“Thank you.”
As she read, Ellen was fascinated by the woman who had lived so long ago. Lydia was only sixteen in 1866 when she married Samuel Clayton and went to live in his grand mansion. A spoiled girl who was used to having her own way, she threw a fierce temper tantrum the first time her husband went to England on a business trip. To placate her, he brought her a gift—a set of creamy white dishes with a hand-painted green and rose border design. The dishes were creamware, made by Wedgwood, and Lydia fell completely in love with them.
After that, the only gift she ever wanted was more Wedgwood and she devoted much of her time to her collection. She studied the old pieces and cataloged her new ones. “Her Wedgwood,” according to the biographer, “was her passion and her delight.”
Lydia and Samuel Clayton had a son they named Josiah, after Josiah Wedgwood. Lydia adored her baby and spent every waking moment with him. When little Josiah died of whooping cough at the age of four months, Lydia was inconsolable and never fully recovered from her grief. She became a recluse, spending all of her time with her beloved Wedgwood.
A year after Josiah’s death, another son, Paul, was born. It was a difficult birth which left Lydia weak and ill. When Paul was only six weeks old, Lydia got pneumonia and died. On her death bed, she made her husband promise that he would always keep her Wedgwood.
Ellen pitied Lydia Clayton. She lost her first baby and didn’t live to raise her second one. The unfortunate girl lived in the mansion only five years, and died when she was just twenty-one.
Ellen continued to read. Two years after Lydia’s death, Samuel Clayton remarried. The union turned out to be an unhappy one. His new wife, Caroline, desiring to decorate the mansion to her own tastes, sold the Wedgwood collection, without her husband’s knowledge, to a wealthy land baron who intended to give it to his daughter as a dowry.
When the land baron’s workman arrived to pack the Wedgwood, he was forced out of the room by what he described as “a cold hurricane of such force that I thought the roof would fly off the house.”
Once outside, the weather was calm and sunny but the worker refused to go back inside and try again. Insisting that supernatural forces were at work in the Clayton mansion, he believed he had been given a clear mandate not to pack the Wedgwood.
The land baron cancelled the deal, and Samuel Clayton found out what had happened. He forbade Caroline to sell the Wedgwood and he continued to add to the collection until his own death.
The incident with the land baron’s workman was the first of what would be many reports of cold winds, moans in the night, and fleeting apparitions in the Clayton mansion. Local people, many of them jealous of the Clayton family’s wealth, gossiped that Lydia Clayton’s ghost was still guarding her worldly treasures, even after death.
The reports of hauntings continued for several years, with Caroline the main victim. Caroline, already jealous of her pretty predecessor, complained bitterly to Samuel that Lydia’s spirit refused to leave Clayton House. More than once, Caroline tried to pack the Wedgwood away in storage, hoping that Samuel wouldn’t miss it. He always noticed and insisted it be returned to its original shelves.
Caroline never had children and when she suffered a miscarriage, she told Samuel that it was caused by a fall she took as she fled from Lydia’s ghost. Since no one witnessed the fall, there was no proof of her story, but Samuel, who longed for another child, decided to have Lydia’s coffin dug up and burned. He intended to put Lydia’s cremated remains in the Wedgwood and told Caroline, “She loved those dishes more than she loved me. She wants them in death, just as she always wanted them in life.”
Caroline, however, refused to have Lydia’s remains in the house and so Samuel gave up the plan.
Reports of ghost sightings continued to plague Samuel until his death from smallpox in 1895. He often blamed Caroline for the hauntings, saying that if she had allowed Lydia to be cremated and her remains placed in the Wedgwood, the ghost would quit haunting Clayton House. Caroline also died of smallpox, just a week after Samuel.
Years later, Samuel’s great-grandson developed a passion for Wedgwood. “In particular,” the book said, “Edward Clayton was fond of a new Wedgwood line called Fairyland Lustre. More than once, he declared that his great-grandmother, Lydia, would have liked the brilliant colors and the imaginative scenes.”
