Southern Ghost by Carolyn G. Hart

Author:Carolyn G. Hart [Hart, Carolyn G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780553562750
Publisher: Crimeline
Published: 1992-06-30T14:00:00+00:00

Were answering machines a boon or a curse? The message light flickered like a pinball machine. Annie punched the button, then settled on the love seat with a mug of coffee and two peanut butter cookies.

Perhaps one’s attitude toward an answering machine depended upon the messages being left.

And the messengers. Were there many people in this world who enjoyed one-on-one conversations with an answering machine? Annie hoped not. Surely Laurel’s total relaxation and intimate tone were unusual, if not, perhaps, unique.

“… quite depressing, actually, to realize the depths of depravity to which human beings are subject. Surely there can be no more sobering an example than that of the credulous slave girl at Belvidere Mansion, led astray by the immigrant English gardener, Timothy Wale. Wale had his own sorrows, of course, having lost his family and his dear sweetheart Clarissa to tuberculosis. But when he immigrated to South Carolina and obtained work on the plantation, he was bitterly envious of the wealth he saw there and hungry, too, for a woman. He persuaded the slave girl, also known as Clarissa, to meet him after dark. She begged him to take her away from the plantation, but he said there was no way to escape. And then she offered to steal the mistress’s jewels, if Wale would carry her away. Wale agreed. One Saturday as Mrs. Shubrick, the mistress, took her coach to Charleston to shop, Clarissa slipped into the mistress’s bedroom, unlocked the jewel case and took the brooches and rings and necklaces. That night, she crept out of her cabin and hurried down the moonlit path to meet Wale. He took the jewels but refused to take her too, and ran off into the darkness. The next day the girl feigned illness, then, in desperation, ran to the house and set it afire while the master and mistress were away at church. The Shubricks returned to find their lovely home in flames. Clarissa’s odd behavior had been noticed and, when questioned, the slave girl confessed to the theft and the fire.” Laurel sighed. “And so poor foolish Clarissa was hanged. And even now they say the lane that leads to the ruins of Belvidere is haunted at night by Clarissa’s ghost, waiting for the English gardener to come and take her away. Do you know, Annie, I hope Timothy Wale never enjoyed his ill-gotten gains! Isn’t it perhaps the greatest crime of all to take advantage of a trusting nature?”

The tape whirred. Laurel affording the listener time to contemplate the moral, no doubt.

The husky, unforgettable voice resumed just as Annie reached out to punch the fast-forward button.

“Have you considered a gathering together at Tarrant House of those involved that day? Just a thought, my dear. So interesting that Amanda’s presence—ghostly, of course—is associated with the garden. I do find that frightfully significant. Do call me at your earliest convenience so that we may pursue this topic. Ta, ta.”

Annie knew she should phone Laurel, but the likelihood of yet more recitations of ghostly South Carolinians was a powerful deterrent.

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