“How did Dr. Woods react to this?”
“He didn’t appear to be openly jealous, if the accounts are accurate,” Dr. Boyce said. “But there undoubtedly was strain behind the scenes. He and his wife ceased attending many of the dances and other social affairs. And it was claimed that the doctor’s jealousy was the cause.”
“Frank Clay lived in that white house on Minister’s Island?” Lucy asked.
“Yes,” the old doctor said. “He and his mother lived there. At the time of his romance with Jennifer his mother was extremely ill, and young Dr. Graham Woods was attending her.”
“That must have created a situation,” Lucy ventured.
The doctor turned to gaze out the living-room window that gave a view of Minister’s Island, but the view was completely obscured by the fog now. He said, “I’m sure that it must have.”
“And Frank Clay and Jennifer were seen a lot together?” she asked.
“They were. Frank, of course, had loads of free time and plenty of money. So while the doctor was busy with his calls, Frank devoted himself to winning his young wife’s affections. Or so people claimed.”
Lucy was listening with amazement. “You make it sound so immediate, and yet it all happened a century ago.”
“A hundred years passes quickly enough.”
“I suppose that is true.”
The doctor smiled. “My own years span three quarters of a century, and it doesn’t seem all that long.”
“You’re one of those ageless people,” Lucy said.
“There are days when I don’t feel that to be true,” he said. “But to get back to Jennifer. The town was full of scandalous whispers about her love for Frank Clay. And it was noted there was a distinct coldness between her husband and Frank Clay. The two tried to avoid each other as much as possible.”
“And you believe the affair led to murder?”
“That’s the story we’re left with. A girl who worked at Moorgate as a maid claimed she had heard quarrels between Graham Woods and Jennifer over young Clay.”
“Was she considered a reliable witness?”
The old man shrugged. “She seemed a normal enough young woman, if all the accounts passed down are true.”
“What about the double drownings?” Lucy asked.
Dr. Boyce looked solemn. “They happened on a stormy October night. Hurricanes come down this coast every autumn, and it was on a night of one of the worst of such storms that the two met their tragic fate.”
“Where?”
“In the bay. Between the mainland and Minister’s Island. All that area, including the road, was submerged at the time of the hurricane. It was a wild expanse of great foam-flecked waves.”
“Why was Dr. Graham Woods out in his boat in the storm?” she wondered.
“No one really knows. He had patients in houses along the shore whom he often visited by boat. But no sensible man would set out on such an errand on the night of a hurricane. And there was no record of anyone having sent for him, it was learned afterward.
“Still he had gone out in the boat.”
“Yes.”
Lucy said, “And Jennifer was with him.”
“They were both drowned.”
“Were their bodies recovered?”
“When the storm ended and the tide went out their bodies, with the wreckage of the boat, were found on the sandy stretch of road leading to the island.”
She looked at him with troubled eyes. “What started the rumors of a murder?”
“Frank Clay was responsible for that,” the old doctor said. “He came to the mainland as soon as the storm quieted down,” he went on. “He led the searching party.”
“And found their bodies?”
“Yes.”
“What a moment it must have been for him, if he truly loved Jennifer,” she said sadly.
“Those who witnessed the event said he took it very hard. He picked up Jennifer’s limp body and carried it in his arms the whole distance to the mainland. He was like a person demented, it was said.”
“And then?”
“After he recovered from his shock he claimed that Jennifer had vowed her love for him and had promised to leave her husband. She planned to leave Graham Woods within a few days and go away with him. He said their quarreling had come to a point where she could bear it no longer, and that Graham Woods, despite his excellence as a doctor, had been a cold, jealous husband. And he pointed out certain bruises on Jennifer’s throat to back up his story.”
“And people accepted this as true?” she asked. “They must have been terribly shocked.”
“Many of them accepted it,” he said. “In fact, it is regarded as the true account today. Frank Clay claimed that on the night of the hurricane Graham Woods and Jennifer had a final violent quarrel. The maid gave this story some credence by claiming she had heard her mistress scream out in fear during the storm.”
