There was another soft hiss, and then the figure disappeared. Nancy heard a thud.
She waited for the apparition to reappear, but she could see nothing through the dense fog. Then a light shone out from the window right where the floating figure had been.
Shutting the window, Nancy crept out into the dimly lit hallway, heading toward her left. She stopped outside a door with a crack of light shining underneath. She knocked softly.
After a few moments, the door opened and Abby appeared in a black velveteen robe. “Oh, Nancy,” she said, surprised. “Is anything wrong?”
“I just saw something. I think it was outside your window,” Nancy told her. “I’m not sure what it was.”
Abby smiled, arching her eyebrows. “The same thing happened when I first moved here,” she said. “I thought I saw all kinds of things I couldn’t explain. There’s definitely an aura about this house. But I’m sure there’s nothing outside my window.”
“I definitely saw something, Abby,” Nancy insisted. “Could we take a look?”
Abby’s smile dropped. She looked back over her shoulder, hesitating. “All right, but quickly,” she said.
Nancy followed Abby across her bedroom. The decor certainly was dramatic, Nancy thought—a rich-looking red-and-black patterned carpet, red flocked wallpaper, large gilt mirrors, even black satin sheets and a quilted red bedspread. Alfreida, Abby’s black cat, darted under the bed.
Leaning out the window, Nancy heard the barking dog again, but she could see nothing else. She pulled her head back in, puzzled.
“I told you,” Abby said. “It was just your imagination.” As she shut the window, it made the same thudding sound Nancy had heard a minute earlier. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to go to sleep,” Abby said pointedly.
Nancy noticed Alfreida pawing at a piece of shiny cloth sticking out from under the bed. But then Abby walked in front of Nancy, cutting off her view of the cat. She motioned to the door, a fixed smile on her face.
“Good night,” Nancy said. Unable to invent a reason to stay in Abby’s room, she went back to the Blue Room.
Bess and George were sitting up in bed. Nancy told them what had happened.
“You saw a ghost!” Bess declared.
“I think that’s what Abby wants me to think, with her talk about ‘auras,’” Nancy reasoned. “But what I saw wasn’t a ghost, and whatever it was, Abby knows something about it.”
“Nancy, maybe that’s the secret of this house—a ghost who doesn’t want anybody to live here. Maybe it was some young girl who died of a broken heart, and her ghost walks each night!” Flinging one hand theatrically to her forehead, Bess kneeled on the bed, pretending to die of heartbreak. She gripped the bedpost with the other hand.
Suddenly the bedpost knob came off in Bess’s hand. “Whoops!” Bess said, thrown off balance and nearly falling off the bed.
Bess sprang back to screw the knob back on the bedpost. But as she began to fit it onto the peg, she stopped and stared inside the hollow post. Then she gasped.
“Nancy! George! A key!”
4
A Surprise Ending
“Maybe this key will unlock the secrets of this house!” Bess said excitedly. She pulled a big, old-fashioned key from the hollow recess in the bedpost.
George scrambled over to take a look at it. “But what lock does it fit?” she wondered.
Nancy examined the key. “If we can find out where the bed came from, that may tell us what the key is for,” she said. “Bess, put the key in the bureau for safekeeping right now. And let’s not mention finding the key to anyone just yet—not until we understand what’s going on in this house.”
Nancy couldn’t remember falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes, it was daylight. She dressed quietly, slipping on jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Just as she was leaving the bedroom, George began to stretch and Bess blinked open her eyes.
“I’ll meet you sleepyheads downstairs,” Nancy said. “And I’ll try to save some of Hannah’s blueberry muffins for you.”
Bess yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I was just dreaming that I was Lizzie Applegate and I was an actress in San Francisco,” she said.
“You’re in San Francisco, all right,” George teased, “but the only acting you’re doing is pretending you aren’t hungry for those muffins.”
As she left the room, Nancy saw Abby slip through a door about halfway down the hall. Nancy started to follow but stopped when she spotted Charlie repairing the window in the Chinese Room. Now would be a good time to question him, she thought.
