Vintage Love (244 page)

The doctor looked worried. “That is something I’m ill-equipped to decide.”

Lucy drove away from the doctor’s cottage with the knowledge that nothing much had been accomplished. The fog had lifted a little, but there was now a drizzling rain. She drove by the hotel and saw the grounds were deserted. It was the kind of wet, cold afternoon most people like to spend by the fireside.

She left the town behind and was on her way to Moorgate when another of those strong compulsions hit her. And she suddenly slowed the car and turned into the side road which led to the road joining the island with the mainland.

When she reached the end of the road she saw that the tide was out. Though the fog almost obscured the island and its house from view she could see the sandy road plainly enough, and without hesitation she began driving over it. She had no idea what time the tide had gone out or when it would return, but the road was surely well above the water now.

Reaching the other side, she parked her car by the gate shutting off the rest of the road to motorists. She slipped under the gate and walked up the hill to the old white house which had been occupied by Frank Clay. She found that the island was more foggy than the mainland.

When she reached the house she studied it from the front, and saw that the door was padlocked and the windows shuttered against intruders. Then she made her way around to the back. She still didn’t know what impulse had sent her to this lonely spot by herself. Dr. Boyce had warned her against it only a short while ago, yet here she was on the island.

There was a back stoop, and a door which was padlocked. She moved on, inspecting the old house in which Frank Clay had lived so long. She wondered what it had been like in happier days, when he had still hoped to make Jennifer his wife. She halted before the only window which was without shutters.

She saw that an upturned wooden bucket below the window made an excellent temporary step up to it. She got up on the bucket and tried the window sash. It glided up easily. So easily that it made her suspicious. It struck her that it might have been used recently, and perhaps often. But the means of entry to the house made her cast aside all caution.

The window had a weighted sash so that it remained in position at whatever point to which it was lifted. Now she opened it wide and, using the bucket as a springboard, scrambled through it. She found herself in a pantry through whose open door she could see the large kitchen with its giant cast-iron stove and a wide fireplace.

Brushing the dust and cobwebs from her, she proceeded slowly through the doorway into the kitchen. The room was filled with ominous shadows and she began to feel uneasy. She’d taken a terrible risk in coming to this place on her own. She had seen the ghost of the elderly Frank Clay in the bushes that other time. Suppose he should show himself again and decide to attack her?

But the urge to learn the truth about him and those long-ago days was too strong to be dismissed. And she moved on through the eerie quiet of the dark old house.

She came to the living room and saw that the walls were bare of pictures, and the furniture was covered by phantom-like white cloths. Then she went on to the library. Its walls were book-lined on two sides, and rich wood paneling covered the end walls of the narrow room. At one end there was a closed roll-top desk of the same type Fred had purchased for Moorgate. She stood in the middle of the room staring at the old desk.

And then, all at once, she knew she wasn’t alone. There was another presence in the shadowed room with her. She heard the creaking of the floor boards and something like a clammy, cool breath of wind brushed her face.

Before she could escape, the intruder came up behind her and her throat was seized in powerful hands. She screamed and tried to free herself. While the struggle went on she had no glimpse of her attacker. The hands which were crushing her throat might have been ghostly hands. Gradually she weakened and could struggle no more. She felt a dark curtain close on her mind.

When she finally stirred and opened her eyes, the room was darker than it had been. And as she regained consciousness she became aware of a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. The phantom creature had long hair and an unkept beard. Its head was slightly bent and it seemed to be watching her.

Lucy raised herself on an elbow and uttered a scream of protest against the phantom. “No!” she cried.

As she spoke, the apparition vanished. There was no one in the doorway, but she was certain something had been there. Miserably she struggled to her feet. Her first thought was to escape the old house and the island. It was no place for her to explore on her own. Her next thought was of the roadway and whether in the time that had elapsed the waters of the bay might have risen over it. At the thought of this she panicked. It would mean she might be a prisoner on the island.

Hastily she left the library and made her way to the one avenue of escape, the unshuttered window. Every moment she was fearful of another attack by the ghostly creature who inhabited the house. But she managed to get to the window and out into the cold and fog without being intercepted. At least she was outside. But she knew that the phantom also lurked out here. She had once seen the spectre of the elderly Frank Clay in his beaver hat and long coat in the bushes, and it had been seen by others as well. So there was no safety while she remained on the island.

A strange kind of wind had come up, and was blowing strong. When she reached the hill above the shore she saw that the waves were angry and foam-flecked. And she also saw something else which brought her to a halt.

As she feared, the road from the mainland was entirely under water!

The tide had raced back in to make her a captive of the island. The water was now deep over the roadway and as angry as the rest of the bay. She would have to remain here until the next ebb tide. Despairingly she stumbled down the path to where her car was parked.

Now there was only a distance of about thirty feet between where her car was and the angry waters of the bay. She stood there shivering in the drizzle and high, cold wind. The fog was still too heavy for her to have even a glimpse of the mainland.

What to do? She glanced back towards the old white house fearfully. There was surely no refuge for her there. Not after what had happened to her and what she had seen. Her only hope was to sit the hours out in the car until the tide changed and she would be free to drive back to the mainland.

This decision reached, she made her way to the car and got in. She sat huddled dejectedly behind the wheel. What would Fred think when he came home? He would have no idea where she had gone.

She gazed out the car windows with frightened eyes. At any moment she expected the phantom to appear. And she felt she was not really safe in the car. It wouldn’t offer any barrier to a revengeful spirit. And she was sure the evil spirit of Frank Clay had tried to throttle her. Or had it been Dr. Graham Woods? She was too confused to decide.

