Horror at the Haunted House (14 page)

“Yes.”

“Did you ask her about visiting my class at school?”

Ellen gave him a disgusted look. “I had a few other things on my mind,” she said.

“Well, if you see her again, be sure to ask.”

A second officer arrived. “I didn’t find any drugs or weapons on the guy,” he reported, “but another squad car took him for questioning. There are several boxes of old dishes in the car that look like they might be valuable.”

“The Wedgwood!” all the Streaters said, together.

“And he had two plane tickets for London in his pocket, leaving at midnight tonight.”

“Looks like you’ll miss your flight,” the first officer said to Agnes, as he snapped handcuffs on her and led her away.

The other officer questioned Ellen awhile longer and then thanked her and told the Streaters they could go.

“But you didn’t call the newspaper,” Corey said. “Aren’t you going to call the newspaper and have someone come and take our picture?”

“Not this time,” said Mr. Streater.

“We could wait awhile,” Corey said, “until they get here.”

“This family,” said Mrs. Streater, “will be the death of me.”

T
hose were the best blueberry muffins I ever ate,” Mr. Clayton said. “How you had time to make them with all the goings on last night, I’ll never know.”

“I stayed home from school today,” Ellen admitted. “I was worn out.”

“Small wonder. I heard the news story about you this morning. How you caught that Agnes person and her partner.”

“Not the whole story.”

“Oh?”

“Lydia saved my life—and she saved Clayton House from burning. But Agnes denied seeing the ghost and the police officer thought I was making that part of the story up.”

“Why would you do that? You told the truth about everything else, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to the police. But apparently Corey had been bombarding them with his outlandish theory that I was kidnapped by purple people from Jupiter, so when I
started talking about a ghost, the officer ignored me, too. It was the best part of the whole episode and he didn’t believe me.”

“So tell me. I’ll believe you.”

Ellen smiled at him and told him everything, exactly as it had happened. “She looked horrible, much worse than the other times.”

“Maybe a ghost appears one way to her friends and another way to her enemies.”

“I’ll never be afraid of her again,” Ellen said, “no matter how she looks. If she hadn’t blown out the fire, I would not be here today, talking to you.”

Mr. Clayton shook his head. “It’s hard to believe that anyone would set fire to Clayton House, let alone try to murder you.”

“Agnes was in big financial trouble. Mrs. Whittacker found out this morning that Agnes owed a huge amount in back rent for her gallery and had other debts, as well. She and Harry had already shipped all of Agnes’s gallery pieces to London and had rented shop space there.”

“No doubt they planned to sell the stolen Wedgwood.”

“Mrs. Whittacker says they’d have no trouble finding buyers.”

“So Lydia saved your life.” Mr. Clayton nodded his head, looking satisfied. “I always did think she was a kindly ghost, not at all like the stereotype that everyone fears.”

“The police called my house this morning. They had a list of the Wedgwood from the Historical Society and they found all the missing pieces in Agnes’s car.”

“What about the pieces that broke, when Agnes fell?”

“They were fakes that Agnes had made.”

“Thank heaven.”

“As we were leaving Clayton House last night,” Ellen said, “I pretended I’d forgotten my jacket and ran back upstairs alone. I was hoping I could see Lydia and thank her, but she wasn’t there.”

“You may never see her again. She doesn’t need you anymore, now that they’ve recovered all the Wedgwood, unharmed.”

“It would be a relief not to be haunted anymore but I would like a chance to tell Lydia how grateful I am.”

“I imagine she knows that, without being told.”

“When Mrs. Whittacker came over this morning, she said that Josiah’s remains were still in the urn. She knew about them and had been worried, too. She said to tell you, all of the Wedgwood is back on the shelves in their original places and they won’t be moved again.”

“One piece will be,” Mr. Clayton said.

“I don’t think so,” Ellen replied. “Mrs. Whittacker seemed determined to make sure that nothing like this happens again.”

“
I’m
removing one piece,” Mr. Clayton said. “The octagonal Fairylustre bowl. I told my lawyer this morning to withdraw it from the list of pieces that I’m giving to the city.”

“I don’t understand.” Ellen looked at the small dresser top, already crowded with Mr. Clayton’s television, a box of tissues, and some shaving equipment. “Aren’t you afraid it will get broken, if you keep it here?”

