Ice Castle

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THE DANA GIRLS
THE SECRET OF THE ICE CASTLE

A 1930's Dana Girls fanfiction mystery
PART TWO:
Chapter Six: BLEAK ACRES
Chapter Seven: THE GHOSTLY MUSIC
Chapter Eight: THE OLD STONE HOUSE
Chapter Nine: A STARTLING REVELATION
Chapter Ten: THE INDIAN PRINCESS
Chapter Six: BLEAK ACRES
Friday morning dawned cold and bleak with a light trace of snow in the air. Louise and Jean had a full schedule of classes in the morning,
but their afternoon was free. They planned to visit Betty Gordon at one o'clock, and Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet were to arrive later to pick
them up for the weekend trip.
"It is a perfect day to visit an estate named Bleak Acres," Louise commented, looking out the window at the gray gloom as the two girls
dressed for class.
"I think it's lovely," Jean said gaily, pulling on a sweater over her blouse. "I like bleak weather. It is so dramatic! I hope the sun does not
shine even one moment while we are at Bleak Acres."
Louise chuckled, but she had to agree there was something very exciting about the gloom, especially when on the trail of a perplexing
mystery.
Jean boldly pinned the snowman pin onto her sweater. She wanted Lettie to see it if their paths crossed. She realized that Ina would have
already told the Briggs girl about the pin, but it would serve the girl right to come face to face with it again. But no such misfortune came
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Lettie's way that morning. The Dana Girls did not see her at all, and they wondered if she were purposely staying out of their way,
momentarily frightened off because she knew they had retrieved the pin.
However, thoughts of Lettie soon faded from their minds as they donned hats and coats after lunch and headed back into Penfield. They
rode the bus to a stop near Miss Gordon's street and walked the remaining two blocks. It was snowing lightly, but there was no wind. The
air was brisk and invigorating.
Miss Gordon's house, a modest but stylish bungalow, was halfway down the street in the pleasant middle class neighborhood. The girls
liked the artistic architectural details of the house, especially the wide front porch under the low-slung roof. They hurried up the front steps
and stomped the snow off their boots as Louise pressed the doorbell. Miss Gordon immediately opened the door, as if she had been
standing there awaiting their arrival.
"Hello, girls," she said with a welcoming smile. "I'm so glad to see you. I talked to Mrs. Grantland earlier today and she had so many nice
things to say about you."
Louise and Jean stepped inside and introduced themselves. Miss Gordon was a middle-aged woman, slightly plump, and possessed a
warm, friendly personality. She shook their hands in greeting, then took their coats and hats and stored them in the vestibule closet.
"Let's go into the parlor. We shall have tea. I'm sure you can use a cup or two after being out in the cold."
She led the girls through an arch into a room furnished in such a cozy and comfortable manner that they immediately felt at home. A small
cheerful fire was burning in the fireplace and the girls seated themselves in winged chairs on either side. Miss Gordon sat on a nearby
love-seat, in front of which was a fully laden tea cart.
"This is a lovely home," Louise commented, eyeing the beautiful furnishings and draperies. "How long have you lived here?"
"All my life," the woman responded, pouring tea into dainty china cups. "This was my parents' home, and they left it to me. Working as a
nanny, I have often lived for long periods of time in other people's houses. But I always have this house to come home to."
She served Louise and Jean tea and offered them sweets from a plate of cookies and tiny cakes. Even though the girls had just had lunch,
they could hardly refuse such tempting treats.
"I have never married," Miss Gordon said as she resumed her seat and picked up her tea cup. She took a tiny sip of the brew within. "So,
of course, I have never had children. But I never really missed having my own because I took care of other people's children. They were all
my little darlings."
She smiled sweetly, almost sadly, and added, "Which brings us to the reason for your visit."
Louise nodded. "Yes, Lorraine Symington."
Betty Gordon sighed. "Little Lorraine was the sweetest child of all the children I've known. Mrs. Grantland said you helped her with a
mystery. Are you now looking into the mystery of little Lorraine's abduction, all these years later?"
Louise placed her tea cup down on the table next to her chair, sharing a momentary glance with Jean. Then she said, "We believe we may
have information pertaining to the case."
Jean reached into her sweater pocket where she had earlier placed the snowman pin when changing clothes after class. She withdrew the
item and showed it to Miss Gordon.
"Have you ever seen this before?"
The woman's eyes rounded in shocked surprise and her hand that held the tea cup began to tremble. She placed the cup down on the cart
with a bang, tea sloshing out of it, and jumped to her feet.
"Goodness gracious!" she cried, rushing over to Jean and taking the glittering pin from her hand. She turned it over and over, her mouth
agape.
"This belonged to Lorraine! She was wearing it when she disappeared. I had bought it for her that Christmas right before the kidnapping."
Louise and Jean looked at each other, both sitting forward on the edge of their seats. Even though they had suspected as much, it was
still startling to hear it was the truth.
Miss Gordon looked from one to the other. "Where did you find this pin?"
Louise advised her that she had better sit back down. Nodding absentmindedly in agreement, Miss Gordon resumed her position on the
love-seat, clutching the pin. She looked at the girls expectantly.
Louise spoke in low soothing tones. "We have reason to believe that Lorraine Symington may still be alive. In fact, we think we have seen
her."
The kindly woman's eyes widened again and her mouth formed a little O. She pressed the hand holding the pin against her heart.
"You ... you have seen her?"
Louise and Jean both nodded, and then Jean told the woman about their adventure at Indian Lake: the strange woman with the rifle and the
girl in the red coat at the Ice Castle, and the leather case found on the island containing the news clippings and the snowman pin. Miss
Gordon listened attentively, a look of amazement on her face. When Jean had finished her narrative, the woman asked:
"The girl ran away when you called out to her?"
Louise nodded. "Yes, she was frightened. We followed some distance, but it was difficult trudging through the woods in our ice skates."
"And it appeared that the woman and the girl were inhabiting the Ice Castle?"
"Most certainly," Jean affirmed. "There was a light in the upstairs window of the north tower, and the woman had come around from the
back of it."
Miss Gordon placed the snowman pin down on the tea cart and rested her trembling hands on her knees. "The Symingtons would not
allow anyone to stay at the Ice Castle. You can count on that. The woman and the girl are there without permission."
She drew in a deep breath and went on. "This fits in with the suspicions I have always had about what happened. Lorraine had run off to the
burial grounds a couple times before, and was there quite a while before I found her. She was quite a precocious child in many ways and
needed a firm eye kept on her. Both times she ran off, she claimed there had been an Indian princess there who had been very sweet and
kind to her."
"An Indian princess?" Jean gasped.
"Yes, Lorraine talked about her often, but I never saw the young woman. The Indians were free to come and go as they pleased to the
burial grounds. The Symingtons never tried to keep them away, even though there were a couple acts of vandalism at first."
Louise gave her a knowing look. "Do you believe an Indian woman abducted her? Perhaps this princess?"
Betty Gordon nodded slowly. " I have always believed so. When I got to the burial grounds that day, having followed Lorraine's tracks in the
snow, there was no one in sight. No sign of Lorraine at all, just many tracks and footprints in the snow and signs of a struggle. The graves
are not in the ground as in the cemeteries we know. There are wooden structures above ground that hold the deceased in casings of
leather and fur. The place was eerie and always gave me the creeps, but Lorraine had a fascination for it because of the princess."
"The woman with the rifle looked like she could be an Indian," Jean said, "although she appeared to be quite old."
"She could be the princess," Miss Gordon mused thoughtfully, "or one of the older women. They could have stolen Lorraine that day and
now, for whatever reason, they have taken her back to the Ice Castle."
Louise frowned. "But didn't you tell your suspicions to the police?"
"Indeed I did. The authorities investigated thoroughly. They went to the reservation across the lake and talked to the Indians and looked
through every dwelling. But they found nothing. The tribal princess, whose name was Chakwanna, admitted to having seen the child on the
island and talking to her, but claimed she knew nothing about the disappearance. There was never a shred of evidence to connect the
Indians to the kidnapping."
She shook her head sadly, adding, "It was as if the child had disappeared into thin air, never to be seen again."
"Until now, perhaps," Jean mulled thoughtfully. She told Miss Gordon about the recent hauntings at Bleak Acres and that she and Louise
would be spending the weekend there to investigate. "It is possible that the incidents at the Ice Castle and the estate are related," she
added. "We certainly intend to find out."
Miss Gordon took a sip of her tea, her brow furrowing in thought. "Bleak Acres is indeed a spooky old place. Mr. Symington's great
grandfather had it built as a replica of an old mansion on the cliffs of Cornwall in England. But there were never any frightening incidents
there."
A small smile formed on her lips. "Lorraine was an unusual and clever child. She had a way of getting in and out of the house without any
of us knowing how. I tell you, I really had to keep my eyes on her."
"She didn't tell you how she got in and out?" Louise asked.
Miss Gordon shook her head. "Lorraine liked to keep secrets. Other members of the staff sometimes talked about rumors of secret
passages, but none were ever shown to me. I suspect that Mirabelle, the Negro cook, might have known about them. She no longer works
for the Symingtons as she has grown too old, but she lives in an old stone house on the estate off in the woods. You might want to visit
her while you are there. You may be able to glean some information from her."
"We'll be sure to stop and see her," Jean said. "Whoever is haunting the house has a means of getting into it. Louise and I suspect that
the woman and the girl from the Ice Castle may also be the cause of the strange happenings at Bleak Acres."
Miss Gordon frowned slightly, but then a ray of hope came to her eyes. "Lorraine would definitely remember Bleak Acres, as well as the
Ice Castle. If she has returned to one, she may well return to the other. But if the girl is Lorraine .. well, why hasn't she contacted her
parents?"
Louise shrugged her shoulders. "That's one of the many mystifying points in this case."
"But we intend to unravel it all," Jean declared, hoping to boost the woman's confidence.
Miss Gordon picked up the snowman pin and handed it back to Jean. "Be cautious telling Mrs. Symington your suspicions. Her heart was
