One night after they’d been to the movies and were seated on the revolving Merry-Go-Round Bar at the Sheraton Plaza lounge he asked her to marry him. It came right in the middle of the playing of a romantic ballad by the pianist, also located on the bar.
Lucy stared at the young doctor in surprise. “Is it the music and my imagination, or did you ask me to marry you?”
“I asked you to marry me,” he said solemnly.
“But what a way! And what a place for it!” she said, looking down at the crowded lounge with its filled tables around the revolving bar.
“What does it matter as long as we’re in love?” he said. “The place and time aren’t important. What’s important is whether you say yes or no.”
She gave him a despairing smile across the table. “What do you expect me to say?”
“I haven’t a clue,” he admitted, looking boyishly frightened. “Maybe that’s why I decided to ask you here with a lot of people around. If you turn me down at least I won’t be all by myself.”
Lucy laughed and reached out to touch her hand on his. “But you’re putting on an act as usual. You knew from the start I’d say yes.”
His reaction was as surprising as she might have expected. He stood up and bent down to kiss her. As soon as the kiss was over and she was conscious of the amused smiles from all around them she begged him to pay the check and get her out. He did, and they jumped down from the bar to the friendly laughter of the crowd. In a moment they were out of the room and the side door of the hotel.
Standing on the pavement, she gave him a reproachful look. “I might have known you’d embarrass me.”
“What is wrong with a husband-to-be kissing his wife?” he wanted to know.
“On a revolving bar in a crowded lounge?” she said incredulously. “You must be joking!”
He linked his arm in hers as they set out for her apartment on Tremont Street. “We’re going to have a long and happy married life,” he promised her, “and you’ll forget all about my childish courting behavior.”
Lucy explained she couldn’t get married for a few months as she had her affairs to settle in Boston, and she wanted to visit her parents in Florida for a short time. Fred agreed with this idea. It would give him a chance to get his practice in the small Canadian town under way and to select and furnish their future home. They planned to meet every month or so in Boston for a few days together. It worked well. He telephoned her at Christmas, and they decided to be quietly married in Boston the following May. She would come to St. Andrews in June.
It wasn’t until March that he reported he’d found a house for them. One evening when they were dining in the Grill Room of the fashionable Ritz Hotel during one of their holidays in Boston he gave her the good news.
“I’ve found the perfect house for us,” he said.
She paused over her salad to smile and ask, “At last?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve had my eye on it but there seemed no chance of getting it. However, I know the owner and by good luck she seemed happy to sell me the house and three acres of nice land with it.”
Lucy gave him a searching look. “She?”
“Don’t say it like that,” the young doctor protested. “She did us a favor.”
“Really?” Lucy said in an arch tone. “And is she young, single, and pretty?”
Fred’s face crimsoned. “What does that matter?”
“Tell me,” she said. “I’m sure handsome young doctors find plenty of friendly females in a small town like St. Andrews.”
“You have it all wrong,” he told her, looking a little guilty.
“Tell me about her.”
He gave a resigned sigh. “Her name is Shiela Farley. She’s the only daughter of a wealthy retired stockbroker who lives there. They own a lot of local properties. And when she heard I was interested in Moorgate she offered to let me have it. And yes, she’s black-haired, young, and stunning.”
“I guessed that,” Lucy said with a knowing smile.
“Don’t act like a wife!” he begged.
“That’s what I’m going to be,” she reminded him.
“Let me get used to the idea first,” he said.
“I suppose you’ve been flirting outrageously with this Shiela,” Lucy accused him mockingly.
“No,” he protested. Then he waved a hand in dismissal, “Oh, I’ve seen her a few times. We’ve gone out together a little. But just as good friends. That’s possible, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’d think you’d be more interested in the property.”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “Tell me about it.”
“You’re going to fall in love with it,” he promised. “It’s on a hill on the outskirts of town. It’s surrounded by tall birch trees and has a view of the town and the bay. Better than that, it’s not one of your cheaply built houses. This one is stone and it’s over a hundred years old.”
“Has it been well kept up?”
“Yes. The last couple ran a gift shop for tourists. When they sold the business they left St. Andrews and sold the property to Shiela’s father. But I can promise you the house is in fine shape and they spent a lot on restoring and renovating it.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “If they liked the house that much, why did they leave it?”
“They had sold their business and wanted to move to another city,” he explained.
“Have they retired?”
“Yes. The house is called Moorgate. It’s sturdy and squarish and has two full stories, a cellar, and an attic. There are a garden and outbuildings at the rear. The house is covered with vines, and there is a winding road that leads up the hill to it from the main highway.”
She said, “It sounds fascinating.”
“And best of all,” he said, “a doctor and his wife lived there long ago.”
“Truly?” she was surprised.
“Yes,” he answered. “Of course that was almost a hundred years ago, but in small towns people remember. They still mention them.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.
“You’re bound to like it,” Fred said enthusiastically. “There were some fine old antiques that went with it and I’m gradually picking up some more things. I’ll have it nearly all furnished by the time we get there after our honeymoon.”
She gave him another teasing look. “I suppose Shiela Farley is helping you with the furnishings?”
He laughed. “Don’t make an insinuation out of it. I’ll be truthful. She has helped some. She’s very good at it. And she’s anxious to meet you,” Fred added.
“I’m more than anxious to meet her,” was Lucy’s droll reply.
The young doctor looked worried. “Don’t get any wrong ideas. I’ve been very careful since I’ve been in St. Andrews. A doctor’s reputation has to be above reproach if he’s to build any practice. I’m not doing any running around.”
“I’m comforted,” she teased him.
“You’d better be,” he said. “And they’re all looking forward to meeting you. The day we arrive there, before we even go to our place, old Dr. Boyce is holding a party of welcome for us at his house.”
“Is there another doctor in town? You didn’t tell me,” she said.
“He’s very old, but he’s alert enough. He’s mostly retired from practice. He sees a few patients whom he’s been attending for years, but he doesn’t take on any new ones. He was delighted when he heard I was moving to St. Andrews. It will make things easier for him.”
“He sounds nice.”
“He is,” Fred assured her. “You’re going to like St. Andrews and Moorgate.”
That was the first time she’d heard about Moorgate, but they were to discuss the ancient house a lot more as the weeks passed. They were the busiest weeks Lucy had ever known. And then it was the day of her marriage, suitably sunny and springlike. There was the brief service at the Espicopalian church opposite the Sheraton Plaza and the reception at the fine old Copley Square hotel afterward. When Lucy tossed her wedding bouquet to her bridesmaids it was only fitting that a happy Patricia should get it. After all, she had been the one responsible for the match.
There followed a leisurely honeymoon in the White Mountain country of New Hampshire, and then the drive along the picturesque Maine shore to the Canadian border. There was little delay with the border authorities and they drove into St. Andrews late in the afternoon. Lucy was delighted with the rugged scenery of mountains and shore and the multitude of fine evergreens. The ancient town of St. Andrews was sheltered from the Bay of Funday by a number of small green islands dotting the coastline.
The town’s streets were evenly laid out. The modern mingled with the old. The stores on the main business street had a weathered look, and from between the buildings you could see wharves extending out into the water, and fishing boats tied up. The smell of the salt water filled one’s nostrils and the air was crystal clear. In the upper section of the town were the fine mansions of the wealthy local and summer people; the town doubled its population with summer residents and transient visitors. On the highest point of land was an impressive resort hotel in English Tudor style with expansive grounds.
Fred smiled at her as he drove by the hotel. “Do you like it?”
“It’s much nicer than I even imagined,” his new bride said happily.
“We’ll go on down this street to Dr. Boyce’s house,” her husband said.
They reached a modest white house with well-kept hedges around it and a number of cars parked outside it. Even before she saw the black sign with neat gold lettering announcing, “Matthew Boyce, M.D.” she knew it had to be the house.
She glanced up at Fred as they were about to enter the porch. “I’m nervous,” she confessed.
He squeezed her arm. “You don’t have to be. They all are anxious to be your friends.”
The door opened before they could knock, and a short, bald man with a round merry face greeted them. “I’m Matthew Boyce,” he told Lucy, “and you’re just as pretty as Fred promised you would be.” With that, he took her hand and kissed her cheek. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, and he seemed a thoroughly delightful old man. It was a good beginning.
His modest living room was fairly well filled with people of various ages. One of the older women, whose name was Mrs. Matilda Stevens, turned out to be the widow of a former judge in the area. She had a commanding personality and a strong, well-preserved face.
Shaking hands with Lucy, she gave her a prim smile. “I hope you’ll like it here,” she said.
“I’m certain I will,” she told the older woman.
“We’ve been impressed with the doctor,” Mrs. Stevens said, referring to Fred. “And now I’d like you to meet my son, Jim.” She turned to catch the attention of a brown-haired young man in a gray summer suit. He had a bronzed, intelligent face and a friendly smile.
“I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Dorset,” Jim Stevens said. “Fred and I have had some business dealings. I’m a local lawyer and I looked after the transfer of the deed of Moorgate.”
“I’m very anxious to see it,” she confessed. “We’re going there as soon as we leave here.”
The young lawyer nodded. “It’s a fine old house.”
Mrs. Matilda Stevens nodded agreement. “It surely is,” she said. “Pay no attention to what people say about it.”
The older woman’s words puzzled Lucy. Looking at her with some surprise, she said, “I’m not sure I understand you.”
Mrs. Stevens at once looked uneasy and she said quickly, “I mean it shouldn’t be spoiled for you. Let it be your own discovery.”
Her lawyer son spoke up, “Moorgate is a fine property. It wouldn’t have been put up for sale only the Farleys were anxious that Dr. Dorset find a suitable home. Doctors are not easy to come by in these small towns. We don’t want to lose him.”
Some of her misgiving left her, but she still had the feeling that Mrs. Stevens had meant something quite different from her amended comment. But what?
Lucy said, “The photographs I’ve seen were so interesting. Of course I’ve not seen any of the interior.”
“It lives up to the outside of the house,” Jim Stevens said. “And Fred has been the round of the antique spots and picked up some suitable furniture to add to what was there.”
Mrs. Stevens offered another of her prim smiles. “I’m dying to see all the new additions to the furniture. So you can count on my calling on you soon.”
Jim laughed. “Mother is a little mad on antiques.”
“I’ll be glad to have you call,” Lucy said. And with a smile for Jim, she added, “You, too, since you and Fred are friends.”
“You’ll be seeing us,” Jim assured her. “It’s a small town, and people see a lot of each other.”
“Which is both good and bad, I warn you,” his mother said, pulling a long face.
“I’m not worried about it,” Lucy said. “It will be an interesting change after living in Boston.”
“You can be certain of that,” Jim said.
Lucy had become separated from Fred for a few minutes, and now jolly Dr. Matthew Boyce came towards her with his round face showing a smile. “You have no idea how delighted I was to have Dr. Dorset come here,” he told her. “It takes a great burden from my shoulders.”
“It’s a fine opportunity for Fred,” Lucy said. “And I’m looking forward to living at Moorgate.”
The old doctor lost his smile for a moment. He looked almost embarrassed. “Yes,” he said. “It should be an interesting experience. I know the history of the house well. I took a special interest in it because it was occupied at one time by a doctor.”
“I’ve heard that,” she said. “I’d like to know the history of the property. You must visit me and tell me its story.”
“Yes,” he said uneasily. “I’ll do that. Rather a long, complicated story, you know. I’ll come by Moorgate one afternoon or evening and we can have a chat about it.”
“I’d like that,” Lucy told him. Looking across the room she saw that Fred was standing in earnest conversation with a striking dark girl with a perfect olive skin and an oval face. It didn’t take a second guess to decide who it was. “Is that Shiela Farley?” she asked the old doctor.
Dr. Boyce ran a pudgy hand over his bald pate. “Yes, it is. Haven’t you two met?”
“No,” she said. “I believe it was through her interest we got Moorgate.”
“She and her father live on the adjoining property,” Dr. Boyce said. “And I guess they own most of the land along that road. Come and meet her. Her father isn’t here today. He spends a great deal of his time in bed these days. He has serious arthritis.”