The Mystery of the Whispering Witch Page 6

  Trixie pushed back her chair and stood up. “That’s stupid,” she snapped, her blue eyes blazing. “I thought you two would be able to help. I should have known better. Fay’s in trouble, real trouble.”

  Brian looked up at her and asked, “What did Dad say about all this?”

  Trixie had the grace to blush. “I—uh—didn’t tell him—that is, not everything.”

  “Why not?” Mart demanded.

  Trixie looked down at her feet. “I didn’t want to worry him and Moms,” she said, “so I just told both of them that Fay’s mother had an accident, and that we’d been planning to spend the night at Lisgard House, but then we’d decided to come back here, instead.”

  “Did you tell them what time you arrived home?” Brian asked. He frowned up at her. “It wasn’t the smartest idea in the world to walk home alone at two o’clock in the morning, you know.”

  “To say nothing about throwing pebbles up at our window,” Mart added. “You nearly scared us out of half a year’s growth.”

  Trixie glared at him. “It would take a lot to scare you out of any growth, Mart Belden,” she retorted, “especially out this way.” She made a large circle of her arms and then extended them noutward beyond the region of her stomach.

  Brian chuckled. “She’s got you there, Mart. If you don’t stop eating, one of these days we’ll be calling you Mr. Five-by-Five.”

  “I’d rather be called Five-by-Five than Two-by-Four,” Mart answered blandly. As his brother and sister raised their eyebrows, puzzled, he added, “That’s the size of Trixie’s brain—in centimeters, that is.”

  Furious, Trixie was about to snap back at him, when she remembered her resolution of the night before. Instead, she contented herself with giving him a superior, tolerant look. “At the height of last night’s—uh—confusion,” she said at last, “I made up my mind that the next time you called me a pea-brain, Mart, I would agree with you.”

  “Such humility is astonishing!” Mart declared at once. “And to what circumstance do we owe such an astounding reversal of your self-esteem?” Trixie looked down at her hands. “I was wondering if Fay had locked up the house,” she said, her voice low. “She had.”

  Mart pushed back his chair and stood up. “That seems to settle that, then,” he said, the teasing note gone from his voice. “If no one could get into the house, Trix, then it had to be either Fay or Honey perpetrating a particularly putrid practical joke. We’ve already agreed that Honey wouldn’t do such a thing. So guess which one that leaves.”

  “Oh, Mart, I’m sure Fay wouldn’t do such a thing,” Trixie said slowly, but she didn’t sound as certain as she had before.

  Mart pushed back his chair and strolled to the refrigerator. He paused with his hand on the door. “Mind you, I’m not saying Fay did do the dirty deed. Never let it be said that I’d think evil of an honored houseguest, but—” he paused—“we don’t know that much about her, you know. She might be playing some game we know nothing about. I’d be careful if I were you. And I certainly wouldn’t go anywhere near that spooky old house again, if I could help it.”

  Trixie didn’t look at him. “Umm—that’s the next thing I was going to tell you. We—that is, Fay and I—have to go back there sometime today.”

  Brian stared at her. “Trixie! What on earth for?”

  “We—umm—that is, we left in such a hurry last night,” Trixie said quickly, “that we weren’t looking when we grabbed some clothes and flung them into a suitcase. We thought we’d packed what Fay would need for her stay here, but when we put everything away this morning, we—we discovered that we had grabbed all the wrong things for Fay to wear.”

  Trixie could tell that her brothers had already guessed what she was about to ask next. Brian’s next words proved it.

  “And so you want us to come with you to pack the right things?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

  “Can’t you make do with what you’ve got?” Mart asked. “For crying out loud, what does she need? A couple pairs of jeans, a shirt or two? What did you pack?”

  “Bathing suits,” Trixie said and looked up at last at her almost-twin. “Why, Mart, what’s the matter? Don’t you want to visit the haunted house? Are you afraid that Sarah Sligo will turn you into a little green frog and that you will go ribbit, ribbit, ribbit forevermore?”

  Brian sighed. “Okay, Trix. We’ll come with you after I’ve taken Fay to visit her mother in the hospital. We’ve called Dr. Ferris, and he said Mrs. Franklin was doing fine, by the way. I told Fay we’d be ready to leave in an hour.”

