11
“Welcome to the Blue Boy Inn,” old Mrs. Devlin said, as she escorted them into the old house.
Priscilla was peeved. Mrs. Devlin had insisted they must have just seen a hiker. The Blue Boy Inn had no ghosts outside the house, she said, and certainly none that walked around with blood on their faces. Priscilla was deeply disappointed. She hoped this place, unlike so many of the others, wouldn’t be a rip-off.
“Leave your bags there, by the door,” the old woman said to Neville. “I’ll have Zeke or my grandson, Jack, carry them up to your room.”
“We’d like Sally Brown’s room,” Priscilla said.
Mrs. Devlin gave her a wan smile. “And you shall have it.”
Neville returned the smile. “I suppose you get a lot of crazy ghost hunter types staying here.”
Mrs. Devlin was nodding as she led them into the kitchen. “We’re listed in all the guidebooks as a ‘haunted inn.’ It keeps people coming.”
“And how often do guests see apparitions?” Priscilla wanted to know.
The old woman stopped at the roughhewn kitchen table, steadying herself against it with her hands. “Some of them report a sighting or two. I make no guarantees.”
Priscilla snorted. “Well, there have been so many killings in this house. I’d imagine the spirits are very restless here.”
Neville sighed. “She’s a true believer, I’m afraid,” he told Mrs. Devlin.
“A cup of tea?” the old woman asked.
Both accepted, and she gestured for them to sit at the table.
“I take it you’re not a believer then, sir,” Mrs. Devlin said, looking over at Neville as she poured steaming hot tea into two delicate china cups, balanced on saucers.
“Not really. I’m here for the fun of it, and because Priscilla would only go with me to Florida after a week of ghost hunting in New England.”
Mrs. Devlin pushed the cups of tea toward them with her bony, spotted hands.
“Thank you,” Priscilla said, taking hers and lifting it to her lips.
“Well,” Mrs. Devlin said, sitting down at the table opposite them, “I suppose there must be restless spirits here. You’re right, young lady. There have been an awful lot of deaths in this house. More than our share.”
“So you’ve never seen any ghosts?” Priscilla asked, setting down her cup into the saucer and leaning slightly toward the old woman.
“I don’t think I’d recognize them if I did. I’ve been here a very, very long time. Sometimes it takes someone unaccustomed to the place to pick up on things.”
Priscilla nodded. “That’s true. I’ve read about that phenomenon. You live here with the spirits and so you’re on the same vibration. You don’t see them. But those who come in from the outside can pick up more easily on things.”
Neville laughed out loud. “What a bloody rationalization! Fanatics like you, my dear, can come in and claim they see things simply because you’re on a different vibration!”
Priscilla shot him an angry look.
Neville grinned, reaching over to pat her hand. On her pinky she wore an opal ring. It was supposed to attract spirits. “I use the word fanatic with great affection, my dear.”
“Zeke has seen some ghosts,” Mrs. Devlin told them.
Priscilla looked back over at her. “Who’s Zeke?”
“Our caretaker. He’s been here nearly as long as I have. He’s seen things. You should ask him.”
“Oh, I certainly will.”
“I should also tell you,” Mrs. Devlin said, standing up again, with some difficulty, “that my grandson and his wife have just arrived. They will be living here with me now, taking over the care of the place. Zeke and I have gotten too old to do it all by ourselves anymore.”
“Is that the lady who drove up while we were outside?” Priscilla asked.
“Yes.”
“She went off into the woods,” Neville said. “I guess looking for the woman who was hiking.” He smirked. “To apologize for Priscilla screaming her head off, I imagine.”
“I tell you,” Priscilla insisted, “her face was covered with blood.”
“Perhaps she scratched herself in the thicket out there,” Mrs. Devlin said. “Or it was mud. It gets very swampy a few feet into the woods.”
Priscilla sniffed. She wasn’t entirely convinced that what she’d seen had not been a ghost.
