  When Linda left Amy with Mrs. Fishberry at the old house, the latter slowly led the way towards the road. But as soon as the autogiro vanished from sight she stood still, and gazed straight at the girl. “You still don’t remember me, Helen?” she asked. The girl shook her head. “No, I don’t, Mrs. Fishberry.” “Call me Aunt Elsie, please— But you claim to remember the house?” “Yes—sort of. But you said I lived in Montana,” she replied, in confusion. “You lived here with your grandfather for a while,” Mrs. Fishberry explained, “after your father and mother died. They were killed in an automobile accident when you were a baby—” So far this was the truth. But what the woman went on to add was a lie which she told at Ed Tower’s request.—“After your grandfather died, I took you to Montana to live with me. Your uncle Ed is your only living relative. He and your father were brothers.” “And their name was Tower?” asked Helen. “Yes. I think that’s why your grandfather built that high tower on his house—because of his name. The idea pleased him.” “But if my uncle Ed is my only living relative, what are you? I thought you said you were my aunt!” “I’m not really your aunt yet—but I will be on Monday, for I’m going to marry your uncle Ed,” admitted Mrs. Fishberry. “No, I am a widow now—an old friend of the family. But I offered to bring you up when your grandfather died, and you have always called me ‘Aunt Elsie.’ Your uncle was traveling so much on business that he couldn’t take care of you.” Mrs. Fishberry smiled to herself with satisfaction as she told this story. Not a bad story, she thought, for one that had to be made up so quickly. And the girl actually seemed to believe it! Both were silent for a moment, while another idea leaped into the woman’s mind. Why not leave the girl here, locked in this empty house, while she returned to Chicago? They could get her again on Monday, when Ed came over to set fire to the place. Surely there must be food in the kitchen. But she mustn’t let Helen suspect that she was going to be left alone! “I don’t see the car,” she remarked, casually. “The driver must have gone away. I told him if I didn’t come back in half an hour that he needn’t wait— We’ll spend the night here, dear, and your uncle will drive over for us to-morrow.” The girl stared at the speaker in horror. She simply couldn’t spend another night in this awful house! All too vividly she remembered the ghost in the tower. “We can’t, Aunt Elsie!” she protested. “It’s too—awful!” Her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. “What’s too awful?” asked Mrs. Fishberry, lightly. “That house. The ghost in the tower.” “What ghost?” “There is a terrible ghost in that tower at night. I can see it from my old bed-room window. His—hands—move!” “Now dear, you’re being silly,” reproved the woman. “How can you remember anything like that, that happened so long ago! It must have been some foolish dream you had when you were not much more than a baby.” “But I can even picture it now!” she persisted. “Oh, come on,” urged the other, grasping her by the arm. “You’re too old for such ridiculous fancies now. Besides, I’m right here. Nothing can harm you.” She almost dragged her back by force to the house. “I—I—know I’ll die, Aunt Elsie,” sobbed Helen, her voice shaking with fear. “Or go crazy.” Mrs. Fishberry drew down the corners of her mouth. “I think that you’re crazy now,” she remarked, with biting scorn. The girl started to cry piteously. She was weak and helpless; now that Linda Carlton and her dear Aunt Emily had been taken from her, there was no one in the world to protect her. For she had no faith in this strange uncle, who apparently cared as little for her as did this harsh woman. “I want Linda!” she cried. “Oh, Linda, why did you leave me?” “You little fool!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry in exasperation. “You’re acting like an idiot. That girl was no friend to you.” “She was the best friend I ever had!” cried Helen, vehemently. “Oh, yeah?” snarled her companion. She was so irritated that she gave up her pretense of being the kind aunt. “And you were too dumb to see through those scheming Carltons!” “What do you mean?” demanded Helen, up in arms at the slur to her new friends. “They were trying to pull the wool over your eyes, of course! So that you wouldn’t remember anything.” “What do you mean by ‘pull the wool over my eyes?’” “It’s just an expression, Miss Dumb-bell. I see that I have to explain everything to you, as if you were a child six years old. I’ll have to tell you in words of one syllable: “Linda Carlton was doing stunts with that plane of hers near to the ground. Somebody, never mind who, but somebody we know, saw her. And she crashed and hit you! There wasn’t any car driving along the road at all. So she made up the story and got her friend to swear that it was true!” Helen’s dark eyes were blazing with righteous anger. “Don’t you dare to say Linda Carlton would lie!” she exclaimed. “She’s the soul of honor, and so is Dot Crowley!” “You don’t say so,” observed Mrs. Fishberry, sarcastically. “Well, I happen to know she did lie, and we’ve got proof of it. Why do you suppose she and her aunt were so nice to you? Because they thought you were beautiful, or interesting, or rich?” “No, I guess not,” admitted Helen, choking over the words. “I guess I was a sight in those dreadful clothes—” She turned to her companion accusingly. “If you took care of me, why didn’t you dress me better?” “Because we’re poor. I had to sacrifice everything to provide food for you.” “But your clothes are pretty nice,” observed the girl, shrewdly. “Well, what of it?” snapped the other. