Trixie stared at him. “You mean something’s going to happen this Thanksgiving night? Why— but that’s next Thursday!”
Mr. Hunter sighed. “Exactly!”
It seemed to Trixie that they sat in that living room for hours, discussing what to do. Afterward, she discovered that less than an hour had passed since they’d first entered the room.
Mr. Hunter left them at last, assuring them warmly that Fay had nothing more to worry about. He said he would call them—all of them—as soon as he and Mr. Gregory were ready to exorcise Sarah’s ghost and lay her forever to rest.
Trixie’s thoughts were still in a whirl as she and her three friends stood in the entrance hall. She had never before experienced anything like this! Events had moved so swiftly that she felt she hadn’t had time to consider any of them. It was as if they were all under some kind of enchantment —a spell from which there was no escape.
Honey smiled when Trixie told her about it. “I know what you mean, Trix,” she said. “I’ve been feeling the same way.”
Di glanced around her and noticed the gloomy trophies that hung on the walls. Then, while Fay and Honey hurried to pack some of the needed clothes—not bathing suits this time!—Trixie showed Di the rest of the downstairs rooms.
Di was strangely silent as the four girls left the old mansion and hurried toward the back gate, where their horses waited patiently.
Trixie was about to ask her if anything was wrong, when she thought suddenly of something else. “Sarah Sligo’s grave!” she exclaimed. “You promised to show us where the witch was buried, Fay.”
Honey moaned. “Oh, Trix, do we have to? The more I think about it, the more I think how good it’ll be to get home to Manor House.”
“It’ll only take a moment,” Fay promised, leading them toward a tangle of undergrowth at the side of the house.
She parted a low-growing shrub with her hand and pointed. “There it is,” she said. “I’ve been here often in the last few weeks. I wanted to cut back some of this shrubbery and make it look neat. But Zeke Collins said I was to leave it alone.”
Trixie stared down at the small, white head-156
stone. She had expected it to be indecipherable after all these years. But the words carved there were as clear as if they’d been engraved only yesterday. They said simply:
HERE LIES SARAH SLIGO
BORN THANKSGIVING DAY, 1755
DIED THANKSGIVING NIGHT, 1789
“I looked up the dates in the encyclopedia,” Fay said, looking down at the grave. “Sarah died on November the twenty-sixth, Trixie. I was able to check it because that was when President Washington proclaimed the first national Thanksgiving holiday after the American Revolution.”
Di had been calculating the date in her mind, Trixie thought, because she said quickly, “Then that is right. Today is Saturday the twenty-first—”
“And that makes next Thursday the twenty-sixth,” Honey put in. “The exact date when Sarah was killed.”
Fay let the bushes fall back into place and turned to face her friends. “I didn’t mean for you all to get involved in the haunting of Lisgard House,” she said, “but you have no idea how much you’ve all helped me. For one thing, I’ve had no one to talk to about it. I thought at one time I was going crazy. I had nowhere to turn.”
Honey put her arm around Fay’s thin shoulders. “Try not to worry, Fay,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do now, until Mr. Hunter has made his arrangements. He said he’d let us know when he was ready.” She paused. “Trixie? Do you really think Sarah Sligo’s getting ready to do something evil on the anniversary of her death?”
Trixie drew a deep breath. “I have a hunch that something’s going to happen,” she said, “and soon.”
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a sudden movement. As she watched, she saw the figure of Zeke Collins turn from the shelter of a nearby tree and hurry away toward the old mansion.
How long he’d been standing there, she had no idea. But one thing was certain: He’d been listening closely to every word they’d said.
Questionable Antiques ● 14
ON THE WAY HOME, Trixie was only half listening to her friends’ conversation as the horses trotted smartly along Glen Road.
She heard Fay exclaim several times over the fact that she and her mother had each,been trying to protect the other.
“I had no idea that Mother knew anything was wrong at Lisgard House,” Fay said.
Trixie frowned and thought again about how much Mrs. Franklin must have needed the salary her employer was paying her to stay there.