Now it began to rain more heavily, and the wind was blowing with an almost hurricane force. She turned on the car motor for some heat and at the same time tried the radio. She managed to catch the end of a weather broadcast and heard the words, “While the area will experience no true hurricane winds the remnants of the tropical storm, Alice, will cross the district tonight, causing heavy rains and high winds.”

As a loud clamor of music followed the announcement she turned the radio off. The news she’d heard had not been good. This was no normal storm, but the dregs of a hurricane. Probably the same sort of hurricane winds and rain in which Dr. Graham Woods and Jennifer had been drowned a hundred years ago. Though Jennifer must have already been dead when her husband put her in the boat. That was the story Frank Clay had circulated so successfully that it had been handed down for a century.

She had locked all the car doors in a desperate bid for safety. But she had no illusions about her enemy. The phantom could easily seize her if he so decided. She felt cold again and as the wind moaned, rattling and shaking the car, she leaned her head on her arms on the wheel. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the horror of her predicament.

Her head was still on her arms and she’d almost fallen into a troubled sleep when she became dully aware of the pounding on the car window. With a cry of fear she raised up to see a ghostly face outside and a hand banging against the glass of the window.

“Let me be!” she cried in a panic, and drew away from the window.

“Lucy!” She heard her name called, though most of the voice was lost in the wind.

It made her take a closer look and she realized that the figure outside was that of her husband. With a small sound of relief she leaned across and opened the door to him.

He at once slipped inside behind the wheel. He was drenched by the rain, his hair plastered on his forehead and the rain dripping down his face. He shut the door and turned to her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said happily. “I’m fine now. How did you get here?”

“The boat.”

“The boat!” she repeated. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

“It wasn’t an easy crossing,” he said grimly.

“I can imagine,” she said. “How did you know I was here? I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.”

“I talked to everyone, and Dr. Boyce mentioned that he’d discussed the island with you. Then as I passed the service station I stopped to check if any of them had noticed the car. One of the attendants had seen your car turn into the Minister’s Island road. It didn’t take me long to imagine the rest.”

“I know I shouldn’t have come here!”

He frowned at her. “What made you stay so long?”

“I came looking for papers relating to Frank Clay and the Woods couple.”

“I realize that. But you have no right trespassing over here.”

“I know,” she said penitently. “I found a rear window open in the house and got in.”

“Then what?”

“I found the library. And it was while I was standing in the library that I became sure there was a ghost in there with me.”

She saw the look of disapproval on Fred’s face.

“I can’t help it,” she protested. “I heard and felt some presence which I couldn’t see.”

“And?”

“It attacked me. Throttled me.”

“That follows the legend.”

“I know,” she said. “I became unconscious. When I revived it was a lot later.”

“You have no idea how long you were unconscious?”

“No. But when I came to, it was almost dark. And as I started to get up I saw someone standing in the doorway.”

“The ghost?”

She shook her head. “Not the same ghost I saw before. This one looked different. He didn’t wear a hat, as the other ghost did. And his hair was long and matted. When I cried out at him he vanished.”

“Not much help there,” Fred said.

“I know,” she said. “As soon as he disappeared I somehow got to the window and came down here. Then I found that the tide had returned and I was cut off from the shore.”

Fred stared at her in despair. “Why couldn’t you have remained safely at Moorgate?”

“Things happened there that drove me out.”

“What was Jim Stevens doing there? What was his excuse for visiting you?”

“He had a letter,” she said. “I don’t suppose Shiela told you anything about that.”

Her husband looked uncomfortable. “Let’s leave Shiela out of this.”

“I’d like to,” she said. “But I don’t know how I can. Jim came to show me a letter his mother found. A letter to Frank Clay from another man. And the letter made it seem almost positive that Graham Woods did murder his wife.”

“That’s been the accepted story all along.”

“But I didn’t believe it until I saw that letter,” she told him. “I still don’t want to believe it.”

“But you do?”

“I must. And then after I read the letter and had that silly quarrel with you on the phone I decided to call on Dr. Boyce to show him the letter. But something happened.”

“What?”

She told him about the noise from the cellar of Moorgate. How she had gone down to investigate it with the letter in her hand. And of how she’d had the frightening experience and the letter had been lost.

She ended with, “Of course the ghost intended to rob me of the letter.”

“You know I don’t believe in ghosts,” Fred said.

“You must believe in this one,” she insisted. “In a way it was he who brought me here. I came over to search for some paper evidence that might prove that letter to be wrong. To back up my views of Graham Woods’ innocence.”

“A fantastic theory and one that’s gotten you into a lot of trouble,” was his grim rejoinder. “Listen to that wind and rain.”

“I heard on the radio. It’s the end of a hurricane.”

He reached over and drew her close to him. “Do you realize all the danger you’ve put us in?”

She said, “You’re responsible too, you know. With your stupid jealousy of Jim. It always frightens me.”

Fred looked ashamed. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t mean anything to me now. All I can think of is getting you safely out of here.”

Her eyes met his tenderly. “I don’t care now that you’re with me. You know I love you.”

“And I love you,” he vowed. “Yet there’s something in the air of that old house which makes us turn against each other.”

“It’s the old evil,” she said. “It casts its spell on whoever lives there. For some reason the unhappy ghosts of those three still haunt the place.”

“We’ll leave Moorgate tomorrow if we survive this night,” he promised.

“I’m not sure that’s the answer,” she told him. “Now that the ghosts have cast their spell over us we aren’t likely to escape unless we can set them at rest.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said unhappily. “It was the search for that secret which brought me over here.”

The car rocked with a high gust of wind and the rain beat harshly against the windows. Fred held her close to him and pressed his lips hard on hers in a kiss that proved his love for her. For just a moment she was able to forget the fear and dangers around them.