The Mystery of the Whispering Witch Page 2

  “I think I’ll come with you,” Mart said. “I’ll tell you what, shrimp. I’ll tuck you in and stay while the others are leaving.”

  Undaunted, Bobby looked up at him and asked, “Will you tell me another story?”

  Mart didn’t look at Trixie. “I’ll tell you the story of Peter Rabbit,” he answered, “or maybe the one about the tiger who looked like a pussycat. But something tells me I’d better not tell you another ghost story, okay?” Bobby’s bedroom door closed firmly behind them.

  Trixie glanced quickly at Fay. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Mart would never have told that story if he’d known you were going to be here.”

  “It’s okay, really,” Fay answered. “It’s interesting to hear someone else’s version of what happened.” She turned and hurried toward Brian, who had just hung up the telephone receiver. “Did you get hold of the doctor, Brian? Is he coming right away?”

  Brian smiled at her reassuringly. “Everything’s all set,” he answered, reaching for his car keys. “Let’s go.”

  Honey shrugged herself into her jacket. “Trix, why did you tell Fay you were sorry?” she whispered. “What’s the big deal about telling her the witch story?”

  Trixie paused at the front door. “Oh, Honey, didn’t you know?” she asked softly. “The old mansion Bobby was talking about was Lisgard House. The house is supposed to be haunted, just the way he said.”

  Honey still looked puzzled. “So?”

  “So Fay and her mother moved into it just a few weeks ago,” Trixie answered. “Hold on to your hat, Honey. We’re about to visit a ghost!”

  Moments later, Trixie’s feelings were mixed as Brian’s old jalopy sped along Glen Road. She was, of course, very sorry that Fay’s mother had been hurt. On the other hand, she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement as she thought of the mysterious nineteenth-century mansion they were about to see.

  Lisgard House had fascinated Trixie for as long as she could remember. Situated close to Martin’s Marsh, it was surrounded by iron railings and locked gates. Every weekday, in the bus, when Trixie passed it on her way to and from Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School, she could never resist craning her neck to see over the thick growth of foliage that almost hid the place from view.

  Although Mart had exaggerated in telling the story to Bobby, it was true that, at one time, a witch was supposed to have lived in the old mansion. The original house, with the witch inside it, had been burned. And the mansion that had been rebuilt on the site was supposed to be haunted by Sarah Sligo’s ghost.

  Trixie had often hoped to catch a glimpse of the ghostly figure said to haunt the house, but to her intense disappointment, she never had.

  Over the years, none of the Lisgards had encouraged visitors. The last Lisgard of them all, old Caleb, had been the worst of them. A mean-spirited and short-tempered man, he had been a recluse. For the last years of his life, he had shut himself away from the world and had refused to see anyone, except for the odd servant or two whom he had managed, with difficulty, to hire.

  He had died only a few months before. Trixie knew that the house had been inherited by a nephew-in-law, Lewis Gregory. She wondered what he was like. Most of all, she wondered what on earth had persuaded Fay and her mother to come to work in such a gloomy place.

  Brian pulled up beside the enormous iron front gates that faced Glen Road.

  “Oh, no, Brian,” Fay said hurriedly, “we won’t go in this way. Take this side turn here. It leads to the back of the house. I—I left the gates there unlocked purposely so I could get back in quickly.”

  Honey shivered as Brian’s car turned away from the familiarity of the lighted road and bumped its way along a rutted lane that ran alongside tall, spiked railings. High trees, growing on either side of the potholed road, stretched bare arms to the black sky, and birds, disturbed by the noise of the car’s engine, flew, in alarm from the branches.

  “We’re almost there,” Fay announced breathlessly, leaning forward across Brian’s shoulder. “Here! Turn here!”

  Obediently, Brian twisted the wheel and drove through iron gates, smaller than the massive ones in front, though somehow just as forbidding.

  Trixie knew that Martin’s Marsh lay close behind them. She felt Honey clutch her arm.

  “Listen, Trix,” Honey commanded. “Can you hear them?”

  As Brian pulled up beside the door that was obviously intended to be the service entrance, he turned off the car’s engine. It was then that Trixie heard the sounds that had caught Honey’s attention.

  Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit!

  Trixie laughed. “It’s only the marsh frogs,” she said.

  “Or little boys who’ve been enchanted by the witch’s spell,” Honey answered, still trembling.

  Brian and Fay had already jumped from the car and hurried into the house.

  Trixie and Honey were about to follow them, when, all at once, Trixie stiffened. Her gaze focused on something over Honey’s shoulder.

  Her friend cried out in alarm at the expression on Trixie’s intent face. “Trixie! What is it? What’s the matter? What do you see?”

  Trixie stared at the dim outline of a figure that had suddenly appeared around the corner of the house. It seemed to hesitate for one long moment. Then, as Trixie watched, it faded silently into the dark shadows behind it.

  Trixie gasped and could almost hear the pounding of her own heart. “Oh, Honey,” she said at last, “I’m not sure—but I think I’ve just seen the witch’s ghost!”

  Trixie Is Warned ● 2

  HONEY STARED and turned her head quickly toward the dark shadows. “G-Ghost?” she quavered. “Are you sure it was the ghost?”

  Trixie frowned. “No,” she said slowly, “I m not sure at all. It came and it went, almost before I realized it.” She told Honey exactly what she’d seen.

  Honey’s teeth chattered. “Whatever it was, I don’t like the sound of it, Trix. Do you suppose the others would miss us if we went home?”

  Trixie couldn’t blame her friend for feeling nervous. She almost felt the same way herself— almost, but not quite. It would be unthinkable to pass up this terrific opportunity to see the inside of a genuine haunted house, after all the years of wanting to.

  All the same, it took all of Trixie’s powers of persuasion to get Honey to follow her inside. It was only when Trixie reminded her friend about their errand of mercy that Honey agreed, at last, to follow her.

  Once inside the back door, Honey almost turned right around and walked out again.

  The two girls found themselves standing in a long, dimly lit passageway. Its dark-paneled walls were gloomy and forbidding. Trixie later discovered that the walls throughout the house were paneled with this same dark, somber wood, barely relieved by a dismal-looking picture here and there.

  “I don’t believe this place,” Honey breathed, gazing about her. “Whoever decorated the hallway certainly had taste—all of it bad!”

  Trixie grinned in agreement and followed the sound of voices coming from an open doorway.

  She could hear Brian’s deep tones and Fay’s lighter ones—and one other voice, which, she correctly guessed, was that of Fay’s mother.

  Trixie spared only one glance for the gloomy kitchen, shuddered as she noticed the dark green paint, and hurried at once to her brother’s side.

  Brian was crouched beside a middle-aged woman who lay awkwardly on the floor. Her head was cradled by a pillow pulled hastily, Trixie assumed, from someone’s bed. Her features, which in normal circumstances would have resembled her daughter’s, were twisted with pain.

  “Now, stay still and try not to worry,” Brian was saying. “Both the doctor and the ambulance will be here soon.” He looked up. “You know, Trix, it might not be a bad idea if someone went and stood at that front gate to let them in.”

  “I’ll go,” Fay said at once. “I’ll have to direct them around to the back. They can’t get in the front way. Those gates are locked, and I don’t have the ke
y.”

  “Then who’s got it?” Trixie asked.

  Fay hesitated. “Our odd-job man, Zeke. He— he’s not here right now....” She hurried from the room.

  Brian introduced both Trixie and Honey to Mrs. Franklin, who said, “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance. I can’t think how this could have happened—”

  It was strange, but Trixie thought she could detect a note of reserve in Mrs. Franklin’s voice. It was almost as if she knew something that she wasn’t about to tell anyone.

  “Try not to worry about it,” Brian repeated.

  Mrs. Franklin tried to smile. “I’m trying not to,” she said, “but I can’t help worrying about— about everything. It’s so silly that this had to happen, what with Mr. Gregory being away and everything. He’s not due back from his business trip till tomorrow afternoon, you see.” She looked anxiously at Brian. “I suppose I will have to go to the hospital.”

  Brian nodded his dark head. “Yes, and I think you’d better plan on being there for a few days, Mrs. Franklin,” he said.

