Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

for his expression. I don't think he's happy to see us."

"Peggy, if you don't shut up ..." Karen hastily got out of the car and hailed their obviously unenthusiastic host. "Good morning. I'm sorry if we disturbed you. You remember Dr. Finneyfrock?"

"Call me Peggy," said Peggy with a broad smile and an outstretched hand.

"Uh—thank you." In some astonishment Cameron studied the small figure, dressed like a miniature commando in khaki shirt, baggy pants and heavy boots. Karen realized he hadn't recognized Peggy until she mentioned the name.

Recovering himself, he displayed a palm liberally smeared with green paint. "It's nice to see you again, Dr.—Peggy. You'll excuse me for not shaking hands."

"It would be easier to paint them if you took them off," Peggy said.

"What . . ."He blinked at her. "Oh, you mean the shutters. I can't get them off without using a hacksaw on the hardware, it's rusted solid. This job is purely cosmetic; I haven't time for ... But you don't want to hear about that. What can I do for you?"

The question implied he didn't want to do much and that he hoped they would go away. Karen said, "Peggy wanted to see the house. There's no need for you to go with us."

"The cellar's flooded again," Cameron said.

"Good," Peggy said. "That gives me an excuse to decline a visit. I come all over queer in dark, dank, enclosed spaces. We'd like to explore the grounds, though, if that's all right with you."

"There's poison ivy, brambles, snakes—"

"Honey, I'm a country girl at heart. I know all about snakes. As you can see, I dressed for the occasion."

Hands on her hips, feet planted firmly, she tipped her head back and gave him a cheerful grin. Cameron still appeared a trifle dazed by the transformation, but his lips relaxed in an answering smile.

"Yes, I see. Be careful."

"Same to you," Peggy retorted. "That ladder doesn't look very sturdy. You shouldn't be working out here alone. If you fell—"

"I won't fall. But I appreciate your concern." He sounded as if he meant it.

Karen had been curious to see how Peggy would react to the chill in the front hall. It struck her as forcefully as it had on the other occasions, but if Peggy felt anything she didn't mention it. Muttering to herself and scribbling notes, she tramped from room to room with Karen trailing after her.

"What are you looking for?" the latter finally asked.

"I'm trying to get some idea of how old the main house and its appendages are, and whether there are visible signs of alteration. For instance—" she pointed with her pen—"that could be a bricked-up doorway. It's in the right location for an entrance to another wing."

"Ismene mentions two wings."

"Don't tell me what she mentions. You saw the house after you'd read the manuscript. I want to do it the other way around. Not that I doubt your conclusions," Peggy added quickly. "This is by way of being a cross-check."

"That's why you refused to read it last night?"

"That and the fact that there wasn't time. The manuscript . . . We can't keep calling it that. What's the title?"

"It hasn't got one. I told you, the first pages are missing."

"You'll have to give it one when you publish."

"I already have." Karen hunched her shoulders and tried not to shiver. Peggy had actually unzipped her jacket. Didn't she feel the cold? " 'Houses of Stone.' "

Peggy considered the name, and then nodded. "I like it. Why the plural, though? You said she mentions only one such place."

"It's figurative. Like the poem. Enclosure, the imprisonment of women's minds."

"Uh-huh. Well ..." Peggy brandished her pencil. "Let's get on with it. Figurative or not, I want to locate that stone house before we leave."

Karen led the way up the stairs. "It's a weird place," Peggy said thoughtfully. "There was no attempt at architectural beauty or symmetry, just shelter—an enclosed block with small windows and thick walls. More like a fort than a house."

"There were Indians," Karen began.

"Native Americans, please," Peggy corrected. "By the beginning of the eighteenth century the local tribes had been pretty well pacified— driven out or slaughtered, that is. The other plantation houses in this area are beautiful mansions, as elegant and sophisticated in design as their English counterparts, and some of them were begun as early as the 1720s. I wonder when this house was built."

"What difference does that make? I'm only concerned about what it looked like in 1787 and after. Ismene couldn't have written her book before then."

"Just another little anomaly," Peggy said vaguely.

Finally she announced that she had seen enough of the house. She had not asked about the attic, and Karen didn't remind her. "What do you say we make sure Cameron isn't splattered on the driveway? We might invite him to join us for lunch."

However, Cameron, still on the ladder, declined to join them in the sandwiches and soft drinks Peggy had brought.

"You could faint from hunger," Peggy yelled.

He answered more patiently than Karen had expected. "I want to finish the shutters first. It's not worth the trouble of cleaning up."

"How about an hour from now?"

"For heaven's sake, Peggy, leave him alone," Karen whispered, pulling at her sleeve.

Peggy shook her off. "An hour and a half?" she shouted.

"An hour should do it." There was amusement as well as resignation in his voice. After a moment he added, "It's very kind of you."

"Kind, my eye," Karen muttered, as they headed along the path toward the back of the house. "For heaven's sake, take it easy, Peggy; he's even pricklier than I am, and if you keep hassling him he may refuse to let us come here again."

"No, he won't. He thinks I'm cute."

"Cute!" Karen couldn't help laughing. "Like a barracuda."

"He doesn't know me very well yet," Peggy said complacently.

Karen abandoned the argument. "What do you want to do now?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? We have to find the stone house."

Peggy took the lead. Pulling a pair of gloves from one of her bulging pockets,