HAUNTED GROUND

Waikato Times, Volume 124, Issue 20728, 11 February 1939, Page 21 (Supplement)

HAUNTED GROUND

** A' JAR of paste—” "And some Jam. of course.” “And don’t let’* forget ttie tinopener.” It sounded as though the three girls Jn the corridor leading to the typingroom were discussing their office ■work—lt their offloe work was con- ; eerned with picnicking. It was not. The ifirm which had the honour of employing Wendy Topham, Jill Jennings, and Fay Mulvaney specialised in electrical gadgets, none of which was edible. However, this was Saturday morning, and the dock had struck twelve, so that the typists, including Wendy, Jill and Fay, could discuss what they pleased. And as usual they were chatting about their afternoon's hike. Wendy, looking brighter than she had looked all the week—and she hadn't looked depressed—seemed to he walking on springs, and there was a glow of colour In her cheeks. Fay, pretty, fluffyhaired, large-eyed and long-lashed, seemed as though prepared for a beauty contest, while Jill, plump and cheerful, had that look of expectation which a shrewd observer might have guessed was not unconnected with the prospect of dining out somewhere. “It’s going to be grand,” said Wendy. “The sun’s shining, and on a day like this I shouldn’t think there’s one unhappy person In the whole world—” She pushed open the door of the typing-room, and there stopped on the threshold. Her voice trailed away, and ehe stood silent, aghast. For oddly contradicting Ater words there came a sad, unmistakable sound. In the typing-room a girl was crying. Wendy looked at Jill and Fay, and all three were solemn. Then, to give the girl warning, Wendy deliberately stumbled to make the door-opening noisy. A girl sitting at a desk In the far oorner rose suddenly and turned to the fireplace. "Sybil Wright," whispered Fay unnecessarily. For all three at a glance had recognised her green jumper and black, sleek head. Sybil was no-one's friend; bat not because she was not in every way a very nloe gtrl. The reason was, rather, that she was reserved and no more communicative than was strictly necessary. “Hullo,” said Wendy, so that their silence was not too pronounced. “We’re not last away, after all.” "Thought you’d gone, Sybil," said Jill. Sybil furtively dabbed at her eyes And half-turned. *1 haven’t," she said. Fay stifled a giggle in time; for It ■was the kind of silly remark that could be relied upon to tickle her sense of humour. Wendy shot her a frown, and then, glancing towards Sybil, spoke in what she hoped was not too noticeably hesitant or forced a manner. “Are you doing anything special this afternoon, Sybil?" Sybil turned, in 'control of herself, and only the faint redness of her eyes was evidence that she had been crying. “Why, no!" "Why not come with us?” said Wendv. "It’s Just grand, hiking.” "I’m afraid it isn’t in my line," Sybil said quietly. .“I don't like the coun- ■ It was such a strange point of view that Wendy stared at her, perplexed. “Why ever not?” she said. “Oh I don't know. Perhaps because IPs vast and— unfriendly." • She put the lid on her typewriter, rmt a rubber away in a drawer, and seemed to consider the conversation '"“We re going to Peachley," said W Tt* was a casual enough observation, s„t Svbil in the act of closing the drawer, paused, stiffened, drew up and 6t * r To peachley? It isn’t near hear?" -Bus takes us there in a few nun- ” said Wendy. ‘ To Peachley—how odd,” murmured -Why odd?” smiled Wendy. "Do y °Sybd°smlled a little queerly, and ' No'Tve 1 ne'er' been there, and I never,’ never want to go," she said with sudden Are. "1 — I Vnd then she suddenly flopped down on her chair, and covered her face with her hands.

(By Elizabeth Chester.)

It was Impossible now to pretend they hadn’t noticed that she had been crying, and Wendy went to her, and stooped, slipping an arm about her shoulders. “Sybil, for goodness’ sake what is it?” she said. Sybil shook her head, but did not speak. “Bad trouble? Anything I can do? Trouble at home?” said Wendy, thinking it best for Sybil to talk about whatever it was. Sybil took her hand away and gulped, brushing her hair, and wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Wendy gave her a handkerchief. “There's just a curse on piy family, that’s all,” she said. “Only that— and it will never be lifted. The ghost will never be laid—and we shall never, never be rich or happy ever again. That’s all.” *‘Sybil—don’t be silly,” said Wendy. “That’s such a crazy thing to say. Families haven’t curses—” •“Mine has,” said Sybil quickly. “And don’t I know it. Ever since greatgrandfather died—ruin—ruin—and once we were rich and owned land—and now—now I’ve only got this awful jumper this terrible skirt. I’m sick of them, sick of them, and I can’t aflord any more, and—and you had to mention Peachley.” Wendy rose and looked worriedly and perplexedly at Fay and Jill. “I’m sorry if I said the wTong thing. It just happens to be where we’re going,” she said gently. “And—as to that jumper. If you came with us—Fay could lend you togs. She has a different kit for every outing, moorland kit, mountain—it’s a wonder she doesn't change her clothes as the scenery changes, and hike along a dresser and a few trunks with her.” Sybil gave a laugh that mingled with a sob. “Fay always dresses well,” she said. “Not really,” said Fay guiltily. “I’m just finicky. But I say, do come with us I Clothes don’t matter, and sborts and a shirt will be a change.” *‘And so will the scenery/’ said Wendy. Sybil bit her lip and was silent. Then suddenly she rose. “I wonder,” she murmured with eager excitement, “if I went there, could I lay the ghost?” “The ghost! We’re not going ghosthunting,” said Fay, with a shiver. Sybil was far away with her thoughts. “It’s probably kill or cure,” she said mysteriously. “Things couldn’t be worse than they are.” Then, ceasing her soliloquy, looked up at Wendy. “I’ll come,” she said. “And perhaps, although I’ve never been to Peachley, I can show you something surprising. For my great-grandfather was the squire, and it was there—But never mind,” she ended. She went to wash and to change into the kit that Fay produced from the suitcase which she brought to the office on Saturdays with a choice of outfits. “Queer, isn’t she?” frowned Jill. “What does she mean about this curse ?” “Oh, just depressed,” said Wendy lightly. “Probably her grandfather or great-grandfather squandered the family fortunes and now they’re poor. And you know how these stories grow and grow. Perhaps her father or mother does believe there's a kind of curse, and when Sybil gets down in the dumps and makes one or two typing errors, and gets ticked off, she thinks it’s the curse coming out. But she’ll forget it in the sunshine.” “Urn!’’ said Fay thoughtfully. “But not at Peachley, because, if you ask me, that’s the place where the old witch, or whoever it was, laid the curse—and is where the family ghost is and the old skeleton rattles in the cupboard.” And Fay, for once, was right. It was not to get fresh air, or to wear shorts as a change from jumper and skirt, that Sybil was going hiking with them. Her motive was deeper—deep enough to frighten her, so that almost at the last minute she was near to changing her mind! For Sybil, now, had set* her mind on going where she had been forbidden to go. from which her family had fled —a house of ill omen, now a gaunt semi-ruin. And, whether they liked it or not, Wendy, Jill and Fay would go there, too. “Isn't this grand, Sybil? Don't you feel better already? You look better. Doesn't she. Fay?” (To he continued)