The Message in the Haunted Mansion (Nancy Drew Book 122) Read online

  “Thank goodness you’re okay!” Hannah exclaimed. “We heard George yell. I didn’t know what had happened.”

  “I told you the roof wouldn’t hold weight!” Charlie’s angry voice broke in. Nancy saw him rush into the room, too, with Abby and George on either side. “Abby, I told you the other day that no one was to go up there!”

  “I thought you meant I shouldn’t,” Abby protested defensively. “But Nancy’s so light. I thought maybe she could just straighten the ornament.”

  “The whole finial—the bird, the base, and everything—needs to be removed and repaired properly,” Charlie insisted. “You can’t just give the bird a little shove and expect it to stay in position. Nancy could have been killed!”

  “I’m fine,” Nancy called down. “And I’ve made a discovery. This tower is an old attic. There’s a trunk up here and a little desk, too.”

  Rose leaned over to peer up through the hole. “Why, we thought the turret was just an ornament, like the false balconies,” she said. “We don’t have real house plans—they disappeared long ago.”

  “As long as I’m up here, let’s lower the desk and trunk and take a look,” Nancy suggested.

  “I’ll get ropes,” Charlie growled.

  “And a crowbar,” Nancy added. “So we can pry open this trunk.”

  Soon Charlie returned with his tool kit, several coils of rope, a sheet of heavy plastic, and a staple gun. With his guidance, Nancy fastened the ropes securely around the trunk and small desk. She lowered them slowly through the trapdoor into Charlie’s and George’s arms. Then she quickly tacked the plastic over the hole and jumped down herself.

  “I have to go,” Charlie said abruptly, checking his watch. “I have to be somewhere at five.” He nodded goodbye and limped away down the hall.

  Excited by their discovery, the others hardly noticed his leaving. Bess and George pried open the trunk first to find a pile of elaborate gowns from the 1800s.

  “We can wear these dresses to the Winter Festival,” Bess cried, holding up a pink brocade gown, then a crimson dress with black trim. “We’ll look so incredible!”

  George stifled a little groan.

  Nancy tried to lift the lid on the small desk. “It’s locked,” she announced.

  “Oh, Nancy, what about the key we found in the bedpost?” Bess suggested. “I’ll run and get it.” She flew from the room.

  Abby looked up, frowning. “What key?”

  Wishing Bess hadn’t said anything, Nancy told Hannah, Rose, and Abby how they’d found the key.

  “I wish you’d told me,” Abby scolded. “Rose and I need to know about every nook and cranny of this house.”

  “Oh, Abby, I’m sure the girls meant no harm,” Rose chided her.

  Bess returned with the key. They all gathered around as she placed it into the lock. “It fits!” she exclaimed.

  Nancy turned the key and lifted the lid. The desk was filled with old papers. She picked up a letter from the top of the pile, scanning the elegant writing. “This letter is dated 1883.”

  “Let me see,” said Bess.

  “Be careful,” Rose said as Nancy handed it to Bess. “That paper’s so old, it’s crumbling.”

  Nancy inspected the other papers in the desk. “I’ ll bet this desk hasn’t been opened since the turn of the century,” she marveled. “All the dates on these papers are old: 1897, 1894, 1882. There are notebooks and photographs, too.”

  “This is like finding a time capsule,” George said, gazing at the old documents.

  “Maybe these papers will tell us the history of the mansion,” Nancy said hopefully.

  Rose suggested that they move the small desk down to the first parlor, where they could examine the papers better. Nancy and George carried it downstairs for her.

  Because it was dark outside by then, everyone cleaned up and met in the dining room for a quick suppero Then they hurried into the front parlor to open the desk again.

  Another fog had rolled in, bringing a damp chill. George built a fire in the fireplace, and Abby and the three girls sat in front of it, spreading the papers from the desk on the carpet.

  “Let me know if you find anything juicy,” said Rose, settling down at her sewing machine. “I’m going to finish these curtains for the upstairs hall. I’ve had my fill of leafing through old papers—I went through all my old letters last week to get started on writing my Christmas cards.”

  “I’ll help with the curtains, Rose,” Hannah offered.

  Bess was flipping through a stack of photographs. “Nancy, look at these,” she called.