broken when she lost Lorraine and to give her false hope now might prove too much for her."
The Dana Girls promised not to voice their suspicions to the missing girl's mother unless there was good cause. After visiting with Miss
Gordon for another fifteen minutes, Louise checked her wrist watch and reminded Jean that they must be going. Uncle Ned and Aunt
Harriet would soon be arriving at Starhurst.
Miss Gordon bade them a fond farewell and the girls promised to keep her informed about the Symington case. Louise and Jean had much
to discuss on the bus ride back to Starhurst and were very pleased with the important information they had gotten from the friendly nanny.
Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet were already waiting for them when the girls got back to school. Uncle Ned's car was parked on the circular
drive in front of the pillared entrance, and he and Aunt Harriet were in the Red Room chatting with Mrs. Crandall. The headmistress fairly
beamed at Louise and Jean as they entered the parlor to greet their guardians.
"Your aunt and uncle tell me you are spending the weekend with the Symingtons," she clucked most approvingly. "I'll have you know they
are benefactors of our school and have made important donations to the endowment fund."
"That makes us even more determined to help them in any way we can," Louise declared.
Mrs. Crandall smiled at Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet, who had risen to their feet to greet the girls. "There are no other two girls who can
better represent Starhurst than Jean and Louise," she said proudly. "I am very pleased that they will be guests at Bleak Acres this
weekend."
The girls almost blushed at this lavish praise but were fortunately distracted by warm hugs of welcome from their aunt and uncle. None of
the happy group in the parlor saw the two girls peering in at them from the shadows in the hall.
Lettie Briggs was furious. "Why is it that the Dana girls always get the breaks?" she whispered to Ina Mason. "My father has done a great
deal of business with Mr. Symington over the years, but I have not been invited to Bleak Acres!"
Ina sniffed. "They always do seem to have the best of luck, especially when on the trail of a mystery."
Lettie's eyes narrowed as she and Ina turned away and headed down the hall. "The best of luck indeed! How they found out where to get
the snowman pin is a mystery to me. And now they are going to Bleak Acres, where the kidnapped Lorraine Symington used to live. Oh, I
just have to find a way to solve this case before they do!"
Unaware of Lettie's jealous scheming, Louise and Jean hurried upstairs to get their traveling bags, then joined Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet
in the main entrance hall. Mrs. Crandall saw them off as they piled into Uncle Ned's gleaming black sedan, and she expressed her wish
that they have an enjoyable weekend. The automobile had a powerful heater, but Louise and Jean, who had climbed into the back seat,
adjusted thick fur robes over their legs to make the trip even cozier. Soon the big car was off and away, leaving Starhurst behind for the
countryside north of town.
There was plenty of discussion as the girls and their aunt and uncle caught up on affairs. Uncle Ned had a great deal to tell them about his
stay in New York and the latest plans for the Balaska, and Aunt Harriet brought them up-to-date on affairs at home, including a couple of
Applecore's latest capers. Soon they were motoring through the hills not far from Indian Lake and the girls told their aunt and uncle that
they had been to the lake ice skating earlier in the week and had seen the Symingtons' Ice Castle.
"I have heard of the place," Uncle Ned said, "but I have never seen it. It is reputed to be very beautiful."
"It certainly is," Jean replied. "We were quite impressed with it."
They said nothing about the mystery they had encountered there, wanting to know more about the strange happenings at Bleak Acres
before relating that news.
At length, Uncle Ned turned the big car onto a bisecting highway and several minutes later slowed down as he looked for the road leading
to the Symington estate. Soon enough he came upon it, a snow-packed gravel road flanked by stone pillars supporting opened gates. It
seemed to lead deep into the woods.
"Goodness!" Aunt Harriet exclaimed after they had been driving down it a while. "All these woods! No wonder they call the place 'bleak'."
Louise and Jean smiled at each other, enjoying the ride through the thick snow-laden forest. But a moment later they gaped ahead as the
woods thinned out and fell behind them. Ahead on a rise of land stood Bleak Acres, a magnificent English manor house of such a size that
it made even Starhurst seem small. The roof line was long and many-gabled, with wings extending back on each side of the long main
section. The beautiful exterior was a combination of stone, stucco, and intricate half-timbering, much of it carved into tableaux of flora and
fauna. There were a multitude of multi-paned leaded windows and countless other breathtaking architectural embellishments.
"Quite a place, isn't it?" Uncle Ned beamed back at them.
Jean nodded vigorously. "Perfect place for a ghost!"
"Or two ... or three ...," added Louise, with a chuckle.
Aunt Harriet rolled her eyes heavenward. "And knowing my illustrious nieces, you'll do your best to catch them, one and all!"
Aunt Harriet rolled her eyes heavenward. "And knowing my illustrious nieces, you'll do your best to catch them, one and all!"
Chapter Seven: THE GHOSTLY MUSIC
Uncle Ned drove the sedan around the big circular drive that led up to the house and parked in front of the entrance to the great mansion.
Almost immediately the ornately carved front door opened and a man stepped out. He was older than Uncle Ned but still had a youthful
vigor about him, and he was very handsome and debonair in his stylish country tweeds.
"There is Mr. Symington now," Uncle Ned exclaimed as he turned off the ignition and opened the car door. He jumped out and walked
around to help out Aunt Harriet, then greeted his employer who had come down the front steps to the drive. Louise and Jean had pushed
aside the car robes and climbed out.
Aunt Harriet and the girls were introduced to Mr. Symington and he warmly welcomed them to Bleak Acres. "Thank you so much for
coming. We are in a bit of a turmoil being short of staff since the hauntings started, but we shall make do. Please come in. I'll have
McFarlane carry in your traveling bags. He and Mrs. Benson, the housekeeper, have been so kind as to not have run off in terror."
"I could have brought Cora along, had I known they were short of staff," Aunt Harriet said in an undertone to Louise and Jean as they
walked up the front steps. "She could have helped out."
Jean chuckled at that idea. "It is best you didn't," she whispered. "Taking Applecore to a haunted house would be like allowing an elephant
into a china shop!"
"Right, complete disaster," Louise quickly agreed.
They stepped through the open front door into an entry hall of massive proportions. The ceiling was high in shadows and a sweeping
staircase led to a gallery above, its wall lined with stately portraits. Ornate antique furniture hugged the walls and luxurious Persian carpets
lay underfoot over the tiles. As beautiful as the great hall was, the unexpected surprise of a profusion of resplendent Christmas decorations
made it even more appealing. Ropes of evergreen branches and boughs of holly festooned the hall and climbed up the stairway railing, all
laden with red and white ribbons and elegant ornaments of every color.
"By heavens! You still have Christmas decorations," Aunt Harriet marvelled. "It is absolutely lovely."
"We left in a hurry after Christmas," Rutherford Symington explained, "and have just this afternoon returned. Most of the staff went off too,
thus the house is still decorated."
"It's a wonderful surprise," Jean said gaily, twirling around to get a look at everything. "It will be like having Christmas all over again!"
"I am so glad you are pleased," said a cultured feminine voice from above. "I like the holidays so much I could celebrate them every
month!"
All eyes looked up to see a comely and dignified woman descending the staircase. Her blonde hair was attractively streaked with silver
and her smile was warm and welcoming. Jean and Louise instinctively knew she was the mother of the missing Lorraine Symington.
Mr. Symington introduced them to his wife, whose name was Mary, as she joined them in the hall. "I'm so happy that you could all come,"
she said. "After being in New York, it seemed so lonely here today."
She winked at Aunt Harriet and Louise and Jean, giving them a conspiratorial smile. "Follow me into the Winter Parlor for a special treat."
She took Aunt Harriet by the elbow and Louise and Jean and the men followed them through an archway off the hall into a large room with
many floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was Victorian in decor with dark wood tones, luxurious intricately patterned carpets, and
groupings of richly upholstered furniture. Like the hall, it was festooned with yards and yards of evergreen garlands and boughs, all hung
with glittering ornaments. At the far end of the room, set in a long bay window, stood a tall Christmas tree profusely laden with a myriad of
Victorian ornaments including angels, bows, birds, feathers, glowing strings of lights and tinsel.
"I have never seen such a lovely room," Louise declared, "nor such beautiful Christmas decorations."
Jean was gazing out the windows at the bleak fields of snow that faded off into distant woods. "It is so comfortable and cozy in here, yet
the windows seem to bring the outdoors right inside."
Mrs. Symington smiled. "Rutherford and I have always loved the winter, and we spend a great deal of it in this room. Please be seated and
Mrs. Benson will serve us tea."
The men sat down and began discussing the new work being done on the Balaska. Jean, in an undertone, made a comment to Louise
about having tea for the second time that day, then both girls joined in the conversation Aunt Harriet had struck up with Mrs. Symington
about domestic matters at the beautiful mansion.
"Normally our staff consists of McFarlane, the butler, and Mrs. Benson, the housekeeper," the woman told them. "And, of course, Cook
and the household staff, about ten altogether. The hauntings really frightened everyone. We allowed everybody to take a few weeks off until
matters are cleared up. McFarlane and Mrs. Benson stayed on. They would not leave and are the only ones here now. Rutherford and I, of
course, fled to New York."
Louise, surprised at Mrs. Symington's choice of words, raised an eyebrow at Jean. "What happened must have been very frightening," she
said.
"Indeed it was," Mr. Symington chimed in, suddenly having forgotten the shipping business. "It began a few days after Christmas, late in
the evening just before midnight. It was the first time we heard the flute playing. And the animal howling."
"The flute?" Jean asked. "An animal?"
Mrs. Symington nodded, her hand coming to rest upon her heart. "Yes, it is a flute that plays the haunting music, a very sweet and
melodic tune. It comes from outdoors, seemingly from all around the house. And it is sometimes accompanied by the sad dirge of a
howling animal."
"Then," Mr. Symington continued, "minutes later, someone is in the house. You can hear footsteps in the halls. Someone running. And
ragged breathing. And ... the animal..."
The man shuddered and shook his head. Aunt Harriet looked at him in astonishment.
