5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes

by Valerie S. Malmont

  I shivered and wished the stove were working. Then I realized it wasn't so much the damp cold that bothered me as the eerie vibrations I was receiving from the empty room. Here it was, exactly as it had been nearly forty years ago, waiting for musicians who would never come. "I don't like it here," I whispered.

  "Me either." Then Alice-Ann added in a normal voice, which made me jump, "We're being silly. Come on, let's see what's downstairs."

  An open staircase of wood slats led through a black hole in the floor to the lower level. I wasn't anxious to climb down into unknown territory, so I didn't demur when Alice-Ann announced she'd go first. After all, she did have a flashlight.

  "Watch your head," she called out, shortly after I heard a nasty thump and a squeal. "I'm looking for a light switch.... Here it is."

  Suddenly the stairs were bathed in golden light, and I was no longer afraid to go down. I managed to evade the beam that had left a large red spot on Alice-Ann's forehead and stepped onto a mossy green ledge. Before us lay a large, black pool, the surface of which bubbled gently from water splashing into it from the spring in the far corner of the room.

  "This is where the house water comes from?" I asked. "I'm glad I didn't help myself to a drink."

  "According to J.B., the water's fine. They had problems some years back, he said, but that's when they put in an ultraviolet sterilization unit. That took care of it." She leaned against the wall and lifted one foot to look at the bottom of her shoe. "I think I've got a rock or something stuck in here." She began to dig at an unseen object.

  The sterilization unit was on the wall directly in front of me, and I stepped forward to examine it. The little dials were spinning, so I assumed it was running although I had no idea of how it worked. "I don't need to mention this in the tour-book, do I? I don't even think you should let visitors come down here. Those flagstone steps outside are a disaster waiting to happen."

  From behind me came a crash and Alice-Ann's cry, "Oh sugar."

  I cringed. Alice-Ann was a klutz by nature, and today she seemed to be in top form. "Are you okay?" I asked, turning around. Where Alice-Ann had been standing, there was now a huge hole in the rocky wall.

  "I'm fine," came her weak reply from inside the hole. "Oh no!" Her voice rose to a scream.

  "Oh my God!" I yelled. "What have you done? Are you okay?" I rushed to her, nearly losing my balance on the slippery floor, and peered into the hole. I could barely see Alice-Ann sitting in the corner, with her knees drawn up under her chin and her eyes closed.

  "Alice-Ann, you're not dead are you?"

  She opened one eye. "I wish I was. Look over there." She flapped her left arm in the air for a moment, then returned to clasping her legs tightly against her chest.

  "I can't see anything."

  "My flashlight. Wait a sec. I think I'm sitting on it." She squirmed a little and retrieved it. "Here. Turn it on and tell me I didn't see what I think I saw."

  I played the light beam on her face first to make sure there was no blood. She waved it away. "Only my dignity is hurt."

  The circle of light fell upon an unrecognizable bundle against the wall. Alice-Ann moaned and covered her face with her hands. "There's nothing there, is there?"

  "There's something, but I can't tell what it is. Just a second, let me get a closer look." I stepped through the opening in the wall. "Looks like a bunch of old clothes.... Oh my God."

  "It's a body, isn't it?" she whimpered.

  My mouth was so dry no words would come from it. I swallowed cotton a few times, then whispered, "I think it is." Actually, the grinning skull on the floor left no room for doubt.

  I couldn't bring myself to touch the gruesome bundle, so I nudged it with one foot. An arm flopped forward and a skeletal hand protruded from a black cloth sleeve.

  Now that I had determined it really was a body and not a figment of her imagination, Alice-Ann pulled herself together, rose from the floor, and stood next to me.

  "It's a skeleton," I said. "Obviously it's not someone who died recently."

  Alice-Ann seemed relieved by that.

  I nudged the bundle again, and this time I uncovered a man's shoe. Thankfully, there was no skeleton foot inside so I gingerly picked it up, and after I wiped a half inch of dust from it, found it was black and shiny.