  Trixie felt more relieved than she was ready to admit. Although she had been prepared to go with Fay to collect her clothes, she hadn’t been looking forward to it one bit. She knew that Honey felt the same way. Perhaps, too, Fay would feel better about explaining her problem to them once she had seen that her mother was really all right.

  Only once that morning had Trixie tried to ask about what Fay had wanted to tell them the previous night. But when Trixie mentioned the subject, Fay hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

  She had merely squeezed Trixie’s hand and said, “I’ll tell you later, Trixie, honestly I will. But let’s just leave it for a while, okay? I—I’m enjoying myself so much here. You have no idea how nice it is to hear a sound overhead and realize it’s only Bobby or Reddy or Brian or Mart. I don’t have to wonder if it’s someone—or something— else.” She had paused. “Besides, I’m sure I can trust both you and Honey, but—”

  It was then that kindhearted Honey, seeing Fay’s discomfort, had offered to show her Manor House and its grounds.

  “I should have let her tell me all about it last night,” Trixie muttered to herself. “As it is, I’m simply dying of curiosity.”

  “You usually are,” Mart remarked, taking a bowl of apples from the refrigerator and setting it carefully in the center of the table. “And speaking of curiosity, perhaps you, Trixie, can provide your elders and betters with some relief from one minor, but persistent, twinge of guilt experienced by two male members of your clan.”

  “Oh, Mart!” Trixie exclaimed. “Why can’t you ever speak plain English?” She watched him as he reached toward the apple bowl. His hand hovered over it.

  She knew him only too well. He had finished his breakfast; now he was ready for a snack!

  Brian chuckled and laid down his fork. “Mart means that he and I have been feeling guilty because we walked out on you last night, Trix— before all the excitement began, that is. We were just wondering if you’d finished your homework.” Trixie had a sudden sneaky thought. “Take two apples from three apples, and what do you have?” she asked innocently.

  Mart looked puzzled. Then he reached for three apples and lined them up on the table in front of him. “That’s easy,” he said. He put two apples into Trixie’s hands. “Take two apples from three apples, and what do you have?”

  Trixie looked at the apple on the table. She sighed. “One apple.”

  Brian laughed. “Think again, Trix. How many do you have?”

  A slow grin spread across Trixie’s face. “I have two apples. No, Mart has two apples. He’s earned them.” She placed them into her almost-twin’s hands.

  Mart frowned. “I have no conception of what that was all about. The question remains, bird-brain, did you finish your homework?”

  Trixie laughed, her worries about her new friend temporarily forgotten. “I have now,” she answered, her blue eyes twinkling.

  A few moments later, she was on her way. to find her mother, when she overheard Mart say, “Bathing suits? Did Trixie say they packed bathing suits? In November? What on earth could they have been thinking of?”

  “Probably witches and curses and ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night,” Brian misquoted softly. “You know, Mart, I don’t like the sound of any of this. No, I don’t like the sound of it at all.”

  At once, all of Trixie’s fears came rushing back. So sensible Brian, too, was worried about the strange happen
ings at Lisgard House.

  “And I don’t like the sound of it, either,” Trixie muttered softly to herself, suddenly sure there was worse to come.

  Is Fay Possessed? ● 8

  TRIXIE FELT GUILTY when at last she found her mother. Helen Belden was in the guest room, making sure that everything would be comfortable for Trixie’s new friend.

  “I thought she’d be more at ease if I put her in here,” Mrs. Belden explained as she caught sight of Trixie in the doorway.

  Trixie felt her cheeks grow hot. “I meant to tidy up in here, Moms,” she said. “I guess I forgot about it. I can do it now, though, if you’d like.” Mrs. Belden smiled at her daughter. “You’re too late, dear. It’s just about all done. But really, Trixie, I can’t think why you didn’t let Fay use this room last night. It must have been very uncomfortable with three of you trying to fit into two beds.”

  “We managed,” Trixie answered, remembering how she and Honey had let Fay have one bed to herself, while they shared the other.

  She hesitated. “Moms, what do you know about Mrs. Franklin—Fay’s mother?”