"My heart!" she cried. "What kind of animal?"
"It is a wolf!" said a stern voice behind them.
They turned to see a woman carrying a laden tea tray into the room. She was elderly but looked spry and fit. Her hair was white and her
features sharp, but there was twinkle in her eyes as she placed the tray onto a tea cart and rolled it over to Mrs. Symington.
"This is Mrs. Benson," the lady of the house said by way of introduction. "She has heard the strange sounds more than most of us and
believes the animal to be a wolf."
"Have you seen the beast?" Uncle Ned asked her. "Couldn't it possibly be just a hound?"
The housekeeper shook her head as she began to pour tea. "I haven't seen it, but I've heard it howling outside and panting in the house at
night. There have been bits of fur in the halls too, the animal being shedding. Gray and white and black hairs. I am sure it is a wolf. Packs
of them used to roam these hills when I was a child."
"But how do the prowler and the wolf get into the house?" Louise asked.
Mrs. Benson handed her a cup of tea. "Ah! That is the mystery, my dear. May you and your sister have good luck solving it. I'd give you a
hand, but I'm too busy taking care of this big house all by myself."
Louise and Jean chuckled at the woman's impish manner, instantly taking a liking to her. Mrs. Benson efficiently served the others and
then left the room for the kitchens where she was preparing dinner.
Mr. Symington shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. "She is braver than Mary and I," he said. "She and McFarlane stayed on while the
rest of us went away."
"She looks like the fearless type," said Aunt Harriet. "Did the hauntings continue while you were in New York?"
Mrs. Symington answered the question. "Yes, but not as often. We were gone for almost three weeks and there were only four episodes of
the midnight visitations."
Jean looked from her to her husband. "Do you know of any secret passages into the house?"
Mr. Symington shook his head. "This is a very old house, built over one hundred years ago. It was a stop along the underground railroad
before the Civil War. Runaway slaves from the South were kept hidden here until they could safely move on to freedom north of the border.
There may well be passages into the house but I don't know of any nor have I ever looked. It is something that never entered my mind until
lately."
"That, of course, would be the most logical explanation," his wife said with a sigh. "But then the next question would be who and why.
Why would anyone want to haunt us, and who could it be?"
Louise and Jean exchanged glances. Apparently the man and woman did not know that their daughter used to go in and out of the house
mysteriously. It was understandable why members of the staff would not tell them, not wanting to be charged with carelessness. But the
girls did not dare to bring up the topic of their long lost daughter.
"Well, we will have a look around," Jean told them. "We have found secret passages in other houses. Perhaps we shall have the same
luck here."
"Does anyone else live on the property?" Louise asked, hoping to be told about Mirabelle, the old Negro cook. "Is there a carriage house or
guest cottages that are inhabited?"
Mr. Symington shook his head. "The carriage house in back has been converted to a garage now, and no one occupies the rooms above.
The staff all live in the west wing."
"Don't forget Mirabelle, darling," Mrs. Symington said to her husband.
"Oh yes. Mirabelle lives in a small stone house off into the woods behind the gardens. It has always been her house, as long as I can
remember, and I tend to forget it is part of the estate. She is very old and was our cook for many years. We look after her, of course, and
she has a daughter in Penfield who visits her every few days."
Mr. Symington went on, "I went to talk to her about the strange incidents. She said she had heard the howling animal and the flute playing
but thought she was dreaming. She was not afraid. I hated to leave her here when we went to New York, But McFarlane and Mrs. Benson
watch after her."
"Jean and I will pay her a visit," said Louise. "She might be able to give us a clue. It is often remarkable the things people may know
without even realizing it."
After tea the Danas were shown to their rooms by Mr. and Mrs. Symington. They were given a suite on the second floor of the east wing of
the house, three bedrooms connected by a den and a large parlor with a timbered vaulted ceiling, all of which overlooked the back of the
estate. Beyond the gardens, rolling snow-covered lawns faded into the dark woods. The mysterious McFarlane, whom the girls had not yet
seen, had placed their traveling bags in the bedroom, and Jean and Louise busied themselves with putting their clothes into the closet and
the dresser drawers.
"Such an elegant suite," Louise commented, admiring the Victorian furniture and bedclothes draped on the twin four-poster beds. "These
rooms are almost as big as our house in Oak Falls!"
"Oh, look!" Jean said from the leaded window overlooking the back acreage. "That must be the abbey."
She pointed to a small stone building that stood aside the entrance to the large formal gardens. It was fronted with a row of columns in the
same Grecian style as the front of Starhurst. Behind the columns beautiful stained glass windows flanked an iron gate-like door.
Louise peered out to look. "Why, yes. It looks like a chapel."
"We certainly will have a busy day tomorrow," Jean mused. "We must visit Mirabelle and, of course, search the grounds for clues. I'd like
to investigate the abbey, too."
"That depends on how well we sleep tonight," Louise chided. "If the ghosts keep us up all night, we may not be able to accomplish
anything tomorrow!"
Dinner proved to be an elegant affair in the beautifully appointed dining room. The six diners were seated at one end of the long table that
could accommodate twenty. The meal was served by Mrs. Benson and McFarlane who turned out to be the quintessential reserved butler,
nary an expression showing on his placid face. Mrs. Benson proved beyond a doubt that she could prepare a delicious meal without
Cook's help, and she was highly praised by the happy group. After the meal they adjourned to the Winter Parlor where Mrs. Symington
serenaded them by playing the piano as they sat around the cheery fire in the hearth.
"The pieces you are playing are very beautiful," Aunt Harriet said when the woman had paused for a moment, "but I have never heard them
before. Surely such lovely songs should have had some airplay?"
Mrs. Symington smiled demurely. "They are original compositions of mine. I used to write quite a lot of music when I was younger, but
none of it was ever published or recorded."
Louise remarked that the pieces did indeed show great talent, and Mrs. Symington continued to play for them. Both girls felt cozy and
comfortable in the elegant room with its wonderful Christmas tree and holiday decor, the gently falling snow outside the windows, and the
beautiful piano music. It was impossible for them to believe that they were in a haunted house of terror.
All too soon the pleasant evening came to an end and it was time to retire. Uncle Ned had made plans along with Mr. Symington and
McFarlane in case of a ghostly visitation. They were all to meet in the gallery above the main hall and hopefully apprehend the culprit.
Louise placed a flashlight on one of the dressing tables in their bedroom where they could easily grab it on their way out of the room in
case the occasion arose.
"I wish we could talk to Mr. Symington about the experience we had at the Ice Castle," Jean sighed as the girls prepared for bed. "It's not
right to keep him in the dark about what's happening on his own property. And the girl in the red coat might be his daughter!"
"Let's tell Uncle Ned about it tomorrow," Louise suggested. "He can decide how and when to tell Mr. Symington."
Jean agreed that would be the best course of action and she climbed into her bed, snuggling up in the luxurious blankets and silken quilted
spread.
Louise put on her robe and slippers, however, and went over to a suite of furniture by the window. She had brought along the library book
about the Penfield legends, and now curled up on a love-seat to read. She turned to the chapter about Indian Lake and picked up where
she had left off.
Several minutes later she looked over at Jean and said, "This tells about the above ground grave sites at the Indian burial grounds in the
vicinity, including those at Indian Lake. The wooden structures are called anaktwas in the Ojibway language. The departed are placed
within them along with personal belongings they might need along their new journey. Sounds spooky, doesn't it?"
There was no response at all from Jean, and Louise realized she must have already fallen asleep.
With a laugh, she added, "Well, to think that poor little Lorraine liked going to the burial grounds. She must have been a most unusual
child. Certainly not a fearful one!"
Louise turned back to the book and was soon lost in the lore of the countryside surrounding Indian Lake. There was so much of interest
about the old days: the Indians and their reservation, steamship lines that cruised the lake and the river right through Penfield, and sunken
ships and legendary treasures. Even facts about the flora and fauna of the area were mesmerizing, especially the lore about the wolves
that used to roam the land in packs only a generation ago. After a while Louise's eyelids were getting heavy and she let them droop, using
her finger as a bookmark and closing the book. The love-seat was very comfortable and she curled up snugly, listening to the wind outside
the window .... and the howling wolf.
A wolf? She smiled, hugging the book tightly in her arms. There haven't been wolves in the Penfield area in quite some time. Hadn't she
just read about that? But it seemed one surely was out there tonight howling mournfully along with that haunting flute.
The flute!
Louise sat bolt upright, her eyes popping open and the book clattering to the floor. She gaped at the window next to the love-seat, her
heart beginning to thump a wild tattoo.
Yes, there was indeed a howling wolf-like animal out there in the night, and also the haunting music of a flute. Its song sent shivers up and
down her spine. It was so beautiful, so pure and sweet and simple, and so ghostly, that it could have been borne of the winter wind itself!
Chapter Eight: THE OLD STONE HOUSE
Louise hurried over to Jean's bed and shook her roughly by the shoulders to awake her. The girl stirred and opened her eyes.
"Whaa -a-a-t?"
Louise put a finger to her lips. "Shhh! Listen!"
Jean pushed herself up to her elbows and her eyes widened as she heard the sad sweet music wafting on the wind, and the mournful howl
of the wolf.
"Jeepers! That's really spooky," she whispered, shuddering. "No wonder everyone here is frightened."
"It's scary, all right," Louise agreed. "But that's a person out there, not a ghost. Someone who is purposely trying to frighten the
Symingtons."
Jean jumped out of bed and pulled on her slippers and robe. "But who and why? And if it is Lorraine, well it doesn't make sense. Why
would she try to frighten her parents?"
Louise shook her head. "It is a real mystery, and we have to get busy and solve it! Get the flashlight and I'll turn these lights off. Maybe we
can see who's outside."
Louise turned off the lights as Jean retrieved the flashlight. They both crept up to the window where Louise had been reclining on the love-
seat and peered out through the leaded panes. The back acreage was bathed in moonlight and thousands of stars glittered in the velvet