She wondered, too, how Mrs. Franklin had happened to slip and fall last night. Had it been just an accident, or had she seen—or heard—something that had startled her so much that she lost her footing?
The closer Trixie came to her home, the more unreal the events of these last few hours seemed. She let Susie’s reins slacken in her hand and watched absently as her three friends rode easily in front of her.
She half heard Di remark, “Well, I think it’s wonderful, Fay, that you and your mother are so concerned about each other.”
“I do, too,” Honey agreed, obviously thinking of her own mother, who rarely had to be worried about anything.
“What do you think, Trix?” Di called over her shoulder.
“The trouble is,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “I don’t really believe it.”
She caught a glimpse of three startled faces turned toward her. Three pairs of hands pulled gently on their reins to allow Trixie and Susie to draw abreast of them.
“But it’s true, Trixie,” Fay cried, sounding hurt. “My mother and I do worry about each other. There’s only us, you see—”
“I didn’t mean that, Fay,” Trixie interrupted. “I was talking about the witch’s ghost. It’s just—it seems—” She took a deep breath. “Oh, don’t you see?” she burst out. “The whole thing’s weird. I simply can’t get over what happened last night and again this afternoon. Each time it was as if we were sort of spectators at some strange play.”
“Except that I was part of it,” Fay said, her voice low. “I’ve been a part of it all along. Oh, Trixie! You must have read about other houses, other hauntings where strange things have happened. No one’s ever been able to explain them, either.”
Trixie frowned and remembered the glimpse they’d had of Zeke Collins that afternoon. “I keep thinking that the odd-job man’s got something to do with all this. Regan says the stains on his overalls last night were probably paint.”
Honey looked surprised. “But I saw those stains, too, Trix, and they were paint. Didn’t you know that?”
“Then what had he been painting?” Trixie demanded. “I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I can’t remember seeing anything freshly painted, either inside or outside the house—not last night or this afternoon, either.”
“That’s true,” Honey agreed slowly.
Trixie rushed on. “And not only that, but if it was Zeke I saw outside the house last night, why didn’t he come over and try to help? He could see that Mrs. Franklin was hurt. Why was he listening to us just now? And why is it that, until recently, no one’s thought much about Sarah Sligo’s ghost? Now, suddenly, everyone’s talking about it again. And tell me this. What did the first man die of?”
“Hey, stop!” Honey laughed and held up a protesting hand to stop the string of questions.
Lady seemed to think that her mistress was telling her to stop. She flattened her ears back against her head and began slowing to a walk. Honey had to dig her heels gently into the mare’s flanks to get her moving again.
As soon as the four horses were cantering abreast once more, Honey asked breathlessly, “What man?”
“The first Lisgard, of course,” Trixie said impatiently. “Fay said she heard that he’d wandered off into the marsh and was never seen again. Is that true?”
Di seemed to have been thinking of something else, but now she glanced around
at Trixie and grinned. “He didn’t die of a bowl of mashed potatoes, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “I expect he died of old age. After he retired, he turned Lisgard House over to his son and went to live with his married daughter in Massachusetts.” Trixie stared. “Why, Di! How do you know all that?”
Di shrugged her slim shoulders. “There’s a book in the public library that tells about some of the early citizens of Sleepyside. I seem to remember reading about the first Lisgard when I was researching something else. I needed it for an English paper I had to do for school.”
Honey was obviously still thinking about Zeke and his paint-stained overalls. “Has Mr. Collins painted anything around the house, Fay?” she asked.
But Fay didn’t seem to be particularly interested in Zeke or his strange behavior. Now that they were clattering into the Wheelers’ stable yard, she seemed to have the beginnings of that same air of relief about her that Trixie had noticed before.
For the moment, Trixie let the matter drop. The more she thought about the odd-job man, however, the more certain she felt that he knew far more about the strange events at Lisgard House than even Mr. Hunter knew.