  Mrs. Belden brushed a strand of fair hair away from her pretty face. “Well, I’ve met her a couple of times in Lytell’s store,” she answered. “I thought she was a very pleasant person. I invited her here for coffee on a couple of occasions, but each time, something came up and she couldn’t come. I do think she’s had a difficult time of it, though. It can’t be easy trying to raise a child on one’s own these days.”

  “And Fay?” Trixie asked, thinking of her brothers’ suspicions. “What do you know about Fay?”

  Mrs. Belden looked startled. “Why, you’d know more about her than I would, Trixie. She seems like a nice youngster—a little too pale, perhaps, and certainly too thin.” She glanced at Trixie’s sturdy figure with satisfaction. “And, of course, I can tell Fay’s worried about something. Is—is it anything I can help with, dear?”

  Trixie felt a sudden rush of affection and gave her mother a fervent hug. “Thank you, Moms,” she said. “I guess we all know we can count on you for just about everything. But I don’t think you can help Fay—not just yet, anyway.”

  Mrs. Belden turned away and straightened the bright quilt on the neat maple bed. “There,” she said. “Now, everything’s ready for your guest. And, Trixie, I’ve told her she can stay for as long as she needs to.” She sighed. “I keep on thinking how lucky I am....”

  Trixie gave her a final hug and turned toward the door. “We’re very lucky, too, Moms,” she answered. “Now, about those chores you wanted me to do this morning—”

  Mrs. Belden laughed. “It’s all right, dear. You can run along. Just don’t tell your father that I let you off so easily. As for Bobby, you don’t even have to worry about baby-sitting with him today. He’s gone over to the Lynches’ to play with the twins.”

  Trixie was still smiling to herself as she hurried away to find Honey and Fay. She looked for them first in the Wheeler stable. They weren’t there, but she stopped for a moment to pet the soft nose of Susie, the little black mare.

  Trixie remembered how she and Honey had bought Susie for Miss Trask, who, with Regan, helped to manage the Wheeler estate.

  “Maybe I’ll get to ride you later on today,” Trixie whispered softly in Susie’s ear.

  Suddenly there was a clattering of hooves in the stable yard outside. A horse whinnied, and a second later, redheaded Regan strode into the stable, leading Jupiter, the Wheelers’ big black gelding.

  Jupiter’s muscles rippled under his shining coat, and Trixie took care to stand well away from his sharp hooves. Although he was one of the most beautiful of horses, he was usually hard to manage.

  Today, though, the big horse was behaving himself for once as he allowed Regan to lead him into his stall and slip the saddle from his back.

  Regan glanced at Trixie sharply. “Wonders will never cease,” he said. “At last a Bob-White has appeared voluntarily to exercise the horses. I waited for either Jim or Brian to show up, but when they didn’t, I took Jupe out myself.” He reached for a brush and began grooming the gelding.

  Trixie flushed. Regan was always complaining, and rightfully, that she and the other Bob-Whites didn’t exercise the horses as often as they should.

  She felt guilty as she glanced at the other stalls. Besides Susie, there was Strawberry, a roan who was Mart’s favorite mount; Starlight, a chestnut gelding, usually ridden by Brian; and Lady, a fine dapple gray mare. Their luminous eyes seemed to stare back at her reproachfully.

  “I’ll try to get all the Bob-Whites back here this afternoon, Regan,” she said hastily. “Honestly, I will. But for right now, I’m looking for Honey and another—uh—friend of mine.”

  Regan didn’t look up. “If the other friend is young Fay Franklin, you’ll find ’em both up at the house. They were headed that way not five minutes ago. I think Honey had been showing the Franklin girl the boathouse.” He paused, brush in hand. “What’s the matter with her, Trixie?”

  Trixie pretended to misunderstand. “You mean Honey?”

  “Of course I don’t mean Honey,” Regan replied. “I mean Fay. She seems a nervous sort of young ’un, if you ask me. When I saw them both, I pulled Jupe to a halt and asked her how she liked living in a genuine haunted house. I was only kidding, but I thought she was going to faint.” He glanced up at Trixie. “Fay doesn’t believe all that baloney about ghosts and curses, does she?”

