But it was his hands Lucy noticed first. The slender hands were twisted into tormented claws. He kept them close to his body as if in an attempt to conceal them. He greeted them in a business-like manner, but showed a special interest in Lucy.
As soon as she was seated he said, “So you are Fred’s wife. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
She managed a faint smile. “I hope it was favorable.”
“I’d say so,” he replied. “I can imagine being mistress of Moorgate is not the easiest of tasks. It’s a formidable old house. I hesitated in selling it to Fred.”
Fred, who had remained standing by Lucy’s chair, smiled at the man on the chaise longue. “I’d have been very disappointed if you hadn’t let me have the place.”
Henry Farley eyed him bleakly. “Why were you so interested in Moorgate?”
“Its location is ideal for my practice,” Fred said. “And I like the house itself.”
Henry Farley’s sharp eyes were fixed on Fred. “And the history of the place didn’t worry you at all?”
Fred looked uncomfortable. “No, I can’t say that it did.”
“It would have worried me if I’d been taking my bride there,” the old man said with grim emphasis. He turned to Lucy. “How do you feel about Moorgate, Mrs. Dorset?”
She found herself pausing before replying, and the silence that came over the room was an awkward one. Then she said, “I’m not altogether happy in the house. I’m a nervous type and I’m there a lot alone. High on the hill as it is, away from the road, it’s rather isolated.”
“I agree,” Henry Farley said. “You say you’re a nervous type. Has the house made you any more nervous?”
Fred looked upset. “Why should the house make her more nervous?”
Henry Farley lifted one of his arthritic hands to silence him. “Let your wife answer,” he said.
Lucy said, “I think Moorgate is making me more nervous.”
“You see?” the invalid said to her husband triumphantly. And to her, he added, “The history of Moorgate is a tragic one. And as you know, the general feeling in the town is that the house is haunted.”
Shiela came into the room with a tray of drinks for them in time to hear this. As she passed the drinks, beginning with Lucy, she gave her father a warning glance. “Don’t go on with that nonsense about Moorgate being haunted.”
Her father smiled wryly. “You believe it. I’ve heard you say so.”
Shiela, having completed her rounds, stood with her own glass in hand. “I can’t remember ever saying such a thing!”
“You did,” he told her.
“I don’t think it’s a subject for social conversation,” the girl said impatiently.
“I disagree,” Henry Farley said. “I want to find out whether Mrs. Dorset has seen the ghost of Jennifer Woods. You know she’s the one who is supposed to haunt Moorgate. You’ve heard the legend of her supposed murder and the drowning of her and her husband?”
“Yes,” Lucy said in a small voice. She was thinking of that attic room and the odor of roses. And of the pale, wistful face she’d seen so briefly at the bedroom window when she’d first arrived at Moorgate.
The thin man’s stern face showed great interest in her as he asked, “Well, have you seen Jennifer’s ghost?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I think I have.”
“More than once?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said in a near whisper, her hands clasped in her lap and working uneasily.
Fred Dorset spoke up, his handsome young face crimson with annoyance. “Really, sir, I wish you’d stop this line of questioning. I don’t think it is good for my wife.”
The black-haired Shiela took a step towards the chaise longue and said, “I agree. You’re spoiling our evening, Dad.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I’m trying to put Mrs. Dorset’s mind at rest. It doesn’t do any good to bottle up such fears. The doctor ought to know that.”
“My wife is extremely nervous, as she told you,” Fred said stiffly. “That does make a difference. I think we should talk of something else.”
“In a minute,” Henry Farley said with a look of grim amusement. It was evident that he was enjoying this diversion. He asked Lucy, “Have things happened at Moorgate which you find hard to explain?”
“Yes. Many things,” Lucy found herself saying.
The elderly man said, “Then I assume you agree with me that it’s not a suitable home for you. You needn’t be afraid to say it. I’ll be happy to take it back and return your husband the money he’s paid down.”
A great tension had taken over in the study, and Lucy was surprised to find herself replying, “I’m not sure I want my husband to sell Moorgate.”
The black eyebrows lifted. “Why not? You say you’re not happy in the house. That you’re actually terrified. That many odd things have happened there, and that you’ve seen Jennifer’s ghost. Why would you want to remain there?”
Lucy felt they were all watching her. Uneasily, she said, “Perhaps I’ve come to care for the house more than I’ve realized. I have a feeling I want to do something to change things there. To help rid it of its unhappy ghosts.”
Henry Farley’s smile was mocking. “And how would you propose to do that?”
“I’m not sure,” she faltered. “I believe there are professional consultants who give advice in such matters. That it is often possible to rid a building of spirits.”
Fred was looking down at her in shocked anger. “I’m amazed to hear you say what you have,” he told her. “As far as I’m concerned, there are no ghosts in Moorgate, and I’ll never allow any ghost-hunter to enter the house. I can do without that kind of notoriety.”
Henry Farley chuckled. “You seem more concerned with your reputation than with your wife’s happiness.”
“That’s not a fair comment,” Fred protested.