Ellen reread that paragraph three times. Even though the pieces in the collection were dated, it had not occurred to her until now that Lydia Clayton lived long before the Fairylustre was made. If Lydia had never owned any of it, why would her ghost care about it now? Why did the hands push Ellen toward it, as if she wanted to be sure Ellen noticed it?
Whatever his feelings about Lydia’s ghost, Samuel Clayton kept his promise about the Wedgwood. In his Last Will and Testament, he made sure his heirs would honor Lydia’s request, as well. He left the mansion to his son, Paul, on condition that the entire Wedgwood collection must stay right where it was.
Paul not only followed his father’s command, he perpetuated it in his will, and his heirs did the same. Samuel’s great-grandson, Edward, was the last of the Clayton line. The book didn’t say so, but Ellen knew he was the one who left the mansion to the city, to be managed by the Historical Society. Ellen wondered if the gift had specified that the famous collection of Wedgwood be kept or whether the Historical Society had made that choice.
After Samuel and Caroline died, there were no further reports of a ghost. The gossips of the time decided that it wasn’t the Wedgwood Lydia wanted, it was her husband. The writer of the book agreed, claiming that, with the death of her husband, Lydia’s restless spirit was finally at peace and her ghost was gone forever.
Ellen turned to the copyright page of the book. It was published in 1945. What had happened in the decades since then?
Were there other, unreported ghost sightings? Too bad no members of the Clayton family were still alive. The people who had lived in Clayton House would be the logical ones to see a ghost, if she appeared. But if Lydia’s ghost had been seen, surely there would be some mention of it in newspapers.
Fleeting apparitions, the book said. It was a perfect description of the reflection of the woman in the mirror.
Ellen asked the Historical Society woman if this book was the most recent publication there was about Lydia Clayton.
The woman nodded. “From time to time, rumors of a ghost circulated, but none were ever documented. Eventually, they always faded away.”
What did the ghost want, Ellen wondered, more than a century after her death? Why, after so many years without any proof of a ghost, would Ellen feel the icy wind which had chilled the land baron’s workman so long ago?
The Wedgwood, of course. The reason was somehow connected to Lydia’s treasured collection. But surely she would not object to showing the Wedgwood in a museum setting. The pieces were in no danger; they were beautifully displayed. As soon as the Historical Society spent the haunted house money, the Wedgwood would have special lights, to show it off even more. If the ghost truly loved these dishes, she should be happy to see people admiring them.
Ellen thanked the woman for letting her read the books. As she rode the bus home, she decided to go to the mansion early that night, to give herself time to examine the Wedgwood exhibit before she dressed in her Joan of Arc costume. Corey wouldn’t mind going early. If he could, he would take his sleeping bag and stay at the haunted house all night.
Until now, Ellen had been interested only in the Fairylustre. She was attracted to the fairies, not the dishes themselves. Now, after reading about Samuel and Caroline and the ghost, Ellen was interested in all the Wedgwood and eager to study the older pieces. She would have to be careful, though. She couldn’t let Agnes catch her in the dining room again.
Chapter
7
Everything went wrong.
Corey agreed to go an hour early that night but when Ellen told her mother, Mrs. Streater said, “You’ll have to check with Grandma a
nd Grandpa. We have tickets for the Seattle Repertory Theatre tonight so Grandma and Grandpa will drive you to the haunted house and pick you up afterward. What time do you want to leave?”
“Five o’clock. That would get us there at five-thirty instead of six-thirty.”
“All right,” Mrs. Streater said. “Be sure Grandpa and Grandma don’t have to wait around with you. They’re planning to go out to dinner after they drop you off.”
When Ellen tried to reach her grandparents, she got their telephone answering machine. She left a message but they didn’t call back. She tried two more times, just in case they were home but had forgotten to check the machine; each time she got the recording.
At five-thirty, she gave up. Grandpa and Grandma were scheduled to pick them up at six and obviously they had gone somewhere else first. She would just have to find a different time to study the Wedgwood.