“I don’t plan to keep it here. It’s yours.”

Ellen stared at him.

“If it hadn’t been for you, the entire collection would have been lost. The little bowl seems like a fitting reward.”

“I don’t need a reward,” Ellen said. “Besides, Lydia is the one who should be thanked.”

Mr. Clayton chuckled. “Lydia got what she wanted,” he said. “It pleases me to give the little bowl to someone who appreciates it and will love it as much as I always have.”

“Thank you,” Ellen said. “I’ll treasure it always.” Her smile faded. “But Lydia might not like it if I take the Fairylustre bowl. What if she keeps haunting me?” Even though Ellen was no longer afraid of Lydia, she did not relish the idea of being awakened in the night by cold hands on her face.

“Lydia has appeared only when the Wedgwood was in danger. She first came back, years ago, when Caroline Clayton kept trying to get rid of the Wedgwood. As a small boy, I was clearly a threat.”

“The first time I felt the ghost was when Mrs. Whittacker handed the Fairylustre bowl to Corey.”

“Exactly. Another small, and probably careless, boy. I believe Lydia was determined that the Wedgwood not be harmed and her baby’s remains not be disturbed. Since you are the one who prevented that from happening, she should be happy to see you rewarded. And I know you would be careful with the bowl.”

“If Lydia appears tonight at the haunted house, I’ll tell her about your gift and ask her if she’d object.”

“I don’t think you’ll see Lydia again. I think the ghost appeared only because the Wedgwood was being stolen and the black urn removed from Clayton House. Now that the whole collection is safe, there’s no reason for her to be restless.”

To her own surprise, the idea of never seeing Lydia again disappointed Ellen. When she thought about that, she realized she had been hoping she would see the ghost once more, but this time looking happy, the way the smiling Lydia looked in Mr. Clayton’s old picture as she cuddled her precious baby.

As she thought of the picture, a new idea hit Ellen. “I wonder,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I wonder if what she really wants is to be near her baby.”

Mr. Clayton looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“The biography of Lydia said she became a recluse after Josiah died, spending all of her time with her Wedgwood, but the biographer didn’t know about the baby’s remains. Maybe Lydia was really only trying to stay close to all she had left of Josiah. Maybe she
still
wants that. I saw her hands come out of the black urn.”

Mr. Clayton looked thoughtful. “Perhaps Samuel had the same idea. Maybe that’s why he suggested digging up Lydia’s coffin, cremating her body, and putting her remains in the Wedgwood. He might have guessed how Lydia felt.”

“But Caroline wouldn’t let him do it,” Ellen said.

“And he couldn’t tell Caroline his real reason because she didn’t know about Josiah’s remains.”

“Maybe it isn’t the Wedgwood Lydia cares about; it’s Josiah.”

Mr. Clayton nodded. “I think you’re right. All these years, she’s been trying to tell someone to bury her baby’s remains where she is buried, so they can be together. How did you think of this?”

“Lydia looked so happy in your picture and she looks so sad now. I just tried to figure out what would make her happy again.”

“I’ll have it done immediately. Lydia’s buried in the Clayton family plot so it will be no problem and this will insure that Josiah’s remains are never disturbed in the future. I should have thought of this long ago.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t have Josiah’s remains buried sooner. Lydia may not care about the Wedgwood, once her baby’s remains are no longer in the urn, and if Lydia had not appeared, Agnes would have succeeded in stealing the Wedgwood.”

Grandma entered Mr. Clayton’s room. “Are you ready to leave?” she asked Ellen. “It’s Halloween, you know. I have to buy goodies in case anyone comes for trick or treat. I don’t dare buy candy bars ahead of time, or Grandpa eats them.”

Ellen took Mr. Clayton’s hand. “Thank you again. It’s the best present I ever got.”

Looking serious, he shook a finger at Ellen. “There’s one string attached,” he warned. “You must bring blueberry muffins again.”

“I’ll come every Saturday.”

HALLOWEEN
. The final night of the haunted house. Ellen wondered if she would see the ghost one last time.

At home, Mrs. Streater said, “Corey went to a Halloween party at Nicholas’s house and he isn’t back yet. You won’t need to leave for another hour.”