winter sky. They searched the gardens and the lawns that led up to the woods, but nothing was there to be seen.
Again the song of the flute and the howl of the wolf broke the stillness of the night.
"Ooh!" Jean shuddered. "It gives me the willies!"
"That sounded closer to the house," Louise whispered, intensely scrutinizing the darkness. "Oh, look! By the abbey ..."
But just as soon as she had seen the slight movement of a shadow, it was gone.
"Where?" Jean looked at the small stone building. "I don't see anything."
"It's gone. It was just a shadow by the old chapel. But I'm sure I saw something move!"
"Let's go out to the gallery," Jean suggested. "Uncle Ned and Mr. Symington may be out there by now. If the prowler enters the house, we
may able to catch him."
"Or her," Louise added, as they turned to leave the room. "We should have a gun to help deal with that wolf."
"I dare say Mr. Symington has one with him," Jean guessed, switching on the flashlight.
But when they opened the door to the suite's parlor they were surprised to see the lights on. The doors to the other bedrooms were open,
and the door to the hall was ajar.
"Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet must have already gone out to the gallery," Louise said. She explained that she had fallen asleep while
reading and that the haunting episode may have been going on longer than they thought.
"Some detectives we are," Jean harrumphed. "Both of us sleeping on the job!"
Lights were aglow in the hallways and gallery and, as they approached the stairway, they could see the main hall was well lit too. The
sound of someone crying came from behind a door in the main wing and the girls surmised it was Mrs. Symington. They shared a
concerned glance as they passed the door, but then hurried down the stairway when they heard Uncle Ned's and Mr. Symington's voices
downstairs.
As they crossed the hall the girls could see that most of the first floor lights in the surrounding rooms were burning. They went straight into
the Winter Parlor where the voices had come from and saw Uncle Ned and Mr. Symington, in their robes and slippers, looking out the bay
window by the Christmas tree. Jean had been right; Mr. Symington had a pistol in hand.
"Have you seen anyone?" Louise asked them.
The men whirled around.
"Not a sign of anyone," Mr. Symington answered. "The flute music terribly upset Mary and she begged me to turn the lights on in hopes it
would stop the prowler from entering the house."
"Aunt Harriet is with Mrs. Symington in her room," Uncle Ned told them.
Jean nodded. "We heard her crying as we passed the room."
"I saw a movement near the abbey," Louise said. "It was just a shadow, but someone was there. We both had fallen asleep, but the music
and howling awoke us and we looked out the back window."
Mr. Symington nodded his head worriedly. "Someone was out there, all right. McFarlane and Mrs. Benson were already up when we got
down here. We turned the lights on and it seems to have kept our unwanted visitors out."
"Is this the first time incidents like these have occurred at Bleak Acres?" Jean asked.
"Yes, I have lived here all my life and there has never been the slightest disturbance of this sort. No one has ever had any reason to be
afraid in this house. It's making my wife a nervous wreck."
He seemed about to say more, but his eyes flickered and he brushed a hand across his brow and turned off a desk lamp. "I guess that's
all the excitement for tonight," he said. "I had better get back up to Mary."
"Jean and I will search the grounds in the morning," Louise told him. "There surely will be tracks in the snow. Hopefully, we'll find some
clues as to who was out there."
As the man left the parlor to return upstairs, Jean motioned to Uncle Ned to stay. She watched by the entrance to the room until the man
reached the gallery above, then walked back and gave Louise a poignant look.
"We had better tell Uncle Ned what we know."
Louise nodded. "There is more to what's going on than meets the eye," she said to her uncle, then went on to tell him about the strange
mystery surrounding the Ice Castle and their suspicions about the girl in the red coat.
Uncle Ned listened attentively and several times showed surprise at what the girls had to say. At length, when they were finished with their
story, he sat down in a winged chair and steepled his hands in a thoughtful manner. "I remember the kidnapping case very well, of course.
Not only was it a leading story of the day, but the Symingtons were my employers. Rutherford never speaks about it. He and Mary do not
talk about the girl. And I believe no one is permitted to use the Ice Castle. After what happened there, the place is best forgotten."
"Will you tell him what we know?" Jean asked.
"Yes, I will think of a way to break the news to him. If the girl is his daughter - why, that would be incredible!"
Louise was looking out one of the tall windows at the moonlit snows. "But why would she be doing this? Why not just knock on the door
and say, 'Here I am.'?"
"Something may have happened to her," Uncle Ned said, his brows knit in thought. "Her mind may not be right. She was just a little girl
when she was taken, and it must have been extremely traumatic for her."
"One of the Indians may have taken her, like Nanny Gordon suspects," Jean said. "That could explain the wolf. It may just be a wolf-dog.
The Indians further north still use them to pull their sleds."
Ned Dana smiled proudly at his nieces. "I should have known you were already working behind the scenes on this case. If there is a
mystery anywhere in the vicinity of Penfield, you can bet the Dana girls will be hot on the case!"
McFarlane entered the room to turn off the lights. "I will keep the lights in the halls and the kitchens burning," he said. "Hopefully the
incident will be over for tonight. Mrs. Symington seems to get more overwrought each time she has to experience it."
The girls and Uncle Ned said good night to him and went back up to their suite where Aunt Harriet was awaiting them in the parlor. She
informed them that Mrs. Symington had calmed down, but had at first been highly agitated and overcome. Louise and Jean said nothing to
her about the Ice Castle and their other suspicions, knowing that Uncle Ned would relay the news to her in the way he thought best. After
a while they bid each other good night and returned to their beds.
But both Louise and Jean had trouble falling asleep, so wide awake they had become. The night was quiet now except for the sigh of the
wind and it seemed like at any moment they might again hear the song of the flute and the howl of the wolf. They could only wonder where
the flute player and the animal had gone.
The girls slept later than usual in the morning because of the late hour at which they had finally fallen asleep. After awakening they
dressed in sweaters and slacks, knowing they would be spending a good part of the day outdoors. Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet were in the
dining room when they entered, eating breakfast. The sideboard was loaded with tempting things to eat and both girls immediately
gravitated toward it.
"Where are the Symingtons?" Jean asked, helping herself to eggs and bacon.
"They drove to town," Aunt Harriet replied, sipping her coffee. "To Bewdley, on the east end of Indian Lake. It seems the larder is low here
because they've been gone, and they are in need of supplies."
"I hope Mary was in better spirits this morning," said Louise, taking a seat at the table with a heaping plate of food.
Aunt Harriet nodded. "Yes indeed. Much better. The flute music frightens her terribly. She was extremely overwrought last night."
Louise glanced at her uncle. "Have you had a chance to talk to Mr. Symington?"
Ned Dana shook his head. "Not yet. I hope to tell him the news of your investigation upon his return from town. But I did tell Aunt Harriet."
The girls' eyes flew to their aunt, who smiled at them approvingly. "I agree that there may be a connection between the incidents here and
those at the Ice Castle," she said. "I hope Mr. Symington decides to tell Mary about it after he is informed. It may give her some hope that
her daughter still lives."
"We must find the girl in the red coat," Jean said adamantly. "If she is the flute player, then turning the lights on last night only scared her
away."
Uncle Ned nodded thoughtfully. "If we hear the music and the wolf tonight, we must keep the lights off in hopes that the prowler will enter
the house."
"Right," Louise agreed. "Then we can catch the culprit."
"And if it is the missing Lorraine," Aunt Harriet added, "she will be reunited with her parents!"
"I must convince Rutherford to keep the house dark tonight if the hauntings continue," Uncle Ned said determinedly. "Instead of waiting in
our rooms, we shall station ourselves in the hallways."
Louise and Jean both knew that was the best course of action to follow and they hoped their uncle could convince their host of its wisdom.
"Will you girls have time to drive into Bewdley today?" asked Aunt Harriet.
"Certainly," Louise replied. "We want to search the estate and visit Mirabelle, but we should have time this afternoon."
Aunt Harriet told them that the Symingtons had enjoyed themselves so much last night that they decided to have a belated Christmas
party this evening in the Winter Parlor, including a gift exchange.
"What a grand idea!" Jean exclaimed. "With the house still decorated for the holiday, we may as well celebrate it again."
"That will surely lift everyone's spirits," Louise agreed.
Uncle Ned reached into his sport coat pocket and withdrew his wallet. He handed Louise several large bills. "Buy gifts in town for everyone.
There should be a small department store there."
The girls were excited at the prospect of the impromptu Christmas party, knowing it would bring a great deal of cheer to this house filled
with fear and gloom. Louise pocketed the bills and sent a meaningful glance at Louise. The small town on the lake was not far from Forest
Lodge and Spirit Island. They could make a side trip to the Ice Castle and further their investigation. With that exciting prospect to look
forward to, they eagerly pulled on boots and warm outdoor clothes after breakfast and headed out into the back yard.
It was another bleak day with a thick gray cloud cover, but the wind had died down to almost nothing and it was quiet and peaceful on the
grounds of the old estate.
"Let's look around the abbey first," Louise suggested, striking out across the terrace in the direction of the small chapel. "I know I saw
someone or something there last night."
There were tracks everywhere in the snow and the girls knew they had mostly been made by the Symingtons and their staff on their way to
and from the garages. But closer to the abbey there were fewer prints.
"Look, these are animal prints," Jean said, stopping by the columns of the stone building. She pointed to a profusion of rounded paw prints
in the snow. "They are definitely the mark of a wolf or a dog."
"And these other prints are of a person wearing boots about the same size as ours," Louise added, fitting her booted foot into one of the
prints. "The flute player and the wolf must have come out of the woods and walked over here to the abbey. This is exactly where I saw the
moving shadow."
"Come, let's see if we can follow these tracks into the woods," Jean suggested.
They followed the trail of the prowler around the side of the stone abbey and along a gravel path lined by clipped hedgerows that led toward