“Anyway,” the old woman continued, “I haven’t yet filled in my granddaughter-in-law about some of the more distressing chapters in the inn’s history. I didn’t want to frighten her too badly on her first day. And since you’ve obviously read everything there is about the Blue Boy Inn, I’d appreciate you not bringing it all up with her. At least, not quite yet.”
Neville made a face in surprise. “You mean to tell me, her husband brought her to live here without telling her about the history of this place?”
Mrs. Devlin pursed her lips. “We decided it was best to tell her when she got here.”
Neville laughed. “Because otherwise, no sane person would ever have come.”
A tight smile stretched across the old woman’s face. Priscilla took it to mean that Mrs. Devlin was saying, Ah, but my granddaughter-in-law isn’t sane.
“You must be tired from your drive,” Mrs. Devlin said, lifting an old copper key off a nail on the wall near the sink. “I’ll show you up to your room.”
Priscilla and Neville stood to follow her.
“So were the killers of any of those who were murdered here ever found?” Priscilla asked as they headed back out into the hallway.
“Most of the deaths here were simply tragic accidents,” Mrs. Devlin said, leading the way through the narrow, musty corridor, not looking back as she spoke.
“Well, that poor man whose head was never found,” Priscilla said. “That was no accident.”
“No, I suppose it was not,” the old woman replied. “Andrew McGurk died here before my time. My husband’s father owned the place then.”
“And the little baby who disappeared,” Priscilla asked, “except for her arm?”
Mrs. Devlin paused near the stairs. “For the life of me, I don’t know where Zeke or Jack are,” she said, evidently done with speaking about murder and death and ghosts.
“That’s all right,” Neville said, grabbing their bags. “I don’t mind hauling them myself.”
The old woman frowned. “Not a good way to treat our guests. I apologize.”
They started up the stairs.
“But please,” Priscilla said. “Tell me about the baby.”
“I had just arrived here,” Mrs. Devlin said. “Had just married my husband. And I suspect, in that case, it was a kidnapping gone wrong. The mother was a rich heiress. She was running away from her father, and some goons were after her. I think they thought taking the baby might get them quite the ransom.”
“But why would they cut off the poor thing’s arm?” Priscilla asked.
“You’d have to ask them,” Mrs. Devlin said.
They had reached the top of the stairs.
“Here’s your room,” the old woman said, unlocking the door.
They stepped inside. It was small, neat, low-ceilinged. Mustiness pervaded everything. The four-poster bed was small, carefully made. A three-drawer dresser stood beside the single window. Except for a straight-backed chair, that was all the furniture in the room.
“And Sally Brown?” Priscilla asked. “The girl who died in this room?”
“Before my time, too,” Mrs. Devlin said. “But what my mother-in-law told me was that poor Sally got word that her fiancé had died in Germany. This was during World War I. And so she slit her wrists. That was the cause of the blood on the walls.”
“But her body was never found,” Priscilla pointed out.
“I was told Sally ran outside to bleed out,” the old woman said matter-of-factly. “I suspect bears and coyotes finished off her remains.”
Neville shuddered. “Such a delightful history.”
“Even if they weren’t all murders,” Priscilla said, “these were very traumatic deaths. Suicides make for some of the most frequent ghosts.” She looked over at Mrs. Devlin. “Do many people report seeing Sally?”
The old woman nodded. “Yes. Many do.”
Priscilla smiled.
“Then I’ll let you get settled,” the old woman told them. “I’ve made some rabbit stew if you’d like some for dinner. Otherwise, there are some decent restaurants up in Sheffield.”
“Thank you,” Neville said.
Mrs. Devlin left them alone.
“It was a ghost I saw out in the woods,” Priscilla said. “I know it. I’ll bet it was Sally Brown!”
Neville flopped down on the bed. Dust puffed up into the air.
“I don’t think I could eat rabbit stew,” he said.
Priscilla was examining the wallpaper for bloodstains. “We’re going to get what we paid for here, I’m certain of it.” She looked over her shoulder at Neville. “We’re going to have a major close encounter with the spirit world here. I can feel it in the air!”
Neville could only groan.