I need to talk to Honey alone, Trixie thought to herself as she slid from Susie’s broad back. I haven't even had a chance to tell her about what I saw in Fay's hallway last night.
A moment later, she realized that she’d had no chance to talk to Di alone, either.
Di’s hand on Susie’s bridle stopped Trixie from following Honey and Fay as they rode into the warm, fragrant interior of the stable.
“I need to tell you something, Trix,” Di said, leaning from her palomino’s saddle. “It’s the strangest thing. Didn’t Fay tell us that Lisgard House was full of genuine antiques?”
Trixie looked up at her, puzzled. “Sure she did. And it is full of antiques. You saw them yourself.”
Di slowly shook her head. “I saw furniture all right, Trix,” she replied, “but it’s not what you think. Most of it’s fake.”
Trixie had no further chance to talk to Di about her astonishing news, for in the next moment, Regan was hurrying toward them.
It was always the same when he realized that his beloved horses had returned safe and sound. He stood over the riders while he made sure that their mounts were groomed and made comfortable. Then he watched to see that the tack was polished and rehung on the stable wall.
This afternoon was no different. Even Di stayed to help, while Sunny waited patiently, knowing his turn would come when he would be led to his own pasture on the Lynch estate.
Trixie had almost finished brushing Susie’s sleek black coat when Honey’s voice came from the adjoining stall: “If you ask me, Regan’s getting worse! He’s a real slave driver!”
“I heard that, Honey,” Regan’s cheerful voice answered from the depths of Strawberry’s box, where he was lending Fay a hand. “And let me tell you, if you always did as good a job as your friend here, I wouldn’t have to be a slave driver at all.”
In another second, both Regan and Fay appeared and stood watching as Trixie hung her bridle neatly on its hook under the saddle peg.
Trixie glanced at them both and noticed that Fay’s face looked flushed and happy. “You seem to have been enjoying yourself, Fay,” Trixie remarked as she gave her little black mare one last good-bye pat on her shining rump.
“I did enjoy it,” Fay said breathlessly. “I’d forgotten what fun it can be—being around horses, I mean. Besides, it helped me to forget—to forget—”
“If it’s that much fun,” Di’s voice floated out to them, “I’ll let you help me see to Sunny as soon as I’ve finished helping Honey.”
“Oh, yes!” Fay’s voice sounded eager. “That would be great, Di.” She hesitated. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind, Trixie.”
“Of course not!” Trixie sounded more eager than she’d meant to and hoped that Fay hadn’t noticed. But she did want to talk to Honey alone, and this seemed to be the perfect chance. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling some guilt as she added, “Maybe Di would like to show you around her house, too. You’ll love it, Fay. It’s not a bit spooky—” She broke off, aware that the end of her sentence, the way your house is, was already too obvious.
If Mart had been there, he would have told his sister that once more she’d managed to insert her foot firmly into her oral cavity!
Trixie was relieved when she heard Miss Trask’s brisk voice call from the stable doorway, “If you’re planning a visit to the Lynch house, girls, don’t be gone for hours. You’re all invited to have supper at Manor House—that is, if you’d like to.” Trixie looked doubtful. “I really think I ought to get home. Moms is going to think I’ve gotten lost, to say nothing of the chores—”
Miss Trask smiled as she broke in. She was dressed, as usual, in a trim tweed suit, her feet encased in sensible oxfords. “I’m supposed to give you a message, Trixie,” she said. “Your parents have taken Bobby to visit Santa in one of Croton’s department stores.”
Trixie stared. “Santa’s come to town already?” Miss Trask’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “Would you believe he’s been there since last week? Bobby hadn’t known about it until Di’s twin brothers mentioned it this morning. Now nothing will do but that he has to go and put in his order at once. ”
Di laughed. “Trust Larry and Terry to tell him about it. I forgot that the nursemaids took them to Ecklund’s last Saturday. They had a great time.” Regan grinned at all of them. “I don’t know what things are coming to,” he said. “It used to be that Santa and his sleigh didn’t arrive until Christmas Eve. First came Thanksgiving, and then—”
Miss Trask shook her gray head. “Soon he’ll be going out trick-or-treating with the youngsters at Halloween.”