  Nancy took the photographs Bess handed her. They were all of the same beautiful blond woman, dressed in different costumes—sometimes even men’s clothing.

  “Maybe she was an actress playing male parts,” Nancy suggested.

  “Here she is with a cute little white dog,” Bess went on, handing the pictures to Nancy. “And here she’s with a Chinese man.”

  Nancy studied the photo carefully. “Isn’t that the entry hall staircase she’s standing on, with all those people?”

  “You’re right,” George agreed, looking over Nancy’s shoulder. “Maybe she was the owner of this place when it was a hotel. All these other people in the photo could have been her employees.”

  Abby had moved to the settee with another pile of old papers. “This is just what I need!” she called out. “These are scripts for old melodramas and songs, too. And look at this playbill!”

  The girls crowded around Abby. The playbill advertised a play called The Bandit’s Treasure at a hotel and saloon called the Golden Gardenia.

  “The Bandit’s Treasure?” Bess said. “That’s Lizzie Applegate’s play!”

  Abby looked at Bess. “Lizzie Applegate?”

  “She was a famous actress,” Bess explained. “I read about her at that exhibit at the Land’s End Inn.” Then she snapped her fingers. “That’s it! I knew this blond woman looked familiar. Nancy, George—doesn’t she look like Lizzie Applegate?” She held up one of the photos.

  “There is a resemblance,” George said.

  “If this woman is Lizzie,” Bess went on, “then this was probably Lizzie’s hotel!”

  “The exhibit said she owned a hotel after she retired from the theater,” Nancy remembered. “But it said that the hotel burned.”

  Just then the doorbell rang. Rose got up to answer it. “What a beautiful tree!” they heard Rose exclaim from the entry hall. Nancy and the others turned to see Louis walk into the parlor, a huge Christmas tree balanced on his shoulder.

  “When I purchased a tree for my store, I thought of you, Rose,” he said, setting the tree down.

  “Oh, how thoughtful, Louis.” Rose gave Louis a quick peck on the cheek. “And, oh, wait until you see what we found!”

  Louis’s eyes gleamed when he saw the small green writing desk. He began to examine it with a professional eye, stroking the leather lid and pulling out drawers. “This is quite a discovery, Rose.”

  “And see what was inside!” Rose said.

  Louis knelt down to look at the historical materials, his face becoming still and serious. He moved from one stack of paper to another, his eyes scouring the old documents.

  “Let’s take these photos to that table in the second parlor,” Bess suggested to Nancy and George. “We could put them together in a photo display for the entry hall. Abby, didn’t you say that a lot of bed-and-breakfasts have historical displays in their lobbies?”

  “A photo display in the entry would be great,” Abby agreed, looking up from her scripts.

  “We think the blond woman in the photographs might be Lizzie Applegate,” Bess said to Louis.

  Louis looked up from the papers he was examining. “Lizzie Apple—Uh, who? Who’s that?” he asked.

  “We saw an exhibit at the Land’s End Inn about her,” Bess explained again. “She was a famous actress in the late 1800s. After Lizzie retired from the theater, she opened a hotel. We think this house might
be it! There’s only one problem, though—Lizzie’s hotel supposedly burned down.”

  Louis smiled at Bess. “Fascinating. Rose, I think you’ve found your historian.”

  “Tomorrow we’re going to begin researching the houseat the public library,” Bess added.

  “Yes, so you mentioned,” Louis said, looking back at the photographs. “Well, this will make a charming lobby display. But of course, you have to complete the renovation first. As you know, time is running out.”

  Nancy thought she saw Rose flinch as Louis reminded them of their situation.

  Just then Abby broke out singing. Holding one of the song sheets from the desk, she sang to the tune of “Oh, Susanna!’”:

  “I’ll wait for you by the Golden Gate” and hold your treasure true,

  Where the rainbow ends in Christmas gold and the phoenix rises, too.

  Oh, my love,

  Ride far and fast for me.

  I’ll wait in Yerba Buena town,

  In a house high above the sea.”

  “Oh, how romantic!” Bess exclaimed, clapping her hands.

  “I have a book of old California songs downstairs on the piano, with a history of each song included,” Abby said. “This song may be in it.”

