The Ghastly Gerty Swindle With the Ghosts of Hungryhouse Lane Read Free Page B

and Amy Steadings wanted her to keep out for her own good.
    So just be careful, Gerty!
    The door opened. She peered into the gloom. Her hand fell upon a switch—good. Light flooded the room, and her eyes lit up like a pair of freshly minted coins.
    Over there she saw wartime gas masks and old books; over here brown photographs in silver frames lying in an ancient baby carriage with solid rubber tires. Oh my, goodies galore! Wasn’t it strange how one person’s junk became another person’s fortune? There were rolled-up rugs, frightful paintings (but with lovely frames), an elephant’s foot, a huge glass bottle called a carboy in Gerty’s book of antiques (twice as big as a balloon), sets of cigarette cards (showing Hollywood movie stars of the forties and fifties), a Hornby train hardly out of its box—and strike me pink with a yard brush, thought Gerty, there’s a fine old spinning wheel leaning against the chimney. And a rocking chair! On the rocking chair she found twelve perfect little lead soldiers. Musketeers, by the look of them, and worth a bleeping penny or two to the right collector. Pausing only to thrust the box of soldiers into her apron pocket, Gerty crawled out of the attic backward and put out the light.
    At that moment—the moment of switching out the light—something curious happened. In the sudden gloom Gerty thought she saw a kind of afterglow with an almost human shape, a dusty sprinkling of light that seemed to evaporate even as she stared through it; then it was gone.
    â€œHow funny peculiar,” Gerty muttered as she blinked her eyes. “I’ll be needing my glasses for cleaning, soon.”
    On the first landing she opened the grandfather clock and set the box of soldiers inside. There wasn’t much room in there beside the flintlock gun and the bone china figurines by Durkheim. (Gerty had been collecting already.)
    Downstairs, after checking that her employer was occupied elsewhere, Gerty phoned a London number.
    â€œNow, listen carefully because I have to talk soft. The place is a paradise, you have no idea. Yes. I couldn’t even start to make a list of the goodies: china, lead soldiers, clocks, you name it and it’s here, ducky. When? The sooner the better—I’ll let you know. Is your cold better? Well, rub that chest with oil of eucalyptus! And don’t you dare go out without an undershirt.”
    Gerty went into the kitchen, saying, “There we are, not a speck of nasty old dust in sight. I’ve just left the vacuum up there, dear, to save all the bother of hauling it up the stairs tomorrow.”
    Frowning, Amy Steadings plucked a few strandsof spider’s silk from Gerty’s skirt. “What on earth have you been doing with yourself? You’re covered in cobwebs.”
    â€œCoffee, dear?” Careless of you, Gerty, she was thinking. “Or tea?”
    â€œYou haven’t been into the attic, Gertrude?”
    â€œNot unless you mean that little door at the top of the house. Thought there might be something in there that needed cleaning, didn’t I? Well, such a mess! You won’t be wanting
that
cleaned up, will you, dear? I don’t think I could face it.”
    â€œYou didn’t … see anything?”
    â€œOnly a lot of old junk,” said Gerty sharply. “Now, I don’t know about you, but personally I am gasping for a good strong cup of hot tea.”
    What Gertrude Moag had almost seen upstairs was the ghost of Lady Cordelia McIntyre, who really had no idea what that person with the terribly strong-looking arms was doing in Amy Steadings’s attic. Amy never allowed strangers up here—certainly not without first warning Cordelia that they might be coming.
    Or was this the new companion whom Amy had talked about getting? Very likely. The lady had an apron on; and she wore, besides, the most ghastly cloth around her head that Cordelia had ever