me?"
"We have to sleep in your aunt Mattie's bedroom," replied Mary Louise. "Ipromised we would."
Elsie looked disappointed.
"You'll be so far away from me!" she exclaimed.
"Why don't you sleep on the second floor too?" inquired Jane.
"There isn't any room that's furnished as a bedroom, except Hannah's, andI think she still has her things in that. Besides, Aunt Mattie wouldn'tlike it."
"Oh, well, we'll leave our door open," promised Jane.
"No, we can't do that either," asserted Mary Louise. "Miss Grant told meto close it."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed her chum. "What next?"
"Supper's ready!" called Hannah from the kitchen.
"So that's next," laughed Mary Louise. "Well, we'll unpack after supper.I'm not very hungry--I had lunch so late--but I guess I can eat."
Hannah came into the dining room and sat down in a chair beside thewindow while the girls ate their supper, so that she might hear the newsof her mistress. Mary Louise told everything--the capture of the bills,the part Harry Grant played in the affair, and Corinne Pearson's guilt inthe actual stealing. She went on to describe Miss Grant's collapse andremoval to the Riverside Hospital, concluding with her request that thetwo girls stay with Elsie while she was away.
"So she still thinks I stole her gold pieces!" cried the orphanmiserably.
"I'm afraid she does, Elsie," admitted Mary Louise. "But there'ssomething else she's worrying about. What could Miss Grant possibly own,Hannah, that she's afraid of losing?"
"I don't know for sure," replied the servant. "But I'll tell you what Ithink--if you won't laugh at me."
"Of course we won't, Hannah," promised Jane.
"Well, there was something years ago that old Mr. Grant got holdof--something valuable--that I made out didn't belong to him. I don'tknow what it was--never did know--but I'd hear Mrs. Grant--that was MissMattie's mother, you understand--tryin' to get him to give it back. 'Itcan't do us no good,' she'd say--or words like them. And he'd always tellher that he meant to keep it for a while; if they lost everything else,this possession would keep 'em out of the poorhouse for a spell. Mrs.Grant kept askin' him whereabouts it was hidden, and he just laughed ather. I believe she died without ever findin' out....
"Well, whatever it was, Mr. Grant must have give it to Miss Mattie whenhe died, and she kept it hid somewheres in this house. No ordinary place,or I'd have found it in house-cleanin'. You can't houseclean for fortyyears, twicet a year, without knowin' 'bout everything in a house.... ButI never seen nuthin' valuable outside that safe of her'n.
"So what I think is," continued Hannah, keeping her eyes fixed on MaryLouise, "that Mrs. Grant can't rest in her grave till that thing is giveback to whoever it belongs to. I believe her spirit visits this house atnight, lookin' for it, and turnin' things upside down to find it. That'swhy nuthin' ain't never stolen. So anybody that lives here ain't goin'have no peace at nights till she finds it."
Hannah stopped talking, and, as Jane had promised, nobody laughed. As amatter of fact, nobody felt like laughing. The woman's belief in herexplanation was too sincere to be derided. The girls sat perfectly still,forgetting even to eat, thinking solemnly of what she had told them.
"We'll have to find out what the thing is," announced Mary Louisefinally, "if we expect to make any headway. I wish I could go see MissMattie at the hospital tomorrow."
"Well, you can't," said Jane firmly. "You're going to that picnic. We canask the gypsies when we have our fortunes told."
"Gypsies!" exclaimed Hannah scornfully. "Gypsies ain't no good! They usedto camp around here till they drove Miss Mattie wild and she got thepolice after 'em. Don't have nuthin' to do with gypsies!"
"We're just going to have our fortunes told," explained Jane. "We don'texpect to invite them to our houses."
"Well, don't!" was the servant's warning as she left the room.
When the girls had finished their supper they went upstairs to MissGrant's bedroom and unpacked their suitcases. But they were too tired towalk down the hill to call upon Abraham Lincoln Jones. If he wanted tosteal chickens tonight, he was welcome to, as far as they were concerned.
Hannah and William left about eight o'clock, locking the kitchen doorbehind them, and the girls stayed out on the front porch until ten,talking and singing to Jane's ukulele. The threatening storm had notarrived when they finally went to bed.
It was so still, so hot outdoors that not even a branch moved in thedarkness. The very silence was oppressive; Jane was sure that shewouldn't be able to go to sleep when she got into Miss Mattie's woodenbed with its ugly carving on the headboard. But, in spite of the heat,both girls dropped off in less t
han five minutes.
They were awakened sometime after two by a loud clap of thunder. Branchesof the trees close to the house were lashing against the windows, and therain was pouring in. Mary Louise jumped up to shut the window. As shecrawled back into bed she heard footsteps in the hall. Light footsteps,scarcely perceptible above the rain. But someone--something--wasstealthily approaching their door!
Her instinct was to reach for the electric-light button when sheremembered that Miss Grant used only oil lamps. Trembling, she groped inthe darkness for her flashlight, on the chair beside her. But before shefound it the handle rattled on the door, and it opened--slowly andquietly.
There, dimly perceptible in the blackness of the hall, stood afigure--all in white!