  “I’ll go get it!” cried Bess, dashing out.

  “Be careful on the stairs,” Abby called. “There isn’t a light.”

  Turning her head, Nancy noticed a spark fly from the fire. “Watch out!” she said, swiftly stamping out the spark. “George, you’d better keep an eye on your fire. We really should have a fire screen.”

  Rose nodded. “You’re right, Nancy. Abby, before we use the fireplace again, let’s get a screen. We don’t need any more accidents.”

  Abby nodded, still wrapped up in the play scripts. “I bought some fire extinguishers yesterday. There’s one in the hall, one in the pantry, and another upstairs,” she said.

  Suddenly Nancy heard a bang, like a door slamming, then running footsteps. Startled, she looked up to see Bess in the doorway, her chest heaving and her eyes wide with fright.

  “I saw her,” Bess said in a whisper. She swallowed hard. “I saw Lizzie. Lizzie’s ghost!”

  6

  The Ghost in the Mirror

  “Hurry!” Bess cried. She ran from the parlor doorway to the back stairs. Nancy and George exchanged worried looks, then took off after Bess, followed by the others.

  Nancy found her way down the dark stairs to the saloon. Bess pointed wildly at the huge mirror behind the bar. “There, in the mirror—I saw Lizzie!”

  By now the others were in the saloon, too. “I’m sure it was just your imagination, dear,” Rose said kindly.

  “You’ve been staring at those photographs for hours,” Abby added. “Your mind’s playing tricks.”

  “No! I saw Lizzie!” Bess insisted.

  “Tell us exactly what you saw,” Nancy said. She knew her friend had an active imagination, but Bess would never make up a story. If Bess said she saw something, Nancy believed her.

  “The ghost had blond hair in curls, and she was wearing men’s clothing,” Bess told Nancy. “I only saw her for a second, but I know that’s what I saw.”

  “Perhaps you simply saw your own reflection,” Louis suggested. “You have blond hair.”

  “Why, yes,” Hannah added. “And you’re wearing jeans—that would make your reflection look like it was wearing men’s clothes.”

  Bess shook her head, her mouth drawn in a tight line. “I saw Lizzie!”

  It was obvious to Nancy that Bess was upset. Just as on the night before, when the sink flooded, she felt frustrated that people didn’t believe her. Nancy wrapped an arm around her friend, and George stood close beside her. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out what you saw,” Nancy said.

  Bess sighed. “Thanks, Nan.” She walked over to the piano and grabbed the song book. “Might as well get what I came for,” she muttered. Everyone filed upstairs.

  Back in the parlor, Bess and Abby looked through the songbook. “Too bad,” Abby said, shaking her head. “Lizzie’s song isn’t here.”

  Louis soon said good night and left. Hannah, Abby, and the girls decided it was time to go to bed. “I’ll just stay up and finish hemming this curtain,” said Rose, still at her sewing machine. “I’ll keep an eye on the fire to make sure it’s out before I come up.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon Nancy sat in the periodicals room of the San Francisco public library. Pressing her forehead against the viewer on a microfilm projector, Nancy watched a series of old insurance maps whiz by on the film strip. The maps—the librarian had called them Sanborn maps—showed each building on every lot in old San Francisco.

  With a crank on the side of the projector, she turned the microfilm reel to zero in on the map that included the block of California Street where the mansion stood. Neatly lettered on the map at the mansion’s site was The Golden Gardenia, hotel.

  So Rose and Abby’s house was the same hotel as shown on the old playbills! Nancy smiled triumphantly. This historical research was fun.

  Next, Nancy moved over to a shelf of old telephone directories, thick volumes bound in maroon leather. She took down the directory for 1894 and looked up the Golden Gardenia hotel. Running her finger down a column, she found its address on California Street—the same address as Rose and Abby’s house.

  Then she flipped through the pages until she found a listing for an E. Valdez. It was the same address!

  But who was E. Valdez? Nancy mused. Abby had told them that the 1894 block book showed that same name as the owner of the lot where Rose and Abby’s house stood. Just to make sure, Nancy had double-checked the block book this afternoon. It had said E. Valdez all right.