Shiela spoke up again. “All the talk about Moorgate being haunted is pure gossip. The idea of having a ghost-hunter rid the house of its ghosts is ridiculous. There are no ghosts.”
“You’re wrong.” Lucy felt compelled to dispute her, and she spoke in a calm voice.
Shiela looked uneasy. “I’m only speaking from my own experience, of course.”
Her father told her, “You have no right to dispute Mrs. Dorset, who lives in Moorgate. She must know more about that old stone house than you do.”
Shiela shrugged and gave Fred a despairing glance. The two stood in silence a distance from Lucy. She was learning that Henry Farley was a strong-willed man who said what he pleased with no regard for his daughter or her friends. He apparently had his own opinions about Moorgate and wasn’t going to be silenced concerning them.
Fred spoke up then. “It may be that I will have to move from Moorgate. It will all depend on my wife. But I can’t see that this discussion is making things at all easier for any of us.”
The thin man on the chaise longue said, “I merely wanted to find out whether Mrs. Dorset is happy in the house or not. Apparently she’s not, and I wish to see her happy. That’s why I’m willing to take the property back from you.”
Lucy said, “I thought I made it clear. I don’t want to leave Moorgate. I’d prefer to drive the spirits from there by one means or another.”
Henry Farley looked pleased. “I’m interested in hearing you say that. Perhaps we do need a ghost-hunter in St. Andrews. I have more than one haunted property, you know. There’s the Clay house on Minister’s Island. Frank Clay is the phantom there.”
“I’ve been out there,” Lucy said.
Fred looked as if he feared there might be other embarrassing revelations. He glanced at his wristwatch and said, “I have an early morning tomorrow. We’ll have to be on our way.”
The older man raised himself up on an elbow. “Just when we’re beginning to enjoy ourselves?”
His daughter gave him a harsh look, her black eyes shining with annoyance. “We may not all be having as good a time
as you, Father.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Dorset doesn’t resent what I’ve said, do you, Mrs. Dorset?” he asked.
She sighed. “No, I guess not.”
“After all, if you’ve seen ghosts at Moorgate, my mentioning them isn’t making it any more unpleasant for you, is it? Bringing things into the open is always healthy.”
Lucy nodded. “I think so.”
Henry Farley’s lean face showed approval. “I think you’re a very sensible young woman. And if you find yourself a responsible ghost-hunter let me know. I may want to use his services.”
Fred smiled sourly. “I can’t say I appreciate that, sir. I’ve already made it clear to my wife that I won’t have any such people in the house.”
The invalid’s eyes twinkled. “You’d prefer the ghosts?”
Fred’s face flushed. “I don’t acknowledge that there are such things at Moorgate.”
“So it appears you are in the minority,” Henry Farley said. “All this furor regarding phantoms is most interesting to me. I’ve led a very full life, and now that I’m retired and here in this quiet backwater I find that I’m asking a lot of questions of myself and I’m not able to answer many of them. Among the things puzzling me is the question of life after death. As one grows older one speculates on this. Who knows? We may find the answer at Moorgate.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, Dad,” Shiela said.
He smiled at her. “Well, at least it gives me a new interest. And I’m prepared to follow it up with all the energy left me. I’m sick of merely gobbling up property and counting bond coupons. I want a bizarre adventure before my life ends. And why can’t this be it?”
Fred looked at his watch again. “Lucy and I do really have to go,” he said. “We’ve enjoyed our visit, sir.”
Henry Farley nodded, and then asked Lucy, “Do you feel the same way?”
“Meeting you has been an experience,” she said.
“Cautiously expressed,” the thin man chuckled. “We must see each other soon again.”
Shiela saw them out and gave Fred her flashlight to light them along the path home. She seemed embarrassed by her father’s behavior and was aloof, though polite, in saying good night to them. Within a few minutes they were on their way through the woods.
Fred finally spoke as they walked along the narrow path. “I’ve never heard Henry Farley go on like that before.”
“He’s an eccentric,” she said.
“I’m beginning to think his mind is going,” her husband said in a harsh voice. “All that nonsense he said about Moorgate.”
“Not all of it nonsense,” she replied quietly.
The flashlight cast an eerie glow in the woods ahead of them. Fred said, “He was playing a game with you. He practically admitted it. He is bored and he amused himself by trying to upset your nerves. It was cruel of him.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“I did,” Fred said angrily.
She gave him a timid side glance. “He was telling the truth. I have seen things at Moorgate.”
“Don’t start that again!”
“But I have.”
“You’ll never convince me,” he said.
“Because you’re not willing to accept facts,” she said.
“I don’t want to go on with the discussion,” he said unhappily.
They walked on in silence. Lucy’s mind was troubled. It was true that Henry Farley had stirred her up. All the strange incidents that had gone on around her returned in memory to plague her. What she couldn’t understand was why Fred was so unware of it all. So untouched.
They emerged from the woods to the gardens of Moorgate. Fred’s face still showed a grim expression. They reached the house and mounted the stone steps to the door. And again the heavy cloak of melancholy descended on Lucy.
