THE "HAUNTED CHAMBER"
Janet entered the room once occupied by her mother and closed the door.
Soberly she stood still and looked about. Facing her, upon the wall,
there hung a face so like the one which she daily saw in her mirror
that she had no difficulty in recognizing it as her mother. Yet she
realized now that in certain features she did resemble her father, as
"Gramma" Eldon had insisted. That was one thing that Janet remembered
out of the confused memories of her early childhood.
The attractive mouth smiled down upon Janet. Fair hair like her
daughter's crowned the sensitive face. The dress was white, lacy about
bare neck and arms. A necklace of pearls furnished adornment. "Why, how
young you look, Mother," said Janet aloud. She was surprised. Mothers
were old.
Glancing down at a graceful little table which stood under the picture,
Janet saw a sheet of note paper. Some one, probably Cousin Diana, had
written a message upon it.
"This is Jannet at nineteen, shortly before she was married. The gown
is one that she wore at a recital where she 'sang like an angel',
according to your father. Your mother lived in New York, studying
voice, for a year. Your grandfather took an apartment there and your
grandmother died there. Then they came back here, your uncle's family
moved in, and your mother was married from here. She met your father in
New York."
Some girls might have taken an immediate inventory of everything. Not
so Janet. A little feeling of reverence and hesitation held her. She
sat down in a chair near the table to think and to grow familiar with
her mother's face. Then she noted a small silver vase of spring violets
on top of a dark, old-fashioned highboy. She jumped up and put the
violets beneath her mother's picture on the table. "I think that I
shall keep some flowers there for you, Mother," she said.
Presently other things in the room challenged her attention. The dark
highboy was a handsome piece of furniture. She slowly pulled out one of
its curved drawers,--empty. Her own clothes could be put here, where
that other Jannet's clothing was. One by one, Janet opened the drawers.
In the bottom one a few unmounted photographs lay loosely. Eagerly
Janet picked them up. Good! They were pictures of the place, the old
house as it was,--and oh, this must be her mother and father! Why, did
they have snap-shots _then_?
Of course they had snap-shots fifteen years or so ago! She must be
crazy to think that her mother and father belonged to the antiques!
What a bright, laughing face it was! They were hand in hand, the two
young people, her mother in her wedding veil, her father so handsome in
his wedding attire. Some one had snapped them outdoors, and her mother
was in the act of curtseying, her arm stretched to her young husband,
who held his wife's hand and bowed also, looking at his bride instead
of at the camera.
Janet could imagine the scene, with a crowd of merry guests looking on.
She looked from the wall picture to the photograph, and to the picture
again. It must be a good painting, then, true to life. But she would
mount that little picture of her father and mother and have it in
sight. She laid it carefully upon the table and went to examine a
beautiful desk that stood at no great distance from the fireplace. How
wonderful to have such a fireplace in her own room! And suppose that
this was one of the desks with secret drawers! Why, she would not miss
staying here for any comfort that the newer building might offer. That
dear little rocking chair might have been used for years by her mother.
After a tour of the room and a look out of its two windows, one of
which opened upon a balcony that stretched away the length of the
house, Janet again sat down near the table and looked up at the picture
above, when the sudden opening of her door startled her.
A straight, angular woman, with dark hair gathered into a little knot
on top of her head, stalked into the room with a large comforter in her
arms. She wore spectacles, but as they were drooping upon her nose
Janet thought that they were not of much use. A woolen dress under an
enveloping gingham apron and shoes whose tops were hidden by the dress
which came to her ankles, completed the picture.
She did not see Janet until she was well into the room, and started
back a little. "Miss Jannet!" she exclaimed under her breath. Then she
recovered herself and stalked to the bed to lay the comforter and a
blanket, which it had concealed from view, across the foot. "You're
here, then," she continued. "You look like your ma. You will need some
extra covers to-night. It's turning colder now. I'll have a fire made
in the fireplace. Your ma liked this room because she could have one.
But I wouldn't sleep here for anything."
"Why?" Janet asked.
"The room is ha'nted," replied the woman, leaving the room in the same
stiff way, without another word.
Janet's rather sober face relaxed into a broad smile. This must be "Old
P'lina!" Later Janet was to find out that the name was Paulina, Paulina
Stout.
But "ha'nted," or not "ha'nted," the room was fascinating. It was hers.
No other room in the house could seem like that. What had Uncle Pieter
said about her "having some rights in the home of her ancestors?" This
should be one of them, then, to occupy her mother's room.
Supper was served in due time. The dining-room seemed large for the
size of the present family, but Janet understood from what Mrs. Holt
had told her that there was often considerable entertainment of guests.
She wondered, for she could not imagine Uncle Pieter in the role of
affable host. He appeared to be preoccupied and joined little in the
conversation, which was largely between Cousin Diana and Cousin Andy.
Once he asked Mrs. Holt when her mother would be back, and inquired
about John's coming. So Cousin Di had a mother who made her home there,
too.
