“Let me get used to the idea first,” he said.
“I suppose you’ve been flirting outrageously with this Shiela,” Lucy accused him mockingly.
“No,” he protested. Then he waved a hand in dismissal, “Oh, I’ve seen her a few times. We’ve gone out together a little. But just as good friends. That’s possible, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’d think you’d be more interested in the property.”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “Tell me about it.”
“You’re going to fall in love with it,” he promised. “It’s on a hill on the outskirts of town. It’s surrounded by tall birch trees and has a view of the town and the bay. Better than that, it’s not one of your cheaply built houses. This one is stone and it’s over a hundred years old.”
“Has it been well kept up?”
“Yes. The last couple ran a gift shop for tourists. When they sold the business they left St. Andrews and sold the property to Shiela’s father. But I can promise you the house is in fine shape and they spent a lot on restoring and renovating it.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “If they liked the house that much, why did they leave it?”
“They had sold their business and wanted to move to another city,” he explained.
“Have they retired?”
“Yes. The house is called Moorgate. It’s sturdy and squarish and has two full stories, a cellar, and an attic. There are a garden and outbuildings at the rear. The house is covered with vines, and there is a winding road that leads up the hill to it from the main highway.”
She said, “It sounds fascinating.”
“And best of all,” he said, “a doctor and his wife lived there long ago.”
“Truly?” she was surprised.
“Yes,” he answered. “Of course that was almost a hundred years ago, but in small towns people remember. They still mention them.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.
“You’re bound to like it,” Fred said enthusiastically. “There were some fine old antiques that went with it and I’m gradually picking up some more things. I’ll have it nearly all furnished by the time we get there after our honeymoon.”
She gave him another teasing look. “I suppose Shiela Farley is helping you with the furnishings?”
He laughed. “Don’t make an insinuation out of it. I’ll be truthful. She has helped some. She’s very good at it. And she’s anxious to meet you,” Fred added.
“I’m more than anxious to meet her,” was Lucy’s droll reply.
The young doctor looked worried. “Don’t get any wrong ideas. I’ve been very careful since I’ve been in St. Andrews. A doctor’s reputation has to be above reproach if he’s to build any practice. I’m not doing any running around.”
“I’m comforted,” she teased him.
“You’d better be,” he said. “And they’re all looking forward to meeting you. The day we arrive there, before we even go to our place, old Dr. Boyce is holding a party of welcome for us at his house.”
“Is there another doctor in town? You didn’t tell me,” she said.
“He’s very old, but he’s alert enough. He’s mostly retired from practice. He sees a few patients whom he’s been attending for years, but he doesn’t take on any new ones. He was delighted when he heard I was moving to St. Andrews. It will make things easier for him.”
“He sounds nice.”
“He is,” Fred assured her. “You’re going to like St. Andrews and Moorgate.”
That was the first time she’d heard about Moorgate, but they were to discuss the ancient house a lot more as the weeks passed. They were the busiest weeks Lucy had ever known. And then it was the day of her marriage, suitably sunny and springlike. There was the brief service at the Espicopalian church opposite the Sheraton Plaza and the reception at the fine old Copley Square hotel afterward. When Lucy tossed her wedding bouquet to her bridesmaids it was only fitting that a happy Patricia should get it. After all, she had been the one responsible for the match.
There followed a leisurely honeymoon in the White Mountain country of New Hampshire, and then the drive along the picturesque Maine shore to the Canadian border. There was little delay with the border authorities and they drove into St. Andrews late in the afternoon. Lucy was delighted with the rugged scenery of mountains and shore and the multitude of fine evergreens. The ancient town of St. Andrews was sheltered from the Bay of Funday by a number of small green islands dotting the coastline.
The town’s streets were evenly laid out. The modern mingled with the old. The stores on the main business street had a weathered look, and from between the buildings you could see wharves extending out into the water, and fishing boats tied up. The smell of the salt water filled one’s nostrils and the air was crystal clear. In the upper section of the town were the fine mansions of the wealthy local and summer people; the town doubled its population with summer residents and transient visitors. On the highest point of land was an impressive resort hotel in English Tudor style with expansive grounds.
Fred smiled at her as he drove by the hotel. “Do you like it?”
“It’s much nicer than I even imagined,” his new bride said happily.
“We’ll go on down this street to Dr. Boyce’s house,” her husband said.
They reached a modest white house with well-kept hedges around it and a number of cars parked outside it. Even before she saw the black sign with neat gold lettering announcing, “Matthew Boyce, M.D.” she knew it had to be the house.
She glanced up at Fred as they were about to enter the porch. “I’m nervous,” she confessed.
He squeezed her arm. “You don’t have to be. They all are anxious to be your friends.”
The door opened before they could knock, and a short, bald man with a round merry face greeted them. “I’m Matthew Boyce,” he told Lucy, “and you’re just as pretty as Fred promised you would be.” With that, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, and he seemed a thoroughly delightful old man. It was a good beginning.
His modest living room was fairly well filled with people of various ages. One of the older women, whose name was Mrs. Matilda Stevens, turned out to be the widow of a former judge in the area. She had a commanding personality and a strong, well-preserved face.
