Horror at the Haunted House by Peg Kehret Read Free Book Online

“That’s how things get broken.”
    Ellen nodded and ducked under the rope, away from the Wedgwood.
    “What are you doing in here?”
    “Waiting for my brother.”
    “You can wait for him in the conservatory. I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t come in the dining room anymore.”
    “I wasn’t scared this time.”
    “Well, it’s after ten; this room is closed. And even if it weren’t, I don’t ever want you to go behind the rope again. Is that clear?”
    “Yes.”
    “I mean it, Ellen. If I find you in here again, you’ll bereplaced as Joan of Arc. I will tell Mrs. Whittacker that you can’t be trusted to stay away from the Wedgwood.”
    Ellen didn’t know what to say so she was silent. She let go of the rope and walked toward the door. As she passed Agnes, the woman put out a hand to detain her. “Why were you leaning so close just now? Why were you examining that vase?”
    Ellen was not about to tell her the real reason—that she was leaning toward the vase because she felt two icy invisible hands on her shoulders, pushing her that way. If she did, she knew there would be someone else playing Joan of Arc tomorrow.
    Instead, she said, “No particular reason. That’s just where I happened to be standing.”
    Agnes’s frown softened slightly. A flicker of emotion flashed across her face. Relief? But why did she care which piece of Fairylustre Ellen admired? There was something odd about this conversation, something that didn’t quite make sense. Maybe Agnes had seen the ghost, too, but didn’t want to admit it. Maybe she was afraid that Ellen would tell and that it would somehow have a bad effect on the museum.
    Ellen tried to think it through on the way home but it was hard to concentrate with Corey chattering from the back seat.
    “Mighty Mike says he’ll take me to the radio station someday when he isn’t working and take me in the studio and show me where he plays the Top Ten songs every Saturday. And he says he’ll show me where they broadcast the news. And he’s even going to buy me lunch at the cafeteria, where all the radio and TV guys eat.”
    “He must have taken quite a shine to you,” said Mrs. Streater.
    “He says I scream better than anyone and that if they everdo a mystery on the radio and they need someone to scream, he’s going to call me.”
    Lulled by the rhythm of the windshield wipers, Ellen began to relax. She tuned out Corey’s voice—something she had learned, from necessity, to do with ease—and replayed in her mind the scenes in the Clayton mansion.
    Lydia Clayton’s icy hands had pushed Ellen toward the Wedgwood collection because she wanted Ellen to look closely at it. Why?
    There’s something she wants me to see, Ellen decided. Some piece in particular? Maybe there is one piece that was her favorite and she wants to make sure I notice it.
    Tomorrow, Ellen decided, I’ll go to the Historical Society and ask to read those old diaries.
    If she knew more about Lydia Clayton, she might be able to figure out what the ghost was trying to tell her.

Chapter
6
    W hat secrets would the diaries divulge? What would she learn about Lydia Clayton? Ellen arrived at the Historical Society’s office promptly at noon the next day, filled with anticipation. She asked to see the Clayton family diaries, hoping she might soon understand the strange events at Clayton House.
    The woman in charge hesitated, as if debating whether to trust Ellen with the diaries.
    “Mrs. Whittacker suggested that I read them,” Ellen said, “and I’ll be careful.”
    The woman nodded and brought the diaries to Ellen.
    There were three slim volumes, each with a soft leather cover embossed in gold. The pages inside were a thin parchment, yellowed with age. The writing had been done with brown ink, in a flowery script. The first letter of each paragraph was double size and full of curlicues.
    Ellen carried the diaries to a table and began to read. Someof the writing was difficult to read and the