Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Eleven
Flo got up and moved to the other side of the room, and I
followed.
I looked over at the girl loitering behind the counter. Violet was
smiling to herself but continued to look down at her fingernails.
A bell tinkled, and the girl went to the door leading into the
back room. She took out a key from her pocket, opened the door a crack, and
reached inside. An unseen person inside deposited the laundered shirt into her
hands.
Violet returned to the counter with the shirt and spread it out
for our inspection. Whoever did the actual washing had done a beautiful job.
There was no trace of a stain, and the shirt had been starched and pressed.
There was even a piece of stiff paper placed inside the collar to keep it in
shape.
“You’re not from White Falls, are you?” Violet asked as she
wrapped up the shirt in brown paper.
“We’re from Greenville,” Flo said. “We’re staying next door.”
“Are you staying at Old Mansion tonight?”
“No, we’re merely here with a friend,” I said.
We carried the shirt back to the house next door, taking care to
enter the kitchen quietly. There was no sign of Mrs. Conrad, or, for that
matter, of Emma. The ironing had been stacked neatly on the kitchen table.
“I suppose she’s working upstairs,” Florence said.
I unwrapped the shirt and removed the stiff paper ring from the
collar. I stuffed the paper ring into the pocket of my dress and rumpled the
freshly laundered shirt up a bit before inserting it near the bottom of the
pile that Emma had finished ironing.
Flo and I were just leaving the kitchen when there was a piercing
scream from one of the upstairs rooms.
“That was Emma’s voice!”
We darted up the circular stairway two at a time, wondering what
latest misfortune had come upon our friend. Emma’s room was empty.
We were still standing in the hallway in front of Emma’s room when
the door of room seven opened, and Emma burst out into the hall. Her face was
white, and the pupils of her eyes were dilated with fear.
“What is the matter, Emma?” I asked.
“That room—” Emma whispered. “Those paintings!”
We stepped into room seven. It was a large chamber with a massive
fourposter walnut bed, dresser, and the usual chairs. Heavy draperies in a dark
brown velvet hung at the windows, one of which overlooked the river directly
beneath. On the east wall were four portraits done in oil and hung in massive
gilt frames. The figures were very nearly life-size, the faces depressing.
“It is in pretty awful taste,” I said. “Rather an assault on the
eyes, but what on earth made you scream like that, Emma?”
“That painting on the wall,” Emma whispered. “The portrait of the
man with the red velvet hat—I was dusting—”
She broke off suddenly as we heard a door slam downstairs.
“Mrs. Conrad!” Emma said. “She mustn’t find us here!”
We fled from the room, closing the door after us. Emma busied
herself dusting the balusters on the stair railing just as Mrs. Conrad
appeared.
“Humph!” the woman commented. “I must say you’ve done better than
I expected. Never mind the rest of the dusting. Get downstairs and start
dinner.”
“Yes, Mrs. Conrad,” Emma said.
I watched as Emma descended the stairs. Her hands were still
shaking, and she gripped the railing for support.
“I suppose we should be starting for home, Flo,” I said, loud
enough for Emma to hear. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”
Emma halted and turned around.
“Can’t you wait just a little longer?” she pleaded.
I looked at Flo. Flo looked back at me and nodded her head.
“Of course we will,” I said.
I could see that our decision to stay displeased Mrs. Conrad, who
obviously considered us as intruders in the house. However, she merely pressed
her lips together and refrained from comment.
“Glen and I shall expect dinner promptly at six-thirty,” she told
Emma. “You’ll find the makings of a hash in the ice chest. There are turnips to
be cooked, and you might make a rice pudding for dessert.”
Taking the evening paper, she disappeared into the parlor, and we
were left alone. We three crept into the kitchen, carefully closing the door.
“She didn’t notice the shirt!” Emma exclaimed in relief.
“The laundry next door did a good job of removing the stain. But
Emma, I think you shouldn’t stay here. Come back to Greenville with us.”
“I’d like to,” said Emma, sinking down in a chair. She was
wavering, but then she bucked herself up and continued, “No, I’ll not be so
silly—I’ll stick it out even after what happened up there in room seven.”
“What did you start to tell us just as Mrs. Conrad appeared?” I
asked.
“It sounds rather ridiculous now,” Emma whispered. “But it’s
true—I swear it is!”
“Something about the paintings?” Flo asked.
“I was dusting the bed,” Emma said. “All the time I felt so uncomfortable—I
can’t explain the sensation.”
“That room is enough to give any sane person the heebie-jeebies,”
I said.
“Well, I certainly had them, right from the second I stepped into
that room, but I stayed and did the dusting. I was on the other side of the
room when I glanced toward that painting—the man with the red velvet cap. I
nearly jumped out of my skin. His eyes were looking straight at me.”
“And was that when you screamed?”
“No, I screamed when I saw those terrible eyes move!”
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