The Dower House Mystery by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

the housekeeper’s room and the one next to it.”
    â€œI remember your mother quite well,” said Amabel. “I should like to come and see her to-morrow, if I may. I remember you too, and your sister—wasn’t her name Annie? Is she married?”
    Jenny backed towards the open door. She said, “No,” and then quickly, “Mother’ll be very pleased, I’m sure.”
    Amabel drank her tea and looked about her. The wall-paper was the same wall-paper which had made a faded background for Miss Harriet’s heraldic caps and Miss Georgina’s woolly shawls. The chintz on sofa and chairs was the same chintz, grown limper and duller; the old-fashioned sprigged pattern could hardly be discerned any longer, but memory supplied it. The carpet was dull and grey; but there, an inch or two from her foot, was the hole which Julian had burnt in it when he dropped the poker.
    The new electric light looked down on all these old things, and showed them very old, very dingy, very faded. George Forsham had put it in just before the last tenant came, and it was worked from the plant at Forsham Old House. Amabel disliked it a good deal, but was grateful for it nevertheless. With this unsparing brightness flooding every corner of the room, every inch of the passage, there was the less chance that either she or Ellen would imagine—Amabel pulled herself up short. For the first time since she had contemplated coming to the Dower House, she found herself asserting that the idea of its being haunted was, of course, utterly absurd.
    She finished her tea, and went into the bedroom to unpack. Marmaduke followed her and began to make a thorough inspection of the room. When he had sniffed at everything within reach, he clung round Amabel’s feet and made low, moaning noises. By the time that she had fallen over him three times his cup of wretchedness appeared to be full, and he retreated under the bed, still moaning.
    Marmaduke and Ellen were not exactly cheerful companions, thought Amabel, as she hung her very few garments in the immense wardrobe which had been planned for the crinolines of an ampler age.
    Ellen came in presently, with the air of one who is resigned to the worst.
    â€œWell, Ellen,” said Amabel, “you’re next to me here, just through this door; and you ought to be comfortable, for it was Miss Georgina’s room.”
    Ellen sniffed.
    â€œIf anyone wants to know what’s the matter with the ’ouse, it’s easy telling,” she said. “Ghosts indeed! Pretty fools they was who trumped up that set of tales, and pretty fools that believed ’em. What’s the matter with this ’ouse is just plain damp, neither more nor less—and quite bad enough to my mind without dragging in any silly, trumpery ghosts that’s neither ’ere nor there. I never did ’old with ghosts, nor my father he never ’eld with them neither.”
    â€œWell, we’ll have good fires,” said Amabel cheerfully. “The house wants living in; there’s nothing else the matter with it. Did you see Mrs. Brown? And have you made friends with Jenny? I couldn’t make out what had happened to her twin. You might just find out before I go and see Mrs. Brown to-morrow.”
    Ellen tossed her head.
    â€œOh, I arst her for myself,” she said. “Beating about the bush is a thing I don’t ’old with, and I arst her straight. ‘Wasn’t you one of a twin?’ I said. And, of course, I knew at once there was something wrong. She tried to put me off, but I arst her straight. ‘Is your sister dead?’ I said. And she says, ‘No, she isn’t dead .’ ‘Ah, well,’ I says, ‘least said soonest mended, and there’s some that would be better dead, if that’s your meaning.’ And she says, ‘If you’ll please not to mention it to Mother, nor your lady neither.’ And please,