Mystery at Moorsea Manor

  cave. She also gave them Billy's account of why he'd

  been hanging around their barn, and she told them

  how well he behaved with animals. “He seemed so

  upset by the death of that little lamb,” Nancy added. “I

  really don't think he's got anything to do with the stuff

  going on at Moorsea.”

  Annabel knit her brow as she listened, then shot a

  questioning look at Hugh. “I suppose we could always

  rehire him,” she said with a rueful smile.

  “Don't speak too soon, darling,” Hugh declared. “If

  you ask me, Billy could still be guilty. He could have

  planted the earring in the cave and then rescued

  Maisie to make himself seem innocent.”

  “I think that's unlikely,” Nancy said. “Billy seems to

  act on instinct. He's not the type to make a

  complicated plan like that.”

  “I wonder if the earring could belong to the wife of

  one of the Singhs,” George remarked. “We know that

  Devendra, at least, has a wife. Her dog was at their

  office this morning.”

  “That's possible,” Nancy said. “But it's also possible

  the earring has nothing to do with the case. Someone

  could have lost an earring in that cave before Maisie

  was even taken.”

  “Speaking of Maisie,” Hugh cut in, “it's time for her

  dinner.”

  “And it's time for me to go help Peggy prepare our

  dinner,” Annabel added. Flashing Nancy a dazzling

  smile, she said, “Now that Maisie's home, I feel much

  more optimistic about our case.”

  One thing, Annabel, before you go,” Nancy said.

  “Did you have any luck getting Malcolm's message

  pad?”

  “Ah, yes.” She reached into a desk drawer and

  pulled out the pad. Nancy examined it in the light of

  the window.

  “I don't see anything,” she said, before handing it

  back to Annabel.

  “Well, girls,” Annabel said, “we'll see you both at

  dinner.”

  After the Petersons left, Nancy said, “I know you

  don't agree with me, George, but Malcolm still looks

  guilty. I'd like to keep a close eye on him tonight. That

  road sign is pretty suspicious, and also nothing bad has

  happened to him at the inn so far. And just because

  there's no mark on his message pad proves nothing.”

  “But what about the earring, Nan?” George asked. “I

  know you said it might have nothing to do with the

  case, but I kind of doubt it. I mean, how many visitors

  does that cave get? It's in the middle of nowhere. I'll

  bet you anything the person we're looking for is a

  woman—or at least has an accomplice who's a woman,

  like Devendra's wife.”

  “Still, let's take turns watching Malcolm's stairway

  through the night. Who knows? We just might catch

  him getting ready to do some trick.”

  “All right,” George agreed, “but I'm convinced

  you're suspecting an innocent man.”

  “I say, Annabel,” Ashley Macmillan-Brown

  remarked over her lemon cake with mint-flavored

  sheep's milk ice cream that evening at dinner. “This

  dessert is scrumptious. I'd thought sheep's milk ice

  cream sounded foul, but really it's lovely.”

  Annabel smiled as she poured the guests coffee from

  a gleaming silver pot.

  This is good,” Nigel agreed. “I'm so glad that the

  right food has managed to come my way for the last

  three nights. Maybe these strange pranks have ended.”

  Annabel laughed as she set the coffee pot down. “I

  hope so,” she said, holding up crossed fingers. “Did

  everyone know that Maisie was found this afternoon?

  Perhaps that's a sign that our run of bad luck is finally

  over.”

  “Could be,” Malcolm said cheerfully. “After all,

  nothing too awful has happened here since yesterday

  when Maisie disappeared—unless we count my

  embarrassing loss at tennis today to Nigel.” He slapped

  the restaurant critic on the back as the man was sipping

  his coffee.

  Nigel glowered at Malcolm. “Don't you dare do

  anything to compromise my perfect meal,” he snapped,

  mopping up a spot of spilled coffee from his lap.

  Mr. Macmillan-Brown cleared his throat. “Nothing

  awful has happened today, that's true,” he mused. “But

  does that mean the pranks have ended? Or does it

  mean that the culprit will strike again soon, now that

  the dog has been found and everything seems to be

  back to normal?”

  “But the Dartmoor area is never normal,” Georgina

  put in. “No one expects it to be.”

  There was an awkward silence as everyone digested

  Georgina's remark. Then Nigel said, “Macmillan-

  Brown, you're making me nervous. Let's not dwell on

  bad things that might happen but probably won't.”

  “Has it occurred to anyone that the chap might be

  one of us?” Ashley asked innocently. Her worried eyes

  scanned the various guests.

  “Hush, dear,” her mother said. “That's a bit rude.”

  Everyone finished dinner in an edgy silence. Finally

  Malcolm pushed back his chair. “I'm tired—I think I'll

  read in my room this evening. I intend to get a good

  night's sleep so I can beat George in tennis tomorrow,”

  he added, winking at her.

  George shot him a pleased smile. “He doesn't seem

  to be annoyed with us anymore,” she whispered to

  Nancy.