  Suddenly Trixie realized one of the things that must be worrying the injured woman. She bent down and said gently, “Please don’t trouble yourself about what’s going to happen to Fay while you’re gone. She can stay with us at Crab-apple Farm for as long as she wants. Moms won’t mind at all. In fact, if she were here, she would be the first one to think of it.”

  “That’s right,” Brian confirmed quickly. “It was dumb of me not to have suggested it myself.”

  “She can come and stay with me, too,” Honey put in eagerly. “We have lots of room in our house, and anything would be better than having to stay here—” She broke off, suddenly realizing what she’d said.

  Mrs. Franklin laughed. “Please don’t look so guilty, dear,” she said. “I do know what you mean. But it’s not so bad working here, really. Sometimes, when the sun’s shining, the old house looks almost cheerful.”

  Trixie glanced at the gloomy kitchen and thought again of the long shadows in the passage outside. She wondered if the rest of the house was any better. If it was worse, she couldn’t imagine that anything about the old mansion could ever look cheerful.

  Mrs. Franklin seemed to sense Trixie’s thoughts. “We—Fay and I—haven’t been here long, as you know,” she explained. “We were living in New York City until recently, but I needed a job badly. I’m a widow, you see, and it isn’t easy—” She paused. “Then I came across Mr. Gregory’s ad for a housekeeper. I—I jumped at the chance at once. The wages are good—very good.”

  They'd have to be, Trixie thought, if Mr. Gregory wanted to keep any servant working here. I wonder how much Mrs. Franklin knows about the history of this place?

  “I think someone’s arriving at last!” Brian exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

  He was right. Trixie heard the back door slam, and soon brisk footsteps sounded in the passage.

  “All right,” a cheerful voice said. “Now, what’s going on here?” It was Dr. Ferris.

  After that, everything seemed to happen at once. It wasn’t any time at all before the ambulance, too, had arrived. The white-coated attendants looked, Trixie thought, a little nervous and apprehensive. Under Dr. Ferris’s supervision, they transferred Mrs. Franklin from floor to stretcher, while Fay hovered anxiously behind them.

  “All right, boys, easy now,” Dr. Ferris ordered as, with the stretcher, they made their way carefully to the kitchen door. “You get along to the hospital as quickly as you can. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Whew!” Trixie heard one of the attendants say as they left the room. “I’ll sure be glad to get out of this place. It gives me the creeps. How about you, Harry?”

  Trixie was never to learn what Harry’s reaction was, for Dr. Ferris was already giving Fay brisk instructions.

  “No, young lady,” he was telling her, “you don’t need to come with me. There’s nothing you can do tonight, and you’ll only be in the way. It’s a broken hip all right, and the next item on the agenda is to set it. Take my word for it, your mother is going to be just fine. She won’t feel a thing. We’ll put her to sleep to do this job, and she’ll snooze like a baby when we’re through. You just concentrate on looking after yourself. If I need you, I know where to find you. Don’t worry about a thing. You going to stay here?”

  Trixie took a step forward. “Fay’s coming with us to Crabapple Farm,” she said. “At least, she can if she wants to. Honey’s invited her to Manor House, too.”

  Fay smiled faintly but shook her curly head. “Thank you—all of you—but I think I’d better stay here.”

  Honey shivered and glanced around her. “Stay here? Oh, Fay, why would anyone want to stay in this spooky place—?” She broke off, realizing that she’d been guilty of tactlessness again.

  “I know Mr. Gregory—my mother’s employer —wouldn’t want the house left empty,” Fay explained, “and now there’s no one but me to look after it. There’re a lot of valuable antiques here, you see.”

  Dr. Ferris reached for his bag. “Ah, well, I’ll let you youngsters argue this out among yourselves.” He turned and strode toward the door. “In the meantime, young lady,” he said to Fay, “I’ll leave word at the hospital that you can visit your mother tomorrow morning—not before, understand?”

  He waved a cheerful hand and was gone. A moment later, they heard the sound of his car’s engine as it followed the wailing ambulance out of the grounds.