“Did you talk to the boys?” Honey asked. “Are they going to eat with us?”
Miss Trask nodded. “They said they wouldn’t miss it.”
Honey’s face brightened. “Will we have hot dogs, Miss Trask? Dear Miss Trask?”
Miss Trask laughed aloud as she turned away. “Hot dogs it is, if you really want them.”
“Then how can we refuse?” Di sang out. “It all sounds delicious. What do you think, Fay?”
Their new friend had been watching them quietly. Now she smiled and said, “How kind you all are. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
Di flushed. “Come on,” she told her quickly. “Let’s go and see to Sunny. Then afterward I’ll show you around.”
“And after that,” Fay said happily, “we’ll have hot dogs around a roaring fire!”
They followed Miss Trask out of the stable, and Trixie could hear Fay’s light voice sounding once more as if she’d been able to forget her troubles.
Regan hurried away to the back office as Honey stirred and sighed. “I can’t help feeling glad that Fay’s going to be busy for just a little while, Trix,” Honey said. “I’ve been simply dying to talk to you.”
“Me, too,” Trixie replied, “because you know what, Honey? I’ve figured it all out.”
Honey stared. “Figured all what out?”
“I’ve finally figured out what’s going on at Lisgard House,” Trixie answered simply.
Trixie’s Suspicions • 15
ALL RIGHT, TRIX, now tell me all about it,” Honey demanded, closing her bedroom door.
Trixie groaned and flung herself into the nearest chair. “Wait up, Honey,” she gasped. “You rushed me up here so fast, I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath.”
She glanced around at her friend’s neat room with the crisp, white, ruffled organdy curtains at the windows, a matching bedspread on the comfortable double bed, and a big, white, fluffy rug on the polished floor.
It was such a contrast to the shabby little room they’d shared the previous night, that Trixie realized, once again, what a staunch friend Honey had been to stay there.
“I don’t know where to begin,” Trixie finally said, uncertainly.
Honey came and perche
d on the side of the bed. “You can begin by telling me the real story about that stupid mouse you said you saw in the hallway last night,” she replied. “I could see that Fay believed you, but then, she doesn’t know you the way I do. Trixie Belden? Scared of a mouse? That’s the silliest thing I ever heard of!”
Trixie grinned at her. “It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment.”
Honey leaned toward her. “Well, now you’ve had time to think about it. And now I want the truth! What was it you saw? It was something that scared the daylights out of you, wasn’t it? You should have heard yourself, Trix. I’ve never heard such a bloodcurdling scream in all my life!”
“Except for the scream we heard later outside Fay’s bedroom door,” Trixie told her, her face grim. “And I’ve got an explanation for that, too.” She hesitated, then told Honey everything she knew. Trixie told her about the whispering voice she’d heard when she was alone in the kitchen, after Brian had left the house. She told her of the strange figure she’d seen later, when she had gone to check the lock on the back door.
“It wore a black cloak, Honey,” Trixie said slowly, “It had a tall hat on its head. I tried to see its face, but I couldn’t. It was in the shadow, somehow. Then, as I looked, its outlines got all faint and wavy. Then it said, ‘Beware,’ and then it was gone.”
Honey’s eyes were enormous as they stared at her friend. “Was it the witch’s ghost?” she breathed.
“I thought it was,” Trixie admitted. “The more I thought about it, you see, the more I realized that I’d been able to see right through it. It was transparent!”
Honey gasped. “Then it was the ghost!”
Trixie shook her head. “It was a clever trick to make me think so,” she declared. “I almost believed it, too. Then Di told me something, just as we got home this afternoon, that changes everything, Honey! I know what’s behind this weird haunting of Lisgard House.”
The Mystery of the Whispering Witch Page 10