“Didn’t she go to investigate?”
“She claimed she was too frightened. She had heard them arguing before, but this was an especially violent battle between them. She pressed her hands over her ears, and finally managed to get to sleep.”
“And no one wondered whether the girl was telling the truth?”
“Apparently there was nothing against the girl. She was a simple soul, who afterward worked for the Clays on the island until her marriage, when she left the area.”
“Wouldn’t you consider that strange that she went to work for Frank Clay and his mother?”
“No,” Dr. Boyce said. “The house here was being closed up and there wouldn’t be too many jobs open in the area. I think Frank Clay hired her out of a desire to help her.”
“What did he think had happened after the quarrel?”
“His theory was that Graham Woods strangled Jennifer and then took her from the house and out into the storm to dispose of the body, his plan being to make it appear she’d wandered off in the storm, tried to reach the island in the boat, but instead lost her life when the boat overturned. By a quirk of fate part of the story came true when the boat with him and his dead wife’s body in it did capsize. And he was drowned.”
There was a brief moment of silence in the shadowed room as the old doctor finished his grim account. She felt a cold chill of fear as she realized how likely this explanation was. It surely explained Jennifer’s unhappy ghost.
She looked up at him solemnly. “Do you believe that is what happened?”
“I was brought up on the story.”
“So you accept it?”
He frowned. “I think I must. I can’t account otherwise for Jennifer being in the boat with her husband in that awful storm.”
“She might have gone to the boat in desperation, to reach Minister’s Island.”
“And her husband followed her, you mean? In that case, why didn’t he make her get out of the boat and return to Moorgate? He knew no boat could live in that storm.”
She gave a deep sigh. “Then the story has to be true.”
“So it seems.”
“And that is why Jennifer haunts this house?”
The doctor spread his hands in a questioning gesture. “If she does.”
Lucy gave him a troubled glance. “Oh, I’m sure she does. I have had proof enough to satisfy me.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, seating himself near her.
She began from the moment of her arrival at Moorgate, starting with the phantom face in the window and continuing on to the cup which so mysteriously shattered without being in any way touched by her.
When she finished, Dr. Boyce gave her a worried look. “Have you talked this over with Fred?”
“Some of it. He seems to get angry. He doesn’t want to admit the house could be haunted.”
“I suppose he’s gone to so much trouble,” the doctor said. “He’s spent a lot of time and money getting the place ready for you.”
“You knew about the legend,” she said. “Why did you let him buy this place?”
The old man shrugged. “I have never actually believed the house to be haunted, no matter what may have happened here.”
“I say that it is.”
“I won’t argue the point,” he said. “In any case, before I could discuss the house with Fred he’d already bought it from the Farleys.”
Fear shadowed Lucy’s face. Quietly, she said, “You can be sure Shiela Farley wanted him to buy Moorgate.”
“Why?”
She gave him a meaningful glance. “Because she hoped that history would repeat itself. That the shadow of the house would settle over Fred and me. We’d quarrel and our marriage would be destroyed. It had to be that!”
The old doctor seemed perturbed. “You could be doing the girl a great injustice. Like myself, she may not believe in ghosts.”
“She has never lived here. Nor have you.”
“That is true.”
“I’m sure Jennifer’s unhappy spirit is here,” she said. “I’m as sure of it as I am of anything.”
“What you’ve told me is disconcerting,” the doctor agreed. “But there may be logical explanations for all those things.”
“That’s what Fred would like me to believe,” she said.
“Can’t you try?”
“Not after what has happened here,” she said. “Do you blame me?”
“Not entirely,” he said. “But I’ll still cling to the hope you may come to terms with Moorgate.”
“I don’t think it’s likely, but for Fred’s sake I’ll try.”
The doctor nodded approvingly. “No one could expect more of you. I wanted you to know the stories about the house. You are entitled to that. Is there anything else I can do?”
“If there is I’ll tell you,” she said.
“Be sure that you do,” Dr. Boyce said, rising. “And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must be on my way. I have a few things that must be done.”