Shaking hands with Lucy, she gave her a prim smile. “I hope you’ll like it here,” she said.
“I’m certain I will,” she told the older woman.
“We’ve been impressed with the doctor,” Mrs. Stevens said, referring to Fred. “And now I’d like you to meet my son, Jim.” She turned to catch the attention of a brown-haired young man in a gray summer suit. He had a bronzed, intelligent face and a friendly smile.
“I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Dorset,” Jim Stevens said. “Fred and I have had some business dealings. I’m a local lawyer and I looked after the transfer of the deed of Moorgate.”
“I’m very anxious to see it,” she confessed. “We’re going there as soon as we leave here.”
The young lawyer nodded. “It’s a fine old house.”
Mrs. Matilda Stevens nodded agreement. “It surely is,” she said. “Pay no attention to what people say about it.”
The older woman’s words puzzled Lucy. Looking at her with some surprise, she said, “I’m not sure I understand you.”
Mrs. Stevens at once looked uneasy and she said quickly, “I mean it shouldn’t be spoiled for you. Let it be your own discovery.”
Her lawyer son spoke up, “Moorgate is a fine property. It wouldn’t have been put up for sale only the Farleys were anxious that Dr. Dorset find a suitable home. Doctors are not easy to come by in these small towns. We don’t want to lose him.”
Some of her misgiving left her, but she still had the feeling that Mrs. Stevens had meant something quite different from her amended comment. But what?
Lucy said, “The photographs I’ve seen were so interesting. Of course I’ve n
ot seen any of the interior.”
“It lives up to the outside of the house,” Jim Stevens said. “And Fred has been the round of the antique spots and picked up some suitable furniture to add to what was there.”
Mrs. Stevens offered another of her prim smiles. “I’m dying to see all the new additions to the furniture. So you can count on my calling on you soon.”
Jim laughed. “Mother is a little mad on antiques.”
“I’ll be glad to have you call,” Lucy said. And with a smile for Jim, she added, “You, too, since you and Fred are friends.”
“You’ll be seeing us,” Jim assured her. “It’s a small town, and people see a lot of each other.”
“Which is both good and bad, I warn you,” his mother said, pulling a long face.
“I’m not worried about it,” Lucy said. “It will be an interesting change after living in Boston.”
“You can be certain of that,” Jim said.
Lucy had become separated from Fred for a few minutes, and now jolly Dr. Matthew Boyce came towards her with his round face showing a smile. “You have no idea how delighted I was to have Dr. Dorset come here,” he told her. “It takes a great burden from my shoulders.”
“It’s a fine opportunity for Fred,” Lucy said. “And I’m looking forward to living at Moorgate.”
The old doctor lost his smile for a moment. He looked almost embarrassed. “Yes,” he said. “It should be an interesting experience. I know the history of the house well. I took a special interest in it because it was occupied at one time by a doctor.”
“I’ve heard that,” she said. “I’d like to know the history of the property. You must visit me and tell me its story.”
“Yes,” he said uneasily. “I’ll do that. Rather a long, complicated story, you know. I’ll come by Moorgate one afternoon or evening and we can have a chat about it.”
“I’d like that,” Lucy told him. Looking across the room she saw that Fred was standing in earnest conversation with a striking dark girl with a perfect olive skin and an oval face. It didn’t take a second guess to decide who it was. “Is that Shiela Farley?” she asked the old doctor.
Dr. Boyce ran a pudgy hand over his bald pate. “Yes, it is. Haven’t you two met?”
“No,” she said. “I believe it was through her interest we got Moorgate.”
“She and her father live on the adjoining property,” Dr. Boyce said. “And I guess they own most of the land along that road. Come and meet her. Her father isn’t here today. He spends a great deal of his time in bed these days. He has serious arthritis.”
Lucy crossed the room with the veteran doctor. Fred was aware of her coming over and he and the dark girl at once halted their talk and were ready to greet her.
Fred said, “Lucy, I want you to meet Shiela Farley. I know you’ll be friends.”
The dark girl extended a slim hand and there was a mocking smile on her lovely face as she said, “Welcome to St. Andrews, Lucy.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, shaking hands with her. “I understand that we owe Moorgate to you.”
“Not really,” Shiela said in a drawling, sophisticated fashion. “I told Dad that the place would be ideal for Fred and you. And he did the rest. We’re worried that Fred might leave us.”
Fred smiled at the dark girl. “No worry about that.”
Lucy found herself wondering if this was a good sign or not. There had been an almost personal note of assurance in the way her husband had spoken to the sultry Shiela. Had she made a mistake in taking so long to get to St. Andrews? Had a romantic attachment between the two developed before she’d even married Fred? It was a troubling thought.
She said, “I’m sure I’ll love the old house.”
“Moorgate has always interested me,” Shiela Farley told her.
Dr. Matthew Boyce took Lucy’s arm at this point and said, “There are a number of others you must meet.” And he led her away from Shiela and Fred to a cluster of older people.
Lucy met so many she was unable to remember all their names clearly. But the welcome they offered her was warm, and she felt sure she’d enjoy living in this small Canadian town.