  "Patent leather," Alice-Ann said. She seemed to have recovered from her initial shock, because now she dropped to her knees and touched the bundle of rags and bones. "Look." She held something in one hand. The flashlight beam revealed a metal clip with shreds of black, silky fabric hanging from it. "I think it's a bow tie," she said. "Richard wore one like it at our wedding.... Give me the flashlight." She turned back to the skeleton, and examined it more closely.

  After a minute or two, she stood up and handed the light back to me. "I think it's wearing a tuxedo. The silk parts have kind of rotted away, but I could see a stripe down the side of the pant leg where it was. And there's a shirt with ruffles. At least I think they're ruffles." She wiped her hands on her slacks, leaving nasty smudges in their wake. "This is awful."

  "It is," I agreed. "Let's go back. This cave is giving me the creeps."

  Back in the basement, we sat on the steps and breathed hard for a few moments. "No wonder the water went bad," I said, after I'd somewhat recovered. "Decomposing bodies aren't the healthiest thing to have around your water supply"

  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Alice-Ann asked. "That it's the missing bridegroom-Rodney Mellott?"

  "But you said he came back and eloped with Emily What's-hername."

  "Emily Rakestraw. That's what I've always understood. But a body in a tuxedo-that can't be a coincidence."

  "We'd better call the police."

  "We can't," Alice-Ann said.

  "Of course we can. There's got to be a phone in the manor house."

  "I mean we shouldn't, Tori."

  In answer to my questioning look, she added, "If we call the police, they'll have to close up the house and investigate who this body is and why it's here. It will ruin the house tour. Everyone in town is eagerly waiting to see Morgan Manor. Without it, we'll be lucky to sell half a dozen tickets."

  "What are you suggesting?"

  "Only that we lock up the springhouse and don't tell anyone about the body until after the tour."

  "You can't be serious." I felt myself splutter with indignation. "You can't hide something like this."

  "Somebody hid it for a long time, I'd say from the looks of the body. What's a few more weeks?"

  "But..."

  "It's not like someone we know was murdered, or there's a killer hiding in the house. This guy's been dead for years. Nobody has to know right away. Tori, think of all those little animals who need shelter. Without the money from the tour, the Caven County Humane Society might have to close down. We'd have to destroy all those sweet little puppies, those darling kittens...."

  Deep inside I knew what she was proposing was wrong, wrong, wrong. But her plea to save the animals was the way to my heart, not my head. "Only until the day after the house tour. Then we have to tell. Agreed?"

  "Agreed. Help me put the stones back."

  Three

  The Bride's House is a stately Victorian mansion, built entirely of brick in 1879. The exterior remains basically untouched and is a reminder of more elegant times. Enter the spacious grounds through the wroughtiron gates and stroll up the curved brick path to the gracious front porch. Pause here for a moment to imagine a more leisurely life-style, where you might have sat on wicker furniture, drunk lemonade, and waved to friends in passing carriages.

  The grand foyer, with its wide-planked pine flooring, is unusual for its size and for its marble European fireplace. The kitchen has been kept in its original state, with only a small gas heater in the fireplace added as a concession to modern comfort. Think of how charming it must be to have breakfast at the round oak table set in front of the enormous wood-burning stove.

  Follow the magnificent chestnut
staircase to the second f loor where you will see many bedrooms filled with oversized Victorian furniture. Throughout the house, many of the windows are stained glass reputed to have been made by the famous Tiffany Studios.

  Come down the back staircase and visit the twin living parlors and Victorian dining room, which are furnished with lovely antiques from the late 1800s and early 1900s. Please notice the walnut Eastlake sideboard, which displays a collection of old lusterware pitchers.

  The front parlor is where, forty years ago, Emily Rakestraw, a beautiful young debutante, waited in her wedding gown for her bride groom who never came. Her bouquet has been preserved under glass and is displayed on the marble-topped table by the front windows. Over the fireplace is a portrait of her fiance, painted by the talented bride, who was employed by the Lickin Creek High School as an art teacher after her graduation from Bryn Mawr College.