Inside, she turned to him and said, “Fred, I’d like to show you something if you’ll let me.”
His young face looked impatient. “It’s time for sleep. I’m going straight to bed.”
“Let me show you this one thing first,” she begged. “It has to do with what we were talking about. And I think it may help you see my point of view. You’ve never been unthinking towards me. Please don’t be now.”
Her pleading seemed to touch him. He took her by the arms and looked deep into her eyes. “You know I love you and want to always care for you and protect you.”
“Then don’t let these misunderstandings go on,” she said. “Don’t let us drift apart as they did.”
“They did?” He frowned.
“Dr. Woods and Jennifer,” she said. “Let’s not repeat their tragedy.”
“They mean nothing to me,” he told her. “They died long ago and should be forgotten. I’m not superstitious.”
“Perhaps they don’t want to be forgotten,” she argued. “That may be why they remain here as spirits. To give some kind of message to those in the house.”
“I can see Farley upset you well,” her husband said. “I can’t think what he was up to, unless he wants this property back to sell it to someone at a higher price. He’s a fox when it comes to business.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with that,” she said.
“Shiela didn’t approve of his talk.”
“She doesn’t understand.”
He looked angry. “How have you achieved such great understanding?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “You oughtn’t to be so harsh to me. I’m only trying to help us. Why are you so cruel?”
Fred looked ashamed. “I don’t mean to be.”
“Still you are.”
“I’m tired. Starting a new practice here hasn’t been as easy as it may look to you,” he said.
“I’m sure of that.”
He sighed. “I just don’t have time for all this talk of ghosts. If you are so desperately unhappy here I’ll accept Farley’s offer and I’ll find another place.”
“I don’t want that. I said so when he mentioned it.”
Fred frowned again. “What do you want?”
“To solve the mystery of Moorgate,” she said. “Rid this old house of its ghosts.”
“And how?”
“I’m not sure.”
He smiled bleakly. “How lucky that I love you so much! It makes it easier for me to put up with all this.” And he drew her gently to him for a long, tender kiss.
When they drew apart she said, “That’s more like the you I fell in love with in Boston.”
He shook his head. “It’s not easy to always be in a romantic mood. There are more serious things in life.”
She looked up into his handsome face earnestly. “Nothing is more important than the love between two people. I believe that above all else.”
“Very well,” he said quietly.
“Come up to the attic with me,” she said. “I want to show you something which may give you a new opinion about the ghosts here.”
“Then let’s not lose any time,” he said with a resigned smile.
She quickly led him up the stairs to the attic storage room, her heart beating rapidly from tension. It was an important moment. She had to prove to him that there was more to all this than her imaginings.
She opened the door to the storage room and shone the flashlight on the portraits piled against the wall. “Look!” she said.
He glanced at the portraits. “What about them?”
She didn’t reply. She was too stunned. For the roses which had been taken from the living room and strewn over the portraits had now disappeared altogether. The scent of the fragrant blossoms remained in the stuffy attic room, but the flowers had vanished.
Fred said, “Why did you bring me up here?”
She swallowed hard and gave him a forlorn look. “To see the roses. The roses which were taken from the living room.”
He looked incredulous. “You’re saying they were up here?”
“Yes. I found them scattered on the portraits. It must have been some kind of message. And
now the same spirit hands have taken them away.”
Her husband stared at her. “You came up here looking for the missing roses while Shiela and I were downstairs waiting for you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Helplessly, she hesitated. “I don’t know. A strange feeling came over me. Something or someone directed my footsteps up here.”
“And you at once saw the roses,” he said sarcastically.
“Yes.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “It seems to me you’re bordering on hallucinations. This is more serious than I thought.”
She gave him a pleading look. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“As you believe it.”
“As it happened.”
He shook his head. “Just like this fool’s errand you’ve brought me on when I should be asleep,” he said. “It’s no good, Lucy.” And he turned abruptly and left the room to start downstairs.
She stood forlornly looking after him for a moment, and then followed him down to their bedroom. She said nothing for a little while, but as they finished preparing for bed, she said to him, “I’m sorry, Fred.”
He was in his pajamas now. “It’s all right,” he said. “You’re too high-strung to be so much alone in this old house.”
Suddenly she found herself saying earnestly, “No. I want to stay here.”
He stared at her with puzzled eyes. “That doesn’t make sense. One moment you say the house is filled with ghosts and you are plagued by strange happenings. The next you insist you want to remain here and be exposed to these phenomena. Why?”
Lucy looked at him miserably. “I don’t know.”
Her young husband sighed. “I’ll admit I’ve never realized the seriousness of this until tonight. When I get a free half-hour I’m going to see Dr. Boyce and ask his advice.”
“I wish you would,” she said.
“I will,” he promised her. And he took her in his arms again. “We have to avoid these misunderstandings! These quarrels!”
“I want to,” she said with a wistful smile.
He studied her with a new look. “You keep saying how much I’ve changed. But I somehow feel the same thing in you. Even when I look at you now you seem subtly different to me. You’ve taken on the shade of another personality since we’ve come to this house.”
Vintage Love Page 190