Then Fred came to her with a quiet smile and said, “It is really time for us to leave. I want you to see the house and grounds while it is still afternoon.”
She said her good-byes with a special one for their host, Dr. Boyce. And the old doctor again promised to come by very soon and tell her more about Moorgate. Then she and Fred left the modest white house and drove to the hill on the edge of town where Moorgate stood majestically.
As they made their way up the narrow, winding private road to the great square stone mansion, almost obscured by tall birches and elms, she found herself ecstatic about the house.
“It’s magnificent,” she told Fred.
He showed a pleased smile as he brought the car to a halt before the front entrance of the house. Broad stone steps led to an oak door with an amber lantern hanging over it. “I’m glad you approve,” he said.
She got out of the car as he prepared to get their luggage from the trunk. She stood before the rather somber house and as she studied it she noticed a window curtain brushed aside on the second floor, and for just a brief moment there was the flash of a lovely, pale-faced young woman with silvery blonde hair in the window.
As the face vanished she turned to her husband and said, “What a nice surprise! You have a young woman hired to help me. I saw her in the window just now.”
A suitcase in each hand as he started for the door, Fred halted to stare at her blankly. “You’re wrong! There’s no one in there. I have the only key.”
Chapter Two
Lucy was dumbfounded. She glanced up at the second-story window again and saw that the curtain was neatly in place. Fred was standing by her side looking at her with troubled eyes.
“I don’t see how I could have made a mistake,” she said.
Fred looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure you must have. It could have been a reflection from the waving branch of a tree.”
She felt this to be a ridiculous explanation, yet she didn’t want to make a fuss about it to spoil their arrival at their new home. But she was almost positive there had been a face peering down at her from the window.
“Perhaps I was wrong,” she said reluctantly. “Please go ahead and open the door. I’m so eager to see inside.”
Her young husband smiled again. “It won’t take me a second,” he said. And he went ahead of her and up the steps, where he put down the bags and prepared to unlock the door.
While she waited for the door to be opened she studied her surroundings. The trees around the house were old. Their trunks were large and sturdy, and their branches stretched up high toward the blue sky above. From the front of the house there was a view of the town nestled along the shore, neat rows of white houses set in green, and facing the blue of the bay. Beyond in the bay were the ring of islands which protected the harbor. One of these islands was to the left and nearest Moorgate. She guessed this must be Minister’s Island which could be reached by the sand road when the tide was low.
“Come along!” Fred called to her.
She looked and saw that he had the door open. Not wishing to spoil the important moment, she forced the vision of the lovely face from her mind. She was sure someone had somehow gotten into the old house. Perhaps it was part of a surprise. She’d better just go along with it.
Fred had set the bags down and was waiting for her. He held out a hand to her. “Most of the etiquette books suggest that the bride be carried over the threshold,” he said with a smile. “But I’ll modify it and just lead you in.”
She thrust her hand in his. “It will do just as well!”
As she stepped directly into the high-ceilinged, shadowed living room she felt a wave of cool air. Fred came close and took her in his arms for a lasting kiss. Then he let her go to give her attention to the room with its elegant antique furnishings. She let her eyes wander from mahog
any sideboard, to the fine, long divan with its back of exquisitely scrolled wood. The various tables had rich ornaments on them, and two majestic chandeliers hung from fancy circles of plaster in the ceiling.
“I found this sideboard in a King Street antique shop, in Saint John,” he said.
She went to it and touched the wood with her fingers. “I adore it,” she said.
“I managed to find a Governor Winthrop roll-top desk for my office,” he said, looking pleased. “I’ve tried to keep the furniture in the same period as the house itself.”
“And you’ve done it well,” she said. She felt this, though she was just a trifle bothered by a certain somber air about the place. She tried to dismiss the feeling of melancholy which had taken hold of her and give an animated attention to the furnishings as they moved from room to room.
On the second floor he took her to a large bedroom with twin four-poster beds. It had been decided between them earlier that they should sleep in twin beds so she wouldn’t be roused when he received a call at night. These emergencies did come, and he wanted to be able to leave the room and dress without bothering her. She entered the room and saw that it also was true to the period, from its heavy dresser to the large circular hooked rug on the floor.
As she stood there in the middle of the room taking it all in, she suddenly realized that it must have been at a window of this bedroom that she’d seen the face of the pretty silver-haired girl. But she did not want to upset Fred by mentioning this again now, so instead she went over to the dresser and gazed into its huge oval mirror.
“It’s just as I pictured it would be!” she exclaimed.
“I hope you’ll be happy here,” Fred said.
She turned to face him with a look of questioning. “Why shouldn’t we be? I’m sure generations of people have lived happily here.”
“Many people have lived here,” he agreed quietly.
She went to the window on the pretence of taking in the view, but really to corroborate her guess that it was from this window the face had peered out at her. Glancing down at the car in the driveway, she knew she’d been right. It was the same window. She lifted her eyes to scan the horizon and saw that the island in the bay, directly across from Moorgate, had a white frame house on it.
Vintage Love Page 182