  Although Emily Rakestraw was reputed to have been heartbroken, her mother was not, having said publicly she thought her daughter was better off without him. Emily continued with her teaching and her charity work around town. Less than a month after her fiance deserted her at the altar, he returned and the couple eloped. The bride's mother died shortly after, some say from a broken heart, and the house was sold to the first of several owners, who took no pride in the historic home.

  In 1990, the property passed into the hands of the Snyder family, who restored it to some of its past grandeur. Recently, it was purchased by Tom and Cathy Ridgely, who are planning to turn it into a country inn. This house tour coincides with the grand opening. We wish the new owners of the Bride's House Bed-and-Breakfast the best of luck with their endeavor.

  I turned off the computer and thought back on the day's events.

  I'd had a sleepless night, worrying through most of it about the skeleton in the springhouse and whether or not I had done the right thing in agreeing not to tell anyone until after the house tour. I was grateful when the sky finally lightened and I could get up. Ethelind expressed shock and disbelief when she came downstairs in her fuzzy pink bathrobe and found me in the kitchen and the coffee ready.

  "I've got a lot of things to do today," I explained, not wanting her to know about my guilt-ridden night, "so I got up early. I'm going to visit the Bride's House today."

  Ethelind sniffed as she poured a cup of coffee. "Makes me sick to hear them making such a fuss about that story every year. The only thing that boyfriend of hers did that was wrong was to come back. He should have kept on running."

  "Did you know them?"

  "Everybody in town knew Emily Rakestraw. Everywhere you went in town, there she was. She thought she was something special because her dad had money and they lived in that big house. She and her mother used to serve on committees where they didn't do anything except lend their name as if they were members of the royal family. As if anybody cared a hoot who she was. And she was always a party girl. Even back in high school. Debutante, her mother liked to call her, but if being a deb meant hanging out in every bar in town and screwing all the members of the football team, and not even caring if they were some other girl's boyfriend or not, then I'm glad my father was just a poor machinist. Not that there's anything wrong with being a machinist, mind you. His father did come from England."

  I did some quick mental calculations and decided Ethelind must be about sixty-four. That put her and Emily's graduation back in the fifties, before the great youth rebellion of the sixties. Had Ethelind been one of the girls who had lost her boyfriend to Emily Rakestraw? It was hard to imagine Ethelind as a teenager, dating and doing all those things teens did back in the fifties, but I knew it was naive of me to assume she'd sprung from her father's brow as a full-grown college professor.

  "It's not my choice," I said, sensing she was somehow blaming me for something I didn't even know about. "I'm doing the tour booklet as a favor to Alice-Ann, that's all."

  "Hmmph," Ethelind sniffed. She sipped her coffee, emptied her cup in the sink, and started another pot. I grabbed my things and left.

  Unlike Morgan Manor, which had been on the outskirts of Lickin Creek, the Bride's House sat on a large lot in the Historical District, only a block and a half away from Garnet's house. I went the long way around so I wouldn't have to see the Gochenauer home.

  On the brick sidewalk, outside the Bride's House's iron fence, sat an enormous pile of trash and a row of old-fashioned porcelain toilets. A woman, who didn't seem a day older than nineteen, dropped a box containing chipped clay flowerpots and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "For some odd reason, it doesn't seem as chilly as it did half an hour ago," she said with a smile.

  I acknowledged the trash heap with a nod in its direction. "You must be cleaning house for the tour."

  "That ...and getting ready for our grand opening."

  I extended my hand. "Tori Miracle. I'm doing the tour booklet. Grand opening of what?"

  She shook my hand, leaving a little grit in my palm. "Our bedand-breakfast. We bought the place about three months ago from the Snyders. I'm Cathy Ridgely."

  "Is there enough tourist traffic in town to make a bed-andbreakfast worthwhile?"

  From the startled look in her eyes, I gathered she hadn't thought about that.

  "We're depending on a lot of town folk coming here because of the Legend and all. When they see what we've done, they'll recommend it to their friends and relatives when they come to visit. Come on in. I'll show you around."