  “I don’t know,” Trixie answered slowly. Then she remembered the question she’d meant to ask Brian this morning. “Regan, what do you know about old Caleb Lisgard—I mean, about the way he died?”

  Regan grunted and began brushing Jupiter’s sleek neck in slow, easy strokes. “There’s been plenty of gossip about it lately,” he admitted, “and some of it, I think, was started by Zeke Collins. He was there when the old man died—at least, that’s what Zeke’s been telling everyone.” He paused, brush in hand. “But then, you can’t always believe Zeke’s stories. I’ve often thought he lets his imagination get away from him.”

  “But what did he say?” Trixie asked.

  Regan turned to face her. “If what Zeke says is true, it’s the craziest thing I ever heard in my life. He said old Caleb was sitting in his study, working. He heard a noise, looked up, and what do you think he saw? Zeke says it was the ghost of Sarah Sligo.”

  “The witch again!” Trixie whispered, almost to herself.

  Regan nodded. “Yes, the witch. It gave Caleb such a shock to see her that he had a heart attack and died before Dr. Ferris could get there.”

  Trixie remembered the strange figure she herself had seen in the passage. She shuddered. “How awful!” she gasped.

  “It would be if it were true,” Regan said, frowning at her, “but don’t forget what I just told you. You can’t believe every story you hear. I certainly don’t. I’m glad to hear that that young Lewis Gregory doesn’t believe it anymore, either.”

  Trixie was startled. “He doesn’t?”

  Regan shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m sure he doesn’t. There was a time, after he first moved into that house, when everyone thought he was going to sell the place. He’d been listening to local gossip, you see—and Zeke, I’m sure, was still helping the stories along.”

  “What happened then?” Trixie asked.

  “Lewis Gregory got some sense into his head,” Regan answered as he turned back to Jupiter. “He obviously decided to hang on to Lisgard House after all, especially when everyone else told him he should.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. “Besides, no one wanted to buy it. It’s not in a very good state of repair, you know.” Trixie was convinced that the true reason was that everyone knew about the ghost. She wondered how many other people, besides herself, had seen the apparition. She almost blurted out her story to Regan, but something warned her to hold her tongue.

  She moved uneasily. “Do you believe in ghosts, Regan?” she asked him at last.

  “No,
I don’t,” he answered bluntly, “and what’s more, neither should you. You hear me?”

  Trixie could still feel his worried gaze on her back as he stood at the stable’s wide doors and then watched her hurry up the hill toward the beautiful house where Honey lived.

  Trixie couldn’t help wondering what Regan would have said if she had told him about their frightening adventure of the previous night. She had an idea he might have said at once that it was someone playing a practical joke. Brian and Mart thought so. And what if they were right?

  “Is Fay really in trouble?” she muttered to herself. “Or is she playing some mysterious game of her own? And I wonder what Honey’s thinking about all this.”

  If was Honey herself who provided the answer to the last question as soon as Trixie hurried into the Wheelers’ luxurious living room.

  Honey had obviously been holding a lowvoiced, worried conversation with Jim Frayne, who stood staring down at her as she sat on the couch.

  Jim had a funny look on his face, Trixie thought. It was the same skeptical expression that, earlier, she had seen on the faces of her brothers.

  “I was beginning to tell Jim about last night, Trix,” Honey said, “and he thinks it was a joke. I don’t! I think it’s serious—more serious than we ever imagined.” She watched as Trixie glanced quickly around the room. “It’s okay. Fay’s not here. She’s gone with Miss Trask to look over the house. But I’ve heard Fay’s story, Trix. She suddenly blurted it all out while I was showing her the lake. And it’s so serious that I’ve sent for the rest of the Bob-Whites. I’ve told them to meet us in the clubhouse in five minutes.”

  “If what Honey says is true,” Jim said, “the whole thing is simply unbelievable.”

  Trixie looked from one to the other. “What’s unbelievable?”

  Honey raised her head and looked steadily at her friend. “Fay thinks the witch’s spirit has found a new home,” she said, her voice low. “She thinks it’s found a new body to live in. You see, Trix, Fay thinks that she is becoming Sarah Sligo.”