  “Don’t worry,” Brian told Fay. “Your mother will be fine. We’ve known Dr. Ferris for years, and he’s the best there is.”

  Trixie set her jaw. “Now, about staying here alone tonight—”

  Fay turned away from the door where she’d been standing. “It’s very kind of you,” she said, “but I’ve made up my mind. This job means a lot to my mother and me, and we—we don’t want to lose it. I appreciate your offer, honestly, but I’d better stay.”

  There was silence. Trixie knew only too well what she had to do next, and she could tell that Honey did, too. Honey was already looking as nervous and as apprehensive as those ambulance attendants had.

  Trixie took a deep breath. “Honey and I feel that you shouldn’t stay here alone,” she said at last. “So we’ll be glad to stay here with you—if you’d like us to, that is.”

  Fay jumped at their offer with such alacrity that Trixie realized that their new friend really hadn’t wanted to stay alone, any more than they themselves would have wanted to.

  “Then that’s settled,” Trixie said, glancing at Honey out of the corner of her eye.

  “Of course,” Honey said faintly. “I know my parents won’t mind. They think I’m spending the night at Trixie’s, anyway.”

  “I really appreciate this.” Fay sounded grateful. “I’d better see to the sleeping arrangements. My mother and I usually share a small room over there—off the kitchen. It does have twin beds, and there’s also a very comfortable armchair. I could make that up for one of us.” She hurried away.

  Brian picked up the pillow from the floor and placed it, unthinkingly, on a kitchen counter. “Are you two sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled.

  “Of course we’ll be okay,” Trixie answered, sounding more sure than she felt. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  Honey moved toward the door. “I’d better go and help Fay,” she said nervously. “If I stand here doing nothing, I’m going to change my mind and come home with you, Brian. Jeepers! Imagine spending a night in a haunted house voluntarily. I must be crazy!”

  Trixie didn’t say anything until Honey had left the room. Then she told Brian, “You’ll have to explain to Moms and Dad what’s happened. Maybe you’d better phone Manor House and tell them, too. Okay, Brian?”

  “Sure.” Her brother turned toward the door, then hesitated. “Listen, Trix, you’re not worried about staying in this place tonight, are you? A lot of the tales told about Lisgard House, if not most of them, are just local gossip, you know.”

  “I know,
” Trixie answered slowly, “but I can’t help wondering how much of it is true.”

  “I’m sure some of it is,” Brian said. “But you have to remember that stories passed by word of mouth for generations tend to get bent out of shape over the years. You heard Mart’s version tonight, for example.”

  Trixie frowned. “What about seeing the witch’s ghost?” she asked, thinking of the dim figure she’d seen such a short time before. She told Brian about it.

  He laughed. “It was probably only old Zeke Collins, Trix. He’s the odd-job man around here, as you know.”

  Trixie was puzzled. “But if it was Zeke, why wouldn’t he have come to help? He must have known something was going on—especially when he noticed the doctor’s car, to say nothing of the ambulance.”

  Brian shrugged his shoulders. “He’s supposed to be one of those characters who keep to themselves, Trix. Maybe he thought it was none of his business and just turned around and went home. He lives somewhere on these grounds. He’s got a cottage here, I think.”

  Trixie wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or sorry to hear this sensible explanation. Too, she wasn’t sure she believed it. The figure she’d seen could have been that of Zeke Collins, she supposed. But what if it hadn’t been? Could it have been the witch’s ghost? More important, did she really believe in ghosts, anyway? Sometimes she was certain that she didn’t believe at all that a person could return in any way, shape, or form after death.

  On the other hand, she thought, sometimes strange things happen—and there doesn’t seem to be any logical explanation for them.

  After Brian had gone, Trixie stood alone in the gloomy kitchen and listened to the sound of his old jalopy as it faded away in the distance.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to offer to stay here with Fay tonight,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe we should have insisted that she come home with us, instead.” She sighed. “Oh, well! I’ve really done it this time.” She looked up at the dark ceiling, as if some spirit hovering there could hear her. “Listen, Miss Witch,” she spoke up. “Are you there? If you’re going to do any haunting tonight, do me a favor and wait till I’m asleep, okay?”