From the doorway, Nancy watched him fit the new window pane into the frame. Then he reached for his putty knife, one of several tools hanging from his leather belt. As he turned his head, he saw Nancy.
“Good morning, Charlie,” she said.
“Morning,” he replied gruffly.
“Gee, Charlie, what would make a window crash down like that with such terrific force?” Nancy asked, trying to sound innocently curious.
Charlie gave Nancy an odd look. Then he shrugged. “Crummy cords, that’s all,” he muttered.
Nancy frowned. Was Charlie lying or had he really not noticed that the cords had been cut? Why hadn’t he replaced the old cords when he repaired the window the first time? And why hadn’t he used putty and glazing points to hold the window in place before? He was using putty today.
Nancy decided to try to get Charlie talking. The more she knew about him, the better her chance of finding out what he knew about the “accidents.” “What work can we do today?” she asked.
“If you really want to help,” he said over his shoulder, “a couple of you girls could chip off the old paint on the woodwork outside. Then I’ll show you how to sand and prime the wood.”
“Have you restored a lot of Victorian houses?” Nancy asked, coming closer.
Charlie shrugged, continuing to work. “Sure, when I can. I love these old houses. But the work isn’t steady. Can’t make it without a second job.”
“But there are so many Victorians,” Nancy said. “I’d think there would be plenty of jobs around.”
“Plenty of people needing work, too,” he said. “Besides,” he added bitterly, “a lot of people won’t hire an old guy like me, an old guy with a limp. They think I can’t do the job.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done good work here,” Nancy said. “The woodwork in the entry hall, for example—it’s spectacular.”
Charlie turned to her. “Why, thanks,” he said in a softer voice. “It takes time, but you’ve got to do it right. It’s like I owe it to the guys who did the work so well the first time around.”
“Well, we’re happy to help,” Nancy said kindly. “I hope we can do the house justice.”
Charlie nodded and returned to his work. Nancy headed back down the hall, stopping by the door she’d seen Abby use a moment ago. She opened it and found the servants’ staircase. She went downstairs and found Rose in the kitchen, slicing apples into a large bowl of fruit salad.
“Good morning, Nancy,” Rose said cheerfully. “Did you girls sleep all right?”
“We sure did,” Nancy said. “That bed in the Blue Room is comfy, and it’s so beautiful. Where did you find it, by the way?” she asked casually, hoping for some clue about the key Bess had found.
“That was in the house when we bought it,” Rose said. “It’s so big, I imagine there’s no way to move it out of that room. I suspect it was built right there, in fact.”
Just then Bess and George trooped in from the front hall, dressed in jeans and sweatshirts. Bess eyed Rose’s fruit salad. “I’m starving!” she said.
“Still hungry?” Rose said playfully. “After gobbling up a platterful of muffins?”
Nancy, George, and Bess looked at her in confusion. “Hannah’s muffins?” Bess asked. “I’ve been looking forward to them. Where are they?”
Rose looked confused. “Why, when I came down this morning, they were all eaten. I thought you gir
ls were the culprits.”
Nancy, Bess, and George shook their heads.
“But if you didn’t eat them, who did?” Rose asked. “Hannah said she didn’t, and so did Abby—I asked them both.”
“What about Charlie?” Nancy asked, curious.
“Oh, Charlie hardly ever takes time out to eat,” Rose declared. “Besides, he wouldn’t steal anything. He’s really a good person. Maybe he seems a little grouchy, but that’s just because he feels bad that this project is so far behind. You know, he’s even charging us lower rates for his work since he saw we were getting tight on money.”
Nancy nodded, but to herself she thought, Is Rose right about Charlie? Or is she just someone who always thinks the best of other people? One thing was sure: If Charlie was causing the “accidents,” Rose didn’t suspect it.
Rose leaned against the counter, pondering. “Come to think of it,” she went on, “this isn’t the first food that’s disappeared. About a week ago, I bought a pie. Half of it was eaten during the night. I assumed it was Abby, but I didn’t ask her. She’s kind of sensitive about her weight.”
