The Ghastly Gerty Swindle With the Ghosts of Hungryhouse Lane (10 page)

“But your fire isn't lit, dear. There was no smoke.”

“The fire's got nothing to do with it. Admiral Foo-Foo does it with his
tail.
”

Tail my foot, Gerty was thinking—when she realized that something had just come down the chimney. A second glance told her that it wasn't, in fact, a something; it was a some
body.

Oh, my gawd, thought Gerty. This sure wasn't Father Christmas. Not that Father Christmas wouldn't have been bad enough, but this looked like a ten-year-old sweep! A set of chimney brushes seemed to ooze miraculously through the stone wall and settle on his skinny shoulders.

You're looking at a chimney-sweep ghost, Gerty
, a voice within her head seemed to croak.

“It's not! You're some joker in sawn-off jeans and bare feet!”

But Gerty
, the voice said—
it's floating.

“Aah. Oh, my gawd!”

The sooty little hoverer didn't need wings or helicopter blades to just hang there in space. He had his own private means of locomotion.
It's looking right at you, Gerty, out of those spooky black eyes.

“Don't you eyeball me, you shifty tick, or I'll soon thicken your ear!”

Up rose the phantom brushes in a great slow arc to point straight at Gerty's heart.
But Gerty, your hand will simply pass through its ear, dear. And it's coming to get you. So what are you going to do now?

“Oh, Alexander,” whimpered Gerty. “I think there's a ghost in your grate.”

But when she turned, Alexander had company of his own. He grinned at her—well, his lips moved. Frankly, her son looked as though he'd seen a ghost. Which he had, of course. Three of them.

“Mother. Allow me to introduce King George, Queen Anne and Long John Silver. He's a pirate.”

Three of them and a monkey. Gerty's head began to swim, and she wondered whether people were right: Could your hair turn white overnight if you got a big fright? For a moment she thought she heard the bark of a dog; and imagined, too, the red outline of a first-aid kit as great rolling waves of panic dragged her under.

There was nothing like a crisis for bringing out the best in Zoe Sweet. She snipped the bandage around Gerty's head with a flourish and spoke calmly to her patient as she tucked away her scissors.

“There. I have applied an antiseptic pad to the wound in your head so that germs can't breed in there. The bandage will hold it in place. You're very lucky I was here to stop the bleeding, or your life might have slowly ebbed away.”

Thus satisfied with a job well done, she snapped shut the red lid of her case.

Gerty found herself on the floor, cradled in the arms of Amy Steadings. Although her eyes were wide open, she could not be sure just yet that the world
had returned to normal, for the littlest Sweet girl stood close by, hugging her doll as she spoke to the chimney ghost. Who was sitting on the head of a moose.

“Oh, Bobbie, you have saved Lulubelle, you are my favorite spook and you can help me feed my reindeer when I get it for Christmas and you can ride in my helicopter.”

And the male Sweet seemed to be holding out a tape recorder to that pirate creature, saying, “Did they ever make you walk the plank?” And that awful King George drifted across her vision at an angle of forty-five degrees. “Gallows too good for ‘em, what?” he bellowed, then sniffed the back of his hand.

Gerty twisted to look up into the face of Amy Steadings. “Has my hair turned white, dearie?” she whispered.

“Only the bandage is white, Gertrude. And be still. You hit your head on the fender when you fell.”

“It's the first time, ma'am,” Gerty went on hoarsely, for she could see the fix she was in. “I've had a hard life, love. His dad run away to sea when he was four. I've seen the down side of life, love, you've no idea. And he's not a bad boy, my Alex. He's always been so good to his mother.”

“That's no excuse for being a crook,” said Zoe. “They'll give you ten years each using our evidence, I should think.”

“Oh, gawd.”

“I don't like to believe ill of anyone, Gertrude,” said Amy, “and I am prepared to be lenient if you will promise me never to steal and rob from people again. You will return everything to Hungryhouse Lane, of course, that goes without saying. Today, please.”

“Bless you forever, ma'am, you have the heart and soul of a saint.”

But Amy was thinking sadly of Cordelia, who had just condensed her Nonmaterial Presence into the elephant's foot. What her dear friends needed now was a period of Unwakeful Serenity, not more questions and excitement and publicity.