Janet was wondering about many things, but she remembered Miss
Hilliard's caution, not to be in too much of a hurry to find out
everything. "It will take you a little while to become adjusted to the
new place and the new people, Janet," she had said. "One learns about
people slowly sometimes. Be patient."
Janet knew that it was not her nature to be patient. Perhaps no one is
patient by nature. Patience is a grace to be cultivated. Janet's
consideration for others, nevertheless, kept her from blundering into
questions or comments that were not proper. A sense of propriety was
almost inherent with her and served her well in this experience among
strangers.
Uncle Pieter disappeared soon after the meal. Andrew, Diana and Janet
visited for a little while, then Mrs. Holt accompanied Janet, by way of
the corridors this time, to the door of her room. She peeped in at the
glowing fire that burned behind a modern wire screen, put there for
safety. "Better let the fire die down, after you toast your toes a
little, Janet. Shall I look in a little later? Are you lonesome?"
"Oh, no. I'll go to bed pretty soon. I love that old four-poster!"
"You would not like it if it had the old ropes that sagged. But there
are some good modern springs and a fine mattress. Where your uncle has
gotten all the money that he has spent on this place is a mystery to
me. But I was delighted to be asked here. I had not seen the place
since I visited your mother when we were girls. You will find some
paper in your desk. That is the famous desk with the secret drawers,
Janet."
"Really? I did not know if I might open it or not, though the key is
there."
"Everything here is for you to use. Your uncle gave me directions to
that effect. He said that you are to have your mother's furniture."
"How good of him."
"Perhaps not. Why should you not have it?"
Janet looked a little wonderingly at her cousin. Perhaps that was so.
Unless Uncle Pieter had bought it or arranged to have it when the
estate was divided, it would be hers.
How good it was to sit quietly in the room, writing a few of the chief
events to Miss Hilliard, while the fire began to die down and
everything grew quiet. She did not mind a few April frogs that
performed for her benefit somewhere in the neighborhood. The country
was nice, and she was so sleepy. She could not quite finish the letter,
but hurried to undress before the fire should go out, and climbed into
the comfortable, soft bed, first spreading on the extra blanket. On
finding it very chilly when she opened the window, she also spread wide
the dainty blue and white comforter, letting the bottom edge of it hang
over the foot of the bed instead of tucking it in. Even then it came up
under her chin. In sweet contentment Janet said her prayers in her
mother's room and fell asleep.
Later a thunderstorm, or series of storms came up. Janet roused enough
to put down her windows, sufficiently to prevent the rain's beating in.
Then she went to sleep again.
Suddenly Janet wakened. She could hear the rain pouring again. But
there was a movement. Slowly the comforter began to slide from her. How
strange! The cold chills began to play up and down Janet's spine. Could
there be a burglar? She lay still, her face in the pillow.
Now more swiftly the cover was drawn off. It was gone. A flash of
lightning, dimly lighting the room from under the shades and curtains
of the window, disclosed a moving form at the foot of the bed. Janet,
who had lifted her head to see, again pressed her face into the pillow.
She listened for the opening of the door, but there was no sound from
that direction.
A faint noise somewhere, like the little click of a latch,
perhaps,--and Janet lay still for a long time, hearing nothing but the
rain and the boom of distant thunder. Janet remembered that she had
slid fast a small, curious brass bolt at the door when she went to bed.
How could any one enter there? Possibly there was some other entrance,
but she had not noticed any.
It was some time before Janet dared to sit up in bed and finally to
slip from under the covers and run to where the electric button was.
Flash! On came the light and Janet was at the door, ready to run if
there were any menacing presence in the room. _The bolt was still_ in
position, as she had left it when locking up!
On the chair by the bed was her bath robe; beneath lay her slippers.
These all she donned and went to the windows. They were still only a
trifle raised, and now Janet threw them up as high as they would go. No
one had entered there, though the curious little balcony, with vines
beginning to leaf out, shone wet with the rain and the light from
Janet's room.
There were two doors besides the one which led into the hall. Of these
two, one opened into a closet, the other into a bathroom. Janet did not
know whether that had been there in the old days or not but she fancied
that it might have dated back to her mother's time. After her uncle's
brief talk at supper about the old Dutch homes and habits and the early
days of New York history, Janet was beginning to feel as if she were a
part of a long line, indeed, and her curiosity was aroused about all
these little details.
She opened the closet door. There hung her dresses. Her hats were upon
the shelf. She reached back to the wall. No door there. The bathroom,
blue and white and prettily tiled, offered no solution to the
mysterious visitor who had carried off the comforter.
"No ghost," said Janet to herself, "could carry off a thick blue
comforter!" But it _was_ funny,--queer. Had the comforter been anywhere
in the room, she might have thought it a dream. Yet she certainly did
not dream those cold chills, or that odd feeling when slowly the cover
was drawn off. But at least the intruder, ghost or not, had not harmed
her in any way.
Little birds began to sing outside and a gray dawn was breaking. Janet
crept back into bed, refreshed by the air from the wide open windows.
At once she fell asleep, not to waken till Paulina rapped loudly on her
door to waken her in time for breakfast.