Read Online The Ghost and Mrs. Muir by R. A. Dick - Free Book Online

twenty-four hours, but already she had rearranged Lucy’s entire way of living to her own satisfaction, or rather she had arranged it in her own mind, for dear little Lucy was proving surprisingly obstinate about carrying out her advice. Obviously she needed shaking up. Why had she joined no clubs, no societies? It was, of course, right and fitting that she should mourn for her departed husband, but there was a happy medium even in mourning, and it was all wrong that she should be living the life of a recluse. People would think her odd, and there was no greater handicap for children than the background of an odd home.
    She must go out and make friends, play tennis and golf, and join a bridge club. And the first thing she must do was to replan the house. There was no schoolroom for the children.Surely Lucy must know that it was essential for children to have a place of their own, and though, of course, they each had a bedroom furnished as a bed-sitting room, it was most unhealthy to spend too much time in the rooms in which they slept, and wasn’t it rather selfish of dear little Lucy to have chosen the best room in the house for her own bedroom? That should be the schoolroom, and Lucy and Anna could share the back bedroom, and “such a very strange way to furnish your room,” said Eva, marching into Lucy’s privacy without knocking, “and what on earth do you want with that great telescope?”
    “I like to look at the stars,” said Lucy weakly.
    “You never wanted to look at stars in Whitchester,” said Eva. “I should leave that to the astrologers, my dear, or you may go very odd indeed, and really, Lucy, do you think it quite nice to have such a large portrait of a strange man in your bedroom? Wouldn’t it be in better taste to have an enlargement made of that excellent cabinet photograph of dear Edwin? And why have you nothing but pictures of ships on the walls? And no photographs anywhere, only a couple of miniatures of the children?” What had become of that expensive likeness of Eva herself, taken only last Christmas, and presented to her in the engraved silver frame? And why had she taken to sleeping in a plain iron bedstead? What had become of the pretty brass bed Aunt Henry had given her as a wedding present?
    Lucy could only shake her head. She had always hated the brass bed, decorated with its obese, gilt cupids, and had sold it to a second-hand dealer for a very moderate sum, but her head ached under the onslaught of Eva’s bludgeoning words, and she could say nothing.
    “There, there,” said Eva, clapping her on the back with a firm hand, “you must pull yourself together, my dear, youmust buck up. Edwin wouldn’t like you to give way like this. I see that my place is here for the present—no, don’t thank me, I have always known my duty and have never shirked it. But if you don’t mind, I will have the divan moved out of the dining-room into Anna’s room; I never did like the idea of sleeping in the same room as one eats.”
    Lucy did mind. She minded very much, and so did Anna.
    “She snores, mummy,” protested Anna, “and she makes the room smell of tooth-paste and cold cream, and she asks me problems in arithmetic while I’m dressing. It isn’t fair! Why does she have to be here when we were so happy without her?”
    Why, indeed, thought Lucy. The only one contented in her presence was Cyril, for Eva loved collections and so did he. Together they coursed the hills and valleys about Whitecliff, with a green butterfly net and a cyanide of potassium killing-bottle, snaring red admirals, fritillaries, sulphur-yellows, and tortoise-shells. All the fleeting loveliness that fluttered like dancing flower petals in the sun was brought home in triumph, and their fragile wings were stretched out in stiff crucifixion on the setting boards and speared in a collection of death in a neat little cabinet. In the same way they tramped for miles gathering flowers, squashing the results flat between