Saintliness had nothing to do with it.

15 …

Praise for the Parents

The holiday break for Mr. and Mrs. Sweet was almost over, and really, it was quite amazing how much they had missed their children about the house. Games of backgammon were played without interruption. They ate out at fancy restaurants. They got up in the morning when it suited
them.
Friends whom they had invited over for the evening actually did come over when it was established that the Sweet kids wouldn't be there. And no dog hairs over the carpet and furniture! sighed Mrs. Sweet as the white Rolls rolled through the gates of Hungryhouse Lane.

“I hope they haven't been too bad,” she said to Geoffrey.

“I'm filling it in with concrete,” Geoffrey swore between clenched teeth. “I am, you know—I really am.”

In his mind's eye he pictured the filled-in swimming pool—a constant reminder to his squabbling children of what might have been.

They were waiting at the door with Amy Steadings, all packed up and ready to go. Bad sign, thought Geoffrey. That old lady had the heart of a lion, but five days was surely too long, even for her.

As Mr. and Mrs. Sweet disembarked, hugs and kisses were exchanged all around (except for Muldoon, whose tail had been beautifully bound in a white bandage).

“Mommy, Daddy, we found a pirate and a monkey and we brought them home. And look—do you see Lulubelle's new smily-mouth?”

“Her mouth is lovely and smily, pet. Is that a smudge on her face?”

“She got dirty all over when she got captured by baddies.”

An extremely dirty look passed from Mr. Sweet to his son as he said, “I hope, Miss Amy, that they have been well-behaved for you?”

“Well-behaved? Mr. and Mrs. Sweet, they have been so wonderful I can hardly wait until their next visit. Your children are a credit to you! And in these difficult times, too, when young people can be so demanding. How on earth do you do it? I am certain that you must be terribly proud of them!”

Mr. and Mrs. Sweet glanced at each other, as if to check that their ears were in working order. In all honesty they felt a little embarrassed, for they did not have much practice in dealing with this kind of praise.

“Well,” Geoffrey muttered with a cough. “I hope you enjoyed the VCR.”

“But we didn't open the box,” said Amy.

“Daddy, believe me, we didn't have time to waste on watching videos,” said Zoe. “No way.”

Good heavens. How extraordinary, thought Mrs. Sweet. Hugs and kisses were suddenly exchanged once more—this time with promises of letters and phone calls thrown in—then the Sweet kids boarded the Rolls like pirates taking a treasure ship.

They were going home.

Let us fast-forward our story by about fifteen minutes or so, and bring it to a close by pressing the pause button.

In the Sweet Rolls Royce, Mr. Sweet is driving slowly (for him) because his mind is really thinking about the swimming pool. What a good job he hadn't filled in the thing after all!

Mrs. Sweet is wondering: Didn't they watch
any
TV at
all
?

Muldoon, like an experienced traveler, is already fast asleep in spite of his stiff white tail.

Zoe is feeling deeply satisfied that she has probably saved her first life, although she would have preferred to have wasted a bandage on a more useful member of society than a stealer of furniture.

Bonnie is nursing a box in her lap. Charlie doesn't know it yet, but his juggling balls are in the box,
each one tied up in a gorgeous satin bow. This is his reward for loving Lulubelle.

In the west chimney little Bobbie is giving Admiral Foo-Foo a last cuddle before she withdraws into a state of Unwakeful Serenity. Sir James is listing to starboard again as he cries to anyone who happens to be listening, “Did you see that unspeakable dog scratching itself? It's enough to make a chap feel itchy.”

Standing by his cannon, Captain Henry John Blackskull laughs heartily. “A flea wouldn't have much fun on you, Sir Jamesie—there's nothing for it to eat.”

The outline of Lady Cordelia McIntyre billows softly in a draft as she smiles and thinks that a pirate might be interesting. Imagine eating octopus and turtle!

Two floors below, Amy Steadings is writing to a distant cousin of hers in Somerset, hoping that she will come and stay with her for the winter. Will Sir James and the new ghost get on together, she wonders?

And in the backseat of the Rolls, Charlie Sweet is speaking into his tape recorder. “Criminal Investigation Tape, Side Two. Recording Engineer, Charlie Sweet. Saved the spooks. Got the stupid doll back. Case closed.”