When they arrived at the haunted house, they were astonished to see a long line of people waiting to get in.
“Looks like you’re going to be busy tonight,” Grandpa said.
“Mighty Mike’s been talking about it on the radio,” Corey said.
“This is wonderful,” Grandma said. “They’ll easily raise enough money to finish renovating the mansion. And I’m so proud of you two for all the time you’re putting in. Grandpa and I brag to all our friends about it.”
Ellen raced to the parlor and hurried into her costume. She had already applied her makeup at home and had helped Corey with his, too. She was all ready fifteen minutes before the doors opened. Just time to sneak across to the dining room and take a good close look at the big urn that the hands came out of.
But when she stepped out the parlor door, she nearly bumped into Agnes.
“Where are you going?” Agnes asked.
“To check on Corey,” Ellen said. “Mighty Mike wasn’t here yet when we arrived so I thought I’d better make sure their scene is ready.”
“Mike’s here,” Agnes replied. “It’s a good thing, too. You should see the crowd outside. If we can get everyone in place, we’re going to open the doors early. Come on, I’ll get your scene started.”
Reluctantly, Ellen climbed up the steps to the platform and waited for Agnes to tie her to the stake. Agnes worked quickly, pulling the rope tighter than usual. She flipped the switches, said, “See you later,” and left.
So much for coming early to look at the Wedgwood, Ellen thought. Maybe she would be able to sneak over to the dining room for a few minutes afterward.
The haunted house ran overtime. It seemed like half of King County decided to come that Saturday night. Instead of closing the doors at ten, it was 10:20 when the last visitors finally shuffled out. The time passed quickly for Ellen as she listened to what people viewing the scene said about it. Parents sometimes explained to children who Joan of Arc was and many people shrieked in horror at the idea of someone being burned alive.
That night was especially fun because Caitlin and some of Ellen’s other school friends came. Although Ellen could not distinguish faces in the dim light, she recognized their voices. It took willpower not to smile when she heard Caitlin squeal, “Look! Ellen’s on fire! Oh, I can’t watch!”
Usually, Ellen could slip out of the rope at closing time, whether it was tied or not. That night, the rope was too tight. She had to wait for Agnes to come and untie her. She tapped her foot impatiently. Why had Agnes been so careless when she tied the rope?
An uncomfortable thought struck Ellen. Had Agnes tied her this tight on purpose, so she couldn’t leave the room without Agnes knowing it? Was this Agnes’s way of guaranteeing that Ellen didn’t go back in the dining room? Why would she care whether Ellen got scared or not? Certainly not because she was fond of Ellen.
Mrs. Whittacker made an announcement on the loudspeaker: “Everyone please leave as quickly as possible tonight.”
I’d love to, Ellen thought. She heard other actors talking and hurrying past the door to the parlor. She didn’t call to them to untie her because she expected Agnes to arrive any second. When Agnes didn’t appear, Ellen wished she had asked someone else to help her but by then the hall outside the parlor was empty. Where was Corey? He could untie her. You would think her brother would come to look for her.
When Agnes finally came, she looked surprised to see Ellen.
“I thought you’d be on your way home by now,” she said.
“I can’t get loose. The rope is too tight.”
“Oh, my,” Agnes said. “I’m so sorry. I certainly did not intend to tie the rope that tight.” She quickly untied Ellen and apologized again. Ellen felt guilty for suspecting that Agnes had done it on purpose.
Agnes walked out of the room with Ellen and accompanied her down the stairs to the great hall. Corey was waiting for her there.
“I wondered where you were,” he said.
“I couldn’t get untied.”
“Oh. I thought you were probably looking in the mirror again.”
Don’t say it, Ellen thought. Don’t mention the ghost in front of Agnes.
“There’s Grandpa and Grandma,” Ellen said. “Good-night, Agnes.”