  Nancy leaned toward George. “No, but if he thinks

  we're onto some other suspect, he's wrong,” she

  murmured. “Let's go to bed early so we can watch his

  room.”

  After dinner Nancy and George sat around the living

  room fireplace for a while with the other guests and

  told them about their ride on the moor. After they'd

  described the fog coming in, Georgina gave a horrified

  gasp, then chimed in with yet another ghost story.

  When Ashley asked her father to play a game of chess,

  the group broke up to do different activities, and

  Nancy and George excused themselves to go upstairs.

  Once inside their room, they cracked open their

  door, which had a perfect view of the third-floor

  stairway.

  “This is a lucky break for us,” Nancy commented.

  “We can watch Malcolm's stairway from our room. Do

  you want to take the first watch, George, or shall I?”

  “I'll do it,” George offered. “You get some shut-eye,

  Nancy. I'll wake you if I hear any action—human,

  ghost, or otherwise.”

  “Thanks, George,” Nancy said with a grin. After

  throwing on a nightgown, she settled gratefully into

  bed. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

  “Nancy!” George's urgent voice woke her.

  “Someone's walking in the hallway!”

  Nancy sat up with a jolt. She could tell that several

  hours had passed because the bright hallway light was

  off and a hush had fallen over the house.

  In two seconds flat, Nancy joined George by the


  cracked-open door. The girls huddled down and

  peered through it. A small lamp in the downstairs foyer

  provided a dim light.

  Soft footsteps padded nearby. Nancy held her

  breath, listening. To her surprise, the footsteps weren't

  coming from Malcolm's upstairs room. They were

  coming from down the hallway to their left.

  “Maybe those stories about Dartmoor's ghosts are

  true,” George whispered.

  “No way, Fayne,” Nancy muttered. “You're letting

  Dartmoor get to you.” But despite her bold words, her

  spine prickled.

  Of course there were no such things as ghosts, she

  told herself, but the big old silent house was creepy at

  this hour. She shivered, hugging her nightgown to her

  chest as she crouched by the door. She didn't dare

  open it wider for fear the person would notice them.

  The grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer slowly

  began to chime, drowning out the sound of the

  footsteps. Twelve chimes, Nancy counted. Midnight.

  Once more the footsteps sounded in the hall, and

  Nancy thought she heard a soft sigh. Could it be the

  wind? she wondered. She cast an anxious glance

  behind her at the curtain fluttering in the night breeze.

  She looked again through the crack—and her breath

  stuck in her throat. In the shadowy light, a pale, eerie-

  looking figure glided into view. It was a woman

  wearing a long white robe, moving with her arms

  outstretched.

  13. The Haunted Hallway

  A rush of adrenaline shot through Nancy as the

  apparition floated by them. After the stories she'd

  heard about ghosts in Dartmoor, she couldn't help but

  feel shocked at the sight of one. After a moment Nancy

  took stock of the situation. The pale woman wasn't

  some specter roaming the halls of Moorsea Manor by

  night. She was Georgina Trevor—sleepwalking!

  With her eyes closed, Georgina moved toward the

  large curved stairway that led downstairs. She started

  down it, her wraithlike shadow moving like some huge

  insect on the cream-colored wall. Seconds later she

  disappeared around a bend.

  Nancy and George traded amazed glances. “Let's

  go,” Nancy whispered. She grabbed a robe from a hook

  on the door and threw it on.

  They hurried into the hall. Clutching the banister,

  they peered down the stairs just in time to see

  Georgina's white robe trailing into the dining room.

  Nancy and George ran down the stairs. Their bare

  feet made no sound on the cold marble floor of the

  foyer. They tiptoed into the dining room.

  The pantry door was swinging back and forth, but

  the dining room was empty. “She's in the pantry,”

  Nancy whispered, pointing at the door.

  “She seems to know exactly where she's going,”

  George commented suspiciously as the two girls

  sneaked toward the door. “Wouldn't sleepwalkers be

  acting a little klutzier? I'll bet she's faking.”

  “I'm not sure,” Nancy said. “Let's open the door and

  see what she's doing now.”

  George opened the pantry door a crack and peeked

  through. Turning to Nancy, she said, “Georgina's in

  there, all right—standing totally still in the kitchen

  doorway. I can see the back of her robe.”

  “I wonder if she's tampering with tomorrow's

  breakfast,” Nancy said. “Hurry. Let's follow her.”

  Hustling past George, she pushed the pantry door

  open wider. A sudden gut-wrenching squeak from the

  hinges made goosebumps rise on Nancy's skin and

  made George jump.

  Georgina whirled around. “Who's there?” she

  screeched, her watery eyes wide with shock. “Oh, it's

  you two. You gave me a fright. I thought you might be

  one of the ghosts that live in this house.” She placed a

  hand on her heart, breathing heavily.