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Why did the Carltons make so much of you, if it wasn’t to stop your mouth? They thought that if they entertained you for a week in their house, afterwards, if your memory came back, you wouldn’t sue them.” “What do you mean by ‘sue them?’” asked Helen, with that amazing ignorance that she showed every once in a while regarding ordinary words. “There was a girl in Linda’s crowd named Sue Emery——” “You get dumber by the minute!” returned Mrs. Fishberry. “We’re going to make Miss Linda Carlton pay fifty thousand dollars damages because she smashed into you with her plane. Now, do you get that?” “You wouldn’t!” cried Helen, in horror. “You just couldn’t!” “Sure we could. The law is on our side.” The woman’s manner suddenly changed, and she remembered to play the part of the fond aunt. “Now don’t you worry, Helen,” she added. “It’s for you we’re doing it. We’ll spend the money on you. First, for a good doctor—a specialist to restore your memory—and then for education and pretty clothes. You’ll be a fine lady some day, if you don’t act silly about Linda Carlton.” “But I love her, and I don’t believe anything against her.” “You love her more than you do me, because she took care of you for a week, while I gave the best years of my life to you!” “I’m sorry, Aunt Elsie, but you can’t expect me to be grateful for something I can’t remember.” While they had been talking they had reached the front door of the house and stopped at the steps of the porch. The wooden boards had rotted and the heavy door was sadly in need of paint. Everything about the place suggested neglect, ruin, and decay. Helen shuddered. “Let’s not stay here!” she begged. “I’d rather walk all the way to town than sleep in this haunted house over night.” “Nonsense,” replied the other. “I’m tired and hungry. Come on in.” She pulled the girl up the steps, and, selecting a large key from her hand bag, inserted it into the lock and turned the knob. The heavy door creaked and opened. Inside, the house was gloomy and forbidding. All the old-fashioned shutters were closed so that the appearance within was almost of night. Helen stopped at the doorway and shivered with fear. “Come along back to the kitchen and we’ll see if we can find something to eat,” said Mrs. Fishberry in a cheerful tone. “I don’t want to!” objected Helen. “Don’t be a coward!” returned the other. “I’m ashamed of you!” Plucking up her courage the girl led the way through the large dim hall, with its great dark staircase in the center, to the wing where the kitchen had been built. The door of this room was locked on the outside with another huge key. “Here we are!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry, as she opened the door. “Now can’t we get some light into this room?” She walked over to the windows and tried to raise them. But they were evidently nailed and barred on the outside. “I wonder whether there is any food,” she remarked. “And what kind of stove this is.” “It’s an oil stove,” answered Helen, in a flash. “And there’s a supply of oil under that table. And here’s where the food is kept,” she added, pointing to a large cupboard. Mrs. Fishberry eyed her narrowly. “You remember pretty well, Helen,” she said. “Yes, I do. Look, here’s tea and sugar and oatmeal. Well, we won’t starve.” “That’s good. Now can you remember where to get the water?” “Yes, there’s a pump out back. But this door won’t open. It must be barred up—yes, I remember it was when Linda and I looked at it.” “That’s all right. You go out the front door with these two buckets and bring in some water. I’ll be looking about for a place to sleep.” While the girl was gone, Mrs. Fishberry made an inspection. A small, winding staircase led from the kitchen to a room above, a bedroom, and in this she decided that Helen could sleep. It would be a simple matter to slip out of the kitchen and lock the girl in, leaving her here until Monday morning. With food and water at hand, no court could hold Mrs. Fishberry responsible if anything happened. And what was the use of taking her to Chicago and paying unnecessary board for her in the meanwhile? It was all accomplished without the slightest difficulty. When Helen returned, Mrs. Fishberry waited only long enough to light the oil stove and to put some oatmeal on to cook. Then she asked the girl to run up the staircase and see whether she had dropped her handkerchief when she was up in the bedroom. By the time Helen had returned the kitchen door to the hall was locked and Mrs. Fishberry was turning the key in the outer door of the house. Five minutes later she stepped into her taxicab and bade the driver return to the railroad station. |
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