Vintage Love (241 page)

With a sob of terror she bolted the French windows against the storm and any eerie creatures of the night. She leaned weakly against the doors with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes sought the portrait of Graham Woods on the wall and she felt that she saw his lips move as if to speak to her. She knew it was a trick of her overwrought nerves, and yet she could not take her eyes from the portrait.

As she stared at it in horrified fascination the lights suddenly blacked out. She screamed in terror and stumbled across the room groping for the doorway and the front door beyond. She knew nothing except her fear and an almost animal desire to escape from the house. She fumbled for the door knob, and when she found it flung the front door open.

But as she reached the steps another flash of lightning pierced the darkness of the night and she was further horrified to see a female figure at the bottom of the steps blocking her way.

“No!” she screamed, drawing back.

Above the wind and the rain a familiar voice called to her, “Don’t be afraid! It’s me!” It was Shiela Farley.

Relief and humiliation flooded through her. She recovered herself and started down the stairs. “The lights went out!” she shouted by way of an explanation.

“I know,” Shiela said. “Father was worried about you in the storm and told me to come over and get you.”

Lucy had reached the driveway and now stood by the other girl. “I’ll manage. It was the sudden blackout that terrified me.”

Shiela took her arm. “You can’t stay here alone. Come back to the house with me.”

She held back. “What if Fred comes?”

“He’ll probably not be here for ages, and he’ll guess that you are at our place,” Shiela said.

“I don’t know.” Lucy hesitated. But then another flash of lightning came and the rain gushed down. It seemed stupid to stand there arguing, and she allowed Shiela to lead her to the car.

A moment later Shiela was behind the wheel and was driving down to the main road. “I had to use the long way,” she said as she drove. “I couldn’t walk over through the woods in this storm.”

“You shouldn’t have come at all.”

“It was Dad’s idea,” Shiela said, “and I think he was right. You didn’t seem too happy when I arrived at your place.”

Drenched and shivering, Lucy sat there ashamed of her performance on the steps. “I lost my head for a moment,” she admitted.

“No need to feel bad about it,” Shiela said airily. “I wouldn’t stay in that old haunted house alone on a night like this for any money.”

The storm was still raging when they reached the Farley place. All the lights on the grounds and in the big house were out. They left the car and scurried for the front entrance, where they were met by a flurried housekeeper holding a candle in her hand.

“Your father is in the study waiting for you,” she told Shiela.

“Thank you,” Shiela said, and she turned to Lucy. “I’ll lead the way.”

Lucy followed her down the long dark hallway to the study. There they found Henry Farley stretched out on a sofa waiting for them. A candelabra with three candles burned on a table at the head of the sofa. It gave the room a soft glow and highlighted his stern face.

“So Shiela found you,” he said in greeting.

“Yes,” she said. “It was good of you to think of me.”

The white-haired man smiled grimly. “On a night like this I was bound to think of Moorgate and you.”

“She didn’t want to leave,” Shiela said from the shadows, a taunting smile on her face. “She was afraid Fred might come back and find her gone.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Henry Farley said, dismissing the thought.

“I’m still doubtful if I should have left,” Lucy said.

“With the lights out and this storm in progress, it was no fit place for you to be alone,” the crippled man said. And then he enquired slyly, “Did you see any ghosts in the storm?”

She hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

“Well, tell me about it,” he said.

“I think it was the ghost of Jennifer. She was standing by the well.”

Henry Farley turned to his daughter. “You hear that, Shiela? Now do you believe there are ghosts at Moorgate?”

“I’ve never denied it,” the girl said. “It’s just that I’ve not seen any ghosts there myself.”

“You do not have Lucy’s psychic gifts,” her father told her.

“And I don’t want them,” Shiela said.

A weary smile showed on her father’s face in the flickering glow of the candles. “We have little to say about such things. Don’t you agree, Lucy?”

“If you’re asking me if I would prefer not to see ghosts, the answer is yes,” she said.

“Exactly,” the crippled millionaire replied with satisfaction. “When you saw Jennifer tonight, did she give you any sign?” he asked.