On the way home, Grandpa and Grandma told them about the new restaurant they’d been to and Corey told more Mighty Mike stories. When Grandma asked Ellen how her scene had gone, she said merely, “OK.”
“Ellen’s mad,” Corey said. “She wanted to go early to look at the fairy dishes some more.”
“After the haunted house ends and the museum officially opens,” Grandma said, “we’ll go some Saturday and spend as much time as you like.”
“Thanks,” Ellen said. Usually, Grandma knew just how to make her feel better. This time, she had mixed feelings. She did want to study the Wedgwood but she wanted to do it now, not some vague time in the future. Once the haunted house was over, she would not want to come back to Clayton House, even to see the Fairylustre.
Corey was more excited than usual on the way home because his teacher and some of his third grade classmates had come that night. Nicholas and his parents were there, too.
“I waved at Miss Thorson,” Corey said, “just before I got my head chopped off.”
ELLEN went right to bed. Most nights, she read for half an hour but that night she quit after only two pages, even though she was in a good part of her book. She didn’t know why it was such hard work just to stand and pretend she was being burned alive, but she felt totally worn out.
The dream partially awakened her. As Ellen struggled to open her eyes, she was aware that she had dreamed of the ghost. Usually, Ellen had a hard time remembering her dreams. It always irritated her when Corey sat at the breakfast table and related a long and involved story that he said he had dreamed. She often wondered if his dreams were really so vivid that he could remember all the details, or whether he merely invented stories as he lay in bed at night and then, the next morning, he thought he had dreamed them.
This time, she knew she had dreamed and the dream was so realistic that she could not pry herself loose from it. In her sleep, she had grown suddenly cold. Now, in her half-sleep, she shivered and pulled the blankets tight under her chin. The cold continued. An icy fog surrounded her bed, swirling around her face and seeping down under the covers.
Ellen turned on her stomach and burrowed her face in her pillow but the bone-chilling air swept across the back of her neck. As she moved her head, trying to get away from it, she felt a hand on the back of her neck. The fingers lay like five slender icicles across her skin.
Ellen tried to open her eyes, wanting the dream to end, but her eyelids felt glued together. She was sinking, swirling, drowning in a sea of ice water. Her teeth chattered and she began to shake uncontrollably.
Someone moaned, a low, groaning whisper in her ear. “Ohhhh.” The moan slowly formed a single word: “Ohh . . . end.” The word was spoken laboriously, as if it were a great effort for the person to speak at all. When she heard the voice, Ellen was finally able to snap out of the s
leep state.
She raised her head and blinked into the darkness, still shivering.
“Ooohhh . . . end,” the voice said again, and Ellen realized that it hadn’t been a dream at all. She rolled over, fully awake now, her eyes staring wide into the black bedroom. When she sat up, the cold hand slid from her neck to her shoulder. The icy air still surrounded her; the ghostly voice echoed loudly in her ears.
“Are you Lydia?” Ellen whispered.
Silence.
“What do you want?”
Silence.
“I don’t know what you want. Why did you come here? Why are you haunting me?”
The hand left her shoulder. The cold air now seemed concentrated directly in front of her.
“Aaahhh . . . end.”
End, what? Ellen wondered. End of me? End of my life? Was the ghost threatening her? Why?
Ellen forced herself to move. She lifted her hand out from under the covers and reached the lamp that sat beside her bed. As soon as she clicked it on, the voice stopped. The cold air vanished.
Ellen looked around her room. She saw nothing unusual. Her jeans and sweatshirt were still draped across the chair, where she had left them. Her poster of the Woodland Park Zoo hung on the wall next to the window. Her radio still sat on her desk; her library book lay on the floor beside the bed, where she had sleepily put it last night, just before she fell asleep.
And her bedroom door was still shut. Tight. The ghost had materialized in Ellen’s bedroom without opening or closing the door.
End. End. What could “end” mean?
Even though she no longer felt the icy hand on her neck or the cold air around her, Ellen continued to shiver. It was partly from cold, partly from fear, and partly from relief that the ghost had left.