“In that case,” Ellen said, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Ellen rarely slept in the daytime but the stress and excitement of the last few days had worn her out and with Corey gone, the house was quiet, for a change.

She turned on her radio, stretched out on her bed, and closed her eyes. The music soothed her and she felt her muscles relax. For the first time in several days, she fell asleep without worrying that she would be awakened by a ghost.

When the song ended, a shrill, fearsome scream jolted Ellen’s nerves. She gasped and raised her head from the pillow, scanning the room. For an instant, she thought Lydia was back and that something else was wrong. Then she heard Mighty Mike say, “The scream you just heard was Prince Rufus; he will get beheaded tonight, beginning at . . .” Realizing it was a promotional spot for the haunted house, Ellen reached for the radio knob and switched it off.

There is no escaping my brother’s voice, she thought. Even when he isn’t here, I have to listen to him scream.

AS ELLEN
stood tied to the stake that night, the sound effects of the crackling fire seemed more frightening than ever. The bright, artificial flames looked real as they flickered upward and the smoke smell stung her nostrils. When she looked down at the pile of brush and twigs, she saw blackened ones and knew they had been charred the night before.

I came so close, Ellen thought, and she was flooded with gratitude. Without Lydia, the experience of being burned alive would have been a horrible reality.

There was a huge crowd that night and many more people than usual took time to admire the Wedgwood collection. A beaming Mrs. Whittacker declared that Ellen’s brush with danger and Agnes’s arrest had certainly resulted in some fine publicity. People who ordinarily would have ignored the Wedgwood collection now stood in line to see the dishes that were so old and valuable a respected artist had ruined her career by replacing the real pieces with replicas.

“Ticket sales surpassed our goal by 20 percent,” Mrs. Whittacker
said. “We have enough money to replace the wiring, renovate the kitchen, and have some left over for future improvements.”

Ellen decided it was just as well the newspapers and television stations did not know about Lydia. If they had broadcast news of a brave ghost who put out a fire, stopped a fleeing thief, and prevented a murder, Clayton House would be so jammed with gawkers that the haunted house would never be able to function.

Shortly after midnight, Ellen removed the Joan of Arc gown for the last time and joined the crowd who had gathered in the great hall to watch Mrs. Whittacker draw the winning name from those who correctly guessed which scene was not factual. Corey and Mighty Mike were already there and Ellen saw Corey wriggling with impatience as he waited to see if Nicholas’s name was selected.

Mrs. Whittacker quieted the group by holding up a large glass bowl filled with slips of paper. “As you can see,” she said “many people correctly guessed that the fictional scene was the one in the conservatory. No Prince Rufus was beheaded at the age of ten.”

“
I
was the fake?” Corey’s horrified voice rang out. “
I
was the fake and the pigs were real?”

As Mighty Mike consoled Corey and Mrs. Whittacker reached into the bowl for the winning name, Ellen slipped away. She went back upstairs and into the dining room.

She looked at the beautiful little Fairylustre bowl, its shimmery colors gleaming. As she thought of all the people who must have admired it that night, she decided to leave it where it was. It belonged to her and she would treasure that knowledge, but
she wanted to have it displayed with the rest of the Wedgwood, where other people could enjoy it, too.

She held the bowl for a moment, turning it slowly. It was still hard to believe that anything so beautiful was hers. The thought made her glow with pleasure.

I’ll have a little plaque made, she decided, a small brass plaque that says:
This piece is on loan from Ellen Streater.
I’ll leave my Fairylustre bowl here in Clayton House, with the rest of the Wedgwood. She felt Lydia would approve of her decision.

Ellen walked to the other end of the display and stood in front of the oldest piece of Wedgwood, the black urn which contained the cremated remains of Josiah Clayton.

Did Lydia already know of Mr. Clayton’s plan to bury Josiah’s remains for all eternity beside his loving mother? Had she been present, unseen, at Sheltering Arms when Ellen wondered if the hauntings were motivated not by greed over her Wedgwood collection but by Lydia’s love for her child?

“Lydia?” she whispered. “Are you here?”

Silence.

“Can you hear me, Lydia? If you can, please give me a sign.”