  “We're sorry, Georgina,” Nancy said, pretending to

  be surprised at seeing her. Fudging an excuse so that

  Georgina wouldn't think they'd followed her on

  purpose, Nancy added, “Uh . . . we couldn't sleep, so

  we decided to come downstairs to get a snack.”

  “You say there are ghosts here?” George inter-

  rupted. “Have you seen them?”

  “No,” Georgina said with a dismissive shrug. “But

  I'm certain they're here—somewhere. I can feel it in

  my bones.”

  “So, what are you doing here, Georgina?” Nancy cut

  in. “Looking for a snack, too?”

  Georgina wrinkled her tiny nose, reminding Nancy

  of a confused rabbit. “A snack?” she echoed. “No, I

  don't think so. I must have been sleepwalking. I do that

  from time to time. In fact”—she glanced around with a

  puzzled air—“I have no memory of coming down here

  at all.”

  “You were wide-awake when we walked through this

  door,” Nancy remarked.

  “Was I? Well, that awful squeak must have woken

  me up. The Petersons really should oil that hinge. It's

  disgraceful.”

  “The Petersons have had a lot on their mind, lately,”

  George said.

  “Ah, yes,” Georgina said with a vague smile. “They

  have, haven't they?”

  Nancy studied Georgina as the older woman gazed

  into the distance. Was she really this, absentminded

  and weird? Nancy wondered. Or was she putting on an

  act? One thing Nancy was sure of: no way was she

  going to leave Georgina alone and go back to bed.

  Nancy stepped forward and slipped her arm through

  Georgina's. “Let's go upstairs. George and I want to

  make sure you get to your room safely.”

  Georgina fluttered her eyelashes. “Don't worry

  about me, Nancy. Why don't you girls fix yourselves

  snacks? I can get back upstairs on my own just fine now

  that I'm awake.”

  “No,” George said, taking her other arm, “we insist.

  You still seem a little shaky. We can't let you go back to

  your room all alone.”

  Georgina looped her arm through George's. Then,

  bowing her head, she meekly allowed herself to be

  escorted upstairs to her room.

  “I must have had a bad dream,” she murmured

  along the way. “That's usually why I sleepwalk.”

  “All these ghosts in the house,” George said, arching

  an eyebrow at Nancy over Georgina's head. “They

  make it impossible for anyone to get a good night's

  sleep.”

  Georgina beamed. “You're an understanding soul,”

  she commented once they'd reached her bedroom

  door. She looked George over approvingly. “Those

  spirits do make it very hard for one to get a good

  night's sleep.” Then, without another word, she flitted

  into her room and shut the door.

  Nancy and George hurried back to their room. Once

  inside, Nancy said, “So, George—do you think it's

  possible for anyone to be that spacey? Or do you think

  she's covering up a clever plan to tamper with our

  breakfast?”<
br />
  George burst out laughing. “Sorry, Nan,” she said

  after a moment. “But I've been stifling that ever since

  Georgina opened her mouth downstairs. That stuff

  about the ghosts is too much. I can't figure her out at

  all. She doesn't seem capable of putting together a

  single straight sentence, much less masterminding a

  plan to put the Petersons out of business.”

  Nancy thought about the earring she had found in

  the cave. Could it be Georgina's? she wondered.

  “Tomorrow,” she said aloud, “I'm going to search

  Georgina's room. If I can find the matching earring,

  then our mystery will be solved.” Sneaking a grin at

  George, Nancy added, “Sorry to disappoint you,

  George, but Malcolm isn't off the hook—he might still

  make an appearance. Anyway, you go to sleep. It's my

  turn to watch.”

  By five in the morning, Nancy had slipped back into

  bed in frustration. After their midnight encounter with

  Georgina, the house had been disappointingly quiet.

  “She's sick?” Nancy asked, staring in surprise at

  Annabel the next morning. “What's wrong?”

  Nancy, Annabel, and Hugh were standing on the

  beach. The Petersons were cleaning rowboats and

  securing oars in the locks, preparing for an exploration

  party to a nearby island later that afternoon.

  The crisp sea breeze slapped against Nancy's face.

  Sunlight danced on the blue water, and tiny whitecaps

  foamed here and there across the huge expanse of sea.

  The crescent-shaped beach, littered with driftwood

  and shells, was sheltered, but the waves looked bigger

  today than they had before, Nancy thought. Hugh was

  taking a quick break from his work to throw sticks into

  the sea for Maisie.

  “Georgina's got a headache,” Annabel explained,

  responding to Nancy's question. “She came down to

  the kitchen early this morning and told me she felt

  quite under the weather, so I fixed her a breakfast tray,

  which she took upstairs.”

  “I guess there's no way I can check out her room this

  morning,” Nancy said, feeling frustrated.

  Annabel shook her head. “I'm sorry, Nancy, but

  Georgina's definitely up there. She told me she hopes

  to sleep off her headache after breakfast, and she asked

  that the maid wait till the afternoon to clean her room.

  Apparently, Georgina didn't have a very good sleep last

  night.”

  Nancy cast her mind back to the unsettling events of