“No. She was standing by the well. She didn’t move. And I couldn’t see her face.”

Shiela gave her a somewhat scornful look. “It was probably one of our maids using the shortcut of the path who got caught in the storm. They sometimes trespass on your property. She’d stand there frozen, afraid that you might report her.”

“Not fair!” Henry Farley protested. “You’re out to spoil a perfectly good ghost story.”

“I’m giving Lucy an explanation of her ghost,” Shiela said. “There’s no need to add to her fear.”

Lucy glanced at the dark girl soberly. “I’d like to believe what you say, but I can’t. I’m sure it was no earthly figure I saw.”

Shiela lifted her eyebrows. “It seems you enjoy being psychic.”

“I won’t have you taking this young woman to task,” Henry Farley warned his daughter. “I’m sure Lucy is not exaggerating about her experience. I, for one, believe she saw a ghost.”

“Because it suits you to do so,” Shiela said scornfully, and she moved away from them to stare out the window.

The crippled millionaire told Lucy, “I’m beginning to think I have a certain sensitivity to the spirit world myself. Tonight I had a distinct feeling about you and what might be happening at Moorgate.”

“I was terrified there in the dark,” Lucy confessed.

“Anyone would be,” the man on the sofa said suavely. “The storm will soon end and then you can go back again.”

“I probably shouldn’t have left,” she worried.

“Don’t give it a thought,” Henry Farley said. “You may be sure that your husband will understand.”

And this was proven to be true only a few minutes later when Fred arrived at the big house in an upset state. As soon as he saw Lucy was safe in the company of Henry Farley and his daughter he showed obvious relief.

“Forgive my barging in here like this,” he told Henry Farley. “But when I arrived at Moorgate and found the door open and Lucy gone I was badly upset.”

“I insisted she come over here,” Henry Farley said. He smiled at Lucy. “I may say she was very worried about you and what you’d think.”

Fred turned to her. “I think you did the right thing in coming here.”

She said, “Shiela came for me.”

Fred glanced across the room at Shiela. “That was thoughtful of you.”

Shiela smiled wryly. “Father insisted.”

Fred looked embarrassed. “Well, I’m grateful to you both.”

They talked for a few minutes, and then the lights came on. Fred at once suggested they return to Moorgate. He thanked Shiela and her father, and he and Lucy made their way out. The storm had cleared almost miraculously, and there were stars and a pale moon showing in the sky above.

As they got into Fred’s car, he said, “It cleared up as quickly as it came.”

“Yes.” She was still feeling troubled and uneasy as she sat in the car with him.

He started the drive home. His eyes on the road ahead, he said, “I was almost out of my mind when I reached Moorgate and found you gone.”

“I worried about you,” she said.

“There was no need. I at once thought about the Farleys. So I wasn’t kept in suspense long.”

“I’m glad.”

He looked guilty as he drove on. “I deserved to suffer a little. It was stupid of me to behave as I did today. I mean about you and Jim.”

She was heartened by his words. She said, “I wondered why you reacted so strangely.”

“So did I afterward,” he admitted. “Something came over me. I can’t seem to help being jealous of Jim.”

“There’s no need.”

“I know.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain. I can only ask you to forgive me.”

“Gladly,” she said. “What really troubles me is that I’m afraid it will go on happening. I wonder where it might end.”

“Consider it ended now,” he said in a taut voice. “Were you very afraid before Shiela came for you?”

“Yes.” She decided to omit the details. She would not gain anything by mentioning that she’d seen Jennifer’s ghost again.

“It must have been terrible for you,” he said with sympathy.

“It’s over. Better not to think of it.”

They were at the front steps of Moorgate. Fred stopped the car and got out and opened her door for her. Together they went up the steps. Lights showed from the living room, but the foyer lights had not been turned on and that was in darkness. But as they entered it a shaft of moonlight came in through the doorway in such a way that it caught the newly hung portrait of Jennifer directly.

