This House is Haunted Read Online Free PDF

was not to be fulfilled. Mother struggled during her delivery, giving birth to a second daughter who, within a few days, would be lying in a coffin, safe in the arms of the lady who had carried her for nine months, under a headstone that read: Angeline Caine, 1813–1855, beloved wife and mother, and baby Mary . Father and I were now alone.
    Naturally, given his great love for my mother, Father struggled in the immediate aftermath of her death, secluding himself in his study, unable to read, barely eating, succumbing too often to the vice of alcohol, neglecting his work and his friends and, most importantly of all, me, a situation which, had it been allowed to continue, might have led us both in time to the workhouse or the debtors’ gaol, but fortunately matters were taken in hand by the arrival of Father’s two elder sisters, Hermione and Rachel, who appeared unannounced on a visit from Cornwall and were shocked to discover the conditions in which their brother and niece were now living. They took it upon themselves to clean the house from top to bottom, despite Father’s protests. He tried to chase them out with a sweeping brush, as one might expel some unwantedvermin, but they were having none of it and refused to leave until the obvious decline of our living standards could be reversed. They took charge of Mother’s clothes and personal effects, saving some of the more precious items—her few pieces of jewellery, for example, a pretty dress that I might grow into in a decade or so—and distributing the rest among the poor of the parish, an act which drove Father into a fury but, wise and temperate ladies, they took little notice of their brother’s anger and simply got on with things.
    “We refuse to pander to self-indulgence,” they informed me as they took charge of our pantry, disposing of the food that had gone stale and replacing it with fresh produce. “We have never been ones to wallow in misfortune. And you must not wallow either, Eliza,” they insisted, sitting on either side of me and attempting to balance kindness and understanding with disapproval of our new, slovenly ways. “Your mother has passed, she is with the Lord now, it is a sad and terrible thing but there it is. Life for you and our brother must go on.”
    “Life, as I know it, is at an end,” replied Father bitterly, standing in the doorway and making us jump in surprise for we had not realized that he was eavesdropping on the conversation. “My only wish now is to join my dear Angeline in that dark place from which no man may return.”
    “Stuff and nonsense, Wilfred,” said Aunt Rachel, standing up and marching across to him, hands on her hips, her expression one of fury mixed with compassion, both emotions struggling to attain the upper hand. “I’ve never heard such rot in all my days. And don’t you think it cruel to say such a thing in front of the child when she has already suffered such a terrible loss?”
    Father’s face descended into the very picture of misery—he did not wish to cause me further pain but was suffering so badlythat he could not resist his self-indulgent language—and when I looked at him and he turned away, unable to meet my eyes, I burst into tears, feeling for all the world that I wanted nothing more than to run out on to the street and leave this place as far behind me as I could, to disappear into the nameless crowds of London and become an indigent, a traveller, a nobody. Before I knew it my aunts were fussing around the both of us, chastising us and comforting us in equal parts, trying to control their natural frustration. It soon became clear that Father was too deeply lost in grief to take care of me and so it was decided that I should return to Cornwall with Aunt Hermione for the summer, while Aunt Rachel stayed in London to minister to her younger brother, a decision which turned out to be a very sensible one, for I spent a happy summer in the country, coming to terms with my loss and