the woods. Here there were other prints, suggesting the prowler and the animal had entered the yard this same way, and it was difficult to
differentiate the original ones they had been following.
At length, they reached the edge of the lawns and walked into the woods which were thick with towering trees. The tracks in the snow
continued on through the underbrush.
"The prowler must have started playing the flute right about here," Louise mused, stopping along the trail and looking back through the
trees at the big mansion. "Then, along with the animal, who was now howling, crept slowly up closer and closer to the house."
Jean nodded in agreement. "Then our 'ghost' stopped by the abbey columns, where you got a brief glimpse of it, then turned and came
back this same way when it saw that all the lights were on in the house. I wonder where this leads to?"
"Probably out to the highway," Louise suggested, plodding on through the snow. "If it is the girl in the red coat who comes here at night,
she has quite a hike from the Ice Castle."
"It's about four or five miles," Jean said. "But she may be staying somewhere closer and only visiting the Ice Castle now and then, like she
does here."
"Good point. We certainly have a lot of investigating to do. Oh, look ahead. There is a small stone house. It must be where Mirabelle lives."
Several hundred feet ahead was a small two storey stone house standing in a clearing next to a low fieldstone wall that seemed to run on
as far as the eye could see, marking the property line of the estate. The tracks they were following went on past the house and ended at
the stone wall.
"It looks like the flute player and the wolf went over to the other side," Jean said, gazing into the deep woods farther on. "I wonder how far it
is to the highway?"
She looked back to Louise who was staring at the stone house with a peculiar expression on her face, her brows knit in thought. Jean
looked at the house, noting its simple lines and square-paned leaded windows, behind which pretty lace curtains hung. But they could
scarcely be seen because most of the windows were ice-coated. At the same moment, both she and Louise looked up at the snow-
covered tiled roof.
Jean placed her hand on Louise's arm. "Something is wrong, isn't it? There is no smoke coming from the chimney and Jack Frost has
certainly had his way with those windows."
Louise's expression became one of alarm. "There is no heat in the house! Something must have happened to Mirabelle."
Quickly, the girls ran up to the house and began to bang on the front door. It was solid oak and windowless, and they could hear the
knocks echoing within the house. But there was no response forthcoming as they anxiously awaited in the snow.
"Mirabelle!" Jean called out. "Mirabelle! Are you all right?"
Louise hurried over to one of the front windows, squeezing between snow-covered low growing evergreen shrubs so that she could peer
inside.
"This must be the parlor," she called to Jean as she tried to see through the panes of glass. "It's difficult to see because of all the frost on
the glass. Oh, there's a mirror. I can see the reflection of a sofa and chair ... and a fireplace ... and ... oh!"
Louise's eyes widened in shock. In the mirror's reflection she could see an old woman sprawled out on the floor, a rocking chair tumbled
over on top of her!
Chapter Nine: A STARTLING REVELATION
"Jean! Mirabelle is sprawled out on the floor. Something has happened to her!"
Louise scraped at the window with her fingers, hoping to clear away some of the frost as Jean rushed over and squeezed through the
bushes to get beside her.
"Look in the mirror!" Louise pointed through the glass where she had scraped it clean. "You can see her on the floor."
Jean peered into the room, a moment later crying out," Oh dear! That chair is on top of her. I hope she's all right."
Both girls called out to the woman and banged on the window, but the figure on the floor did not stir.
Louise looked around frantically. "We must get inside the house to help her!"
Jean tried to pull the bottom window up but it wouldn't budge, obviously locked from the inside. "Let's try some other windows!"
They pushed through the shrubbery and hurried around to the side of the house where there were two more windows. The first was similar
to the one in front and also looked into the parlor. But it too was locked and they quickly moved on to the next. It was a smaller window,
but one they could still fit through, and they immediately began to push up on the bottom section.
"It's moving!" Jean cried exultantly. "Okay, one ... two ... three ... heave!"
They pushed up with all their might and the window groaned and grumbled as it moved up its tracks. But it soon ground to a halt and they
They pushed up with all their might and the window groaned and grumbled as it moved up its tracks. But it soon ground to a halt and they
had to heave once again with even more effort.
"Just a couple more inches," Louise grunted, "and we'll be able to squeeze through."
The Dana girls gave one last supreme effort and the icy window screeched as it slid up a few more inches. Without a second thought, Jean
flung herself head first and crawled through the opening, banging into a telephone table on the other side. It fell to the floor with a crash and
the phone slid off, the receiver falling off the cradle.
When she was on her feet a moment later, Jean quickly looked around the room she found herself in, ascertaining that she was in a small
kitchen. She ran for the doorway that led into a hall as Louise climbed into the room behind her.
"This way, Louise!" Jean called, running down the narrow hall that led to the parlor in the front of the house. There was a frigid chill in the
air and she knew that there had been no heat in the house for quite some time.
The girl fell to her knees after entering the parlor and almost running into the prostrate woman who was face down on the carpeting. Jean
couldn't see her face, only the back of her head and her thick gray hair.
"Mirabelle! Mirabelle! Do you hear me?"
Jean grabbed one of the woman's wrists and the dark skin was cold as ice. She felt for a pulse as Louise flew into the room and dropped
down beside her.
"Is she ...?"
"Yes, she's alive," Jean sighed in relief. "Her pulse is good and strong. Poor dear, she must have fallen and got knocked out. I hope no
bones are broken."
Louise jumped to her feet and pulled the rocking chair off the woman. "See if you can revive her. I'll put this chair by the fireplace and start
a fire."
The elderly Negress was wearing a thick robe over a nightgown, and a crocheted shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Jean was glad
for the heavy garments, knowing they had helped to keep Mirabelle somewhat warm. She gently shook the woman's shoulders, calling her
name in soothing tones.
"Mirabelle ... Mirabelle ... you sweet dear. Can you hear me?"
She slowly began to stir and Jean continued murmuring her name as Louise threw some logs and kindling from a woodbox onto the hearth
where there were just the smoldering remains of a fire. She withdrew a long match from a container on the mantel and struck it on the
fireplace brick.
"There is a woodstove in the kitchen that must heat the back of the house," she said. "We'll have to get a fire going in there too. Oh, she's
moaning!"
The colored woman had begun to stir and emit low moans. Suddenly she lurched and pulled her hand away from Jean's. Her head flew up
and she looked at Louise by the fireplace and then up at Jean, still down on the floor at her side, her eyes popped wide with surprise.
"Oh Lordy! Who in tarnation are you?"
Jean smiled and rubbed the woman's shoulders soothingly. "Don't be frightened, Mirabelle. We are the Dana girls, and we're staying up at
the house with the Symingtons for the weekend. We walked down to visit you and saw that your windows are all iced up and were afraid
something had happened to you. We peeked in the window and saw you here on the floor. You must have fallen down last night, and your
fires have burned out."
Mirabelle tried to push herself up. "Heavens above! I remember now. I heard the music and the howling, and then that girl came to the
window ..."
"Now, now," Jean soothed, sending a sharp, startled glance to Louise. "Don't talk about it now. Just stay put until we can help you up.
Does anything hurt?"
"No, no ... everything seems okay. I'm just as cold as a chicken with all her feathers pulled out! Brr!"
"Well, it's no wonder," Louise said, having finished lighting the fire. "You've been on the floor in this cold house for hours. Come, let us help
you up."
She stooped down next to Jean and, each holding one of Mirabelle's arms, they managed to get the woman to her feet. She was of
medium height and weight and, although obviously very old, her sweet round face still had a youthful vigor about it.
"Ooh, I can feel the heat already," she gushed, a little unsteady on her feet as they helped her over to the chair. She shook her head. "I
must have fallen asleep. Imagine that! Sleeping on the floor at my age."
"I think you may have hit your head and gotten knocked out," Louise said as they sat her into the rocker. "Are you sure nothing hurts
you?"
Mirabelle felt cautiously around the top of her head, then her neck and shoulders. Then she laughed. "No bumps or bruises, girls. At least
nothing I can feel. It'd take more than just a fall to hurt an old motorboat like me. Let me tell you, that fire sure does feel good."
Jean fixed the shawl so that it was wrapped snugly around Mirabelle's shoulders. "You'll warm up in a few minutes and hopefully will be no
worse for the experience."
"I must've been dreaming," the woman declared, shaking her head back and forth. "But it just seemed so real this time."
"You mean it has happened before?" Louise asked.
"Mmm hmm! I've heard the music and the wolf several times before. I thought I was dreaming about it until Mr. Rutherford came over and
told me that he and Mrs. Mary have been hearing it too, and that sometimes the prowler and the wolf go into the house. But last night was
the first time I saw the girl!"
Louise and Jean looked at each other, and then back at Mirabelle.
"The girl?" they both repeated.
Mirabelle nodded as she began to rock the chair. "Yes, indeed. She came up to that front window." She pointed to the window the girls
had first looked into. "I'd been sitting here in the rocker, dozing off and on, and then I heard the flute and the wolf. It sure seemed like I was
awake, like it was really happening."
"You weren't dreaming," Jean told her. "We heard it too up at the house last night."
Mirabelle looked at the girls wide-eyed. "I just kept rocking, wondering what a wolf was doing around these parts nowadays, and who was
playing that music. Then it seemed to stop for a while and I was listening, waiting for it to start up again. Then all of a sudden-like, a girl
came up to the window and looked inside."
She looked at Jean and then at Louise, and said," I know I was dreaming then. I just couldn't have seen that girl! Unh, uh! Just no way!"
A frown flitted across Louise's features. "Why do you say that?"
Mirabelle sighed, looking at the window with a shadow of fear in her eyes. "Because that girl was our little Lorraine, all grown up like you
girls. I declare I'd know her anywhere, that sweet child. She's been gone now fourteen years, you know. Someone stole her from that white
castle on the lake, and we haven't seen her since. That's why I know I was dreaming!"
Jean captured Louise's eyes with her own, and their expressions were grim. They did not know what to say. Could the missing Lorraine