“I can sympathize with that,” Bess murmured.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Rose said briskly, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Can you girls help me carry breakfast into the dining room?”
Though the dining room wasn’t finished yet, Rose had set up a small table there. The girls helped her carry out fruit salad, buttered toast, a pitcher of orange juice, and a pot of hot coffee.
George unhooked the latch on one of the dining room windows and began to raise it. “Hey, look,” she said in surprise. “The wall’s attached to the window!” She pointed to the lower wall paneling, which Was sliding upward along with the window.
“Ah, I see you’ve discovered the jib door,” Rose said. “What looks like a window is actually a door that slides up and down.”
“What’s it for?” George asked.
“Look how large an opening you have when the jib door is open,” Rose pointed out. “It’s like having an extra door at the back of the house. It helps when you’re moving furniture in. And speaking of moving—while we’re waiting for Hannah and Abby to join us, can you help me move something?”
“Sure thing,” said Nancy. “What?”
Rose pointed at several large ceramic crocks in the corner of the dining room. “We bought these to store flour, sugar, and oatmeal,” she said. “Someday we’ll be serving big breakfasts every day—when we open for business.” She grimaced. “But it’s obviously going to be months until then. I’d like to move these crocks into the pantry for now to get them out of the way.”
“No problem,” Nancy said. The girls each lugged a heavy crock into the pantry and set them against one wall.
Just then the front doorbell rang. Rose hurried out to answer it. “Why, hello, Louis!” the girls heard her call out happily. “You’re just in time for breakfast. Come on into the dining room.”
Nancy, Bess, and George returned to the dining room as Rose entered with Louis Chandler. “I’m afraid we weren’t introduced properly, what with all of the excitement yesterday,” he greeted them pleasantly. Louis gave each girl a firm handshake as Rose introduced him.
Louis took off his cashmere muffler and overcoat. He looked quite distinguished with his crisp white shirt, silk handkerchief, and well-cut dark suit. Placing his briefcase on the table, Louis opened it to show Rose some brochures advertising the next Sunday’s Winter Festival in Golden Gate Park. “I’m very grateful to you and Abby for offering to help at my booth,” he said.
“It’s the least we can do to repay you after all the help you’ve given us,” Rose said.
Louis covered Rose’s hand with his. “Your friendship is repayment enough, Rose,” he said. “But then, I think you know that,” he added softly, leaning toward her. A glow spread over Rose’s face.
“Uh, what kind of festival will it be?” Bess asked, interrupting the twosome.
“A holiday arts and crafts fair,” Louis told her. “And there will be music, dancing, and refreshments. Various artists and small shop owners like me will display their wares in their booths. Since my merchandise is all Victorian antiques, I’m trying to convince Rose to dress as a Victorian lady.”
“Ooh! Do you need anyone else to help?” Bess spoke up promptly. “Nancy, George, and I could wear Victorian costumes, too.”
George shot Bess a stony look, but Louis seemed very pleased at Bess’s offer.
“Why, yes, that would be grand,” he said. “There are several vintage clothing stores on Sacramento Street, near my store,” he said. “You ought to be able to find some suitable costumes.”
“Speaking of helping out,” Nancy put in, “we’d like to help Rose and Abby research this house’s history. Any suggestions on where we could start?”
Louis rubbed his jaw, considering. “It’s hard to say, Nancy,” he said. “The fires after the 1906 earthquake destroyed just about all the records.”
“Why, Louis,” Abby said, suddenly appearing in the doorway, “the public library has lots of old records—old telephone directories, insurance maps, that kind of thing. Last time I was there, I picked up a booklet on how to research your house at the library.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right, Abby,” Louis said hastily. “The library does have a lot of old records. But perhaps you girls ought to focus on the work here first before getting bogged down in timeconsuming research. Rose and Abby really need your help here at the house.”
“But, Louis,” Rose said, looking puzzled, “I’ve been wanting to get this research done since we bought the house. We should have a full history of the house put together before we open. You told me that yourself.”