She got to her feet. “I shouldn’t have taken so much of your time.”
“I wanted to see you.”
She drew the folded message from her pocket. “What about this letter from Frank Clay to Jennifer?”
The old doctor stared at it. “Keep it for a while. I may want to show it to the museum curator later. But not for the moment. It bears out that the two were exchanging messages.”
“But not that they were lovers.”
“It surely hints at it,” he pointed out.
“I don’t agree,” Lucy said. “I wouldn’t want to be judged as Jennifer was by the same type of message. It seems to me there must be other evidence around which would explain many things, if only it could be found.”
“Such as?”
She considered. “I don’t know. Diaries or journals. As a doctor, Graham Woods must have kept one.”
“We found it,” the old man said. “It was very unrevealing. As a matter of fact, it bore out Frank Clay’s contention that the doctor was a cold man. There was nothing but routine facts and figures in his journal. A record of cases and payments made.”
“Couldn’t there have been other journals?” she wondered. “A more personal one?”
“None has been found.”
She indicated upstairs with a gesture. “The attic is full of stored items. The portraits are up there. Maybe there are other valuable records as well.”
“I would expect the material has been sifted carefully over the years,” he said.
“I’m left with the feeling the story isn’t complete,” Lucy maintained. For she did have that uneasy thought without understanding why.
Dr. Boyce eyed her sympathetically. “If you find the house gets on your nerves too much you shouldn’t try to remain here after a reasonable period. But give it a chance. That’s my advice.”
“I’ll take it,” she said. “But I’m haunted by the story you’ve told me. What about Frank Clay?”
“He lived on with his mother on the island.”
“You say she died a few years after the drownings?”
“Yes,” he said. “She’d been seriously ill for a long while, so her death came as no shock. It left Frank Clay completely alone. Most people expected he’d leave Minister’s island when she died, but he didn’t.”
“He stayed on the island until his death?”
“He lived there to old age as a recluse. In the end he never left the island even when the tide was low and the road exposed. A servant came to St. Andrews for provisions. And when he died he was buried there at his request.”
“And then the house was shut up?”
“Yes. Through his will it came into the hands of the Stevens family. They were cousins on his mother’s side. But none of them wanted to live there. They kept the property until recently, when Jim Stevens’ mother sold it to the Farleys.”
“What a strange story,” Lucy said. “Frank Clay could never have recovered from the tragedy of Jennifer’s drowning.”
“He never considered marriage. And from what has been passed down about him, he became a bitter old man.”
“It sounds logical,” she said. “Have you ever been to the Clay house on the island?”
“Many times.”
“I’d like to visit it sometime,” she said.
“No reason why you shouldn’t,” the doctor said. “If Fred hasn’t time to take you, let me know and I will do so. It’s a short drive when the tide is out.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll remember your offer.”
She saw the old doctor to the door and waited as he drove away. She stood there in the damp, cold fog which had come up so suddenly. Then she turned and went back into the cool shadows of the old house. Standing in the living room, she glanced around her and tried to visualize the drama that must have taken place there long ago. Had there really been violence and murder between the two who had come to Moorgate as newly-weds, just as she and Fred had done?
All the evidence seemed to point to it. The story Dr. Boyce had told of the husband taking his wife’s dead body out in the small boat in the raging storm presented a fearsome scene. Had Shiela Farley encouraged Fred to buy the house knowing its dark history and hoping it would in some way have an influence on them? Thinking that the tragedy of a century ago might repeat itself?
But that was too ridiculous, she decided, as a tiny ripple of fear went through her. What problems could she and Fred have other than minor arguments about this house? There was no jealousy between them. And then she hesitated, realizing that conditions had changed. There was Shiela in the picture, and Lucy surely was normally jealous of the wealthy, dark girl. Could Shiela be the spark to ignite a fire of hatred between them? She mustn’t let it happen!
With this determination she went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal for Fred’s return. Moving between the counter and stove she decided to keep too busy to worry. By the time Fred got home she wanted to have driven all thoughts of the tragedy and ghosts from her mind.