have come up to the window and Mirabelle recognized her?
"Then, all of a sudden," Mirabelle went on, rocking her chair with an easy rhythm now that the warmth of the fire was reviving her, "a big
wolf jumped up beside her, growling at me like it was trying to get through the window. Lord almighty! Scared the dickens out of me. I think
I jumped up and that must be when I fell down."
Then she shook her head again, side to side, her eyes big and wide and filled with dread. "No Siree! That part of it had to be a dream.
Hearing a wolf howling made me dream about a wolf. Hearing that song the flute plays made me dream of little Lorraine - but the way she'd
look today, older and grown up. It just has to be, girls. You know how hearing or seeing one thing will make you dream about something
similar?"
Louise nodded slowly, mesmerized by the woman's story. But then she frowned. Something didn't quite jive. "Why would hearing the song
of the flute make you dream about the missing Lorraine?"
"Oh that song! That pretty pretty song." Mirabelle rocked back and forth in her chair, clucking her lips. "Of course it would make me think
of Lorraine. Her mother wrote it especially for her when she was a little girl, and she'd play it on the piano up at the house all the time."
The Dana girls were shocked at the startling revelation. They looked at each other in wonder, stunned in a frozen tableau.
"Goodness!" Louise was finally able to say. "You mean that the song played by the flute is Lorraine's song?"
"Yes ma'm, young lady. That's why Mr. Rutherford and Mrs. Mary are so afraid they had to run off to New York. That's why I thought I was
dreaming every time I heard it. Who in the world would be roaming around this old Bleak Acres at night playing little Lorraine's song, all
these years after she's been gone?"
"Who indeed?" Jean agreed , her hand on her heart. She sent Louise a sharp poignant look. Mirabelle's observations were confirming the
suspicions they'd had all along, but they were so disturbing to the old woman that she didn't want to believe them. It was easier for her to
believe that it had all been just a dream.
"It's all very mysterious," Louise added comfortingly, squeezing the woman's hand. "But what matters now is that you are okay. Have you
warmed up? Are you comfortable?"
Mirabelle nodded. "I feel as warm and cozy as a squirrel in a nest full of nuts, thanks to you girls. I thank the Lord you came along when
you did."
Louise asked Mirabelle not to say anything about the girl at the window to anyone, lest Mrs. Symington hear about it. It would only upset
her more to hear such things.
"I'll never whisper a word," the woman agreed readily. "Mrs. Mary has enough troubles on her mind right now without adding to them.
Especially with the prowler getting into the house."
"Tell me, Mirabelle," Jean said, "do you know of any secret way to get into the house?"
She regarded the girls pensively. "My husband Calvin, rest his soul, he grew up here at Bleak Acres from when he was a boy. Sometimes
he'd talk about old stories of secret rooms between the little abbey and the house. Said he'd heard when he was a young one that they
used to hide the runaway slaves in them. Then somebody'd take them up to the border and freedom."
"But wouldn't Mr. Symington know if there were secret passages?" Louise asked.
Mirabelle shook her head. "It'd be unlikely. It was the way with the underground railroad that nothing was ever written down about it, no
records ever kept. Everything was put in code, like pictures or designs. Messages were sewn into quilts and blankets, ladies hankies,
men's shirts, and sometimes dresses and bonnets. Information was passed on like that, and without records it was lost to later
generations of white folk. They would not talk about it to their children for fear of involving them."
She clucked her tongue and went on, "There was some mighty powerful punishment for white folk who helped the slaves escape, and they
learned how to keep their secrets. But the Negroes were of the habit to pass the stories on to their children as part of their heritage, and
my Calvin's family lived here in this house from the day Bleak Acres was first built."
Just then there was a booming knock on the front door that startled all three of them. Mirabelle glanced sideways in surprise, looking
toward the hall.
"Who in tarnation can that be? Like to scare me to death!"
Jean hurried to the hall as the heavy knocking continued. She unlocked the front door and pulled it open, surprised to see McFarlane
standing there. He was wearing a heavy overcoat and fur cap and looked like someone from the far north country across the border in
Canada.
He was just as surprised to see her. "Miss Dana! What is going on? Is Mirabelle all right?"
Jean nodded, gesturing for him to come inside. "She had a bad fall last night but doesn't seem to be hurt. She's in the parlor. How did you
know something was wrong?"
The man entered the house and Jean closed the door, then followed him down the hall.
"Her telephone is off the hook," he explained. "The operator from Bewdley called us at the house. Everyone around here keeps an eye on
Mirabelle."
Jean remembered knocking the phone onto the floor and apparently Louise hadn't set it right upon entering the house herself. She told
McFarlane how they had broken into the house after seeing Mirabelle on the floor through the front window.
"Now don't you come in here and start fawning all over me," Mirabelle said as he entered the room. She looked at the man with a twinkle in
her eyes as he approached her. "I'm perfectly fine and these nice girls have managed the situation very well."
McFarlane placed his gloved hands on his hips and gave her a look of mock scorn. "I have a mind to take you to the hospital in Penfield
and let the doctors give you a complete examination."
"Oh Lordy!" Mirabelle laughed. "I'd drive them all crazy and they'd send me home pronto in a big chauffeured limousine."
"You can say that again," the butler shot back. But his eyes didn't miss a trick as they roamed over Mirabelle and then the entire room to
make sure everything was as it should be.
Louise and Jean gave him a brief account of what had happened, but they refrained from mentioning the girl and the wolf at the window.
Within minutes the man had taken over, closed and locked the kitchen window, righted the telephone table and the telephone, and built a
fire in the kitchen woodstove. The girls stayed and talked to Mirabelle for a few more minutes, but when they knew McFarlane had the
situation in hand they decided it was time to leave.
"I'll insist that she comes back to the house with me," he told them as he walked them to the front door. "She can join us for the
Christmas party and we'll be able to keep our eyes on her for a few hours, at least."
As they walked back through the snow to the mansion, the girls discussed the startling information they had learned from Mirabelle.
"On the way back through the woods last night, Lorraine stopped and looked through Mirabelle's window," Jean said. "And then the wolf
jumped up and frightened the woman."
"And the poor dear thought she was dreaming," Louise added. Then she shivered, but not from the cold. "That beautiful song the flute plays
was written especially for Lorraine by her mother!"
"It's no wonder Mrs. Symington gets so upset when she hears it," Jean declared. "Who would know that melody except the old servants
and Lorraine herself?"
Louise drew her lips in thoughtfully. "It all fits together like a jigsaw puzzle, doesn't it? Lorraine comes to the house at night and plays the
song on the flute as a sort of signal to her parents. Then she mysteriously enters the house with her wolf companion."
"But the most mysterious part still remains," Jean reminded her. "Why doesn't she contact them, let them know she is here? Why does
she run back out of the house? What has happened to Lorraine Symington that has made her unable to communicate with her mother and
father?"
Chapter Ten: THE INDIAN PRINCESS
The Dana girls followed the path back out of the woods into the gardens behind the old mansion. Jean pointed to the yew tree maze in
back, surrounded by topiary gardens containing groupings of plants that had been trained to grow in various and unusual shapes.
"Shall we search the gardens and the rest of the estate?"she asked. "Or do you think we have sufficiently uncovered the method the 'ghost'
uses to enter and leave the property?"
"I'm confident we have learned exactly how the 'ghost' operates," Louise replied. "And also that the 'ghost' is Lorraine Symington."
"But how does she get into the house?" Jean mused. "That's the million dollar question! Let's search the abbey. There may well be a
passage from there into the house as Mirabelle suggested."
"It's the most logical explanation," her sister agreed. "Runaway slaves would not have been kept in the house. The chance of discovery
would have been too great. But they could remain in underground chambers for periods of time and be safe from those who sought to
capture them."
As they approached the stone abbey, the girls observed that it was approximately one hundred fifty feet behind the mansion, which was
situated on a rise that was slightly higher than the elevation of the chapel.
"An underground passage from this abbey would most probably lead into a sub-basement of the house," Louise said. "We must inspect
the basement thoroughly if we find no passage on this end."
Jean shook her head in perplexity. "How could a man like Mr. Symington live all his life in a house such as this and not know if there are
secret passages?"
Louise chuckled with amusement. "Everyone does not have the unusually curious mind of the natural born detective like we do."
Jean laughed along with her. "I suppose you are right. But if I had grown up in this house , I'm sure I would have looked for secret passages
from a very young age."
"Perhaps Lorraine did exactly that," Louise said stoutly, "and found one. Let's hope we can find it too."
They walked between two of the pillars at the abbey entrance and Louise pulled open the iron gates. Behind it was a richly carved door of
silver metal. It squealed in protest as Jean pushed it open and it swung inward, revealing the gloomy interior. Inside were several rows of
pews with a wide aisle down the center that led to the altar. The stained glass windows on each side of the door and above the altar
allowed only a little of the light outside to filter in.
Jean shivered. "It's colder in here than it is outside!"
Louise was looking at the tiled floor, but there was no way to tell if anyone had been in the building recently. But the girls continued to
scrutinize every inch of the place as they made their way up the aisle.
"Here!" Louise cried excitedly, stooping down in front of the steps to the altar. "Wolf hairs, just like Mrs. Benson found in the house."
With her gloved hand she quickly swept a small area of the tile and picked up a half dozen or so strands of grayish hair. She got back to
her feet and showed them to Jean.
"Lorraine and the wolf have definitely been in here," Jean was quick to comment. She looked at the carved stone altar and the stained
glass window above it. "This is not a large room. Where could there be an entrance to a secret passage?"
Louise kept her eyes on the floor, hoping the animal had left a trail of hairs, but as they walked up to the altar and around it, nothing was to
be found. They pushed and tugged at the intricately carved altar, but it would not budge. They felt around the carvings, looking for a hidden
spring or catch, but no success met their effort. For almost an hour they did the same along the walls and floors, covering almost every
