‘The bed belonged to Mrs. Carlyle’s mother,’ the matron explained. ‘It’s the same bed that Mrs. Carlyle talks about in her letters when she says how she pulled it to pieces.’
‘Why did she pull it to pieces?’ asked Maude.
‘Better not inquire, dear.’
‘Indeed you’re right, sir. If you get them into these old houses, it is very hard to get them out. A cleaner woman than Mrs. Carlyle never came out of Scotland. This little room behind was his dressing-room. There’s his stick in the corner. Look what’s written upon the window!’
Decidedly it was a ghostly house. Scratched upon one of the panes with a diamond was the following piece of information—
‘John Harbel Knowles cleaned all the windows in this house, and painted part, in the eighteenth year of age.
March 7th, 1794.’
‘Who was he?’ asked Maude.
‘Nobody knows, miss!’ It was characteristic of Maude that she was so gentle in her bearing that every one always took it for granted that she was Miss. Frank examined the writing carefully.
‘He was the son of the house and a young aristocrat who had never done a stroke of work before in his life,’ said he.
The matron was surprised.