“Well, yes, of course, but—” Louis started. Then his smile returned. “I guess I’m just so eager to see the physical work on the house completed. But I agree, it might be useful to have the girls visit the library.” He waved a hand briskly. “Sorry, I can’t stay for breakfast, Rose, but an important client is coming to the shop.”
Louis placed his brochures back in his briefcase and kissed Rose on the cheek. Rose blushed and Louis laughed. “That’s my blushing Rose,” he said. Rose blushed even more.
Rose walked Louis to the door. Nancy frowned as she watched them go. She felt sure that Louis had known the library held those documents. Why was he trying to prevent them from doing the research?
After breakfast Abby, Hannah, and Bess went to work in the second parlor, stripping off the wallpaper that had been soaked the day before. “It’s the least I can do,” Bess said. “Even though I know I didn’t cause the flood.”
Abby threw her a forgiving glance. “Don’t worry about it, Bess,” she said. “We believe you.”
Nancy and George went outside to help Charlie. The day was overcast, gray, and cold. Sitting on planks up on the scaffolding, Nancy and George began chipping the thick paint from the woodwork on the upper gable. By noon their arms ached. When they stopped for lunch, they took off their work gloves and found blisters on their fingers.
By the end of the afternoon, George’s arms were sagging. “I’m beat, Nancy,” she moaned.
“Me, too,” Nancy admitted. “And I’m cold.”
Just then Abby shouted up at the girls from the sidewalk below. “As long as you’re up there, could you straighten the ornament on the tower?”
Nancy raised her eyes to the top of the tower where the ornamental bird sat, tilting at an odd angle. “Okay!” she called down. Slipping her paint scraper into the pocket of her jeans, she gripped the edge of the roof. She threw one leg up and over the roof’s edge, and with aching arms lifted herself up.
She tiptoed across the shingled roof to the tower, holding her arms out for balance. Wrapping her arms and legs around the cone-shaped structure, she began to shimmy her way to the top.
With numb, sore hands, Nancy inched her way up. Finally, she reached out to grasp the wrought-iron bird.
A shout came from b
elow. Nancy looked down and saw Charlie gesturing frantically.
Suddenly Nancy felt the tower roof begin to give beneath her. She spread her arms and legs even wider, trying to distribute her weight better, but it was no use.
The tower gave a final tremble. An instant later, Nancy went crashing through the roof!
5
The Golden Gardenia
Nancy’s hands clutched at thin air as she plunged through the roof tower. She landed with a heavy thud, shingles and wood crashing around her. Stunned, Nancy remained motionless as debris kept raining down from the roof. Then everything was quiet.
She unfolded her arms and legs and sat up. Her right hip stung, but a quick check told her she wasn’t seriously hurt. Brushing off her face and clothes, she stood up and looked around her.
She’d landed in an unfinished attic space, full of dust and cobwebs. Next to her was a large black trunk. Beside it stood a small green writing desk.
Suddenly Nancy heard George’s voice calling out to her. “Nancy! Are you all right?”
Standing on the trunk, Nancy waved an arm through the hole in the roof, hoping George could see her. Then she jumped down and scanned the bare floorboards, hoping to find a door that would lead to the house below. Kicking away the dust, she saw an old rope handle attached to a trapdoor.
Nancy tugged at the handle, but the old rope split in her hands. She pulled the paint scraper from her pocket and edged it around the crack between the door and the floor planks.
A tapping noise came from the room beneath. “Are you all right?” a voice below called.
Nancy recognized Rose’s voice. “I’m fine,” she called back. The door finally loosened as Nancy pried at it with the scraper. At last it gave way. Nancy opened the door to find Rose staring up at her.
“Oh, Nancy, are you all right?” Rose gasped. “I was in this room, measuring for curtains, when I heard a crash.”
“I’m fine,” Nancy assured her. “But I don’t think the roof’s in such great shape.”
Just then Hannah and Bess rushed into the room, still holding their glue brushes. When Hannah saw Nancy standing above the trapdoor, she pressed her hand to her heart.
The Message in the Haunted Mansion (Nancy Drew Book 122) Page 3