inch of the frigidly cold room. Jean's teeth were clattering when she noticed a bronze plaque beneath the window above the altar.
"Look at this, Louise. This plaque reads 'Windrush Towers Abbey. Moved to America from Cornwall, England, in March 1820'."
Louise admired the plaque which had carvings of angels and clouds around its beveled edges. "I have read that they often moved houses
and other buildings stone by stone across the Atlantic from Europe to be reassembled here in America."
"It was a way to instill a sense of history to one's property in the New World," Jean mused. "But, of course, only the very wealthy could
afford to do it."
On each side of the plaque, slightly above it, was a bronze candle holder fashioned in the shape of a torch. There were no candles in them
at the moment, and no sign of wax that might have recently dripped onto them. It was obvious that the chapel saw little use.
Jean reached up and grabbed the torch closest to her. "It is possible that these move," she said hopefully, pulling down on it.
Likewise, Louise grabbed the other one and did the same, but nothing happened. They tried it in unison, pulling down on the torches at the
same time, but with no success.
"I'm stumped," Jean sighed.
Louise nodded her head in agreement. "You and me, both. Let's try again tomorrow morning. A fresh start in here may give us some new
ideas."
Knowing that they had plenty of other things to do on their agenda for the day, Jean agreed. They went back outside and circled the
mansion looking for clues, but there was no sign of anything that might have been of interest to them. The same held true indoors when
they searched the basement a few minutes later. With the lights on, the long corridors and many storage rooms were easy enough to
search but the size of the place made it impossible to check it thoroughly at one visit. The girls knew they would have to return. But there
were no outdoor entries and the windows all were barred. There was no apparent way to get into the basement except from the first floor of
the house.
Jean had her hands on her hips as she and Louise looked over racks and racks of wine bottles in the wine cellar. "Great guns! Some of
these vintages are decades old."
Louise nodded as she read one of the labels. "They say that the longer the wine ages, the better tasting it becomes."
Jean chuckled. "There is enough wine in here for an army, but no clues to Lorraine and her wolf! Come, let's bother Mrs. Benson for lunch
and then we shall drive into town."
Louise flicked off the light switch and they walked out to the hall. "Good idea. The sooner we get to town, the sooner we can go to Indian
Lake. This whole mystery began there, and I'm eager to return and do some further investigating."
Mrs. Benson gladly made sandwiches for the girls and they ate in the kitchen, chatting with her as she worked . "We'll have a nice
Christmas party tonight," the woman said, pulling a tray of cookies from the oven. "It will cheer Mary up. She absolutely loves Christmas.
We'll have a turkey dinner with all the trimmings and I'm baking these cookies and a cake."
"Has McFarlane returned yet with Mirabelle?" Jean asked.
"Not yet. He is letting her rest a little more in anticipation of the walk over."
"Perhaps she should stay here at the house for a couple days," Louise suggested.
Mrs. Benson chuckled as she placed the freshly baked cookies onto a party tray. "We'd have to tie her up to keep her here. She is very
independent. She hasn't spent a night here in the twenty years I've been working at this house."
The girls would have liked to ask Mrs. Benson questions about Lorraine, but they were still hesitant to bring up the subject of the missing
girl. After finishing lunch, they thanked Mrs. Benson and went out front to the Winter Parlor where Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet were
chatting with the Symingtons, who had only a little time ago returned from town. They knew Uncle Ned hadn't had time to discuss the case
with Mr. Symington and tell him their suspicions, but they were pleased to see that Mrs. Symington was in a very gay mood. They chatted
with them for a few minutes then once again dressed for the wintry outdoors and left for town.
Louise drove Uncle Ned's sedan and she was careful to keep a safe pace along the snow-packed gravel road that led through the woods
and out to the highway. The road had been plowed throughout the season by a tractor, but it was still slick and slippery and caution was
necessary to keep the big car in check. Once out on the highway, however, she gave the automobile its speed and the girls motored
happily through the snow-clad hills. It had been a while since they had been off on their own in the car and they heartily enjoyed it.
Upon reaching the highway that led back to Penfield, Louise turned onto it in the opposite direction toward the town of Bewdley which was
situated on Indian Lake. Within a couple minutes they passed the road leading to Forest Lodge and both girls experienced a pang of desire
to go there immediately and forego the visit to town.
Louise smiled over at Jean. "I know you are as anxious as I am to go to the Ice Castle again, but we'll have to wait until we are finished in
town. It won't be long."
The town was quite scenic in its winter setting as they drove into it. A white church with a soaring steeple was surrounded by buildings and
homes of a similar style. The road, which curved along the waterfront, also offered an open vista of the frozen lake with its many beautiful
islands. Louise drove into the business district and parked in a lot on the shore side of the road. In a section of the lot away from the
automobiles were several horse-drawn sleighs, the horses tethered to a hitching rail.
"Wouldn't it be fun to drive a sleigh out to Spirit Island?" Jean asked after they had alighted from the car.
Louise gazed out over the windblown ice. "It's far beyond those islands we can see from here," she said, pointing. "See that point of land
far on the left? I'm sure Spirit Island is around the other side of it. According to that book I'm reading, this lake freezes three feet thick with
ice. We could easily drive the car out to the island!"
Jean laughed out loud. "We wouldn't dare. Uncle Ned would blow a gasket!"
Chuckling, the girls crossed the road to the other side of the street where a series of shops were set around a cobble-stone mews, with a
small department store at the center of the back row.
"This is so gay," Jean said with relish. "Christmas shopping in January! I dare say I could do it every month."
They went from shop to shop, buying a gift here and there, and ending up in the department store where they made their final purchases.
They were sure to buy gifts for themselves, of course, for they knew their aunt and uncle would want to give them something too. They also
purchased gifts for Mrs. Benson, McFarlane, and Mirabelle.
The woman at the gift wrap counter was happy to pull out Christmas paper again and wrap all their purchases. Fitting them into three
sturdy shopping bags, the girls tipped the woman generously and headed back to the car. They crossed the street and loaded the bags
into the back seat of the sedan, but before they could climb in themselves Jean pulled Louise by the arm and gestured toward the lake.
"Look! One of the sleighs is gliding off over the ice."
Louise turned to see a horse-drawn sleigh speeding away from shore headed toward the islands. "That certainly does look like fun," she
said. "It must have been one of the sleighs parked here."
She looked over to the area where the horses were tethered with their sleighs and she immediately hissed to Jean, "Look! Look at her!"
Jean turned from the lake and followed her sister's gaze to see a striking looking woman clad head to toe in furs standing next to one of
the sleighs. Her high cheekbones and dark oval eyes, along with a glowing bronze complexion, gave her a look of regal beauty. Her jet
black hair was tucked into a fur hat and her coat of furs reached down to colorful boots of tanned hide trimmed with beads and leather
straps.
"She is beautiful," Louise whispered. "And her clothing is so similar to the old woman's at the Ice Castle."
Jean nodded in agreement. "She must be an Indian!
The woman clad in fur had just untethered her horse and, with the reins in hand, she was about to climb up to the seat of the sleigh. As
the girls watched, a man rushed out from behind the building next to the hitching rail. He ducked under the rail and ran up to the woman,
trying to grab the reins from her hand. Startled, the woman let out a cry and stepped back, banging into the sleigh.
"Where have you hidden the girl?" the man demanded, looking as if he might strike her.
He was an old man, an Indian, dressed in buckskin breeches and a heavy wool coat and hat. His wizened face and dark eyes were filled
with malice as he tugged at the reins. The horse, feeling the powerful jolt, whinnied in fear.
"Get away from me, old one," the woman shouted at him, her fear ebbing along with her surprise. "You have harmed many people with
your wicked ways and I will allow no more of it. Go back to your home north of the border. You are no longer welcome amongst our
people!"
"I want the girl," he demanded threateningly. "I can get money for her! Where is she?"
His claw-like hand grabbed the woman's wrist and he pulled hard. "Where is the girl?"
"We must do something," Jean hissed in an undertone, watching the spectacle in front of them.
But it was Louise who jumped into action. She ran to the driver's door of the car and yanked it open, laying an open hand hard on the horn.
Its loud honk blared out into the stillness of the afternoon.
Honk! Honk! Honk!
The old man and the woman gaped at Louise, both startled by the unexpected noise. Louise kept honking the horn and the horse began to
skitter and tug at the sleigh. Jean walked up a little closer.
"Take your hands off her," she demanded. "We shall call the police!"
The woman was able to wrench free of the startled man's grasp as a small crowd was beginning to form on the sidewalk. She whipped the
reins at him, hitting him across his wrinkled old face as he stepped back a pace, apparently befuddled by all the attention he had
attracted.
The woman jumped up to the seat and quickly got the horse under control. She threw the girls a grateful look then narrowed her eyes as
she looked down at the man.
"You will never see the girl again! She is a woman now and at last she is safe from your wickedness!"
Then, with a quick flick of the reins, the horse shot forward and the sled whooshed away. The old man shook his fist and shouted after her.
"I will find her, Chakwanna! You will not be the ruination of my plans!"
Then he furtively looked around at Jean and Louise, who was still honking the horn, and at the others who had stopped to watch, and he
quickly ducked under the hitching rail and ran off behind the buildings as the woman's sleigh pulled out onto the road.
Louise stopped honking the horn and cast a shocked look at her sister.
"Did you hear what he called her?"
"Yes, he called her Chakwanna!"
"The Indian princess!" Louise cried.
"And they were talking about a girl - who is now a young woman!"
Louise nodded frantically. "Lorraine! Lorraine Symington! He must be the man who kidnapped her. And now Chakwanna has her in a place
where she is safe from him."
"Hurry," Jean urged, pulling open the passenger door of the car as Louise jumped in behind the wheel. "We must follow her! We can't let
her get away!"
click here for part three

