Olivia laughed. No phantom had terrors for her, however strong an impression half-guessed realities might make upon her youthful imagination.
“Don’t be afraid, Lucy,” she said, encouragingly. “We’ll soon frighten the ghosts away by letting a little fresh air into these musty rooms. Here, help me.”
Half reassured by her resonant voice, the maid accompanied her to the larger window, still clinging to her arm, but more for companionship than with the idea of affording support to her mistress, who had recovered her self-command. Together they succeeded in throwing open both windows to their full extent, not, however, accomplishing this without a shriek from Lucy as a great bird flew out of the hanging ivy and almost flapped against their faces in his confusion at this unusual disturbance. They both felt a sense of relief as the keen but fresh outside air blew into the long-closed room, dispersing the mouldy, musty smell of damp hangings and decaying wood. Even the old woman, who had stood all this time in the doorway, apparently engaged in muttering incantations over her tallow dip, but really transfixed by this audacity of young blood, drew a long breath as the rush of fresh air reached her, and gathered courage to ask “what they were after doin’ now?”
“Were ‘after’ ransacking every corner of this old ghost run, turning it upside down and inside out, and chasing away the last shadow of a bogey,” answered Olivia, cheerily. “Here’s another room to look into.”
Crossing the room with a light step, she opened the door of the second of the closed-up apartments. This chamber also had escaped the dismantling of the rest of the house, but it contained very little that would have been worth taking away. It was lighted by three small windows, all much broken, and all hung with limp rags which had once been muslin curtains, gaily tied up with blue ribbons, which were now almost colorless with dust and damp. The floor was covered with matting, which smelt like damp straw, and had evidently afforded many a meal to the rats now scurrying behind the woodwork, which in this room was much decayed and in far from good repair. A plain deal table, from which the cover had been removed; two limp wicker chairs with ragged cushions; an empty birdcage; a fanciful wicker kennel for a lapdog; these were nearly all that were left of the furniture. Olivia inspected everything with eager but silent interest, and then turned suddenly to Sarah Wall, who had again followed them as far as the door, preferring even the eerie passage of the bedroom to solitude outside.
“Who lived in these rooms last?” she asked.
But the candle nearly fell from Mrs. Wall’s hand as, for all answer, she withdrew into the desolation of the deserted bedroom rather than face the eager questioner again.
Olivia was not to be put off so easily. She followed precipitately, and, changing the form of her attack, said—
“How long is it since these rooms were shut up, Mrs. Wall?”
The guide’s eyes shifted about, refusing to meet those of the young girl.