Fred halted and stared up at the face made pale and ghostly by the moonlight. “How did that get there?” he exclaimed.

Lucy felt suddenly desolate. In a small voice, she said, “I put it there this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. A sort of impulse. It’s a lovely portrait. I felt we should hang it down here.”

He stood there in the shadowed foyer with anger on his handsome face. “You know what it means? Everyone who comes to the house will see the portrait and begin asking questions about the ghost, as if the house is really haunted! I wanted to avoid that.”

“So you didn’t bring the portraits down? Was that your reason?”

“Of course.”

She looked at him earnestly. “Let them ask questions. I don’t think it’s all that important.”

“I do,” he said. “Enough harm has been done already.”

“Let’s not quarrel about it tonight,” she said unhappily. “I feel ill from all I’ve gone through.”

He at once relented. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk about it later.”

So the argument between then ended. They went up to their bedroom to prepare for the night. She felt as if she were walking a tightrope. The situation seemed more tense than it had ever been. She couldn’t help wondering what would next happen to provoke her husband to anger. They were in bed and he was about to turn out the light on the table between the beds when he began to talk about his day.

“I did have an emergency call to St. Stephen,” he said. “I only just got back from there.”

“You work much too hard,” she told him.

He smiled at her from the other bed. “I indulged myself this morning. I bought myself a power boat.”

The news came as a complete surprise. “A power boat?”

“Yes. I can make use of it for my practice and for pleasure. I have a number of patients in houses along the shore. It’s always been the custom for the local doctor to use a boat to make such calls. It saves miles of driving.”

“I hadn’t realized that,” she said. “Do you know anything about power boats?”

“They are easy enough to handle,” he assured her. “I owned one before I went to college. That seems years ago, but I can’t have forgotten everything I learned.”

“I hope not.”

“It will be fun,” he assured her. “You and I can take pleasure trips along the coast whenever I can get an evening or afternoon off.”

“I can’t imagine you having many of them.”

“I’ll try harder, now that I have the boat,” he said. “Do you like the idea?”

“I think so,” she said. “I’m not too much of a sailor.”

“You’ll manage fine,” he promised as he turned out the light

It was only after they were in darkness that she began to think about it. And the thoughts she had were upsetting. With the purchase of the boat their situation had become even more like that of Graham Woods and Jennifer. A boat had been a contributing factor in their tragic drownings. Now another doctor and his wife at Moorgate had a boat. Was it ordained that this should be? Were they slowly drifting to some moment of dark tragedy without even realizing it?

Surely she wasn’t. She could see the similarity of their plight to the two who had lived in the old stone house a century ago. She wanted now to tell Fred that the news about the boat terrified her. She wished she had the courage to ask him to sell it. But she wasn’t able to bring herself to make the urgent request. Perhaps that was all part of it. The evil forces in the old house were taking a firmer hold on them so that they could do nothing but helplessly follow the pattern of some dark destiny. With this frightening thought, she gave way to her weariness and fell asleep.

The summer days and nights which followed were pleasant and uneventful. She and Fred got along well and there were no eerie happenings at the old stone house to further terrify her. Fred said no more about her bringing the portraits down from the attic. They lived in a kind of truce. And she began to hope that they might forget all about Moorgate’s past and the ghosts inhabiting the old house.

But this was not to be. And she should have realized it. She often looked out her bedroom window at the solitary white house on Minister’s Island and wondered about it and the strange man who had owned it. She still had a feeling that Frank Clay had somehow contrived to have Graham Woods appear to be the killer of his lovely wife, Jennifer. But how to prove it?

One day she made a direct attack on the problem by going up to the attic room and systematically going through every box and trunk up there. It was an unrewarding task except for the many interesting historical finds she made. But she was unable to discover anything on the one subject which held such intense interest for her. There wasn’t a diary or even one letter to tell her anything further about Dr. Graham Woods, his wife, and Frank Clay.

It was terribly disappointing. And when Fred came home one day to find her on her knees by an opened trunk in the attic room he was upset. “What are you looking for?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully.