Lucy crossed the room with the veteran doctor. Fred was aware of her coming over and he and the dark girl at once halted their talk and were ready to greet her.
Fred said, “Lucy, I want you to meet Shiela Farley. I know you’ll be friends.”
The dark girl extended a slim hand and there was a mocking smile on her lovely face as she said, “Welcome to St. Andrews, Lucy.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, shaking hands with her. “I understand that we owe Moorgate to you.”
“Not really,” Shiela said in a drawling, sophisticated fashion. “I told Dad that the place would be ideal for Fred and you. And he did the rest. We’re worried that Fred might leave us.”
Fred smiled at the dark girl. “No worry about that.”
Lucy found herself wondering if this was a good sign or not. There had been an almost personal note of assurance in the way her husband had spoken to the sultry Shiela. Had she made a mistake in taking so long to get to St. Andrews? Had a romantic attachment between the two developed before she’d even married Fred? It was a troubling thought.
She said, “I’m sure I’ll love the old house.”
“Moorgate has always interested me,” Shiela Farley told her.
Dr. Matthew Boyce took Lucy’s arm at this point and said, “There are a number of others you must meet.” And he led her away from Shiela and Fred to a cluster of older people.
Lucy met so many she was unable to remember all their names clearly. But the welcome they offered her was warm, and she felt sure she’d enjoy living in this small Canadian town.
Then Fred came to her with a quiet smile and said, “It is really time for us to leave. I want you to see the house and grounds while it is still afternoon.”
She said her good-byes with a special one for their host, Dr. Boyce. And the old doctor again promised to come by very soon and tell her more about Moorgate. Then she and Fred left the modest white house and drove to the hill on the edge of town where Moorgate stood majestically.
As they made their way up the narrow, winding private road to the great square stone mansion, almost obscured by tall birches and elms, she found herself ecstatic about the house.
“It’s magnificent,” she told Fred.
He showed a pleased smile as he brought the car to a halt before the front entrance of the house. Broad stone steps led to an oak door with an amber lantern hanging over it. “I’m glad you approve,” he said.
She got out of the car as he prepared to get their luggage from the trunk. She stood before the rather somber house and as she studied it she noticed a window curtain brushed aside on the second floor, and for just a brief moment there was the flash of a lovely, pale-faced young woman with silvery blonde hair in the window.
As the face vanished she turned to her husband and said, “What a nice surprise! You have a young woman hired to help me. I saw her in the window just now.”
A suitcase in each hand as he started for the door, Fred halted to stare at her blankly. “You’re wrong! There’s no one in there. I have the only key.”
Lucy was dumbfounded. She glanced up at the second-story window again and saw that the curtain was neatly in place. Fred was standing by her side looking at her with troubled eyes.
“I don’t see how I could have made a mistake,” she said.
Fred looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure you must have. It could have been a reflection from the waving branch of a tree.”
She felt this to be a ridiculous explanation, yet she didn’t want to make a fuss about it to spoil their arrival at their new home. But she was almost positive there had been a face peering down at her from the window.
“Perhaps I was wrong,” she said reluctantly. “Please go ahead and open the door. I’m so eager to see inside.”
Her young husband smiled again. “It won’t take me a second,” he said. And he went ahead of her and up the steps, where he put down the bags and prepared to unlock the door.
While she waited for the door to be opened she studied her surroundings. The trees around the house were old. Their trunks were large and sturdy, and their branches stretched up high toward the blue sky above. From the front of the house there was a view of the town nestled along the shore, neat rows of white houses set in green, and facing the blue of the bay. Beyond in the bay were the ring of islands which protected the harbor. One of these islands was to the left and nearest Moorgate. She guessed this must be Minister’s Island which could be reached by the sand road when the tide was low.
“Come along!” Fred called to her.
She looked and saw that he had the door open. Not wishing to spoil the important moment, she forced the vision of the lovely face from her mind. She was sure someone had somehow gotten into the old house. Perhaps it was part of a surprise. She’d better just go along with it.
Fred had set the bags down and was waiting for her. He held out a hand to her. “Most of the etiquette books suggest that the bride be carried over the threshold,” he said with a smile. “But I’ll modify it and just lead you in.”
She thrust her hand in his. “It will do just as well!”
As she stepped directly into the high-ceilinged, shadowed living room she felt a wave of cool air. Fred came close and took her in his arms for a lasting kiss. Then he let her go to give her attention to the room with its elegant antique furnishings. She let her eyes wander from mahogany sideboard, to the fine, long divan with its back of exquisitely scrolled wood. The various tables had rich ornaments on them, and two majestic chandeliers hung from fancy circles of plaster in the ceiling.
“I found this sideboard in a King Street antique shop, in Saint John,” he said.
She went to it and touched the wood with her fingers. “I adore it,” she said.
“I managed to find a Governor Winthrop roll-top desk for my office,” he said, looking pleased. “I’ve tried to keep the furniture in the same period as the house itself.”
“And you’ve done it well,” she said. She felt this, though she was just a trifle bothered by a certain somber air about the place. She tried to dismiss the feeling of melancholy which had taken hold of her and give an animated attention to the furnishings as they moved from room to room.
On the second floor he took her to a large bedroom with twin four-poster beds. It had been decided between them earlier that they should sleep in twin beds so she wouldn’t be roused when he received a call at night. These emergencies did come, and he wanted to be able to leave the room and dress without bothering her. She entered the room and saw that it also was true to the period, from its heavy dresser to the large circular hooked rug on the floor.
As she stood there in the middle of the room taking it all in, she suddenly realized that it must have been at a window of this bedroom that she’d seen the face of the pretty silver-haired girl. But she did not want to upset Fred by mentioning this again now, so instead she went over to the dresser and gazed into its huge oval mirror.
“It’s just as I pictured it would be!” she exclaimed.
“I hope you’ll be happy here,” Fred said.
She turned to face him with a look of questioning. “Why shouldn’t we be? I’m sure generations of people have lived happily here.”
“Many people have lived here,” he agreed quietly.
She went to the window on the pretence of taking in the view, but really to corroborate her guess that it was from this window the face had peered out at her. Glancing down at the car in the driveway, she knew she’d been right. It was the same window. She lifted her eyes to scan the horizon and saw that the island in the bay, directly across from Moorgate, had a white frame house on it.
She exclaimed, “There’s a house on Minister’s Island!”
Fred had come to stand beside her. “Yes. That’s how it got its name. It was built there originally by a Presbyterian minister called Dr. Macintosh. When he died he left it to his nephew Frank Clay. The Clay family lived in it until they all died off. Then it remained empty. The Farleys own it now, along with most of the property in this area.”
“And is the house still unoccupied?” she asked.
“Yes. Most people don’t like the idea of having to go back and forth by boat, or only by car when the tide is out. So the house has been shut up. Tourists still drive over there for the novelty of it, but the road up from the beach is fenced off to cars. So they just make the round trip without venturing as far as the Clay house.”
That odd melancholy feeling came over her again as she stared at the distant island and the house showing between trees on a hill. She couldn’t understand the feeling. There was no reason for it. This should be one of the happiest days of her life. It had to be!
In an effort to capture some of the gaiety she’d felt earlier in the afternoon she turned to her young husband and threw her arms about his neck. “It’s all like some magic story,” she said. “The two of us beginning our married life here together. It seems like something in a book.”
He gazed down at her with a fond smile. “I hope it will be better than any book,” he said. “What about dinner? There are the hotels.”
She shook her head. “No. I want us to have this time alone in the house together. You have plenty of groceries already in, haven’t you?”
“Almost anything you’d need,” he said. “I’ve been living here the past few weeks. And before I left for our honeymoon I had the freezer stocked.”
“Good,” Lucy said. “I’ll get dinner with what’s available. And tomorrow I’ll go shopping like an old married woman.”
“You’ll never seem that to me,” Fred assured her as he gave her another kiss before she left him to go to the kitchen.
The brief romantic interlude with her new husband, plus her activity in the kitchen, served to shake off the melancholy mood for a while. She felt much better as she prepared a meal of steak and scalloped potatoes. The kitchen was the large old-fashioned type with an eat-in nook which overlooked the woods at the rear of the house. And it was in this breakfast nook that they had their first meal at Moorgate.
In the early evening the phone rang, and it was a summons to the sickbed of a patient suffering a terminal illness. Fred sighed as he put down the phone, but there was no question that he had to make the call. He got his bag and promised to be back in a short time. And she assured him it didn’t matter at all. It would give her a chance to clean up the dishes.
At first she didn’t mind being alone. But when the dishes were finished and dusk began to settle she found that strange feeling of sadness deepening and combining with a sense of uneasiness. She wandered about in the ground floor rooms of the big house asking herself why she was so nervous. It wasn’t like her.
She finally couldn’t bear being in there alone any longer. So she went outside. There was a garden at the end of the house nearest St. Andrews. And in the garden was an old-time well with a bucket hanging from a bar to be lowered into it. She was fascinated by her discovery, and made her way between the flowerbeds to examine the well.
It was built of stone, and the upper wooden frame holding the bucket was a weathered gray. Daylight was fading and soon the soft blur of blue would turn to darkness. She leaned forward to gaze into the depths of the well, and as she did so she heard her name whispered softly.
A chill raced through her, and with a look of alarm she glanced around to see who it was who had gently said her name. But she was completely alone, and she realized that the whisper had seemed to come up from the dark depths of the well. But that couldn’t be!
There was a ripple of wind in the birch trees overhead, and again it seemed she heard her name. At once she decided it had been the wind in the birches before. It had to be! But the experience had left her trembling slightly. She moved away from the well and hurried back to the front steps. The very sound of her own footsteps on the stones of the path seemed to add to her nervousness.
Now she stood on the steps staring at the distant island. And the memory of that face she was sure she’d seen in the window came to haunt her again. It flashed across her mind in a terrifyingly vivid way. She was sure someone had been in the house waiting for them when they arrived, no matter what Fred said. Perhaps whoever it was had slipped out the back way, knowing they would want to be alone. That surely was the explanation of it.
Darkness increased and still she could not make herself go into the house. It was foolish of her, but she was afraid to go in alone. So she stood on the steps and waited. She watched the cars moving along the main highway below, their lights cutting vivid yellow streaks in the darkness. To the left the street lamps of the town had come on and there were lights in the windows of the houses and stores. St. Andrews looked larger and more glamorous by night, she decided.
Then her heart gave a tiny leap as she saw a car turn off the main highway and come up the road to the house. As it approached, its headlights bathed her and the house in their glow. The car came to a halt, the driver turned off the lights and got out. And a moment later Fred was coming up the steps to join her.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
She tried to sound casual. “Waiting for you.”
“You’d have been more comfortable inside. It gets chilly here at night. Even in June.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed watching the lights.”
She could see the tense look on his young face under the amber glow of the front door lantern. He said, “You weren’t frightened of being left alone?”
“Of course not,” she lied gallantly.
“I hope not,” he said, looking worried. “In my profession I’m often called out at night.”
“I was a nurse, remember? I know all about that.”
“Then you weren’t nervous?”
“No.”
“Sorry,” he said. “My patient died. It kept me there longer than I expected.”
“How awful,” she said sympathetically.
“He was very old and very ill. I couldn’t call it a tragedy,” he said. “Let us go inside.”
The rest of the evening went well and she forgot all about her earlier nervousness. They went to bed fairly early, and because she was thoroughly exhausted she sank into a deep sleep. But it did not last. She came awake in the middle of the night without understanding why. But suddenly she was very widely awake.