  E. Valdez. Could the E stand for Elizabeth, someone who might be nicknamed Lizzie? But why not Applegate? Why Valdez?

  Nancy went back down the hall to the history room, where she had left Bess poring over old journals. “I’ve found out all sorts of stuff about Lizzie Applegate,” Bess whispered eagerly.

  “Good,” Nancy said, checking her watch. “I found out some interesting stuff, too. But we’re supposed to meet Hannah, Emily, and George at the Grand Hotel at four-thirty, and it’s four-fifteen now. We can fill each other in over tea.”

  Outside, Nancy and Bess wrapped their coats tightly around them and headed for New Montgomery Street. George was waiting on the steps of the Grand Hotel. “Did you find the water department all right?” Nancy asked her. George’s research task today had been to go to the water department on Mason Street to look up the original application for water at the mansion’s site.

  George nodded. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Nancy! Girls!” Nancy turned to see Hannah and Emily Foxworth hurrying up the sidewalk toward the hotel. Emily looked just as Nancy remembered her: a trim, energetic older woman with several cameras slung over her shoulder. Emily wore dark slacks, walking shoes, a close-fitting jacket, and a small brimmed hat.

  Chattering merrily, the party entered the elegant old hotel. Emily led them to the Queen’s Court, an enormous glass-domed room full of crystal chandeliers, potted palms, and marble columns. A waiter in a brocade vest led them to a low table surrounded by upholstered chairs and a small couch.

  Nancy ordered camomile tea; Bess and George, blackcurrant tea; and Emily and Hannah, Earl Grey tea. They also asked the waiter to bring them some sandwiches and pastries.

  The girls exchanged news with Emily. “Working on the restoration of that house must be fascinating,” said Emily.

  “Well, it certainly makes my muscles ache,” Bess declared, rubbing her shoulder ruefully. “I was hanging wallpaper all day yesterday and all this morning. I’ve got glue caked all around my fingernails—yuck!”

  The others chuckled. Then Nancy explained to Emily about their research project. She told the others what she had learned that day from the block books, the insurance maps, and the telephone directory.

  The waiter brought their
order, and everyone hungrily attacked the platter of food. “So tell us, George,” Nancy said, “did you find the water application?”

  George nodded. “Everything I found out supports what you learned,” she reported. “The first application for water at the site was for the Golden Gardenia, a hotel. The application was dated 1888 and was signed by E. Valdez. A later application, dated 1906, was signed by Rachel Armstrong. It listed the building as a private residence.”

  Nancy nodded. “Rose said that the Armstrong sisters owned the house for years.”

  “Nancy, let me tell what I found out,” Bess said, reaching for a cucumber sandwich. “Remember how Lizzie Applegate was an entertainer in the California gold mining camps and then a famous bandit, El Diablo, fell in love with her?”

  “El Diablo?” said Emily. “In Spanish, that would mean ‘The Devil.’”

  Bess tossed her head. “He may have been a little devilish, but he was definitely romantic!” She sighed. “At the end of each of Lizzie’s performances, he would ride a beautiful black horse up to the stage and leave her flowers. Then he would ride away before anyone could catch him. And get this—he usually left her gardenias.”

  “Wow! So if the hotel belonged to her, that would explain the name the Golden Gardenia,” Nancy said.

  Bess went on breathlessly. “Each time he came, the bandit would appear suddenly and then disappear. One day Lizzie and the bandit rode away together on his beautiful horse!” Excited, Bess leaned forward, her uneaten sandwich in her hand. “People thought Lizzie had joined the bandit’s gang. Then on Christmas Day in 1878, there was a big stagecoach robbery.”

  “The bandit?” Nancy asked.

  Bess nodded, her eyes glowing. “Right after that, the bandit and his gang were ambushed. But the bandit escaped, and a woman with long blond curls was seen riding away with him!”

  “Lizzie?” Hannah asked with a smile.

  “It has to be!” said Bess. “Anyway, Lizzie came to San Francisco right after that and began acting in melodramas at the Bella Union Theater. She became a famous actress. That’s when she wrote The Bandit’s Treasure. And then she opened a big hotel. But the hotel burned down only a year later,” she finished, biting mournfully into her sandwich.