  As we approached the house, I noticed the brick facade was badly in need of repairs.

  "I know," she sighed, although I hadn't said anything. "There's so much to do with an old house. And it's all so much more expensive than you think it's going to be. We're concentrating on remodeling the inside, first."

  "I love your porch," I said, after we had climbed the steps. It was full of charming white wicker furniture, and flowers were beginning to bud in the planters along the railing. A large truck roared past, drowning out her answer.

  Inside the foyer, which was already cramped because it held a grand piano, stood another row of toilets, but unlike the ones on the curb, these looked brand new.

  "We're going to add a bathroom to each of the guest bedrooms by boxing in one corner of each room. It's not the best solution, but it's all we could think of. Let's go upstairs. Be sure to mention the woodwork is chestnut-you don't see wood like this anymore." She patted a carved newel post before climbing the stairs.

  The bedrooms on the second floor were all being reconstructed, with the framework for the new bathrooms partially completed.

  "This one will be Victorian style," she said as she opened a door. I only had an instant to peek inside before she had another door open across the hallway. "This one will have Art Deco furniture. We've been going to auctions and flea markets picking up vintage furniture." She kept moving and opened another door, revealing a sunny room. "This used to be Emily Rakestraw's studio. I wanted to keep it that way, sort of a memorial, but my husband said we needed rooms to rent more than we needed a shrine. I plan to do it in pinks and whites, like a little girl's room. We'll have extra cots in case anybody brings children with them. We haven't exactly begun work on the third floor yet, but this one will be ready for the tour."

  Even though I thought it was a lot of work to accomplish in about nine days, I kept my doubts to myself and asked, "Is the third floor where you live?"

  "Oh no. We've made a bedroom out of the storage room behind the kitchen. It's small, but cozy. It used to be Emily's darkroom."

  With all the mess, it was hard to envision what the bedrooms would look like, so I decided not to say much about them in the tour-book. "Let's take a look at the downstairs," I suggested.

  "As you can see, this is the kitchen. It hasn't been changed at all. Don't you just love the big fireplace? That used to be where all the cooking was done. The stove was probably added in the twenties. Isn't it a beautiful antique?"

  The hideous small gas heater sitting on the hearth and the enormous black
, cast-iron stove with a wood box beside it were not my idea of beauty.

  "It's so cozy having breakfast in here, with the woodstove going. We've been thinking of putting a window in someday. And maybe one in our bedroom, too."

  "Are you really planning on cooking breakfast for guests on a woodstove? What a lot of work."

  She ignored me and went through an archway into the dining room, which was by far the largest room I'd seen in the house. The long, narrow walnut table could seat eighteen comfortably. "I picked the sideboard up at a flea market," she bragged. "You should have seen it. I had to scrape ten layers of paint off it. It's Eastlakethat's a Victorian style, you know. I keep my lusterware pitcher collection on it. Isn't it pretty?"

  The shiny gold, silver, and bronze pitchers on the hideous sideboard were indeed pretty, and they brought some much needed lightness into a very dark room.

  "We're eventually going to change those," she said, pointing to the tasseled red velvet drapes that nearly hid one wall. "But we still will need heavy material to cut down on the traffic noise.

  "Here in the front parlor, we've got a display having to do with the Legend of the Bride's House. That's Emily Rakestraw's bridal bouquet under the glass dome near the window. And over the fireplace is a portrait she painted of her fiance. She was the art teacher at the high school, and he was the band director. A very talented couple, from what I hear."

  I crossed the room to look closely at the portrait of the man whose body, I feared, was hidden in the springhouse at Morgan Manor. Emily had painted a fair, slightly plump man, with blue eyes, pink cheeks, and a pouty lower lip. He wore a shiny tuxedo jacket, a ruffled shirt, and a bow tie.

  "Did she paint him in his wedding outfit?" I asked.

  "I think that's what he always wore when he was directing the band. There's a scrapbook over there on the coffee table that we found in the attic, and there's a lot of pictures of him in that same suit. Or one just like it. Emily was a photographer as well as an artist, and they are apparently all her work."