He was sure that the pair had seen him, and at any moment he expected them to come after him. How could he explain who he was and what he was doing there at one o’clock in the morning? They would summon the police. He quickly stepped behind a screen. On the other hand, what were they doing there in the darkness? But even as he wondered, he had a strange feeling, a feeling that somehow they belonged there and he did not.
Moonlight was streaming in the windows, and his eyes soon adjusted to it. He watched the woman. What a beauty she was, with that golden hair piled on top of her head. She put a handkerchief up to her eyes and seemed to be crying. The man, tall with dark, curly hair and a beard, was talking to her. Suddenly, it was as if a dial had been turned up on a radio, for he could hear their conversation as clearly as if they were right beside him.
“Bettie, do you know who Narcissus fell in love with when he looked in the pool?”
“He fell in love with his own beauty. But what are you trying to say?”
“It is foolish for any man to talk to you about marriage. You are like Narcissus. You are unable to love anyone. You are completely absorbed in your own pleasure, collecting meaningless objects, and, most of all, your looks.”
“Harrison, do you really believe the cruel things you are saying about me?”
“I’ve come to know you too well, Bettie.”
“I won’t listen to this. You are hateful!” And with her chin stubbornly tilted upward and eyes straight ahead, she began playing the piano.
The man paced back and forth for a few minutes with an angry look on his face. And then he was gone. There was a crashing chord as the woman struck the keys violently. She dropped her head on her arms on the piano, and O’Donohoe heard her sobbing.
He was about to leave as quietly as possible when the lady wiped her eyes, arose from the piano bench, and looked in his direction. For a moment he almost panicked and ran, for he thought a sound had betrayed him. She walked over toward some shelves filled with art objects. What an unusual dress she was wearing, O’Donohoe thought, but how it became her. It must be a costume out of the 1800s. Now she was not far from where he was concealed behind a Chinese screen. Standing in front of the shelves, with her back to him, she reached up with her right hand and, taking something off the shelf, held it in front of her. What in heaven’s name was she looking at? She turned around, and once more he was struck by her beauty.
She held an exquisite fan in her hands.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is the fairest one of all . . .” she began to recite in low, melodic tones. With the fan beside her own lovely face, she stared into the mirror.
The fan fell from her hand. Even as O’Donohoe gazed, fascinated, her lovely face seemed to fade, and then to disappear.
By morning the experience seemed more like a dream to O’Donohoe. The regular caretaker, Ross, returned early and stopped by the villa for a few minutes. When he eventually came to the carriage house, he was filled with excitement.
“Terry, you won’t be able to believe it, but early this morning a valuable fan was taken from Miss Bettie’s collection, and it was found on the floor. Can you imagine that?”
“No.”
“Someone must have a strange sense of humor.”
“I suppose so.”
“The cleaning lady found it when she was vacuuming this morning. Didn’t you hear her call?”
“No. I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Terry, why do you have such a strange expression on your face? You look as if you aren’t telling me everything. If something happened last night over at the villa, you need to say so, because I’m responsible.”
“Responsible?”
“Yes, responsible. I’m responsible for Miss Bettie’s house. Now tell me what happened.”
Terry told him how he had woken up when he heard the storm and the dog barking, how he thought someone was breaking into the mansion, and how, still not sure but that it might be burglars, he had cautiously entered the house and seen the couple in the Gold Room. When he got to the part about Miss Bettie carrying the fan over to the mirror, his voice began to tremble. Ross was greatly excited.
“What did you think of her? Isn’t she gorgeous? How did she look when you saw her last night?”
“Golden hair on top of her head, tall, great figure.”
“She’s a real beauty, all right. There’s not a woman alive who can match Miss Bettie.”
“Don, there isn’t any way I would check on that house again at night. It’s haunted, and by more than one ghost. There was a man, dark, handsome . . .”
Ross interrupted in some agitation. “And did she seem to care for him?”
“Great heavens, man. How should I know? We’re talking about a ghost, don’t you understand?”
But Don Ross didn’t really seem to be listening. He was examining his face intently in the mirror. Then he searched the dark, curly hair and beard for gray. “How strange he is,” thought O’Donohoe, as he watched him. He had just met Ross a few weeks ago. Maybe after he had known him longer . . . but O’Donohoe wasn’t really sure he wanted to.
“I don’t think we need to mention anything about your experience in the villa.” Ross patted him on the shoulder. “It will be our secret,” he said as O’Donohoe left.
Ross looked at his watch. One o’clock in the afternoon, and he was already eager for the time