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THE DANA GIRLS

THE SECRET OF THE ICE CASTLE

Chapter Six: BLEAK ACRES

"Have you ever seen this before?"

"You ... you have seen her?"

"The girl ran away when you called out to her?"

"An Indian princess?" Jean gasped.

"Quite a place, isn't it?" Uncle Ned beamed back at them.

Jean nodded vigorously. "Perfect place for a ghost!"

"Or two ... or three ...," added Louise, with a chuckle.

Chapter Seven: THE GHOSTLY MUSIC

"Right, complete disaster," Louise quickly agreed.

"The flute?" Jean asked. "An animal?"

"My heart!" she cried. "What kind of animal?"

"It is a wolf!" said a stern voice behind them.

"Don't forget Mirabelle, darling," Mrs. Symington said to her husband.

Louise peered out to look. "Why, yes. It looks like a chapel."

Chapter Eight: THE OLD STONE HOUSE

Louise put a finger to her lips. "Shhh! Listen!"

"Ooh!" Jean shuddered. "It gives me the willies!"

"Some detectives we are," Jean harrumphed. "Both of us sleeping on the job!"

"Have you seen anyone?" Louise asked them.

The men whirled around.

Jean nodded. "We heard her crying as we passed the room."

"We had better tell Uncle Ned what we know."

"Will you tell him what we know?" Jean asked.

"Right," Louise agreed. "Then we can catch the culprit."

"That will surely lift everyone's spirits," Louise agreed.

"Mirabelle!" Jean called out. "Mirabelle! Are you all right?"

Chapter Nine: A STARTLING REVELATION

"Mirabelle! Mirabelle! Do you hear me?"

"Is she ...?"

"Oh Lordy! Who in tarnation are you?"

"You mean it has happened before?" Louise asked.

"The girl?" they both repeated.

A frown flitted across Louise's features. "Why do you say that?"

"Who in tarnation can that be? Like to scare me to death!"

Chapter Ten: THE INDIAN PRINCESS

Jean shivered. "It's colder in here than it is outside!"

"I'm stumped," Jean sighed.

"Has McFarlane returned yet with Mirabelle?" Jean asked.

"Look! One of the sleighs is gliding off over the ice."

Jean nodded in agreement. "She must be an Indian!

Honk! Honk! Honk!

"Did you hear what he called her?"

"The Indian princess!" Louise cried.

click here for part three

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